‘So, come on, tell me then, I’m dying to know,’ said the duke, his eyes dropping to Mina, assessing her.
‘Turns out there’s some added mystery to this slave,’ commented Oceanus, reaching down to cup slave’s chin and bring her stare up to his.
She regarded him warmly, her hands folded in her lap as she kept her pose stiff, full of pride in her masters.
‘She broke out during her training,’ Oceanus went on. ‘She disabled several nobles with ease, and managed to elude capture for hours. She made it all the way to Charybdis’s chambers, somehow, despite a full search.’ His eyes never left Mina’s as he spoke, as though he were reading the script of her thoughts on her pupils.
‘Why, and how?’ quizzed the duke, sounding impressed.
‘Charybdis won’t say,’ Tethys replied.
‘Or he doesn’t know,’ Oceanus suggested, reaching for a bowl and proceeding to fill it with a tasty assortment of meat and vegetables. ‘In either event, she’s stronger than any slave we’ve seen, she learns quickly and she has phenomenal stamina.’ He laid the bowl down in front of Mina, nudging it just under the lip of the table so she could lean down and eat all she wished. A moment later he added a matching bowl filled with water. It was a repeat of the demeaning act they had forced upon her in their bedroom, but rather than resent it, Mina loved being reduced to the status of their pet. And as the conversation continued, and she drank and ate her fill, her thoughts strayed to the maid who had pleasured her so intensely during her last such dining experience.
‘A veteran slave?’ wondered the duke, drawing Fire Opal up from her position beneath the table. She stretched against his legs, rubbing her cheek over his thighs, her hands clawing at the floor as he ran his fingers through her coiling red hair.
‘No, she was virginal to such things when we gained her,’ Tethys stated. ‘She’s something else.’
‘That’s even more impressive then; I’ll bet those who missed choosing her are kicking themselves,’ noted the visiting noble as he dipped his fingers in a glass of wine and placed them to his pet’s lips. Fire Opal locked her mouth to the paired digits, letting her tongue roll around them to taste the vintage on offer.
‘And how,’ Oceanus agreed, running his hand down Mina’s spine, the delicate caress raising goose pimples on her flesh and making her shiver.
‘We’ve already been offered considerable sums and numerous favours for her,’ Tethys elaborated, catching Mina’s attention.
It was indeed like being in the old Greek myths. She was a nymph that had been noticed by the gods, and now they vied with one another to possess her. Being the object of such attention was wonderful. She loved knowing that people were talking about her. Perhaps some people were being serviced as they filled their mind’s eye with an image of her prostrate and bound before them performing whatever acts they desired. The contrast of her present life with her previous existence made her head spin with excitement, and she only wished she could overhear a conversation between nobles about her, and actually hear them offer her owners whatever they wanted for her.
‘Holding out for more?’ the duke asked, offering his own slave more wine.
‘No, I think we’ll be keeping her,’ Oceanus replied, his voice a bit dreamy.
‘Silveritus?’ the duke chuckled, referring to the fellow sect member who had lost his heart to a slave girl.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Oceanus snapped out of his reverie.
‘Falling for her, are we?’ the duke goaded.
‘There’s nothing wrong with that, it just takes the right person to come along, and even nobles of Cabal can’t ignore love, no matter who is responsible or what caste they come from,’ Oceanus responded, settling lazily into his throne. Reaching out he took his wife’s hand, and the two of them interlocked fingers as they gazed into each other’s eyes, and then down at their living possession.
Mina stared blankly at the floor wondering if she could possibly have heard correctly. Did her two masters actually love her? She had told herself she loved them, but she had trouble distinguishing between love and devotion, obsession and worship, and her sudden immersion in the world of intense emotions made her perceptions a bit unreliable. Perhaps it was a thick and virulent mixture of all four feelings that had bewitched her. But where her owners were concerned, she had thought them merely fond of her, perhaps momentarily infatuated with something new. She had not even let herself dream she meant more to them than that, in case they deserted her and broke her heart. To hear them admit their love for her before every Titan of Charybdis put a lump in her throat that nearly choked her as she struggled to hold back tears of joy.
There was a snort of derision from the duke.
‘What of you and Fire Opal down there?’ Tethys asked, turning the interrogation around.
‘That’s different,’ the duke said firmly. ‘She’s my companion.’
‘I heard you rejected offers for her from that German magnate that would have let you buy your own sect and a hundred slaves from any other sect on the globe,’ Tethys accused mildly.
‘How did you hear of that?’ the duke snapped.
‘Sources, my dear Grand Duke, sources. Just because we live under thousands of feet of water doesn’t mean we can’t put an ear to the grapevine, so to speak. Or, rather, the seaweed vine, if you want to be more accurate.’ She smiled wickedly.
‘The timing wasn’t right,’ the duke offered by way of a lame excuse, and then added ruefully, ‘although I am, perhaps, rather fond of my Fire Opal.’ He raised his glass. ‘Ladies, gentlemen and slaves, here’s to love and perversity!’
‘Life’s greatest rewards,’ commented Oceanus as he and Tethys both raised their glasses to the toast.
‘You’ll never catch me falling for one of my slaves,’ Helios scoffed.
Oceanus turned to him and tactfully changed the subject.
Mina half listened to them, monitoring the conversation as she settled down to watch the rest of the throng while occasionally enjoying another bite of the delicious food. Each mouthful was mulled over slowly, just like the memories and dreams she savoured in her mind, dwelling on everything that had transpired since her arrival here. Then her reverie was interrupted by a heavy knocking sound of wood against stone resounding through the hall.
‘Titans and nymphs of Charybdis!’ declared a strong and cheerful voice. ‘Honoured guests of Cabal!’
Mina looked towards the source and saw an athletic young man who had stepped up to the centre of the room. His hair was pinned down beneath a peaked golden hat sporting wings at the sides made of real feathers, and the same design graced the ankles of his tall golden boots. He was clad in a simple white tunic, wore copious gold jewellery, and carried the caduceus - the staff of Hermes, herald of the gods, messenger, thief, cheat, patron of music and travel, eloquence and luck. The white wooden pole supported entwined snakes around a pair of wings, and he rapped it against the floor again as he paused to make sure he had everyone’s undivided attention.
‘Welcome to this night of revelry and entertainment!’ he went on in a strong, clear voice. ‘The scheduled shows will commence shortly. But first, give your gratitude and respect to the man who made all of this possible, and who brought us all together in this wondrous place. Let us honour the man whose vision and genius gave rise to this world within a world, our most gracious and generous host, Charybdis!’ Hermes raised his staff behind him to indicate the stage.
Mina stared at the dais with breathless excitement. At last she would see the man responsible for her absolute defeat, the man who had created this undersea den of debauchery and made her a slave to it.
Chapter 4
A panel behind the thrones opened, the hidden portal sliding aside to allow the creator of the underwater empire to stride out into the light. Everyone leapt to their feet and applauded the new arrival with genuine gusto. Mina was so exc
ited that she sat up in an effort to see better, and banged the back of her head on the underside of the table. Sinking back down she rubbed her throbbing skull, cursing beneath her breath. She looked up at the dais again, nursing her injury, and immediately had to close her eyes and open them again to check her focus, for she was certain Charybdis should be a vision to terrify and astound. She had not seen him clearly during their confrontation, but he had defeated her, and her pride had increased his dimensions until in her mind he possessed almost superhuman attributes.
In reality, Charybdis was a man well into his forties, perhaps even older. He was of a normal, unimpressive height, his unprepossessing body swathed in ragged black robes held closed by a thick black leather belt. A diamond-and-jet rendering of his whirlpool insignia formed the buckle, and his black painted nails emerged from the cloak’s deep sleeves to hang at his side. His long black hair was tied back in a ponytail and was receding slightly, the widow’s peak accentuating his gaunt face. His pronounced cheekbones, nose and chin gave him a drawn, reserved air, and the overall effect created by his black clothes and austere countenance was that of an evil monk.
He stopped before his throne and let his pale blue eyes drift across his subjects and slaves. A deathly quiet fell over the room as all eyes rested on the man who had brought them together and fulfilled dreams none of them would ever have believed possible.
‘Welcome, friends, thank you for such a fine reception,’ he said almost humbly, as though so much attention was something he found difficult to handle and preferred his isolated existence at the peak of the dome. ‘And thank you, Hermes, for such a flattering announcement.’ Charybdis smiled as the Titan bowed deeply in response to praise from one he so obviously respected. ‘It is a pleasure to see so many of you tonight, and pleasure is our very foundation here. What makes my Titans, nymphs and honoured guests happy, elates me. I am glad we are all here to share in our passions, safe, secure, and without care or concern for that other, far more banal, world we left above us. So eat, drink, enjoy and indulge!’ He bowed to the assembly as they once more cheered and applauded their beloved host.
As the clapping began to die down, Charybdis settled into his throne. Several maids swiftly trotted up to him, sank to their knees and offered him choices from their trays. He smiled at them and selected a few items, along with a tankard of ale, as he caressed a cheek here and there. Then through the covert door behind his throne two more maids led out the blindfolded, latex-cocooned female Charybdis owned. Struggling against the inhibiting bar between her legs in her oppressive rubber cell, the woman was steered to the side of the towering throne. The maids quickly removed her umbilical from the portable supply unit trailing behind her, momentarily setting her free. The hoses were then snapped to fittings on the back of the throne, securing her once more to the side of her owner, and she was left tethered to his chair by the considerably shorter pipes, her body staggering back a little to test them as she fought the bonds at once sustaining and imprisoning her. The attendants withdrew once the woman had been fastened irrevocably into place dependent on the throne for the little life she was permitted.
Then the doors on either side of the stage opened up, allowing a new flow of people to enter. At the head of the procession came Scylla, the land-based counterpart to Charybdis, marching into the room with pride. The severe, towering female was clad entirely in white, a colour that matched her snowy hair. A glossy leotard embraced her body, the plunging neckline offering a spectacular view of her cleavage, her breasts pushed up and out into prominence by the garment’s moulded cups, and beneath them the black silhouette of a sea monster curled itself across her torso. White patent leather boots with stiletto heels reached up to her thighs, crafted to hug her legs with exquisite precision. She had no trouble walking in them, her majestic stride unaffected and emphasised by the towering footwear. Gauntlet gloves of pale vinyl left her fingers and albino nails free and rose almost to her shoulders.
Scylla walked up the stairs towards her own throne, but rather than seating herself at once, she strolled by and behind it so she could trail a hand across the compressed form of the latex mummy. The prisoner was considerably shorter than the Titan, and she reacted with convulsive jolts as strong hands appraised and squeezed her helpless flesh. And as Scylla treated herself to a sensual exploration of the wildly writhing captive, she spoke with Charybdis.
Mina watched them intently trying to imagine what it was like to be the rubber woman locked up inside a skin-tight prison. She wondered what it felt like to have pipes feeding air into her rubber-crushed body, unable to move her arms and barely able to walk, unable to see, hear and speak, free only to swelter in the costume’s hellish heat. She imagined the dim, almost lost feelings of the creature as someone manhandled her, squeezing her breasts and buttocks, running their hands all over her black rubber body while she remained completely helpless to stop them.
Within her chastity belt Mina was growing hot with rising lust, the idea of such terrible oblivion and bondage exciting her the more she dwelt on it. She continued to arouse herself with her fantasy of being the latex mummy, and cursed the fact that her belt was preventing her exacting a little relief as she projected herself into the prisoner’s plight. She groaned softly to herself as she pondered being forced to loiter at the side of Charybdis’s bed unable to sit or to lie down, barely even able to move, forced to hover and watch as others were pleasured or punished by the powerful man. She dreamed of being the rubber zombie with the zipper over her eyes open so she could see the carnal feast before her, her loins burning with an eternally unfulfilled hunger. Then she thought of herself as the one teasing the black mummy where she lay spread out and tied down across the bed as Charybdis thrust deep inside her, pulling at her hair to expose her face and her bliss to the trapped woman, showing her what she could never have. But though this fantasy was pleasing, she kept transferring herself back into the prisoner’s latex shell, becoming the more helpless and most enslaved possession of all.
Nearly blind with sexual hunger, Mina pictured watching acts of depravity as she screamed silently against her gag in frustration, her muscles burning as they strained against the thick smothering walls of her rubber confinement. Jiggling upon the accursed pole between her legs, she would try desperately to gain some sort of motion from her belt, just a hint of pleasure to banish the eternal numbness of her second skin. Wishing she could look away to deprive herself of Charybdis’s taunting hell, she would fail every time. She would watch the sight of perspiring bodies, of slick gyrating flesh, the bite of crops and canes, whips and clamps, the slow insertion of toys, and mouths agape with moans of sensual rapture. But she would remain forever sealed in her bondage, unable to perform any act she witnessed.
And she would see Charybdis glancing at her every now and then, intensifying his pleasure with the awareness of her terrible suffering, sating his sadistic glee by witnessing her soul-devouring frustration. To Mina, this would be reward enough in itself for all her torments, knowing her owner and master, the man responsible for her suffering, never forgot about her and was always aware of her; knowing she was the mysterious seed of his constant contentment.
Mina forced her eyes away from the dais and scanned the rest of the scene, her sex damp with hunger, charged with a potent longing for extreme levels of bondage. The carnival players had already set up and were performing for the amusement of the crowd under the guidance of the troupe master. Pan was a short and robust individual. From the waist down it appeared as though he bore the cloven hooves of a goat, his own legs hidden by the elaborate craftsmanship of his attire, its skill exceeding any cinematic effect. Curling horns sprouted from his brow as the bare-chested man skipped about on his hooves, clip-clopping to and fro with a wide grin streaking across his thin, feral face. His long dark hair danced with him, a few braids formed into a tangled cascade, the weighted beads bringing the tendrils to life with his bounding movements. He waved a dressage whip
as though it were a baton and moved through his troupe as they performed - a collection of lithe naked females engaged in varying carnal acts. All the women were exceptionally supple, their oiled, glistening bodies those of trained gymnasts, and they used their contorting abilities to twist themselves into passionate positions few people in the room could achieve. These prurient displays of lesbian lust were works of living art that captivated the eye and filled the mind with wonder that they were able to achieve such poses without snapping themselves in half. Pan had trained them to perfection, and the sterling artists satisfied everyone with their tangled webs of limbs and energetic tongues, their slick skins slithering against each other as even toes were used to provide pleasure.
Mina watched the acrobatic orgy for a while, the titillating feats making her curse her chastity belt all the more vehemently. Then she glanced back up at the stage and caught sight of something that riveted her attention back on Charybdis and his prisoner.
The creator of this hedonistic domain occasionally removed a small palm computer from within his waterfall of tattered robes, and tapping keys, he made the latex mummy at his feet writhe and spasm against her bondage, the outfit hampering her every struggle. With amusement in his eyes, he savaged the hapless girl with sensations. Whether they were feelings of bliss or pain or both he inflicted upon her, Mina had no idea, but there was something chillingly arousing about the sight of the electronically tormented slave. Lost in her own private world of dark torment, she was utterly at the mercy of other peoples’ whims. There was no escape for her, no choices to make; all she could do was submit to the various torments of the mysterious latex suit.
Enslaved by Charybdis Page 5
