The Chaste Legacy

by Susanna Hughes

  The two men ran to the stern. They threw a blanket over her, and still carrying her on his shoulder, and apparently without effort, the man climbed down into a waiting motorboat. His companion followed, cast off and gunned the engines. The boat surged away from the yacht and sped out across the sea.

  Corinda looked up. There, silhouetted against a horizon lit by a moon that was now full, was another much smaller yacht. She knew immediately what had happened. Constantine had come after her. This was his boat and his men. He'd worked out that the Arlingtons had been nearby and were the most likely to pick her up, and had somehow tracked their yacht. She was being taken back to his island and to the prince.

  The motors throttled back and the boat bumped against the side of its parent yacht. Corinda, still bound in a tight bundle, was picked up bodily again, pitched over the man's shoulder and carried up to the deck. The man walked into the main cabin and lowered her gently onto a sofa. The blanket had flipped over her face, making it impossible for her to see.

  'Get a knife.' It was a woman's voice. She recognised it immediately. She recognised her perfume too.

  A hand pulled the blanket away from her body, and Corinda gazed up into a smiling face.

  'Arabella! Oh, Arabella! How on earth did you find me? It's so good to see you. I've missed you. How did you manage to find the yacht? I can't believe it.' The words came tumbling out.

  The man in the mask began to slice through the rope bonds with a hunting knife.

  'Are you all right? Are you hurt?'

  Freed from the ropes Corinda began rubbing her wrists and ankles. 'I think I'm fine,' she said.

  'Nikos, get a robe and some brandy, will you?' The man pulled off his ski-mask and headed for an inner door.

  'How did you find me?'

  'It's a long story.'

  'And Tim. What about Tim?'

  'He's safe.'

  'Really? Really? Where is he?'

  The man in black returned with a white towelling robe, a bottle of brandy and two glasses.

  'Thank you, Nikos.'

  The man retreated, a little reluctantly, as Corinda's voluptuous body disappeared under the robe.

  Arabella poured the brandy. 'He's gone to get the authorities, so they can rescue the other two girls. He'll be back by morning. That yacht's not going anywhere. The men made sure they crippled the engines.'

  'I can't believe you found me.'

  Arabella sat next to her. 'We picked up a distress signal from the yacht the night you left. I hired this boat and scoured the area. It was completely clean. But the captain said he'd heard about lots of boats being lost in a channel to the west, so we went there and found wreckage. I landed on the island. There was a strange white Greek with pink eyes. He said he hadn't seen anything.'

  'You met Constantine? You were in the house?' Corinda was astonished. Arabella had been so close.

  'Yes. I didn't trust him. I kept circling the island. Eventually I saw that yacht.' She pointed across the water. The flames were out now, but a plume of smoke still rose into the moonlit sky. 'I saw them take two girls aboard. That made me even more suspicious, so I tried to follow them. We must have been too far away to see you taken aboard. It was dark. But then, last night, we saw them cast the motorboat adrift. We picked it up and found Tim. So we planned the fire as a diversion to get you out.'

  'Oh that's wonderful, Arabella!' Corinda wrapped her arms around her tutor and hugged her tightly.

  'I think you should get some sleep now. You must be exhausted.'

  'No, Arabella. I don't want to sleep. I want you. I want to feel you again. Take me to bed. That's what I really want.'

  And it was true. Her sexual excitement at seeing and touching dear Arabella again was intense. The pulse of desire and lust she felt for her was as sharp as it had ever been. She kissed her, as her hand pushed down into Arabella's lap, feeling again the familiar contours of her body.

  Hyde Park was in full flower, the grass at its greenest, the ornamental borders a riot of colourful blossoms. The sun was setting and a salmon-pink sky, mottled with high cirrus cloud, provided a backdrop for the trees, the light filtering through their branches. Corinda gazed out of the hotel window at the spectacle. Her room was on the seventh floor and she had a panoramic view. The park and the teeming city all around it, the cars and bustle of Park Lane, were like nothing she'd seen before.

  She had ordered a bottle of champagne from room service. The knock on the door of the suite indicated it had arrived. She opened it to a young waiter in a white linen jacket.

  'Come in,' she said.

  His mouth gaped and he started to blush.

  'Oh, sorry.' Corinda realised the reason for his embarrassment. She was naked. She still found it hard to remember to get dressed, and to understand the effect her naked body had on men. She closed the door rapidly, grabbed a pink satin robe and wrapped it around her body, before opening the door again. 'I'm so sorry,' she said to the startled waiter. 'I just forgot.'

  The young man shuffled in, put the tray on the nearest table and almost ran out again without a word. The image of her naked body, her full breasts, her flat stomach and the downy pubic hair at its base, was going to stay with him for a long time.

  Corinda looked at her watch. It was time to get ready. The yacht had put into port and Arabella had insisted Corinda fly to London, out of harm's way, while Tim sorted out everything with the Greek authorities. That was three days ago. She had decided to stay in a hotel. She didn't want to go to her father's house until Tim returned. She didn't want to be on her own.

  She hadn't spent any time with him since their night together on the Arlington's yacht, but tonight, at last, everything had been taken care of in Athens and he was flying in. His plane would have landed already and he had promised her on the telephone that he would come straight to the hotel.

  The clothes she'd bought on her first shopping expedition were laid out on the bed. She had bought them all with this moment in mind. Walking through to the bedroom she stripped off the satin robe and sat on the bed. There was a cellophane packet of stockings. She opened it and shook the nylon out. As she rolled the first stocking into a pocket and fitted it over her toes, she could not help but remember the first time she had done exactly the same thing, in her strange windowless cell with Eloisa. The thought made her go cold. She dismissed it from her mind and concentrated on what she was doing, watching the way the sheer black nylon encased her leg. She eased the black welt up to her thigh, then repeated the process with the second stocking.

  She had bought a black satin basque, with a lace inset at the front. As she wrapped it around her body and fastened the hooks that held it tightly in place, she experienced again that odd thrill the constriction seemed to create. The bra cups were made from lace. Her breasts swelled out from them, her nipples barely covered. She clipped the suspenders, ruched in black satin, into the welts of the stockings and adjusted them so the nylon was held taut, then slipped her feet into black leather shoes with high heels.

  There was a wall of wardrobes in the bedroom, with mirrored doors. She examined herself critically. She liked the way the heels shaped and firmed the muscles of her legs and enhanced the curve of her bottom. The basque left her buttocks uncovered, their flesh smooth and creamy, asking to be pampered and caressed.

  That's what she wanted. She wanted to feel Tim holding her again. She wanted to feel his muscles pressing against her softness, his erection growing against her tummy. A thrill of pleasure coursed through her. She looked in the mirror and watched her hand slide down the lace panel at the front of the basque, over its delicately scalloped hem, to the downy fur of her pubis. Her finger delved between her labia and found her clitoris. She stroked it gently, building upon the initial moment of excitement. She angled her finger and was not surprised by the wetness she found. Despite her efforts to exclude them her mind was full of memories, and they were at least partially responsible for her condition. However much she tried to hate them, she could
not forget the extremes of pleasure she had experienced with Constantine, Eloisa, Yves and the prince. Just the thought of what they had done to her, how thoroughly they had exploited her body, produced a fluttering in the pit of her stomach which spread rapidly to her sex, making it slick with her juices.

  And that was to say nothing of the Arlingtons. Malcolm had completed her sexual education, and taken away the last vestige of innocence. It was another profound and unforgettable experience, another pleasure she wanted to repeat.

  She had no idea what life would hold for her from now on, but she knew what she wanted and the time she had spent on Constantine's island taught her exactly how to get it. She knew what affect her body had on men, and she had learnt how to use it.

  There was knock at the door. Tim. At last. She rushed into the sitting room. He wouldn't be able to resist her; no man would. She knew that now. In seconds she would feel that hard cock thrusting into the silky wet depths of her sex.

  'Tim,' she said, opening the door.

  'Corinda.' He looked at her, his eyes roaming over her body. 'You look... you look... jeez, Corinda. How am I supposed to resist you?'

  'You're not,' she said emphatically.

  Also by Susanna Hughes

  The Slaves of New York, also published by us and available to download from most major online bookstores now.

  A man had silently entered the room. Because of the position of her head she could not see much of his body, but his face was tanned.

  Kim remembered she had to kneel. Without the use of her arms it was a difficult manoeuvre, but she managed it.

  The man moved closer. Now she could see him properly. He was naked and his body was lean, completely free of hair except for a thick bush at his groin. His cock was flaccid and uncircumcised.

  'My name is Cantrell,' he said. 'You must call me, sir. Do you understand?'

  'Yes, sir,' Kim said at once...

  Fascinated by the erotic masterpieces of the reclusive Jake Ashley, beautiful young journalist Kate Holbrook determines to interview him. She goes to New York, where she discovers a living reality just as bizarre as anything in Ashley's books; men and women prepared to become slaves and do anything for their masters. And it appears that the only way to meet Ashley in person is to become one of them.

  Kate soon attracts Jake's attentions and is taken to his secluded house. He proves to be a strict and demanding master, and with her new found penchant for bondage and submission Kate is taken to new heights of passion. But she discovers that some major celebrities visit the house, their involvement there the kind of story that could seriously advance her career. Will she try to escape and get her story published, or will she remain a Slave of New York?

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