SEDUCING THE MYTH
Myths and Legends with an Erotic Twist
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Stories Selected and Edited by
LUCY FELTHOUSE
Published in 2011.
Copyright © Lucy Felthouse 2011.
Mermaid painting on front cover – Seducing the myth, gently by Jackie Adshead. Copyright © Jackie Adshead.
http://www.jackieadshead.co.uk
Book cover design by Celia Kyle.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
The Weary Traveller by Indigo Skye
In the Springtime by Elizabeth Thorne
Down By The Pool by Lucy Felthouse
Golden Apples by Rachel Randall
The True Folly of Icarus by Saskia Walker
Blooming April's Flower by Jillian Murphy
Lilith: In Her Garden by Louisa Bacio
Iseult on her Wedding Day by Justine Elyot
The Dark Night Rusalka by Rebecca Bond
The Lady of the Flowers by Shan Ellis
In A Dry and Dusty Land by Lydia Nyx
A Temple for Hera by Maxine Marsh
Maiden's Grail by Bronwyn Green
God of Pleasure by J. C. Martin
Mushroom Hunting with Eros by Kay Dee Royal
Valkyrie's Queen by Toni Sands
Introduction
When I finished putting together my first anthology, Uniform Behaviour – Steamy Stories About Men and Women in Uniform, the last thing on my mind was doing another anthology. At that time I was all about updating websites, guest blogging, reviews, competitions and the like. However, as my baby made its way out into the world and made this mummy proud by getting a great reception and excellent reviews, people started asking me if I was going to do another anthology. Naturally, I was flattered that people thought the first one was good enough to ask if another would be forthcoming, but it was a while before I gave it any serious thought.
When I finally did think about it properly, I was stuck for a theme. Not because I couldn't think of anything, but because I had several ideas and couldn't decide on just one. So I came up with the idea to let the public decide. I set up a poll on my website and encouraged people to vote for what they'd most like to see. It was a close call between mythology and paranormal, but mythology just won out. So there you have it – Seducing the Myth was born. Well, strictly speaking it wasn't, because the poor book was called "the mythology anthology" for quite a while until a title was decided upon (thanks to the awesome person that thought of it, you know who you are!). However, now anthology number two has a name, a cover and some wonderful, wonderful stories – and you're lucky enough to be reading it!
All joking aside, I've loved putting this anthology together. With Uniform Behaviour it was very much a test run to see if I could do it. Turns out I could and I had a jolly good time about it, and I have had this time, too. Don't get me wrong, though – it's still been hard work. I had a damn sight more stories submitted than I did for Uniform Behaviour, which made the selection process much more difficult, but it has also meant that I've been able to deal with lots more fabulous authors – some of whom I've dealt with before, but also some that were new to me. They've all been superb.
Just before I let you go and get stuck into those delicious stories, I want to say thank you to a few people – and not in any particular order.
To the people that bought, read, reviewed, talked about and recommended Uniform Behaviour, thank you. You've made my first anthology a great success and it's still continuing to do the business – meaning I'm still delightedly making those donations to a worthy charity, as well as paying my lovely authors.
To people that have been involved in putting together this anthology, thank you. Jackie Adshead, my superb erotic artist friend, painted the mermaid picture adorning the front cover – and I'm sure you'll agree she's done a fabulous job. Check out her website for gorgeous erotic (and also non-erotic) art. Celia Kyle, you wonderful woman, thank you for taking Jackie's painting and making a beautiful book cover out of it – you're brilliant and I'm very grateful. To my lovely proofreader, you are a glutton for punishment! You did an excellent job casting your eagle eyes over Uniform Behaviour and you were a champion this time, too. I am more thankful than words can say, seriously. Thanks also go to my writing and non-writing friends who have come through with hints, tips, suggestions, promotion help and much more – you're all brilliant. To the authors – well, what can I say? You've given me the opportunity to publish some delicious erotic myths and legends. I've enjoyed reading them and compiling them to make this book, so thank you for all your hard work and help in making this anthology happen.
Finally, to you, the reader. (For those of you that have read Uniform Behaviour – yes, I said this last time, but it's a good passage so I'm using it again, sorry!) If you’re reading this, you’ve bought a copy of the anthology (unless you’ve acquired it illegally, in which case I hope your computer explodes), so thank you. If you enjoy reading Seducing the Myth even a fraction of the amount that I enjoyed creating it, then I'll be happy.
I'll stop waffling now... if you got this far without skipping on to the stories, well done. Now go on, get to the naughty stuff!
Djinn and Tonic
Laura watched another flash car roll up the tree-lined drive of the house. Actually, house was a bit of a loose term – it was more of a stately home. It had been in her fiancé's family for generations, and his mother was now rattling around on her own since his father had died last year. Tim was expected to take over the running of it, so they were there to go through some important information and paperwork, and his mother was throwing a party for them. Stifling another yawn, Laura turned back to the room.
Standing by the fireplace, glass of Pimms in hand, Tim was talking to one of the guests. Laura watched her fiancé laughing at something the guy had said and frowned. He really shouldn't make that face when he laughed. His chin sort of disappeared – she stopped herself quickly. Christ, what a bitch she was being! So Tim wasn't the best-looking guy in the world, but he was kind and he loved her. She should be grateful that she'd found a nice man after all the bad boys.
Laura felt her skin flush as she remembered one in particular. His name was Fernando. It had been her first all-girl holiday, and he was a waiter in their hotel. God, he'd been so hot; she still flushed with embarrassment every time she thought about him. She'd almost been thrown out of the hotel and he'd nearly lost his job when they were discovered half-naked in the throes of passion on the bar after hours. It had been worth it, though. He'd known exactly what he was doing, and the incredible orgasm had been worth every second of teasing from the other girls.
She sighed. She really did love Tim, but the problem with marrying a man you didn't have the hots for was that the sex was – well, just kind of ordinary.
Tim wasn't awful in bed but he wasn't great, and to be honest, Laura had had some really great sex in her past – and not just with Fernando. She liked to experiment and play naughty games, and she'd always imagined that her knees would go weak every time she looked at the man she married. She was idly reminiscing about her embarrassingly hot waiter again when she realised that Tim's mother was talking to her.
"Laura, darling, have you met the Von Gastro-Marks?"
In front of her was a severe-looking blonde woman and her overweight, pale-faced husband. Laura forced a smile and shook their hands in turn.
"So lovely to meet you," she said, pulling her hand from the husband's limp grip and surreptitiously wiping it on her dress to get rid of the clammy wetness he'd left all over her.
"So you're Timmy's fiancée? We've heard so much about you." Laura tuned out, watching the rest of the guests, smiling and nodding.
"Laura, you haven't got a drink. Can I get you a gin and tonic, dear?" Tim's mother was brandishing a large bottle of Gordon's. Laura was fairly certain she'd drunk nearly half of it herself, judging by the furtive glances Tim was shooting in his mother's direction.
"Thanks, Sylvia, but I'm more of a vodka girl. Don't worry," she added, as Sylvia started looking around wildly, "I'll just pop through to the kitchen and see if I can find myself something."
Sylvia started to protest, but Laura was too quick and shot out into the peace of the hall. A waiter swept past her, his tray loaded with empty glasses, and she started to follow him towards the noise of glasses and the smell of canapés coming from the kitchen.
She passed a huge window and stopped to admire the view. It was a glorious day and guests were out on the lawn, heels sinking in the grass still damp from the rain they'd had all week, and champagne glasses discarded on the ornamental walls. The enormity of her new-found responsibility overwhelmed her, and suddenly Laura couldn't bear to go back into the party; it was all too much to take in. There were so many people she needed to meet, and so much to learn. She turned abruptly away from the window and, seeing the back stairs, she sneaked up them, desperate to escape.
In the peace of the upstairs landing she felt she could breathe again. She'd never really had a look round the whole house before; Tim was always busy with paperwork when they visited. Walking past the room they shared she wandered down another corridor. The doors were all open and seemed to be guest bedrooms. Hardly the excitement she'd been looking for. The last door was almost hidden behind a large ornamental tree tucked right into the corner of the corridor. Turning the handle, Laura discovered it was locked. Why on earth would it be locked? There had to be a key somewhere. She looked around, then moved back the heavy drapes at the end of the hall and there it was. Sliding it into the lock and turning it, Laura half-expected it to be stiff but it turned first time, as though it was used often.
The door swung open, revealing a beautiful room with a huge four-poster bed and a vast bay window which provided a view out across the landscaped gardens below. The room was still and peaceful, so calm it was almost magical. She wondered why it was locked, and with a shiver of anticipation she started to look around.
She opened the wardrobe. Inside, the faint odour of mothballs wafted amongst a few old dresses and a floor-length fur coat which made Laura shudder, but as she pushed the dresses aside she gasped. Right at the back was a very old looking urn. Not just 'been in the family a while' old, either – this was positively ancient. It was covered in strange markings and Laura reached out, rubbing the dust to see if she could make out what they were.
The urn was rough and crumbly under her fingers, but as she buffed the coarse clay there was a flash and a puff of smoke which made her stagger backwards, temporarily blinded and coughing wildly. Oh shit, what had she done? Had she damaged something? Crap, was anything actually on fire?
Backing away from the urn, which fortunately looked undamaged, Laura made to leave, then squealed as she bumped up against a warm body.
Turning around she came face to face with a very tall, tanned, well-muscled, dark-haired man wearing nothing but black harem pants and a smile.
"Madam." He bowed low and took her hand, kissing it gently. It sent a jolt of electricity through her, taking her breath away. She shook her head and tried to speak.
"Who – who are you?"
The man pulled himself up to his full height, which Laura guessed must be about six foot eight inches, and spoke again. His voice had a hint of an accent and it sent shivers down her spine. She hoped she wasn't covered in soot from the incident with the urn.
"I am a Djinni, and I'm at your service. You, beautiful princess, have released me from my prison and I am bound to do your bidding."
Laura was aware that her mouth was hanging open in disbelief. This was ridiculous. Surely it was a dream. She pinched herself hard and squealed, which made the Djinni laugh.
"You can't be real," she stammered. "Genies are only in fairy tales. Is Aladdin going to pop up next?" The Djinni laughed again, showing perfect white teeth gleaming against his gorgeous dark features. His hair was rumpled and long, curling down over his shoulders, and there were big gold hoops in both of his ears. His arms were crossed, which made it difficult to concentrate as his biceps were enormous. He looked capable of crushing a man to death.
"I can assure you we're very real," he said. "I've been inside this urn for centuries, imprisoned by a powerful sorcerer."
"Oh." Laura looked worried. "I don't suppose he'll be very happy that I let you out then, will he?"
The Djinni smiled again. "Do not fear, little one. You're not the first to let me out, but it has been many years since anyone as beautiful took control of me."
Laura looked taken aback. "So you stay here, even after you've been let out?"
"Alas, it was one of many curses the sorcerer put on me. I am forever imprisoned in this room, always at the whim of whoever touches the urn and bound for eternity to whichever woman owns this house."
Laura could barely take it all in. The woman who owned the house? That would be Sylvia! She was a dark horse, keeping this gorgeous hunk hidden away up here all this time. No wonder she always looked so happy. It clearly wasn't just the gin after all – well, not the Djinn Laura had imagined, anyway. She giggled to herself, then abruptly stopped as she realised something. When she and Tim bought Sylvia out, she would be in control of the Djinni herself. She looked at him, her gaze taking in every inch, from his perfect bare feet all the way up his body, his incredible abs and taut chest covered with just enough dark hair to make Laura want to run her fingers through it. This had brought a very interesting twist to the day.
"Did you say I'm in control of you?" she asked, struggling to take everything in. The Djinni bowed again.
"Yes, mistress, I'm completely at your service. I'll do anything you ask of me."
"I thought genies just granted three wishes."
He shook his head. "You've been reading fairy stories. I'm bound to obey your every command, until you send me back into my urn."
"And then I can come and get you out again, any time I want, just by rubbing it?"
The Djinni nodded again and then stood and looked at her, waiting for his orders.
"What does Sylvia ask you to do?"
"Sylvia and I fuck," he said simply. Laura drew in a breath as he said it, the way he said fuck so casually making her nipples hard. His eyes moved to the little tents they made in her dress and his mouth curled upwards in a half smile. He took a step towards her and she waited, willing him to touch her. "I fuck her on this bed."
His words were making her wet. She could feel her knickers sticking to her pussy and she tried to wriggle without him noticing, but the friction against her wet slit made Laura gasp and the Djinni smiled.
"Would you like me to fuck you?"
Laura nodded. The Djinni reached out a hand to her breasts, his fingers huge against her tiny frame, lightly tracing around the peaks where her nipples pushed against the thin fabric of her silk dress. Laura moaned – she couldn't help herself. The whole thing was so erotic, from the handsome stranger to the naughty possibility of getting fucked by her future mother in law's magical lover while Tim was downstairs. "What's your name?"
"I cannot tell you my true name, but you can call me Dastan." As he spoke he slid her dress from her shoulders and watched it pool around her high heels. Laura was wearing no bra and a thong which, now that it was soaked with her desire, left very little to the imagination. Dastan's gaze lingered between her legs where her blond bush was visible through the material. The way he looked at her made her weak. Her nipples were so hard they were painful, and she stepped out of her dress, desperate to feel his huge hands on her. She wondered if everything was larger than life, but with those loose trousers she was unable to see if her naked body was having the desired effect on him.
"Wait," she said, "I can't fuck you on the same bed as you and Sylvia, you know. It doesn't seem right!"
"I can still grant wishes and make all your fantasies come alive. I can take you away from here."
Laura looked wistful. God, she wanted nothing more than to escape from all of this.
The Djinni took her hand. "So tell me, my princess, where would you like to take this fantasy?" He traced his fingers over her cheek, his dark eyes drawing her further into him.
Where the hell did she want to go? A picture of sand dunes popped into her head. How clichéd, she thought, a Djinni and a desert. But as she thought it the room went dark and she felt a rushing sensation.
"I can see inside your mind," he whispered, and the room seemed to swirl and disappear. A few seconds later she felt hot sun beating down on her, and her toes were sinking into what had been carpet but now felt very much like warm sand. She looked up at him. He was grinning and shaking his head. "So predictable. Always with the sand!"
Laura giggled and looked around them. "Yeah, sand and not much else. Hang on." She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again Dastan was perched on the edge of a huge fountain in the middle of a beautiful garden, the scent of exotic flowers perfuming the air and the spray from the water making everything slightly damp. To their left was a gorgeous ornate tent, complete with cushions, silk drapes, mountains of fruit and servant boys wafting giant fans made of ostrich feathers.
Dastan nodded his approval. "Now you're thinking fantasy, my princess," he murmured, his lips skimming the back of her hand. "Allow me." He led her into the tent and they sat among the soft cushions. The boys poured wine into crystal glasses and Laura lay back against the softness and sighed.
"Oh God, this is just so perfect!" She sat up quickly and found herself face to face with Dastan. His eyes were dark and intense and the atmosphere in the tent was suddenly loaded with sexual tension. He waved the servants away and within seconds they were alone. Dastan slid a piece of mango into her mouth, the sweet sticky juice dripping down over her chin and onto the silk cushions beneath her.
Laura looked up at him from under her eyelashes, nipping her bottom lip with her teeth. His body was coated in a glistening sheen of sweat which only served to highlight his deep tan and the perfectly outlined muscles of his chest and arms, and she felt her heart pound. Was she really going to do this? What the hell was she thinking, in the middle of God-knows-where with this – and then his lips pressed against hers, sending every coherent thought out of her mind. His mouth was warm, with a slight scratch of stubble against her face. She wanted him to take control, needed to relinquish her responsibility and let him lead her. His skin was hot as he pressed against her, the thick hair on his chest tickling her naked breasts.
"My princess," he moaned, pushing her back against the cushions. She could feel his strength, the slippery cool of the silk against her naked back and hear the gentle splash of the fountain in the background as he kissed a trail from her mouth to her stomach, circling her belly button with his tongue. She let her mind wander and it got dark, the sound of crickets filling the air. Laura gasped as cool water lapped at her feet and Dastan looked up, grinning.
"A change of scenery? I like it. Still got the sand though."
"I like sand," Laura whispered, arching up against him as the sea swirled underneath them. The water soaked them, Dastan's trousers clinging to his strong thighs. She could feel the outline of his cock pressed hard against her leg. He was so totally male, his strength and presence a total turn-on. He could protect me from anything, she thought.
Laura leaned against him, letting the warmth of his body soak into her, her hands sliding over his back as she pressed her lips against his. She needed to get him naked.
The scenery swirled again and they were back in the tent, sunlight dancing through the open flap. Laura knelt over him, the servant boys on either side of them pretending to ignore what was about to play out in front of them.
"Very adventurous," he said, his voice catching in his throat as he looked up at her. Laura's skin was glowing in the early evening sun, her blonde hair a halo of spun gold, and she grinned at him.
"I've always fancied having an audience."
She hooked her fingers into his pants and slid them down his thighs. His cock sprang up, thick and proud, and Laura's eyes widened as she looked at it. Dear God, he was fucking huge, and definitely in proportion with the rest of his enormous frame. She looked up to find him smirking at her.
"I hope it is enough for you, princess?"
She grinned back at him and slid down between his legs, desperate to feel the silky soft shaft in her mouth. He tasted warm and salty, the first drops of pre-come lubricating the tip as he pushed up into her mouth. She let her tongue swirl around the hot swollen end, listening to his soft moans, a throb between her legs mirroring his lust.
His fingers tangled in her hair and his breath was ragged. She looked up at him. His eyes were closed, his lashes long and dark against his cheeks, and Laura's body responded to the power she had over him. She crawled up his body and dropped tiny kisses on his stomach and over his chest all the way to his beautiful mouth.
"Laura," he murmured, kissing her, his lips soft and damp. They rolled over until he was lying next to her and Laura shivered, feeling so helpless and horny she thought she would die if he didn't touch her. He ran his fingers down her stomach and over her thighs, grinning as she opened for him, so desperate to feel him against her aching pussy. Her knickers were soaked and he slipped a finger inside and tore them from her body. His tongue ravaged her mouth, sucking the breath from her body as his fingers wandered lazily back between her legs. Still kissing her, he dipped a finger between her hot lips, slicking her juice over her and making her buck up against him. He stroked her again, barely touching her, making her quiver with desire. Her only thought was that she wanted him inside her. Her pussy was dripping and she could feel the hot liquid running down the inside of her thighs as he stroked her again and again, deliberately ignoring the desperate nub of her clit every time.
"Please, Dastan, please," she moaned, pulling back from his urgent kisses.
"You are too impatient, princess," he said, smiling. "I will show you how a real man makes love to a beautiful woman."
With that he began kissing across her chest, his teeth nipping at her collar bone, his tongue snaking down over her breasts. His mouth closed over her nipple and as he sucked and licked his fingers stroked her pussy, teasing her. He travelled further down her body, tasting her skin and nuzzling against her. With every kiss, he whispered how beautiful she was, how much she was turning him on and what he wanted to do to her. Every one of her senses was heightened. She could smell the heat of his desire as her hands slid across his huge body, his every touch sending her closer to the edge.
Dastan slipped between her legs, his warm breath on her aching cunt. His tongue worked along her inner thigh and she held her breath, the anticipation of his mouth on her almost too much to bear. "Beautiful princess," he murmured, then slowly and deliberately ran his tongue from the base of her pussy all the way up to her clit. Laura threw back her head and cried out as he pulled her aching nub into his mouth and suckled it. Her fingers scrabbled against the pillows, clutching at the silky material as he plunged his tongue inside her. Laura closed her eyes and trailed her fingers over her breasts, pinching her own nipples to add to the exquisite sensations between her legs. She let out a low moan, giving herself up to Dastan's incredible skills.
He turned his attention back to her clit, sucking and licking. Then he slipped first one, then two fingers into her aching hole. She arched up against his hand and he looked up at her along her stomach, smiling. He pushed a third finger inside her, stretching her tight pussy, his thumb circling her clit as he kissed back up her stomach.
"I need to be inside you," he whispered and Laura sucked in her breath, his admission slicking her pussy further.
He slid his fingers out of her, leaving her feeling empty, but not for long. His strong body covered hers as he leant above her, his huge thighs pushing hers so far apart it almost hurt. She could feel the heat of his cock between her legs and he stroked her hair back from her face. He kissed across her forehead, over her eyelids and down to her lips, parting her mouth with his tongue as his huge cock parted her pussy, the thick bulb of the head disappearing into the deep pink of her soaking lips. Her fingers raked his back and she gasped as he filled her, stretching her almost more than she could handle. He seemed never-ending, and Laura wondered if she would manage to take him all in. At last he rested his head on her shoulder, his breath ragged and his body tense from holding back his passion.
"Am I hurting you, princess?" he asked, his voice hoarse with longing. Laura shook her head. "I'm okay," she managed. "It's perfect." She wriggled underneath him, revelling in the feeling of fullness. His huge cock nestled perfectly inside her, pressing against every sensitive spot and sending ripples of desire throughout her entire body. "I want you to fuck me," she murmured against his ear. "I want you to make me come."
Dastan responded with a guttural moan and began to thrust into her, every push bringing her closer to her release. He took her hands and pushed them above her head, holding her wrists and arching her body so that he could thrust deeper inside her. His lips fastened onto her nipple, tonguing her as she wrapped her legs around his. He pushed into her, balls slapping against her bum as he found their perfect rhythm.
She could feel her orgasm building inside her, the tingling starting low in her groin, and she clung to Dastan. "Oh yes," she gasped.
"Oh, princess, let me feel your release," he growled. "Come for me."
Laura moaned, her whole body quivering and shaking as wave after wave of orgasm rolled over her. Dastan relentlessly pounded into her, drawing every last drop of her climax out of her until she was jelly in his arms, kissing and licking his beautiful mouth. He held her for a moment, and then thrust into her hard, hands gripping her hips, growling as he filled her aching cunt with a stream of hot come.
Later they lay exhausted on the pile of cushions, his huge dark body wrapped around her tiny pale one as they caught their breath. Dastan pulled her against his chest, his eyes finding hers, smiling at her.
"I'm glad you found me," he whispered.
"Me too," she breathed. "I'm definitely going to find you again."
He laughed, stroking her cheek. "I hope so."
They kissed again, until Laura finally broke away. "I suppose I should go." Dastan nodded, his eyes sad.
"I'll be back, I promise," she said, "as soon as I can."
There was a rush of air and they were back in the bedroom, fully dressed, back as they had been when she found him.
Laura turned to go, her fingers still tangled with his. She blew him a kiss and went to the bedroom door. As she turned her back there was a puff of smoke and Dastan disappeared. She checked her watch. It was only five minutes after she'd left the party. Incredible. She hurried back downstairs, bumping into Sylvia as she got to the bottom.
"Did you find your vodka, dear?" Sylvia asked.
"You know, Sylvia, I think I might have that gin after all," Laura said, grinning. After all, she may have been more of a vodka girl before, but this afternoon she'd discovered a Djinn who was a real tonic. Laura couldn't wait to become 'lady of the house,' and when she did she thought she might be just as addicted to her Djinn as Sylvia was!
Andi in Chains
Forget the rumours. Here's how it went down, for real. Andromeda – we always knew her as Andi – was one of those rare beauties, the kind who look like a porn star except none of it's fake. Masses of wavy blonde hair, nice figure, long legs, lips the colour of pomegranate seeds. She knew it, too. Always in shorts or miniskirts and tops that showed a good bit of cleavage. The thing was, none of the guys would touch her. Word on the street was that she was still a virgin, which in this neighbourhood was nothing short of miraculous. Most of the girls here are well on their way to being mums or prostitutes, or both, by the time they're fifteen.
There was a reason why she was off limits. The reason being that her dad, Ceph, was the hardest, nastiest class A dealer you could think of. You don't get to be that way without putting a few people six feet under, and everyone knew he'd done it. One time he even nailed a guy's dick to a telegraph pole just for "looking at Andi the wrong way."
"My Andi's not going to marry any of the lowlifes from round here," he used to say. "She's going to have a charmed life." He had ideas about marrying her off to the son of some politician, like it would make him more respectable. When the politician saw the photos of her, he fell for it. For her. Like he was going to be able to fuck her himself. Who knows what the rich get up to?
Andi's mum, Cassie, carried on like a queen. Got her to enter beauty contests. She always won. Would have won, even without her dad pointing out how he hoped the judges had good fire insurance on their homes. Cassie boasted about how her daughter was a real princess, the best-looking girl in the city, and would be a celebrity one day. Specifically, she kept on comparing Andi to Asia, Galena and Xantho, the three Nereid sisters. They were the daughters of a big-ass dealer from the other side of the city, down by the port. You'd see him sometimes at the marina, sitting on his yacht with a malt whisky in his fist and a bunch of glamour models keeping him company. He looked like a fish but did business like an octopus, tentacles out everywhere – his drugs money got laundered through front companies that were into real estate, internet porn, everything.
The Nereids, by the way, had citywide reputations as tramps. They worked in their daddy's porn business and his lap-dancing club, and ran riot in nightclubs. I would have hated to be one of their minders, trying to keep them safe. How do you do that when Asia decides to do an impromptu strip on a podium at a nightclub while Xantho takes two guys to the toilets for free blowjobs?
I know about that episode because I was one of the guys getting a blowjob. Turned out she wasn't as expert as she looks in the porn films. But that's by the by.
So, back to Andi. The reality is, you can't keep your daughter in cotton wool, or control the thoughts in her head. She had a deviant mind. It was just a case of making sure her parents didn't find out.
She went to one of those private schools for performing arts, the kind of place where you learn drama and dancing and singing and modelling and art. No one knew until much later, but her art portfolio had a lot of self-portraits, and all of them showed her tied up in some way. And when they did a school play, The Taming of the Shrew, she got to play the part of Bianca. Bianca's the younger sister that Katherina, the Shrew, ties up and slaps in order to make her confess who she loves. She got off on that.
At home, she took clothes pegs from the kitchen and put them on her nipples, her labia, to see how much pain she could take. Pain? She just made herself excited.
In her last year she did the thing a lot of aspiring models do: went to a photo agency, lied about her age and got a set of glamour photographs done. Except in her case the photos involved handcuffs and chains.
I'm telling you all this because… You'll see.
Jealousy's a strong motive. The Nereid sisters were massively pissed off at Andi getting all the good-girl publicity. Not just the beauty contests, but starting to get high-end work like fashion magazine covers and being invited to awards ceremonies, always looking like she was the fresh-faced, innocent, beautiful girl-next-door. Because, as far as they were concerned, they'd all been brought up in the same underworld, from different parts of the same gutter. They wanted to take her down. And what they did was brutal.
They did a deal with Cetus.
The name varies, depending on what language you speak. Sometimes it's Cetus, sometimes Ketos. But who they were and what they did was always the same: plunder and ravish. Basically Cetus was a latter-day pirate gang, working the sea lanes along the coast. Half a dozen guys in a fast inflatable could get up behind a cargo ship, put a grappling hook over the stern and be on board within a minute or two. Sometimes they just killed the crew and sailed the ship and its cargo to another port. Other times, they'd take what was in the ship's safe, the crew's valuables, any women on board, and disappear into the coves and inlets and swamps along the coast. It's claimed they had their own fortress there, completely hidden. What I do know, though, was that they had a ship, a cruise liner that was a floating casino and brothel, out in international waters. If you had the right connections you could catch a ferry to get to it. You just shouldn't expect to come back with money in your wallet or the shirt on your back. Or to come back at all if you couldn't cover your gambling debts.
These guys liked the idea of a foothold in the city's drugs action. It was a business opportunity. In business terms, if you have that kind of a mind, it was a form of vertical integration. Taking out the middle men and controlling the whole operation at retail as well as wholesale level. Their tactics were the same ones that worked for them out along the coast: turn up mob-handed with machine guns and take out the opposition.
Ceph's operation was, as the jargon has it, "progressively degraded." In other words, every time they came up against Cetus, they were slaughtered. Gangsters with pistols were no match for pirates with military discipline and machine guns. Ceph did the only sensible thing: swallow his pride and negotiate.
The terms were his complete humiliation. The terms were: Andi, left naked and chained to the pilings of the old pier, at low water.
He raged. He wept. He was being asked to give up his own flesh and blood, his only daughter, in return for keeping his slice of the drugs trade, control of his territories. He could give her up, or pretty soon his own people would turn on him.
It was a difficult decision. But business was business, and he could always make more babies.
First thing Andi knew about it was when three of Ceph's bruisers picked her up from a fashion shoot. She was feeling on a high, the shoot having been an edgy one that combined flesh-baring clubwear with poses straight out of old pulp magazines. Complete with bondage made out of audio cable and gaffer tape – symbolic rather than real, but it had turned her on just the same. She walked out of there in a stretchy summer minidress, halter top so no need for a bra, her blonde hair in a tousled just-had-sex look even though she'd made the photographer keep his hands to himself. She was looking forward to quality time when she got home with the discreet bullet vibrator she kept in her handbag.
"Your father's got a surprise for you," was all they'd say. Then: "Sorry, girl. We didn't say it was a nice surprise," as one of them grabbed her from behind and clamped the chloroform-soaked rag over her nose and mouth.
When she came to, Andi found herself in an old warehouse, one of the places Ceph used as a distribution centre. She was lying on some old sacking, trussed up for real with ropes instead of the pretend bondage of the photoshoot. The cords bit into her skin but the painful restriction was a turn-on, and the way they'd pulled the ropes over and under her breasts pushed them half out of her halter top in a very suggestive way while the hem of the dress was pulled up, exposing a teensy-tiny thong and most of her ass.
Much as she got off on the situation, though, it was a complete headfuck. How come it was her father who'd arranged it? And how did he know what fantasies played through her head? The bruisers refused to tell her anything. After a while one of them came back, cut off her dress and then slipped the blade between her skin and the thin material of her thong. Andi almost came then and there. He ripped back with the blade and the thong peeled away, exposing her to his gaze.
When she protested, accusing him of being a pervert and the story about her father of being a lie, he just grinned. He sliced a strip off the rag that had been her dress and used it to gag her. Then he sat back, watched her struggle and grinned some more. Maybe played with himself for a while. I don't know that, I'm guessing, but frankly I would have done.
Just before dawn, the other toughs returned. Andi found herself bundled into the back of their car, still naked and gagged, and driven down to the docks. At the base of the pier they untied her, but only so they could wrap chains around her wrists and ankles. She struggled, of course, but she was petite and they were used to dealing with captives. They left her spread-eagled against the pilings of the pier.
She shivered in the cool air, felt the mix of slimy seaweed and sharp barnacle shells pressing against the skin of her back.
All the same, she had to admit to herself that being mistreated this way, left nude and bound and vulnerable for anyone to find her, was really hot.
*****
Meanwhile, Perseus had been drinking down by the docks. Perseus: his business card said he was a "security consultant." In plain terms, that meant he was a mercenary. He was a ruthless son of a bitch; he'd just returned from a complicated gig that involved the assassination of a troublesome rebel princess. He'd flown right into her temple on a microlight, beheaded her, stuffed her head in his bag and got the hell out of there with the help of some pretty advanced electronic countermeasures.
Only trouble was, he'd been set up to do it because the king who'd hired him thought he'd be killed by the princess. Hadn't reckoned on him coming back, and refused to pay his fee.
The bottom line was, the dockside bars were the place to check out what paying work was around. Perseus didn't even have the price for a back-alley whore on him, and when he saw a naked woman being chained to the pier he figured he could make a buck on whatever was going down. At the very least, he wouldn't need to borrow money to pay for a whore.
When he got down to the pier footings, Perseus was intrigued to see the victim was, simply, the best-looking young woman he'd ever set eyes on, and in his line of work he'd set eyes on plenty … though admittedly he'd had to kill most of them sooner or later. She had fear in her eyes, but at the same time she seemed excited by her predicament.
He didn't know which was the biggest turn-on, her fear or her excitement. When she looked him up and down and whimpered through her gag, Perseus couldn't contain himself. His fingers trailed down her ribs, hips, flanks, as he plundered her with his eyes.
From Andi's point of view, this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had no idea how or why she'd ended up being kidnapped and left as a tempting morsel for a complete stranger, but anticipation ran hot through her veins. It brought a flush to her cheeks and a glow to her belly. The same kind of glow she knew from her discreet bullet vibe. Except this time, for the first time, it wasn't just a fantasy. It was her favourite fantasy playing out for real. Every muscle in her body quivered.
The stranger's hands cupped her breasts. Strong fingers squeezed her nipples, and the yelp she delivered through the gag wasn't a protest but a plea for more. He responded by exploring her body more thoroughly: stomach, thighs, labia, and then he placed a finger lightly against her clit, eliciting a low, needy moan. Her nostrils were filled with the intoxicating scents of aftershave and gun oil, and his breath on her neck made her shiver expectantly.
When he entered her his cock felt huge, masterful, vibrant. Andi's virginity was gone in an instant, and she was at such an intense pitch of excitement she never even felt it disappear. Every thrust took her off her feet, so she was hanging from her chains and supported in midair by his manhood alone. She closed her eyes and saw flashes of colour she'd never even imagined.
Of course, it didn't last long. For one thing, Perseus was sex-starved and on a hair trigger. For another, she eventually realised the thrumming in her ears wasn't blood pounding in her head, but the sound of an approaching speedboat.
"Fuck me," Perseus said incredulously, looking over his shoulder. "Did someone leave you here for Cetus to kidnap?"
He pulled a gun out from under his shirt. Andi might have been a spoiled child and destined for stardom, but she knew her guns. The IMI Desert Eagle 0.50 Action Express was the handgun of choice for someone who really knew what they were doing and wanted to pack a heavyweight punch. Images flashed through her mind of that gun barrel in her mouth, of him fucking her with it.
It's easier to shoot at a speedboat bobbing up and down in the water than it is to shoot from a speedboat at pretty much anything. Moreover, the Cetus guys didn't want to shoot because they could end up killing their intended prisoner. The guy in the driver's seat rammed the throttle forward and tried to cover the distance, but they were never going to make it.
Andi was left with the image burned into her brain of Perseus, braced with feet wide apart and a huge scimitar-shaped cock waving in the dawn light, waiting for the range to close before letting off three deadly accurate shots in quick succession.
After that he used the remaining four bullets in the magazine to sever the chains holding her to the pier. She slumped into his well-muscled arms.
"Let's get out of here before people start asking questions," he said casually. Threw her over his shoulder, the ends of the chains still dangling from her wrists and ankles, and carried her up to the dockside and into the warren of back alleys there.
It was only at that point Andi remembered, dimly, that despite the head-rush of the bondage and fucking and danger, she hadn't actually climaxed.
*****
In the maze of back alleys, it was my door that Perseus kicked open. My floor on which he deposited the tangle of limbs and chains that was Andi.
"What the fuck was she doing chained up down there?" he asked. "Is this, like, virgin sacrifice to keep Cetus away?"
"Well … yeah, actually, that was exactly the score."
He laughed. "I don't think they'll be coming here again." He paused. "So is there a reward I can claim, or something?"
"Yes, there is." That was Andi, lying on the floor. "Me."
"Huh?"
"You rescued me, so now I'm your captive instead of theirs. And I've still got these chains on me. If I were you I'd chain me down to a bed and finish what you started."
I ended up on the sofa, listening to the bedsprings and clanking of chains and squeals of "Yes, yes, fuck me harder!" coming from the bedroom. By mid-afternoon of the next day, when they emerged, my bed was trashed. I never slept in it again.
Yes, they ended up getting married. And having kids. At the wedding, Perseus wound up killing the politician's son, but the police couldn't understand how the hell it had happened and he was never charged. And Andi eventually became a media star. But those weren't the parts of the story you were interested in, were they?
The Weary Traveller
Once upon a time, a young traveller came across a faerie road. Being a brave and curious lad, he at once veered off course to follow the strange path through the trees. He wandered for hours, under a deep blue gloaming sky, until his feet were weary. What he wanted most in the world was a warm bed to sleep in, for he had been long away from the comforts of home.
The traveller's boots were as worn and filthy as his clothes. He wore a grey tatter of a travelling cloak, patched trousers, and a tunic of rough green homespun. Yet, for all his humble appearances, the young man was no mere beggar or vagabond. He was a bard, a travelling warrior poet, a storyteller and a fine musician, all rolled into one lean and handsome man.
As he strode along the faerie road in the deepening darkness, the weary traveller noticed a faint blue flicker of light ahead. Hearing a faint strain of music, he cocked his head to listen. Then he put his head down like a man shouldering a heavy load, and hurried on.
His name was Jonathan Drake, and he sang for his supper. He was very hungry now, as he'd been lost in these accursed woods for days. All the food in his pack was gone, save a little crumbly waybread. The faerie path crossed a narrow stream, and he knelt to slake his thirst with sweet water. This elixir smelled of mud and reeds and stones, and it tasted like wine on his parched tongue. When he had drunk his fill he continued on his way down the fey path.
The bobbing light ahead was clearer now. Closer. He followed it deeper into the faerie wood. The music was growing louder, and he could hear the sounds of the Fair Folk making merry. After a time he noticed the distant sparks of a great many torches and watchfires far ahead. He had heard of the faerie revels all his life, but now he believed. For who else would be making merry so late and so deep in the woods, far away from any village? Taking care to step softly, he followed the blue will-o’-the-wisp through the ancient twisted trees.
The old forest was a frightening place, but Jonathan Drake refused to let his imagination run away with him. He knew the fey folk to be a clever, tricky race. It was best to be on his guard and keep his vapours and fears under a tight rein. When he heard the gay laughter of faerie maidens, his heart jumped up and did a merry little jig. He had long been without the pleasures of female company. Smiling to himself, he hurried forward with renewed purpose.
Knowing faeries do not like to be surprised in their revels, Jonathan began to sing an old lay he had learnt at his mother's knee. A great watchful silence swelled, engulfing him like a wave, and Jonathan was suddenly certain he had made a grave mistake.
An imperious female voice challenged him. "Who goes there? Faerie friend, or faerie foe?"
"I am a friend," he called out, his voice hoarse with fear. "A weary traveller, lost in the woods. A bard. I heard your lovely music, and I saw the lights. I hoped to find a place to rest my head for the night, and a good meal. In return, I will tell you a story, or sing you a song, whatever you desire."
Was he being watched? Eyes in the trees… Shivering, Jonathan bowed in the direction of the woman's commanding voice and hoped for the best. His heart leapt into his throat and hung there, quivering nervously.
"Very well. Proceed, and present yourself to me."
Two grim-faced faerie warriors emerged from the shadows, each one clutching a long spear tipped with a wicked-looking hooked blade at each end. They wore loincloths and beads, and nothing else, not a stitch! For some reason, this frightened Jonathan most of all. The fey warriors led Jonathan along the path and into the circle of torches.
A long banquet table was laid with an extravagant feast. At the head of the table was the Woodland Queen, with a crown of wildflowers and ripe red berries in her curly black hair. She wore a simple white gossamer gown, yet she was so lovely and demanding that Jonathan knew that she must be the Faerie Queen. Her green eyes beheld Jonathan with amusement.
"This is the fabled Bard of Anareth?" she cried in disbelief. "He looks like a common beggar." The faeries laughed, staring at him in a most impertinent way.
Jonathan felt an angry rush of blood rise to his cheeks. Their cavalier treatment angered the bard, and the Fey Queen's taunts wounded his pride. He longed to silence their laughter, to show them he was worthy of their respect. Bowing low before the company of the faeries' high court, he took a deep breath and began to sing.
The bard's voice soared like a hawk in flight as he sang an old ballad of Tam Laine. Every note was true, and hung like golden ingots in the air. When he was done, his song was greeted by thunderous applause. One of the grim faerie warriors clapped him on the back and thrust a goblet of sweet elderberry wine into his hand. When he glanced at the Queen, he saw her beckoning to him. An empty chair appeared by her side. She gestured to the bard to sit down and eat. Pretty faerie maidens heaped his plate with food, and kept his goblet full of wine. For a long time, the Queen said nothing. She merely watched him eat, and laughed away his many questions and compliments.
At last, she said, "You are welcome here. A valiant, resourceful man always has a place among our company. And your voice – you must sing for me again, while you are here."
"It would be my pleasure." He leaned close and kissed her long, thin fingers. "Perhaps a private audience with the Queen is in order?"
She gave him an arch smile, and preened like a blackbird on a branch. "A concert for my ears alone."
"Nothing would give me greater joy than to perform for you, your Majesty. I can sing all night, should you require it," he said, flirting in the outrageous manner Faerie Queens were said to enjoy. He gave her a smouldering look to convey the true meaning of his words. She laughed at his bold move, and drew closer to him. Jonathan felt her fingers toying with his blonde hair. He revelled in her touch, and took another swallow of wine. It was a sweet, heady brew. Jonathan soon grew dizzy and ate a little seed-cake to steady himself.
So much for keeping my wits about me, he thought, laughing at his own folly. Though he'd only had a few glasses of wine, he was prodigiously drunk. A faerie troupe of musicians struck up a lively tune.
"Would you care to dance?" the Queen asked.
"I'm not much good at dancing," he said. "I've had too much to drink. I fear I would tread on your dainty toes, my Queen. In fact, I'm altogether overwhelmed. Perhaps I should lie down with my head in your lap until I recover my senses."
She laughed and clapped her hands in delight. "Too drunk to dance, hey? I suppose I'd better put you to bed before you embarrass yourself further." Desire gleamed in her eyes as she led Jonathan away from the feast. They followed a winding path through the trees, their way lit by torches alone. The Queen of the Faeries took his hand and led him to a grand old castle made of grey stone.
"This is a beautiful place. I thank you for your warm welcome, your Majesty," Jonathan said, bowing low to kiss her hand.
"You must call me Morgana. We are alone now," she whispered, showing him to a large suite in the Eastern Tower.
"Morgana, I thank you for your hospitality to a weary traveller."
"Not too weary, I hope." On the threshold, she kissed him, and then stepped inside with a wicked smile. He followed like a man in a dream. Morgana closed the door and drew the bolt, locking the world out.
Emboldened by Morgana's flirtatious manner, Jonathan embraced the Faerie Queen. Eager hands explored her slender frame, finding breasts like ripe plums, and a sweet little ass. She was naked beneath her dress, he'd bet his last shilling on it. He felt no cumbersome undergarments beneath the silky gossamer of her thin white gown. This excited him in some deep, elemental way, and he felt his manhood stir and stand to attention.