The Chaste Legacy Read online

  'I've seen the crew and the waiters. I don't want to have sex with them.' That wasn't strictly true. Had Tim not been there Corinda would have been very interested in one of the waiters. He had short curly black hair and the way he'd looked at her, particularly the way he looked down the front of her dress as he'd served her dinner, had excited her.

  Corinda got to her feet. She was still wearing the black high heels. She looked at her reflection in the terrace windows. Looking over her shoulder she could see her tight buttocks parted by the black thong of the panties. She cupped her breasts in her hands, then fed the left nipple up towards her mouth, until she could catch it between her teeth. She pinched it lightly then repeated the process with the other breast.

  'I've been able to do that since I was sixteen,' she said proudly. 'Is your penis still tumescent, Mr Morrison?'

  'Of course it is.'

  She let go of her tits and sat on the edge of the coffee table right in front of him, leaning forward until her breasts brushed her thighs. 'How long will it take to get to England?'

  'Six or seven days.'

  'Don't you think,' she said, taking a different approach, 'that it's really your duty to teach me something about men before we get there. I mean, imagine what it would be like for me in London. All those men. All those tumescent penises... or is it penii? I could go completely wild with lust. You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you Mr Morrison?'

  'No, of course not.'

  'Well then.' She dropped her hands to his knees and caressed them.

  'Oh God, Corinda, why are you doing this to me?' He was weakening. What she said was perfectly true. In London she would be prey to all kinds of unscrupulous men. What if she let lust overcome good judgment? She was, after all, a very wealthy heiress. The first man who took an interest in her might well be doing it for all the wrong reasons. At least he could trust himself to have the right motives. Once she'd had a little experience she wouldn't be so likely to dash into a reckless affair.

  'Doing what?'

  Even this rationalisation didn't entirely convince him. He hadn't the slightest idea what he should do. 'Tempting me. You're so beautiful.'

  The boat rolled to one side quite noticeably. Corinda grabbed Tim's legs to stop herself sliding along the coffee table. There was a flash of lightning and a loud clap of thunder. Almost immediately heavy rain began to batter at the windows.

  'Please let me see, Mr Morrison. It's not fair telling me you're hard and not letting me see.' She pouted with her best poor-little-rich-girl expression.

  Tim stood up decisively. He stripped off his cream linen jacket and his beige silk tie. Corinda's eyes were level with the flies of his trousers and he could see her studying the bulge underneath them. He kicked off his slip-on shoes and pulled off his white silk socks.

  'Is this really want you want?'

  'I don't think I've ever wanted anything more in my entire life,' she said earnestly, meaning every word of it.

  'There's a zip at the front,' he said. 'Pull it down.' Corinda extended her right hand. She found the metal tongue of the zip and pulled it down rather awkwardly, the protrusion underneath made it difficult. Finally she got it all the way down, the material parting to reveal white boxer shorts. Without waiting to be given permission she fished inside. She supposed she would never forget that first touch. Her fingers fell on a sword of flesh so hot she almost snatched her hand away. But she didn't. Instead she curled her fist around it and pulled it out through the fly. She stared at it. It was throbbing visibly. She felt her own sex fluttering with sensations too, quite unlike any she'd felt in bed with Arabella. It was much larger than she'd imagined, larger even than the dildo Arabella had given her two nights before. The tip, what she knew from her biology textbooks was called the glans, was smooth and pink and divided from the shaft by a distinct rim. The shaft itself was more gnarled, covered with veins and, towards the base, quite thick blond hair.

  Tim pulled his trousers and pants down together and stepped out of them. He stripped off his shirt. His chest was hairless apart from a few wisps around his nipples. 'Well, there you are,' he said. 'Have you got what you wanted?'

  His cock stood up almost vertically. She saw its pulse. There was a slit at the tip and a tear of sticky fluid was leaking from it. Now he was naked she could see his balls too. They were large and heavy, his scrotum covered in curly hair.

  'It's wet,' Corinda said. Then she remembered; a man produced a secretion when he became excited just like a woman did. 'Cowper's fluid,' she said almost to herself. She wrapped her hand around his shaft again and squeezed it. The glans expanded like a little balloon. 'It's so hard. Like a bone.'

  'Yes. It's caused by looking at you.'

  'It's big too. I didn't think it would be so big. I can't believe it's going to fit inside me. Mind you I thought that about the dildo.'

  'The dildo?' Tim said, astonished.

  'Yes, Arabella bought me one for my birthday. I guess she thought it would be good practice.'

  'Did you use it?'

  'It was nice. But it wasn't as big as this and it certainly wasn't so hot. The semen comes out here, right?' She poked the slit of the urethra with her fingernail.

  'Yes.'

  'Show me that now then,' she said.

  The boat lurched hard to one side. Rain was falling heavily now, driving against the windows noisily.

  He laughed. 'It's not like pressing a button,' he told her.

  The textbooks had explained the mechanics of copulation but had been light on detail when it came to the cause of ejaculation. Corinda had assumed it was something akin to having to pee. 'Haven't you got enough then?' she asked.

  'Enough what?'

  'Enough semen. How many times do you ejaculate per day?'

  'I think you've got the wrong idea. A man only ejaculates when he's stimulated.'

  'Stimulated?'

  'When his penis is rubbed in a woman's sex or in her hand or...' He stopped himself from saying what he wanted to say.

  'Go on,' Corinda urged.

  'Her mouth.'

  'Mouth?' Corinda exclaimed. 'I can put it in my mouth?' Before he could reply she dipped her head, opened her mouth wide and slipped her lips around his cock. She felt it twitch against her tongue. 'My God,' she said pulling away, 'that feels so good.' She repeated the exercise, before he could protest, swallowing more of him this time. As she pulled away he saw her studying his cock intently. 'Will you ejaculate now?' she asked, without taking her eyes off him.

  'If you do that enough I might.'

  'Aren't I doing it right?'

  'Of course you are, but it isn't instant.'

  'Shall I do it again?'

  'No.'

  'Show me how to rub it with my hand.'

  'All right.' Tim was resigned to the fact that he clearly had no choice but to give the girl what she so earnestly wanted. 'Like this.' He made a ring of his thumb and forefinger and slipped it over the top of his cock. Slowly he moved it up and down as she watched closely.

  'I've got it.' She pulled his hand away and replaced it with her own. But she squeezed much harder than he had and he moaned. 'Is that wrong?' she asked.

  'No, it's right. Very right.'

  'Does it make you want to ejaculate?'

  'Yes.'

  'Oh good. Do it then.' She moved her hand up and down still faster. 'Let me see it.'

  'No,' he said, grabbing her wrist.

  At exactly that moment the boat lurched to one side. Tim lost his balance and fell back on the sofa. Corinda leaped on top of him, pressing her body against his.

  'Oh that's good. Your body's so hard. Not just your penis. I mean all of it. So different from a woman.'

  'What do you mean?'

  Corinda was about to tell him about Arabella, when she stopped herself. She didn't want to get into all that now and she had a feeling he might be shocked. 'Women are soft,' she said instead. The strength of his body, in contrast to the melting softness of Arabella
, excited her just as she'd imagined it would. She pressed her navel against his penis, and felt its hardness and heat boring into her. Her clitoris throbbed so strongly it was her turn to moan.

  'You certainly are,' he said. It was at that moment that he lost the battle with his conscience. He looked into her eyes and found himself moving his mouth to hers. They kissed hungrily, greedily, writhing together as their tongues danced around each other.

  'Oh God, Corinda,' Tim managed to say.

  'Can I do the other thing now?' she asked.

  'What other thing?'

  'Caress your penis with my sex? That will make you ejaculate, won't it?'

  'Yes.'

  'Let me then. Let me do it, Mr Morrison, please.'

  There was a flash of lightning which lit up the sky, then a clap of thunder that seemed to come from directly overhead. The boat yawed, dived into the trough of a wave, then climbed up to the following crest. Another flash of lightning forked into the sea, the thunder rattling the glasses in the cocktail cabinet.

  'It's romantic, isn't it?' Corinda said, thinking of the storm in Wuthering Heights. The important thing was that she had her Heathcliff.

  She managed to scramble to her feet. She took hold of the waistband of the black panties and pulled them down her long legs, her eyes watching Tim's reaction. How many times in the future would she peel away the final layer of protection and expose herself for a man? She saw his cock pulse as his eyes lighted on her downy pubic hair. It hid little. He would be able to see the crease of her labia. She had never felt herself as wet as this, even under Arabella's expert ministrations. She was sure her juices were running down her thighs.

  'You are going to let me, aren't you?' she said, kneeling at his side. 'You are going to show me how to make you ejaculate, aren't you Mr Morrison?' She lifted her thigh and straddled his hips before he could answer.

  With her legs spread apart he could see her sex clearly. Her pubic hair did not extend over her delicate labia and he could see every detail. It was glistening wet. 'You're really beautiful,' he said, gazing up at her mouth-watering breasts.

  'Come on, Mr Morrison. It's time for the next lesson in my education.' Slowly she eased herself down on his cock. She felt it nosing between her sex lips. It butted into her clitoris, giving her a sensation so sharp it made her moan again. Very gently she rubbed herself against it, feeling it push her clitoris up and down. She could hear her heart beating. His cock was inches from her vagina, seconds away from penetrating her, from filling her, from turning something she had dreamt of so many times into a reality.

  This time the flash of lightning seemed to be centred on the ship. There was an enormous crack and the lights went out. With no moon outside the stateroom was plunged into darkness. At the same time the boat lurched violently to one side, the floor at almost a forty-degree angle. Everything that was not secured was pitched against the side wall. As the boat swung in the opposite direction Corinda was knocked off balance and thrown back onto the coffee table. She heard a dull thud and felt a sharp stab of pain as her head rapped against the corner, and she rolled onto the carpeted floor.

  She could see nothing. She reached up to her head and was alarmed to feel the warmth and wetness of blood. As she tried to get to her feet the boat pitched again, throwing her to one side.

  'Tim!' she shouted.

  'Corinda, are you all right?'

  The emergency lighting had kicked in, bathing the stateroom in a shadowy, dim light. She saw Tim trying to struggle up off the sofa, his body a curious metallic white in the strange light. Then another flash of lightning and another explosion plunged the room into darkness again as a clap of thunder, so loud it hurt the ears, crashed around them. The noise of the engines, unnoticed by virtue of its continuous drone, changed dramatically. Instead of their regular thrum they stuttered, then died. Almost immediately the boat lost headway, slewing around in the increasingly mountainous sea. A huge wave hit them broadside. Corinda heard glass breaking but the stateroom windows were left intact.

  As the boat pitched another wave tried to overwhelm it, then a third, even larger than the other two, and the ship wallowed. There was a huge crash and the windows of the terrace doors were smashed open; cold salt water washing over Corinda's naked body.

  'Tim! Tim!' she screamed.

  She heard no reply, but it was difficult to hear anything with the windows gone, except the roar of the wind and rain and pounding ocean. Suddenly there was another more ominous sound; a long metallic clang. The whole ship juddered, its movement momentarily arrested. Corinda knew instinctively what had happened. They'd hit some underwater obstacle, ripping open the steel hull.

  Another grinding sound followed. The huge waves picked the yacht off whatever it had grounded on and tossed it to one side. Corinda was thrown against the bulkhead, but this time the yacht did not right itself. Instead it began to sink.

  Corinda knew she was going to die. As water poured into the stateroom, flooding over her, as she fought what she knew was a losing battle to keep her head above it, she could only think about the irony of the fact that, had catastrophe struck only a few seconds later she would have lost her virginity as well as her life. Now, she would die never having known what it was like to have a man deep inside her.

  Chapter Three

  It was so black there was no difference between having her eyes open and having them shut. She blinked several times but the situation did not improve. She wondered if she had gone blind. The thought sent a chill through her. She held her hand up in front of her face but, as hard as she tried, she could see nothing.

  Having her eyes open increased the pounding headache responsible for waking her. There was a large and tender bump on the back of her head. She fingered it gingerly and was relieved to find it was not bleeding any more.

  She was sure that, wherever she was, she was not on the boat. There was no lateral motion and no pitching, nor the sound of the sea. In fact there was no sound at all.

  'Tim!' she cried. 'Tim, where are you?' There was no reply.

  Groping around with her hands, moving slowly for fear of exacerbating the headache, Corinda tried to work out where she was. As far as she could tell she was lying on a perfectly normal double bed. The room was warm and she was naked, with a single cotton sheet folded over her body. Carefully she sat up. The hammering in her head reached a new pitch, then subsided. Swinging her legs off the bed she felt a soft carpet under her feet. She groped to the left and felt a bedside table and a lamp. Finding the switch just under the bulb, she screwed her eyes tightly shut and pushed it on. Nothing happened. Even with her eyes shut she would have been aware of light from the lamp. Tentatively she opened her eyes again. The room was as black as before.

  A wave of despair overcame her. She was blind. The crack on her head had damaged the neuron pathways from her eyes to her brain. Her only hope was the damage might not be permanent.

  She got to her feet. The pitch of her headache increased, then settled to a dull, less intrusive throb. Moving forward with her hands out in front of her she explored the room, trying to get a picture of it in her mind. She found a wall and groped her way along it. As far as she could tell the room was furnished normally. There were pictures on the walls; a bookcase full of books and, she discovered by stubbing her toe on it, a large and comfortable armchair. What was unusual, however, was that she could find no windows and though there was a doorway, it was closed by what seemed to be a slatted metal shutter instead of a door.

  She found no other bed. She was alone.

  She discovered a jug of water and a glass on the bedside table and, with difficulty, poured some. She found she was very thirsty, having consumed, no doubt, a great deal of salt water.

  Lying back on the bed, the headache almost gone, she began to wonder what had happened. Obviously the storm had pushed the yacht onto some rocks and it had foundered. The last thing she remembered was the water pouring into the stateroom. Perhaps, she thought, she was actually dead
, and that this strange room and her blindness was the prelude to the afterlife. She dismissed the thought as silly. Apart from the blindness and the bump on her head she felt perfectly normal and very much alive.

  She thought about Tim again. Very slowly and gently she began rubbing her breasts. Her nipples were soft and had retracted. But as she circled her palm from one to the other she felt them responding, popping up instantly, hard and tingling. They sent messages directly to her sex, and she felt her clitoris pulse.

  In this strange environment, in circumstances she did not understand, there was something comforting in her body's habitual responses to this familiar stimulation. Taking her left nipple between thumb and forefinger she pinched. She brought her other hand up to the right nipple, her arms crossed, and pinched both nipples simultaneously. She pinched for a second time, using her fingernails to produce a sharper sensation. The double impact of pain tinted with pleasure made her gasp. Her clitoris pulsed more strongly, as if trying to draw attention to itself.

  For the moment she ignored her nether regions. Taking her nipples firmly in her fingers she lifted her breasts by them. Then she gripped the flesh and began kneading it like dough, squeezing and pummelling to produce wave after wave of pleasure.

  She had not intended to masturbate. The exercise had started as a means of reassurance, an assertion of certainty amidst all the uncertainty that surrounded her; the equivalent of wrapping herself in a security blanket. But her body began to have other ideas. With her legs closed she felt herself pressing her thighs together to put pressure on her clitoris.

  Corinda rolled onto her stomach. She brought her knees up under her, stuck her bottom into the air, but kept her forehead resting on the sheet. Spreading her legs apart she sent her hand down over her flat stomach to her soft pubic hair. Normally in this position she would have been able to watch as her fingers explored the crease of her labia, but she could see nothing. The deprivation of one sense, however, seemed to increase the sensitivity of the others. She heard a slight squelching sound as her middle finger delved between her nether lips, her sex already liquid. The aroma of arousal seemed stronger; a sweet musky smell. But it was the sense of touch that was the greatest beneficiary of her visual incapacity. Her clitoris was tingling. It responded to gentle probing with pulses of pleasure that made her moan.