Captured by Charybdis Read online

  Title Page

  CAPTURED BY CHARYBDIS

  By Bruce Mclachlan

  Publisher Information

  Captured by Charybdis first published in 2001

  by Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2011

  By Chimera Books Ltd

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Digital Edition Converted and Published by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Bruce McLachlan. The right of Bruce McLachlan to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

  Chimera - a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

  Prologue

  The air inside was warm, spiced with the heat of his kingdom, while outside the freezing depths continued to press down on them. With such elemental forces denied and deprived of their victory over his domain, it felt as though he were defeating the oceans themselves. Such notions bolstered his sense of omnipotent power, affirming his status as a self-created demi-god.

  Lounging back into his leather throne, the ample cushions accepted his weight, letting him sink deeper into their smooth folds with soft murmurs and creaks of strain.

  The circular hall was virtually unlit, its gloomy folds making the dull glow without all the more apparent and stark. Great oval windows ran the walls from floor to ceiling, the view as magnificent as it was uncanny. Sombre lamps from above lit the fluid night beyond, the ranks of bulbs mimicking the effect of sunlight dancing through the waters. In these artificial rays of gold his Nymphs swam and frolicked.

  The shoals of women were each shapely and defined by their beauty, their curves accentuated greatly by the second skin that moulded them into this fabulous bestial configuration.

  The sparkling layer of silvery latex rippled and shone with each movement of their supple bodies, refracting the light from above, each sultry feminine fish a dazzling prism. Their legs were sealed into a single stem with a vast fluted set of fins billowing from their toes. The loose fins trailed behind them as they swam, becoming a sparkling series of flags and banners in their wake, undulating on the currents their motions forged. The sheath of quicksilver rolled up their bodies and twisted their arms up their back, trapping them in this distorted pose, their elbows pointing slightly out near their flanks to be tipped with another trail of cascading fins.

  The configuration of the Nymph costume forced them to display their breasts even more prominently, leaving them unable to hide themselves from display or use. Across their assets, the latex was a thin pane of transparency, a window that held and accepted each breast into a perfectly moulded cup.

  After this single break in the suit, the silver sheath gathered into a hood, smothering and hiding their features, leaving them with a mirrored visor as their only accommodation to unrestricted senses. A slit at their mouth let their black painted lips remain on display, each of the Nymphs breathing out a great plume of mirrored bubbles, the geysers of spent air winding a lethargic path back to the distant surface world, venturing where the Nymphs themselves could not. Another fin poured down the centre of their head, formed as a crest of silver hair it rippled like a curtain of mercury in the turbulent fluid breezes about them.

  The hidden aspects of their aquatic costumes were as obvious to his eye as any other part of the attire, his obsessive construction of the design keeping no secret from him. The mere thought of such implements exacting their influence and demands aroused his lust immensely as he watched the shoals of females migrate back and forth.

  Lodged between their arms was a slight bump that was the tank of pressurised air allowing them to swim and breathe, fulfilling the role he demanded of them and to which they had willingly surrendered.

  The near imperceptible veins of twin cables swept around within the latex, rolling across their cheeks and into their nostrils, letting each draw of the air supply. When they were running low of this precious sustenance, they wove down to the base of his windows where nozzles awaited connection to the valve secreted amidst the tangled knot of their defunct arms.

  Even now he could see the fins of his fish and the details of their luscious frames nuzzling against the windows, brought close for his delectation. He felt almost paternal, as though these were treasured offspring, suckling at the food he offered them before heading off to play and frolic once the artificial steel bellies upon their backs had been filled. Placing the refuelling stations exclusively about his personal chambers was a deliberate consideration for it gave him an exclusive vantage point.

  The bulge of their ears was more pronounced than usual for each had been fitted with small speakers to let him communicate with his pets, to tell them things, to compliment or chastise them, perhaps to train them with indoctrinating litanies should they have displeased him, or the whim take him.

  Another telltale lump was occasionally and seductively revealed at their loins as the dildos sheathed into them were forced out and against the stretch of latex by the play of his pets’ muscles. He watched one Nymph battle the intruders, her body sinking, her efforts focused not on swimming, but on alleviating her discomfort.

  She had to be a new recruit, for it took time to get accustomed to his costumes and her resistance showed full well her lack of awareness that there was nothing she could do to ease her lot. Despite her defiance, he knew she would be secretly relishing her lot. They all did. It was the quintessential trait his land conjured and installed, it was the decadent charm that none here could resist.

  On a whim, he opened the arm of his throne, revealing dozens of numbered buttons. He let his fingers dance on the keypad, pressing a few random switches and holding them down. Each time he pressed a control, he scanned around the windows for the Nymph he was affecting.

  They were simple to detect because the women suddenly started writhing in the sea, their fins and tails coiling around in churning cycles as they jerked and spasmed, the intensity of the intimate stimulation overwhelming them. The rapture he could bestow had them slowly drifting down, each releasing rapid clouds of bubbles as they gasped and cried out in bliss. Their response to the end of the delicious torment had them visibly infuriated, fighting to extract more, the deprivation of senses from their current caste making the use of such toys on them a valued diversion and exquisite treat.

  The sight of such tempting wriggling had him growing hard within his ragged gown, and closing the armrest he left the Nymphs to envy those who had gained the rewards, while those gifted them prayed for more.

  ‘Attend me,’ he uttered softly, staring wistfully into the halcyon undersea scene, his perfect paradise.

  The slave arose from crouching at the base of his throne in anticipation of use as a footstool and stretched her slender physique. Her skin was like smooth unblemished milk, revealed almost in full by her near nakedness. Only the silver waist and crotch band of her chastity belt adorned her, that and the faded welts that criss-crossed her rear from a previous period of sensual chastisement.

  With brushes of her silver painted nails she swept back her mane of blea
ched white locks, exposing a delicate timid face with dark eyes full of contemplation and hunger.

  Kneeling before him, she parted the black tattered folds and swallowed up his length, her fingers caressing him, stimulating further as she performed the demanded fellatio. Her fervour for the deed was magnified by her time at his feet, serving in silence, recalling her previous bondage session and arousing herself constantly with the sweet memory.

  Draping his head back, he mulled over on what the next set of recruits might bring. It pleased him that his slaves so deeply revelled in their predicament, that they were willing and delighted with it, even if at times their straits were hard to bear. But just for once, he wanted someone who would resist her willingness, who would fight his control and deny herself such relish. He yearned to see someone arrive with the inner strength to hold out against the seduction of iniquitous vice. How sweet that would be; to finally win her over, to finally have her admit that this was what she truly craved. It would be a war of wills, fought for control of her very soul.

  He stiffened and purred with glee as the slave drew free his seed and orgasm, his mind filled with the notion of such a delightful conflict. Even in the heady storm of climax he did not fail to notice the left hand of his slave slipping down and teasing her nipples. It was an act of self-gratification she was hiding so poorly that she could only be seeking discovery and thereby punishment, a wish he would happily oblige her with.

  Chapter 1

  Unleashing a sudden flurry of jabs, Mina’s gloved fists smacked harshly against the smooth dark surfaces of the training bag. Stray rivulets of accumulated sweat fell from her features like salty drizzle as the suspended cylinder of leather quivered with the virulence of her jabbing blows, shaking upon the fat chain that held it aloft. An elbow launched into it, chaffing her skin, the sensation increasing her savagery to new levels of berserk fury.

  Balancing on one foot, sweeping kicks flashed into the inanimate target at head height, then with a hiss of exertion she danced onto the other foot and span on the ball to launch a circle kick into its flank with a dull soft thump.

  As though having defeated some sanguinary opponent Mina stepped back, her muscles hot from such a prolonged fight against the faceless and shapeless foe.

  Flicking some strands of damp hair from her face, she looked across herself in the mirror, objectively admiring the handiwork she had spent years crafting. Clad in stark shades of absolutes, the attire matched her demeanour and her temperament.

  A high cut leotard of white lay over black shimmering leggings, matched with jet fighting gloves. Her bob of black hair was tied back with white ribbon, the tumble of raven locks now dishevelled after numerous tufts had slipped the strangling bow.

  Her Lycra clad body was slender, her average height allowing her to retain her feminine curves. A few inches more would render her a lanky Amazon, a few shorter would condense them further and create an exaggerated apparition.

  Breathing via deep, regulated gasps, she controlled her eager pulse and started to stretch and bend, letting her limbs flow and turn with graceful precision, the martial exercises precise to the merest millimetre. The feeling of strength she gained from her body awareness was immense: to know every inch of herself, to know its limits, its every detail and what she could do with it.

  The cell phone interrupted the serene quiet, breaking into a merry series of pips to announce a call. Mina ignored it, continuing with her private regime of self-tuning, emptying her mind of thought to find a vague tranquillity.

  The answering machine clicked on and immediately beeped, offering no message to the caller. Her abode, like her identity was anonymous, hidden for the sake of all.

  ‘This is Jupiter, for Mars,’ came a deep, authoritative voice that jerked her from her trance. Mina recognised the powerful tones immediately, the greatest power in her hierarchy was unmistakable even through the corruption of the voice scrambler he was employing to further conceal his own identity.

  Wandering over, she picked up the phone, pulled out the antenna with her teeth and flipped it open.

  ‘Mars,’ she succinctly answered, walking back across her apartment and snatching a towel to wipe away the clinging beads of perspiration.

  ‘There is a situation,’ he decreed, and the phone went dead.

  Setting it back on the machine, Mina flipped up the lid to her laptop and let her lithe fingers dance across the flat keys, opening the encrypted channel to her company. The logo of Turan Incorporated appeared in its bold grave glory, asking for her password before permitting her to enter the secure files.

  The series of twenty numbers and letters let the machine open its digital veils of iron and view what she sought. The pages of nonsensical gibberish trickled down across the screen. Sitting back for a moment, her decryption programme took a few seconds to shake lose the elaborate obfuscation and bring forth the text.

  Her eyes flowed across the script, assimilating the data, looking for clues, for reasons and backgrounds to her mission, noticing not just the obvious and presented information, but the convoluted paths and alleys that lurked between each word and line.

  Most massive corporations kept a person like her in the murky background. Secret transactions and petty cash deductibles fed spectres such as she, keeping her kind in the lap of luxury, pampered and wanting for nothing in exchange for complete fealty.

  Like all of her rarefied breed, her speciality was simple in its definition but difficult to express in a curt description. Where there was a problem, she erased it; where there was ignorance, she dragged forth revelation; where there was an obstacle, she shattered it, be that obstacle animate, inanimate or comprised of ethereal data. Should one of the indiscretions of the board or their subordinates be exposed, it was she who would make sure the stories never escaped by silencing, stealing, and covering up. She was a covert operative for an industrial power, willing to do anything to preserve the financial security of her lords. The directors were her presidents, the company was her country, its corporate logo her flag, and she was a zealous soldier pledged to defend it from all enemies both foreign and domestic.

  The latest bump in the smooth sailing of the juggernaut that was Turan Inc. was coming from a rival global giant. Korin Enterprises had been a primary competitor she had tripped and foiled numerous times, her sabotage and espionage keeping her own paymaster a nose ahead of them in the competitive world market. The blackmail material she had acquired on prospective clients had let Turan snatch them over the rivals. The extortion and intimidation of certain Korin executives had caused critical delays that let Turan prematurely pilfer choice deals. The viruses and false data she had installed directly into their mainframe caused critical delays to research projects, allowing Turan to win the development race and gain the all important patent before their rivals could.

  It appeared that her mysterious employers were concerned. She only knew them by the names of planets, led by Jupiter, the father of the gods, while she was allocated the code-name Mars, the war god, bringer of destruction and new beginnings, an apt enough persona.

  The enigmatic head of Korin Enterprises was secretly backing some sort of massive investment in the Pacific. The scale of his personal attention to this matter had pushed Turan’s board of directors to hysterical levels of paranoia. They wanted her to find out what he was up to, what he had found, and what he was planning. If it could be detrimental to Turan holdings, she was to bring ruin to it.

  All they had was a starting point, a secret subsidiary company existing somewhere within Korin, a branch so secret that with all their hackers and spies, Turan had failed to even get a name or prove its existence to even the vaguest degree of certainty.

  Erasing the files, and then sending in a Raptor program to chew up the dregs and prevent any hope of reconstruction, Mina picked up the phone and dialled a number from memory.

  ‘Melissa?’
she asked when the line opened. ‘It’s me, Cindy. Sorry I haven’t called in so long, I’ve been out of town on some errands. But I’m back, and I’m just wondering if you want to get together tonight?’ She asked sweetly, adopting the tones of a vacuous female for the woman’s benefit so as to offset any suspicion.

  The response was tardy and indecisive; the woman pained by the neglect Mina had shown her.

  ‘Look, I know, but it’s not my fault, I had to leave quickly and I’ve been snowed under with so much work that even a phone call was out of the question. Let me make it up to you with dinner?’

  Melissa was still hesitant; clearly she had been trying to move on with her life, and was dubious about letting ‘Cindy’ back into it, lest she be returned to numbing depression when she was next deserted.

  ‘At least let me come over and get the last of my things, and perhaps let me explain in person?’ she quizzed, feigning her own upset, letting fake sniffles choke her words.

  A broad smile expanded the corners of her lips, parting them and showing her wide grin as she listened to Melissa reluctantly permit a visit. The few articles Mina had left behind were a deliberate oversight, a precaution against just such an eventuality. All she needed was a chance to get inside and she could complete her mission.

  Chapter 2

  The muted rattle of the key chain being opened slipped through the weighty door, and the polished panel moved back to reveal Melissa.

  The woman was late into her twenties, having struggled and studied hard to achieve her rank in the company. The influence of her Japanese heritage was slight but served to heighten and sculpt her face, making it extremely attractive. Her hair fell in smooth dark brown folds, its luscious sheen a temptation, inviting caresses. She was a small, delicate creature, refined and graceful, soft spoken and meek, this evasive shell being the primary reason Mina had targeted her. The boom in the internet had been solely responsible for making her an executive, for via such veins of written communication she could be a ruthless predator, whereas in person she was far less intimidating. Without such a wall to hide behind, she would still be a lost and hidden underling.