Corinda smiled as sincerely as she could. 'Won't be long,' she said, sidling towards the en-suite.
Chapter Nine
An extensive buffet had been laid out on the oak table in the dining room. There were plates filled with oysters, prawns and lobsters, a dish of caviar resting in ice, salads of fennel and red peppers, avocado and feta cheese, and four or five types of thinly cut salami and a whole honey-roasted ham, all arranged on a white linen cloth. The two slave girls, now demurely dressed in shapeless maroon dresses, though still tethered by the chains at their necks and wrists, had already helped themselves by the time Constantine and the prince led Corinda into the room.
She pretended to be hungry but ate little. She had put on the towelling robe in the bathroom, as Constantine had suggested, and let down her long blonde hair.
The prince kept complimenting her on how beautiful she looked, and ran his hands down her back and over her pert buttocks. For her part she tried to respond with smiles and an expression that suggested she found him the most fascinating man in the world, with no hint, she hoped, that she knew what he had planned for her.
'Well,' he said, after devouring a large quantity of caviar, 'I hope you'll find my yacht comfortable.'
'I'll be glad of the fresh air,' she said.
'Of course. I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun.'
She wondered how and when he would break the news that their destination was not England, and how he planned to restrain her from then on. Or did he imagine she would go quietly, a willing slave to the handsome prince? She shuddered at the thought.
'Are you cold, my dear?' Constantine asked, spotting her reaction.
'I'm tired, I think. If you'll forgive me I'd like to get an early night. I want to be at my best tomorrow.'
'Naturally,' the prince said sympathetically. He stroked her cheek and kissed her fleetingly on the lips. 'Get some rest.'
'Will I see you in the morning?' she asked Constantine.
'Oh yes. We will say goodbye then.' He smiled at her, his gold teeth catching the light.
'I'll be quite sad,' she said, touching his arm. It was a good performance, she thought. She wanted to choke on every word but she managed to make her eyes sparkle with a look of gratitude.
Iluska was summoned to show her back to her room. The brunette led her through the dining room and into the atrium. As soon as she was out of sight of the men Corinda started to look around. She had barely taken any interest in the geography of the house before she had realised her predicament. Now she was looking for a means of escape.
'How do you get outside?' she asked the Albanian.
'Is forbidden,' was the tart reply.
As they got to the corridor that led to her room Corinda noticed a porcelain vase on a stand by the wall. It was filled with a huge display of orange flowers. She could have used it to hit the brunette over the head and knock her out. But that was no good. They would soon discover her and raise the alarm before she had found a way out of the building.
They reached the entrance to her room. The girl operated the switch and the shutter rolled up. As Corinda walked inside she could see Iluska waited in the corridor until the shutter had completely closed again.
What on earth was she going to do? She had to escape, but how? She had no idea how long it would be before they came to get her but she had to find a way out by then. Quickly she pulled the robe off. She rifled through the wardrobe and found a plain brown cotton shift. It was practical and would be difficult to spot in the dark. She decided against shoes. There were no flat heels in the collection and the high heels would slow her down.
The next problem was how to open the metal shutter. She debated about waiting until everyone had gone to bed before doing anything, but decided that would not only give her less time to find a way out, but that the noise of the shutter rolling open would be even more noticeable in the dead of night. Her best chance of it not being heard was now, with Constantine and the prince in the dining room.
But that didn't solve the problem of how to open it. She tried to remember exactly what Eloisa had done this morning. She certainly wasn't carrying any remote control that would account for the door opening so conveniently at exactly the right moment. There must be something in the room itself, a hidden switch of some sort. Where had she stood? Corinda moved to the foot of the bed, as near as possible to where she thought Eloisa had been, then dropped to her knees to examine the floor. As far as she could see there was nothing; the carpeting was as smooth and flat as in any other part of the room. There was nothing on the leg of the bed either. How could she have opened the shutter?
She sat on the floor with her legs crossed. Arabella had given her a good grounding in all the modern sciences including electronics and computers. She tried to remember any other ways an electronic circuit could be activated. There were light sensitive diodes, but she couldn't see how that would work in this room. There were sound sensitive circuits too. Sound. That made sense; a switch triggered by a certain sound.
On most occasions, when she'd been brought breakfast, the shutter had remained open. But on those few occasions when Eloisa had remained in the room with her the American had said something when they were ready to leave.
'Ready,' she said loudly. Nothing happened. That wasn't it. She'd said something else. 'We're off,' she tried. Again nothing. It was something like that. 'Come on,' she said. That wasn't it. 'Let's go,' she said. Immediately the roller mechanism began to grind. She'd done it! Go was the key word.
As soon as the metal shutter had rolled up a foot or two she squeezed under it and hit the switch on the corridor wall to keep the noise to a minimum. It descended again and hit the floor with a clunk Corinda swore would have woken the dead. Standing stock still she listened for any sound that might indicate someone had been disturbed by the noise. None came. Very faintly she thought she could hear voices. Voices, coming from the dining room.
Getting out of her room was the least of her problems. Now she had to get out of the house. There must be an exit and logically it would be on the ground floor. That meant going back towards the dining room to search, as she was sure none of the metal shutters in the corridor led to anything but other bedrooms.
As quietly as she could she tiptoed down the passageway and into the atrium with its false glass ceiling, of stars sparkling in a night sky. She worked her way around the walls, to a small door she had noticed under the staircase. Other than the arched entrance to the main reception room, it was the only door on the ground floor. The noise of the voices was louder. At any moment she expected the prince or Constantine to stride out of the dining room and find her.
She turned the handle of the door. It opened inward. She crept inside then closed the door with infinite care. She was in a long narrow passage with several doors on either side. Clinging to the wall she inched her way along. There was much more noise here. She heard voices, male and female, and the noise of crockery and cutlery being washed up. She was passing the kitchens. Again she held her breath, expecting one of the doors to burst open at any second.
They didn't. The passage opened into a wider space at the far end, with two doors. She had no choice but to try one of them, despite the fact she had no idea where they might lead. It was quite possible they opened into the dining room and she would be caught immediately.
Tentatively she eased the nearest one open and glanced inside. It was a storage cupboard lined with shelves of kitchen supplies. She closed it quietly and tried the second. It was much heavier. Her heart was in her mouth as she pulled it back. She expected the worst, but she was safe. Beyond lay another corridor. It was floored with dark brown marble, and modern tapestries in bright colours hung from the walls. There were two large doors on either side, but the most bizarre feature was the narrow opening at the far end. It was not fitted with a door but instead appeared to be filled with a dense black material. As she tiptoed closer she saw it was not material at all, but long black nylon fibres extending from the wa
lls and ceiling of another passageway. The fibres intersected at the centre. Hanging from hooks to one side of the entrance were several red facemasks, with transparent windows for eyes.
Corinda's heart beat faster. This was the exit. The fibres had been designed to prevent any light entering from the outside as an exterior door was opened, the masks available to protect the face. She was sure that was the only explanation. Quickly she hooked a mask over her face, took a depth breath and plunged forward into the tightly packed fibres. They pricked at her body. She forced her way forward. It was hard going. As the fibres in front of her parted the ones behind folded back into place behind her, until she was completely engulfed by them. She fought the feeling of claustrophobia and panic and pressed forward. The blackness was as total as the darkness in her bedroom. The fibres made every movement an effort, like walking in thick mud. It was even difficult to breath.
She found it was easier if she walked sideways, offering less resistance to the matted nylon. She pushed and wriggled, sweat breaking out on her body. At last she felt the fibres parting and almost fell over as her forward momentum met no resistance and she plunged out of the darkness into the light. She found herself in a small space lined with what looked like black rubber, the light coming from a small electric lamp overhead. In front of her was a perfectly normal door, secured on the inside with two steel bolts. She hung the mask up with several others and unbolted the door. Closing it quietly, she found herself in yet another passage, also lined with black rubber and faintly lit from above. It was no more than six feet long and there was another bolted door at the end.
She knew before she opened it that this door led outside. She could smell fresh air. The outer door was surrounded by heavy rubber seals. She unbolted it and took hold of the steel handle. She pulled and felt the hydraulic hinges moving. The door gapped open.
She could never remember getting a bigger shock. Instead of the darkness of night she had expected bright sunlight flooded the passage, momentarily blinding her with its intensity. Eventually she lowered her hands and screwed her eyes against the harsh glare.
It was midday, the sun high in the sort of blue sky Corinda had spent much of her childhood playing under on her own island. The outer door was at the bottom of a steep concrete ramp below ground level. Trying to get over the total disorientation she felt, and shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand, she ran up the ramp. Trees and vegetation surrounded the house. There was a cluster of palms just the other side of the dirt track at the top of the ramp. She raced across into it, not stopping until she was well hidden in its undergrowth. Then she dropped to her knees, her heart thumping and her breath short.
She looked back at the house. It was ugly and squat, most of it buried below ground level, its concrete walls painted a mottled dark green, like camouflage. It was approached by the dirt track which had been cut through the vegetation growing unchecked everywhere else; in many places it tenaciously climbed the walls of the house. Beyond she could see a beach and the rolling sea. As far as she could tell there was only the single exit through which she had escaped.
She tried to orientate herself in time. She remembered Constantine had said he went out at night. Presumably he had shifted time in the lightless house, so night became day for him. He slept while the sun was out, and roamed the island at night.
Not that this speculation helped her. She had, for the moment, escaped his clutches. But if the island was small and uninhabited, as he'd said, it would not be long before she was recaptured.
The first thing she had to do was establish how big the island was and if there were any other people on it. Constantine had lied about everything else and it was quite possible he had lied about that. From where she was she could only see the shoreline reaching out to her left. The house was situated on a small headland and obstructed the view on the other side where, presumably, the prince's yacht was moored. The only way to find out how large the island was, she reasoned, would be by following the shoreline. If there were other people they would have boats, or other means of contacting the outside world.
Still finding it hard to accept it was not the middle of the night, she moved through the trees. Fortunately the outline of the forest ran along the beach so she could follow the shore without being too conspicuous. One good thing about her escape was that she didn't imagine anyone would check her room until what passed for morning in the house.
It was hot. The dark cotton dress was soaked with perspiration. She would have liked to throw herself into the sea, the gentle waves lapping at the white crystal sand, but dare not for fear of being seen or wasting precious time.
She walked miles without seeing anything that might suggest other inhabitants. There were no footsteps in the sand, no little rowing boats or makeshift jetties, and no litter. She could still see the headland where Constantine's house was sited, but the house itself had merged into the background.
The sun had begun to sink towards the horizon, though it was a long way from dipping below it, when she saw a small stream that ran into the sea. It cut through the trees, and she got some relief from the heat by wading into its cool waters.
It was then that she saw it. The sun glinted from a pane of glass. It was not easy to make it out at first, but as she walked up onto a small rise, on the other side of the stream she saw a large square house set in a copse of trees. It was surrounded on all sides by a tall wooden fence, largely overgrown with climbing shrubs. Unlike the house she had just left there were large windows, most of which, she noticed, were barred.
Her hopes were raised. She wanted to rush forward but instinct made her more circumspect. She approached the house cautiously, keeping well down. A dirt track had been cut through the forest at the back of the house, where the fencing enclosed a little courtyard. It was a good thing she trusted her instincts; as she stopped to look more closely a figure appeared in one of the downstairs windows. It was Eloisa.
'Over here,' Eloisa said. She tapped the tip of the whip against a narrow bench with a slatted surface. It was bolted to the floor.
Tim Morrison was kneeling on the floor in front of her, his eyes lowered. He had learnt from bitter experience over the last few days that if he did not adopt the position when she entered the room it would be the worst for him. He had learnt to obey all her orders without question. The price of disobedience was too high.
Quickly he scrambled to his feet. He was naked apart from leather cuffs strapped around his wrists and ankles.
'On your back,' Eloisa ordered.
He lay on the bench. It was just wide enough to accommodate his body.
'Hands above your head.'
Again he obeyed. Eloisa was wearing black high-heeled boots, a black leather bra, and leather shorts that fitted her like a second skin. Pulling his wrists up in turn she fastened snap-hooks, attached to the legs of the bench, into D-rings on the cuffs. She walked to the foot of the bench, trailing the whip along his naked body, and soon had his ankles secured in the same way. There was a broad leather belt attached to the middle of the bench, which she wrapped around his waist and buckled tight. Her victim was helpless.
She stood looking down at him, enjoying the sense of power she had over him. He belonged to her. He could be made to do anything she required. Anything. The idea made her body throb with sexual pleasure. Of course her preference was for women, and she had used many in this room over her years with Constantine, but she was not averse to an occasional man, as she had proved with Yves. And like the Frenchman, Tim Morrison was a fine specimen. She had greatly enjoyed training him to her special needs over the last few days.
'That's better, isn't it?' she said.
She stood by his head so he was staring up her thighs to her crotch, where the leather shorts covered her sex so tightly. She saw his cock beginning to stir and flicked it with the tip of the riding crop.
'I haven't told you about your little friend, have I?'
His penis was unfurling rapidly. 'What have you don
e to her?'
'Nothing she wasn't only too willing to try, I assure you.'
'You bitch,' he hissed.
Thwack! The whip landed across his thighs, narrowly missing his balls.
'I would be very careful if I were you. You are in no position to hurl insults.'
Eloisa unzipped the leather shorts and drew them slowly down her long legs and over her boots. She unclipped the leather bra, releasing her breasts, then cupped them in her hands, playing with her stiff nipples.
'We'll start with something simple, shall we?' she said. She raised her left leg and straddled the bench so her groin was poised directly above his face and she was looking down into his eyes. He stared up into her pouting sex, the lips moistening with anticipation.
Eloisa stroked between them. 'You're going to give me a good licking. Just like your little friend did.' She lowered herself down until her sex was an inch from his mouth. 'Come on,' she prompted, lashing out with the whip behind her back and catching him a glancing blow on his stomach.
He strained his head up off the bench to reach her, his shoulders already cramped by his bondage. He managed to get his tongue into her sex. With no support his neck muscles ached. But he tried to ignore them and hold his position, as his tongue found and stroked the American's swollen clitoris.
'Harder,' Eloisa complained, flicking him with the whip again. But to his relief she allowed herself to sink lower so he could rest his head back on the slatted wooden bench. He concentrated on circling her clit with his tongue, as she had taught him she liked. He heard her moan and felt her shudder. 'So good,' she urged, stroking his blond hair. 'Perhaps I will keep you here. Constantine usually sells the men to the Arabs, but in your case it would be such a waste. I could keep you as my slave. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'
He tried to nod without breaking his rhythm, not wanting to antagonise her further.
Eloisa leant back until she could rest her hands on his thighs, so her body was stretched back over him and her labia was thrust more forcibly against his mouth. His tongue slipped into her vagina and her clitoris ground against his nose. She felt her orgasm exploding. She could have held it back but there was no need. It would only be the first of many. He was there to be used; her slave, her victim. It was that thought that made her come so quickly.
The Chaste Legacy Page 16
