Chapter 8

A rhythmic mechanised yank to the cable swiftly stole all the slack and they were once more being drawn upwards. The mermaids dropped into the water, wreathed in a great cloud of bubbles that their impact forced down with them. The wreath of silvery orbs spilled upwards, flowing on their bodies, leaving tiny offspring clinging to their rubber skin as the waters cleared of alien oxygen. The mermaids shook off this unwanted buoyancy with twists and turns, luxuriating in their return to the waves.

Swimming away, they passed by the doomed captives as they were being reeled in, circling their gathered quarry a few times before their sleek forms darted back down the huge passage and to open waters.

Mina’s helmet left the pool, the fluids running off the exterior and letting her see the large round room that housed the pond. Overhead winches drew them up out of the water and swung them over to the side where they hung above the floor, their bodies dripping, a row of four latex stalactites.

Other far more industrial cranes were more directly placed over the pool, ready to haul up submersibles.

Still possessed by a lingering sense of duty, Mina’s instincts were immediately drawn to the cameras located throughout the room, observing everything that occurred within. Once she had strategically noted these devices, she allowed herself to assess what else was around her.

The walls bore rows of Nymph suits, all neatly arranged and hung up in readiness. A smaller section catered to new colours of mermaids, a dozen shades awaiting any who earned such a privilege. On the other side were rows of lockers, the plastic containers being the storage areas for the suits of the dominants who dwelt here, and perhaps costumes of more rarefied purpose.

As the four of them hung there, indistinguishable from each other, women dressed solely in chastity belts moved about, tending and maintaining the equipment, checking oxygen canisters and cables.

A trio of such females were forcing a weeping blonde into a Nymph outfit, the shaven head of the female held tight as she was pushed into the attire. A young man stood over the scene of regression, dressed in close fitting latex leggings and tall boots. A studded belt held a holster for his short crop, and a loose white shirt hung upon his wiry physique. A mane of black hair fell about his features as he watched with amused intensity as the slave was bound at his whim.

The male also held a leash, the chain links reaching to one of the pets, the woman contained within a latex suit. A moulded snout emerged from her face, two eye slits being the only break in the full-fitting hood. Two ears jumped up by her real ones, and a thick studded collar encircled her throat while a slender tail arose like a flagpole from between her buttocks, connected to a plug whose base was just visible through her cheeks. The woman’s hands were locked in constructed latex paws, denying her any use of them as short chains reached to a corset-like device about her waist, the lengths keeping her crouched and low. Mina had not seen the chains on the others she’d spotted, so she guessed this woman was new to her lot, and was still being accustomed to it. Her feet were in similar confinement, the footwear moulded into a replica paw, the foot posed as though in a stiletto heel, while her legs were kept folded to have her in a perpetual crouch on all fours. The costume stretched latex between her mid-calf and the tops of her thighs, stopping her from straightening them and granting her hind legs the required visage to complete the transformation. The suit allowed her breasts to emerge, forcing them out by tight rings at their base, her nipples ringed with silver hoops, her engorged assets the only piece of naked flesh that could be seen.

The burbling implorations of the woman ended when the newborn Nymph was picked up and presented to the sea. The man stroked her cheek with fondness, and with a sweet smile kissed her and then indicated the waves.

The servants set her in with a shove. With a squall of panic her body collapsed onto the waters amidst a hefty splash, and as she thrashed madly she started to sink, unable to stay near the surface because of the weight of the air canister and her own inexperience. After the maniac dance of a drowning person she vanished below the surface, traces of bubbles affecting the rippling surface as she breathed of her new environment. The movements of the newly born fish were sporadic as she tried to figure out how she could acquire motion against such rigorous impositions. It was a pressing lesson to learn, for she would have to find the place from which she might refuel her breath before her reserve was emptied.

With his pet on a lead the man left the room, one of the many automated doors whirring aside at his approach, leaving the women to recommence their duties.

A moment later another door slid gracefully aside and a woman entered. She had an aura of calm, a serenity that stemmed from a life without stress or worry. Her long blonde hair was held back in a firm plait, the strands of hair intricately woven around a length of chain that fell to her middle where it ended in a snap fastening.

Enclosed within a chastity belt, she also bore a stout silver collar, the metal band armed with four equally spaced rings. Shackles and fetters matched it perfectly, all of them seemingly without lock or seam and engineered for a superlative fit. A small device was curled around one ear, obviously a communication device linked to her masters.

‘Welcome to the domain of Charybdis,’ she said firmly, her voice being pitched loudly enough to reach through the helmets. ‘I am Theresa, and I will be giving you your initial orientation here.’

Theresa indicated to several of the loitering women and immediately they walked over and accepted the bodies of the lowering slaves, the winches setting them down at some hidden command.

With a pressurised hiss the helmets were set free, the long descent having equalised the four slaves to their new atmosphere. Mina took a snorting gasp of her new world and found it scented with a freshness usually missing from such underwater installations. The scent of the sea fought that of latex, the aroma strong.

The cocoon suits were slipped free and their legs were set loose of the stockings, the straitjackets and gags remained however, greatly impeding the novice slaves. Mina’s fellows battled these last additions, trying to get free, the latex skin rippling with the play of muscles as they tried to show that they wanted to be set free. Mina just stood still, knowing it was useless to try as well as being determined not to make herself seem weak before others, especially those studying them via camera.

‘The jackets will not be released, and neither will the gags, so please, relax,’ the woman decreed, and with a wave of her hand she turned and marched away, the chain swinging slightly behind her, entwined into her hair as a mixture of the organic and metallic.

The other slaves acted in unison, a pair of them escorting a captive forward, forcing her on. The other women tried to deny this passage, tugging and wriggling as the supervisors forced them to march onward against their will. Mina merely walked without care, watching the area with veiled intensity. The attending women kept their hands to her though, suspicious that her acceptance was a feigned ploy to have them drop their guard so she might break lose and bolt. But where could she run?

The door opened and they were shown down a winding corridor to another chamber. The small oval room had a circle of brutal chairs along its wall, the heavy constructions riveted to the floor and manufactured to contain reluctant students. Two cameras were evident in the gloom, discerned through the tiny red dot of light indicating their active status.

Each of them was dropped into a chair, the grooves in the backrests accepting their folded arms perfectly. Their ankles were locked in place by heavy rubber fetters, and clips snatched fastenings on their collars, keeping them seated. A cross formation of thick straps were pulled across their chests, running through their buried cleavage and being tightened to a thrumming tension that had them snorting in angst.

With all her students facing inward, Theresa stepped out before them and regarded the new arrivals with a sympathetic smile, looking to each of them as she spoke with the skill of a practised orator.

‘There exists an organisation called Cabal. This secret organisation exists throughout the world and has dwelt in secret for centuries. Divided into sects, each aspect of Cabal has different customs and traditions, but all universally cater to providing submissive specimens for the dominant nobility.

‘Twenty-two years ago, our founder created a project called Charybdis. The project was responsible for the establishing of this undersea facility and the web of recruitment that populates it. Charybdis is a noble of Cabal who established this sect and now runs this aspect of the cult.

‘The sect Charybdis controls is large and self-sufficient, and is divided into two distinct castes - Titans and Nymphs. Every dominant is known only by their assigned codename, which will be the name of a titan or god or goddess of Greek myth. You will find that this identity generally defines them. The primary castes for submissives are those of Nymphs. There are sub-divisions such as Sirens, who seduce or capture new members for us and generally dwell on the mainland. Dryad tend the garden and its populous of fish and Nymphs. Oread dwell on dry land, either in this facility, or as servants on the mainland. You will begin your lives here as Oread, and depending on your behaviour, future caste changes will be determined.

‘Other sects of Cabal may send representatives here, and through their presence as guests you will discover that Cabal is internationally diverse and wields extreme power.

‘Ten thousand feet of water separate us from the surface, and here we have our own laws and codes of behaviour that bind everyone, be they noble or slave.

‘Most of you have willingly and legally signed yourselves into a contract that permits Charybdis to do as he wishes with you. While within his care, all your needs will be met, and in return you will also be conditioned to obey without question.

‘Charybdis is the ruler of this domain. The various members of Cabal that come here or live here are his guests and may make use of his property as they wish, and to this end you will accept their rule as you would that of Charybdis. Failure to perform as required, or transgression against the rules imposed on you will be met with punishment. This discipline will encourage you to change any erroneous ways and conform to the laws and will of this facility. If you behave and do as you are told, you will find life here not only pleasant, but extremely enjoyable. At the moment it seems daunting and oppressive, but this is merely to ease you into your new roles. The quicker you accept your new life, the easier it will become.

‘Now, you will be planning escape, demanding flight or extraction from here. As stated in your contracts, you are free to leave any time you wish. I would like to point out however, that no provision was offered to return you; this is something you will have to attain yourself. There are no submersibles on station here, and without proper apparatus awaiting you at the surface, depressurisation will be assuredly fatal and extremely grisly. You have been acclimatised to the atmosphere of this depth, and to rise from here and survive requires a period of three weeks in decompression. As a graphic example of the fate awaiting those wishing to leave the employ of Charybdis...’

The centre of the room parted, allowing a pillar to rise up and lock into position, emerging from the floor with steady precision. Upon its surface was a sealed dome, inside which was a small humanoid mannequin about a foot high. It was essentially a bland toy of skin, without feature or visage.

‘This genetically cultivated organic replica is attuned to our atmosphere, and will now be artificially exposed to the surface environment.’

A hiss emerged from the bubble, and the toy began to buckle and ripple, the creation fully organic and created to symbolise human anatomy. The skin welled as the interior veins bulged and swelled, and with a sudden rending crack the interior glass was stained with a wild red collage. The figure was now a shredded ruin, its interior splashed throughout.

Squeals of alarm seeped through the gags of the other women, their horror at such a fate plain as they flung themselves around in their seats, screaming, their minds beset by abhorrence.

Mina had seen this event first hand on real people during her various missions, and it was nothing new to her. She knew the woman spoke the truth. The voyage here had been a good eight hours at least, and such a period was adequate for blowing down to this depth, with three weeks being the return time back up.

‘This ghastly fate will never be inflicted by Charybdis or anyone in Cabal. This is an assured guarantee. It has never been done, and never will be done. No matter what your behaviour, no matter what your crimes, you will never be ejected, only disciplined and educated as to the error of your ways. I show this only to enlighten you as to the consequences of your flight should you attempt it. Charybdis is no monster; he expects nothing from you save your presence here. If you disobey, you will be corrected. If you obey, you will be rewarded, it is that simple and it is your choice.’

Theresa walked closer to them, the rings of her bonds chiming softly.

‘Now as to the topic of your current uniforms. The chastity belts you have been fitted with can give pleasure or pain in equal abundance, and also prevent you making use of yourselves unless with or at the behest of a member of Cabal. If you behave you will earn relief, otherwise frustration and denial may be inflicted, or torment should you prove too unruly.’

There was a muted clunk from beneath the chairs and Mina felt something being connected automatically to her belt. Then, treating them one at a time, Theresa removed a tube from the sides of each chair, the struts hiding the pipe within them and paying out slack until the pipes were clipped to the front of their gags.

‘You will now spend some time thinking on your situation and weighing up your alternatives. You will be fed and kept clean while I am away, and the start of your education will begin.’

With that the woman departed, the door opening up and closing behind her. As soon as it had sealed the plinth retracted and a new device emerged in its place. The curved screen of the monitor flashed with colour and began to play a view of the ocean, showing the mermaids, Nymphs and guests playing there, the sight panning around, focusing on scenes of activity. Dryad and Nymphs were subjected to the attention of the guests, the males and females of Cabal able to use the slaves as they wished, playing with them, chasing them and using them. The resistance the women showed seemed only to be an act to inspire their owners. Their efforts to deprive the guests use of their tightly bound latex forms was hardly as strenuous as it could have been, and Mina began to question whether anyone kept in the sensory deprivation such as the Nymph uniforms would resist any other input, no matter what the source.

With a chugging monotony, food and water was introduced to them, paid directly into their bellies as they sat helpless to even attend themselves. In addition, a soft flow of warm water was thrust up into their rears, the plug there being hollow, letting the chairs force in the douche and then suck it out, depriving them of even this rudimentary function. A second tube sucked up all urine, and held in their captivity, all they could do was watch the sights of the sea.

Mina found it intensely stimulating to be controlled thus, to be placed under reigns of command that made her utterly subservient. Was it just because it was new to her, something different, a trait she had never experienced and which had taken her psyche by surprise? If so, would it fade with time? Would the sparkle of this new deviance dwindle and become boring and then reviled because it stopped her doing what she wanted to do?

Without warning the nodules upon their clitorises kicked into spurious life. The thrumming vibrations tickled exquisitely, making the captives moan and squirm in their bondage, their breasts straining against the tight latex sheet compressing them.

The teasing tickle continued, carrying them further towards climax. Their nipples grew hard against the straitjacket folds, their loins becoming damp as they panted and wheezed in reedy gasps, the sensations powerful and numbing their thoughts. Watching the bound aquatic women dance and swim before them, their bodies tightened in expectation, moans of ecstatic delight seeping through the deep gags.

The toys suddenly cut off. A strained quiet fell to replace the insidious hum of the contraptions. Breath was being held in shock, and as it was confirmed that this was no glitch, that the toys had been stopped, the students were battling their restraints once more, trying to gain the last few touches that would carry them to fulfilment. Jerking their legs they sought to finish the task, the steel covers of the belts preventing any hope of acquiring their goal.

Mina smiled to herself, shaking from being deserted, left so close to satisfaction and now having it hung like a treasure just out of her reach. The other women were livid, and could do nothing to ease their torment as the rubber groaned and held them tight. But the degradation of writhing for the pleasure of the cameras was one Mina intended to refuse. She was no animal of instinct. Already the women around her had succumbed to wanton temptation, despite their awareness that it was impossible to finish. They knew they were being tormented, but like beasts of pure instinct they tried anyway. Mina had more control over herself than that, and merely sat in her tight latex cell, watching the camera and the video feed, twitching from the residual flares left by the kiss of the toy.

Slowly, the heat of pleasure withdrew like a tide, carrying away their bliss on its back until they were left cold and morose once more. The room continued with the rasping sibilant respiration of the captured women, each looking to the screen, seeing what fate awaited them, wondering how they would fare in it.

Mina could see the females swimming to the upper reaches of the structure, feeding their canisters from valves that ringed the uppermost reaches. Someone important was up there. They were making the Nymphs and mermaids and guests attend them, swim before their eyes. If Charybdis was not there himself, then there had to be some sort of observation deck, a place where the mighty had mustered to witness the spectacular undersea menagerie their lord had crafted for their amusement.

Again the toy began its work, the treatment methodical, and without fail it dragged the slaves to the very point of explosive release, their eyes filled with images of their new world before they were cruelly denied. The gnawing bane of frustration was a store that grew with each new application, making them more and more sexually hungry, then ravenous, then psychotic with need.

Tears of sweat and sorrow were rolling down their faces, each of them torn by such havoc. Even Mina was shuddering with the ordeal, her craving risen to a terrible thirst, making her plead into her mind to find the culmination she so desperately sought.

Korin was behind this; it was his personal pet project, his dreamland, his vice. The mighty head of the corporation she opposed was a deviant mind, fiendish and without remorse. He was seeing the women he hired as objects, using them as such, and moulding them if they did not fit his requirements in full.

The corporate monster that was Korin Enterprises had contracts with governments and countries. How many people would even guess that their taxes and leaders were helping to fund such a place as this by trading with Korin? But then again, how many of these leaders were here, and in on the plot? This was an empire free of scrutiny. No one here would divulge what they had seen. They were free of any law. This place was distanced from any territorial waters, any border, it was a state unto itself. Access was impossible. Discovery was impossible unless one were deliberately brought here. Korin could charge what he wanted for the participation of others, and there were enough bored and depraved billionaires or powerful figures of state and country to accept his fee. Any money they released would be funnelled through the same complex webs that Korin used to fund his kingdom, hiding it. She would not have seen the traffic from her investigations; each route would be different for each customer, distancing them, protecting the group as a whole instead of the individual.

Sat in the gloom, the light of the screen refracting in the polished folds of their latex, each woman was damp with sweat from their bonds and their ordeal. As time continued to meander, becoming long and tedious in their silence, and full of swift heat when the toys were attending them, they started to slip in and out of sleep. It was not real sleep, more akin to a somnolent state halfway between awareness and dream, merging the two, making it difficult to discern what was real and what was not. Half awake dreams made them think they had been set free, or were elsewhere, until they came to and found it was not so. Images of the garden rolled through their dreams, corrupting them, infecting every thought whether conscious or unconscious.

Mina had dreams of being with the partners of her past, of performing with lost lovers. Even Melissa appeared on several occasions, her face buried between her thighs as she lay sprawled in sumptuous satin, only to come to and find herself still in rubber bondage.

Time stretched beyond their capacity to measure, their periods of dozing slumber removing any hope of keeping track.

Mina lifted her eyes, weary and exhausted, a nightmare of being buried alive in rubber having left her panicked and frightened. She had to concede that Korin had engineered his regime of indoctrination flawlessly, and she might even have admired it had she not been its doomed subject.