The Preparation of Helena Voutrakis
Copyright© 2012 by Freddie Clegg
Chapter 4: A Corinthian Epistle
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 4: A Corinthian Epistle - In the second Victorian era our hero is faced with a new challenge in preparing a woman for her forthcoming marriage.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant Coercion BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation
By the time that I awoke the following morning, the sun had already risen. A look through the port beside my bunk showed the azure blue of the Ionian Sea. We were, according to the regularly updated position marker on the large map in the ship's lounge, a short way north west of Ithaca, the legendary home of that voyager Odysseus. I was approaching the end of my airship journey.
The steam-flight field at Corinth is close to the magnificent Diolkos Cable Transporter. As our dirigible circled to land we could see below us the remarkable sight of sea-going vessels being hauled out of the water on cast iron carrying frames and transported along a trackway over the isthmus to the Saraonic Gulf on the far side, shortening by over a day the sailing time from Venice to British West Anatolia. I was impressed. It was a far more exciting feat of engineering than the canal originally proposed.
The only difficulty with our arrival was in the fact that the forces of the Macedonian-Ottoman Axis had reached the north shore of the Gulf of Corinth. As a result there was the risk of artillery fire from the ground as we approached. The Captain of our craft ordered gun crews to the rifle turrets. I thought it unlikely that any fire from them would be effective but no doubt the sight of the gun barrels swivelling in their mounts would be a signal to any troops that we were at least alert to the possibility of attack.
As the dirigible nosed towards the landing tower the quiet thrum of the motors eased for the first time in our flight. The calls of the landing crew below us on the field could be clearly heard as the teams, drilled with military precision, grasped the mooring lines and steered the ship to its landfall.
With the nose of the vessel secured and the lines made fast we were invited to step onto the gangway that took us to the landing towers elevator, a device at least as disturbing as the one I had encountered on my visit to Sir Bristow Merriweather and considerably more disconcerting than anything I had experienced in the dirigible. I was not sorry to put my feet safely on the ground.
As I emerged from the elevator cage I was confronted by a vision of loveliness. A tall, slender woman stood waiting patiently. Wearing a floor length cream gown with a high neck and leg-of-mutton sleeves, her pale complexion was shaded from the heat of the noon sun by a wide brimmed hat. She carried a large carpet bag, holding it in front of herself with both hands.
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