The Mages Garden

He woke up with a seering headache, face head and hands covered in remnants of crimson colored sand. Mouth dry, eyes barely opening he squinted at the single beam of sunshine piercing through the cabana door. It was late afternoon according to the clock on the wall. Sitting up slowly he realised that this was not his room. The familiar and unfamiliar lay out told him that at least he was still on the island. But who's room was this? Scattered around in the dim light were leftover bottles of emptied Pabst Blue Ribbon. The smell of weed and cigarette lingering among the beer vapors. Shaking his rioting head slowly he began to stand. Only to notice that while his arms and upper body are free to move his ankles were bound firmly by a type of rope he'd never seen before. Upon inspection he realised the more he moved to resist his bondages the tighter they became around his skin. Panic slowly welled up in his gut. Flashes of light and desire, the feeling of lightly tearing skin under nails, tasting nipples and skin covered in sweet and salty sweat, a lingering sting of leather tendrils which left dark red streaks across his inner thighs. His visions now unclouded by the stupor of false spirits once communed with, he remembers, HER. That slithering smile she wore. The way she walked across the room weightless as if gravity never knew she existed. She exposed nothing of her face except that smile. One which appeared in a flash and knocked him out of consciousness. It was an inferno, her touch set him a blaze. Her smell was sensuous all he could remember was devouring every morsel of her flesh, worshiping his idol thoroughly. Tangled tounges and lips. Contorted body parts slipping and sliding crashing together. Yet here he was. Oddly. Bound. Head bleeding from a minor injury. Hung over. Covered in sand. Angry as fuck, enraged at the sight of his ties. Dick throbbing, tortured by it jumping involuntarily, slapping the raw welted skin on his thigh over and over as he remembers everything. "But I tied her up" he says to himself confused. Fuming. Thirsty for her. Alone in this room. Marooned on pleasure island...