The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  1.4

  Un-strapped and disconnected, Maggie was directed to help stack soiled dishes in the large kitchen before being paraded once more in the main room where the now quiescent dildo was removed. With her skin tacky from constant sweating and her pussy oozing juices provoked by the unrelenting dildo and its insistent sidekick, Maggie felt soiled and dishevelled. Her instinct was to slip away to clean herself and dress. This was not to happen.

  Lady Jane resumed control, striking a pose in the centre of the room. The thronging guests displayed their awe of the woman by holding back, leaving a clear space around the paraded slaves and their self-appointed mistress. There was a minimum of decorum. It was obvious that much sexual congress had accompanied the feasting, for clothes and costumes had been discarded or disarrayed in varying degrees; some were more naked than the slaves.

  ‘The sniffer-dog trials!’ Lady Jane was announcing. ‘Twelve balls have been secreted around this lower floor. Each was carried here in a vagina so they are nicely perfumed with girl-scent. The bitches must first find a ball then seek to identify the guest who carried it. If they are successful the carrier must put the ball back into her cunt and attach a rosette to the bitch’s harness. The winner will be the bitch with the largest number of rosettes. Remember the bitches must not be impeded in any way: if they want to sniff or lick you must comply, it’s quite pleasant I can assure you. Handlers will decide whether the bitch is likely to find the correct carrier or whether it might be better to seek out another ball and so gain success. The winning bitch will be awarded a free piss. The losers will have all the unmatched balls stuffed up their cunts to carry for the next event. I hope all this is clear! Handlers, you have two minutes to prepare your bitches.’

  Karen was already unfastening the gag as Shane pressed Maggie into a stoop. She felt her sphincter being parted; a perverse pleasure tempted her to resist, but logic told her that submission was wise. The outcome was unavoidable and pleasure grew alongside discomfort as the alien intruder relentlessly forced entry. The object was thick. She felt the plop as it breached the sphincter and again as it wormed deeper, its bulk very evident, provoking beguiling discomforts. It hurts, but it’s so nice!

  Shane broke into her thoughts. ‘This must stay in place. Any ejection this evening, whatever the reason, will add five strokes to your tariff. Now down on all fours!’

  Maggie obeyed, the hard intrusion making itself apparent in a different way. It had some sort of rim or collar that she could feel pressing against her anus, a nagging irritation that was turning her on, sending tremors through her body to set her clitoris and nipples tingling again. Looking round she saw that the other three had been similarly equipped, but not just plugs, for out of each anus sprouted a plume: these were tails. This is more than demeaning. Though resentful, she could not deny the pleasure, not even when the humiliation was capped by a lead being clipped to her shoulder harness. A shrill whistle sounded.

  ‘Get on: look, smell!’ cried Karen, flicking the lead to emphasise the urgency. Maggie shot forward scurrying across the floor towards a corner; common sense telling her this was a likely hiding place. The first attempt proved fruitless and she spun toward another only to find that Kim was heading in the same direction. Flinging herself into the chase, Maggie dragged her handler along to win by a short whisker. Sure enough there was a ball, a small rubber sphere labelled with a number.

  ‘Find, find!’ came the call.

  She responded; it was a matter of pot luck. Choosing a young woman close by, she scampering up to push her head under the hem of the short cocktail dress and nuzzle the well-filled pouch of the brief thong. The girl obligingly pulled this aside, allowing Maggie to sniff at the soft delights within. Parking the ball in her cheek, she thrust her tongue between the fleshy lips to taste the abundant girl-nectar. Maggie guzzled greedily, entranced at discovering how palatable it was. When she encountered fresh urine, she knew this girl had recently visited the loo and how its taste had got onto the ball. Feeling victorious she withdrew to nod vigorously.

  ‘Oh, clever doggie! Well done!’ crowed the girl in a rather affected Sloane Square accent. ‘Give, give!’ she continued, holding her palm to receive the ball. Maggie let it drop and the girl deftly popped it back into her vagina.

  ‘Hurry, hurry!’ came the command. Duly rosettèd and flushed with success, Maggie scampered across the room. This search took longer, but she was lucky to find a second ball behind a radiator. It took time to dislodge using only tongue and lips and she bore it away with a sense of triumph. Her conceit was short lived: with so many women in the room and only one definitely eliminated, the search became protracted. Her tenth target was already naked, clad only in waist beads as a token of superiority over mere slaves. The woman parted her legs eagerly, bending to clasp Maggie’s head to her crotch. She was creaming liberally and the girl-scent was overpowering. Oh rapture! Maggie lapped ravenously, already addicted to the flavour, inhaling deeply to savour this overtly sexual woman. Karen gave an impatient twitch to the lead. Convinced that she had a match, Maggie looked up to nod emphatically. The target took the ball, examining it swiftly. ‘Naw, that’s nae mawn,’ she declared, ‘Y’r one’s number seven, mawn wur eight: but she’s a braw wee licker.’

  ‘One more!’ commanded Karen. Maggie targeted a heavily built older woman who readily lifted her hem. She was knickerless and smelled strongly of wee. Maggie buried her nose eagerly into the moist crotch. ‘Oh, you little witch!’ her target cried with passion and proceeded to release a torrent of urine that splashed Maggie’s face. Urrgh! She broke contact in disgust, but her open mouth was filling rapidly. Some deep-rooted reflex made her hold still and as the warm golden stream began to overflow, she swallowed.

  ‘Good bitch!’ carolled her target, stooping to pat Maggie on the head. ‘I’m sorry little doggie, I didn’t have one, only my own, to exercise my cunt.’ Using her finger she hooked out a silver ball displayed it briefly before thrusting it back into her obviously well-exercised vagina.

  Maggie surrendered her dud ball and the search resumed. She found one more, but Lady Jane called time before she was able to explore for its carrier. The sniffers were lined up and the results announced.

  Spoilsport, I was enjoying that.

  ‘Kim found two balls and collected two rosettes, so Kim wins. Mitzi and Vanda found two balls each and collected one rosette each while Maggie found three, but was unable to collect more than one rosette. The five identified carriers may share the privilege of loading the three losers: that amounts to two in each cunt with one extra for Maggie. And while you are doing that Kim can take her prize. Bitches might squat to piss, but here slaves always stand. The losers will lick her dry before they lap the puddle off the floor.’

  Bouncing Betty was revealed as an endurance test. Obstacles were placed around the room in a compact circuit and each slave was fitted with nipple clamps. Maggie still feeling discomfort from having three balls stuffed into her vagina was less than co-operative about receiving the clamps, finding it difficult to remain silent as the jaws were tightened despite Shane’s admonishments. Deemed to be placed last in the sniffer test, she was selected to go first. Led to the start line and ordered into a crouch, she realised that it would be really hard to retain the inserted balls for very long. Already she could feel one stretching her vaginal rim. On the command she launched forward, proceeding in bunny hops as she had been instructed. Each obstacle had to be cleared in one hop; none was large, but its presence required extra effort, which was tiring. In addition, the repeated hopping caused her breasts to bounce. Normally Maggie enjoyed this feeling in short bursts, but now the movement provoked pain in her throbbing nipples. Pragmatism took hold: she knew she was unlikely to win this challenge. Who cares?

  The first ball popped free over the third obstacle, a footstool. She let it roll away with a sense of relief although her pride would not let her release the others
before she must. The task was physically testing; she knew she did not exercise enough, but determination forced her on, completing a full circuit before dropping the second. The others had started after her, but Kim was now catching up and Maggie was pulled aside to let her pass. This did not amount to a rest, because Karen made Maggie keep hopping on the spot. I will not give up. With grim determination Maggie rejoined the circuit, doing four more obstacles before the inevitable happened and the final ball was lost.

  Feeling ashamed and defeated, Maggie was shepherded away to where Shane lay supine, stroking his erection to keep it firm. Karen declared, ‘Mount him and keep him hard, but don’t bring him off. When all four have joined their handlers, then you may fuck him properly. The longer you can keep him going the more points you gain.’

  Maggie grimaced as she lowered herself onto Shane’s magnificent shaft: she had waited so long for this moment and now her legs felt like jelly and her breasts ached beyond description.

  To hell with it, I don’t care what’s expected, I shall do just enough to keep him rigid: go slowly and rest between each plunge.

  Taking this resolution to heart, she dropped onto her knees, adjusted her body angle and rose until his glans was just inside her threshold. A pause then slowly she eased herself down until her pubic bones were resting on his pelvis. The heat of him inside felt wonderful and she ground her mound against his, provoking her clitoris into life, no longer aware of being on full view.

  This is the first man you’ve fucked since meeting Greg. In fact this is only the second man you’ve fucked in the last year. And it’s wonderful.

  ‘Not fast enough!’ came Karen’s voice.

  ‘Look, the way I feel, I’ll have him coming in seconds, then what?’

  ‘Silence! Slaves are not permitted speech. Fuck him or you’ll be whipped.’

  ‘Go to hell!’ Maggie retorted.

  A line of fire etched itself across her shoulders and Maggie screamed as the quirt bit viciously.

  Against her will she lifted her body, feeling the blissful slide of his flesh inside her. Instinctively she gripped him, provoking a jerk in that glorious rigid stem. As if by some magical formula the pleasure of that wonderful intimate sensation merged with the scorching pain spreading from her shoulders, lifting her into a realm of delight beyond comprehension as if all her sexual experiences, pleasures and failures, had aggregated into one whole. She paused, immersing herself in the beauty that possessed her.

  ‘Not fast enough!’ Fire scorched her buttocks as the quirt drove her down. His cock pierced her, banging against her cervix. The exquisite sensation exploded into a kaleidoscope of wonder and, casting aside all self-control, Maggie fucked him for all she was worth, wallowing in the agony of her bouncing bosom and letting the orgasms roll continuously as she took his spend while the whip sang its bizarre accompaniment.

  What’s happening to me? Maggie viewed the scene from a position of mild detachment as Vanda pissed for an admiring audience. Still overcome by her own audacity, Maggie had no regrets even though her buttocks burned from Karen’s unrelenting assault. The pain was severe, even excruciating, yet she harboured no resentment, unable to explain why it felt exactly right and just. Neither could she explain the creeping acceptance that chastisement was something to be yearned for.

  An assessment of Bouncing Betty was in progress. It was no surprise that she had not won. Nor was she dismayed by the announcement that ten strokes were being added to her tariff for disobedience. Only the memory of the clamps being removed echoed clearly in her mind, the agony of recovering circulation had been so unexpected that she had howled and this had earned her another five.

  At last Lady Jane’s words began to penetrate the haze. ‘Chastisement time at last,’ she was saying. ‘We’re using gates this evening, always an interesting scenario. Betting will commence shortly. You have had a chance to see how the slaves perform, use this knowledge to judge whether your favourite will achieve the tariff, exceed it or fall short. The odds are better if you want to predict the actual results. The tariff is one-seventy so the time allocation is seven minutes. Each slave is allocated two executioners. They, of course, along with the umpire, are barred from gambling in person or by proxy. All proceeds will go to a medical charity as usual.

  ‘Vanda, being a paragon slave, is exempt from the betting and has no exit. She will take her standard two-fifty on her tits plus the aggregate of the numbers by which the others exceed their tariffs, if they do. Vanda’s demonstration will take place concurrently over to your left, but the excess will be done after the main event and ten strokes will be added to compensate for any interval. Betting commences when the slaves are mounted. Handlers please continue.’

  Maggie found herself being shepherded outside; the night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the crowded room. A van was parked by the main door. The four slaves were made to carry wooden stands resembling five barred farm gates. There were three, which were set up in a row across the main room. The top bars stood waist height and were polished smooth with patches of deep staining.

  ‘How does the betting work?’ Maggie asked of Karen as they returned to the van for a second load.

  ‘You should not be talking. I ought to report you and add five more strokes.’

  ‘Do that, but tell me all the same.’

  ‘I think you’re a rebel, not too wise either, but okay, if that’s what you want. People decide whether you can take your tariff or not. You’re an unknown quantity so they will tend to back you to fail. They can either take a straight yes or no bet, or they can try to predict the amount of strokes above or below. You don’t see that, all the betting takes place in the side room. Now, you know, so pick up this frame and take it inside, it’s for Vanda. Do you think you could take three hundred cane strokes on your tits?’

  Maggie shook her head, but it was not entirely honest. I couldn’t at this moment, but given the challenge… The concept of paragon slave appealed to her psyche and, appalling as the prospect was, she thought that if she should find herself in this situation again, it would be an achievement to aim for. I must be out of my mind. Feeling suddenly betrayed by her own naivety, she groped toward reality. No, this is strictly a one off – slavery isn’t for me.

  Maggie approached the frame diffidently and mounted it using the bars. The top rail was just wide enough to support her seat bones. Shane indicated how handles in front and angled footrests behind offered support. Taking hold of them Maggie found herself lying along the top rail. Her clitoris was just touching.The staining: I understand now, other girls have creamed while being spanked. Will I? Until tonight I would have thought it crazy.Her experience on top of Shane was fresh in her mind.

  Shane put a rubber bulb into her hand. ‘If you reach your limit, squeeze this. You’ll get a break and the betting on you will cease, but you’ll be expected to continue after a rest providing you’re not injured. Just relax, keep your balance: let your mind drift, savour the experience and love the pain.’

  Gripped by anxiety, Maggie waited. I mustn’t weaken; I will not use this thing. She was determined if not confident. Matched against experienced girls, committed slaves who were regularly tested to extremes, she knew no latitude would be allowed. What she faced was minuscule compared to Vanda’s task. She wriggled to ease her posture: lying prone, breasts either side, feet pressed firmly into the rests. Someone pulled her, checking she was secure. The ordeal was beginning.

  A hand rested on Maggie’s bottom, slowly circling the plumpness of a buttock. It withdrew. Slapped down. Setting whip marks alight.

  Maggie yelped. The hand circled, spreading the hurt. ‘She doesn’t need warming up – she’s on fire already.’ This was Karen.

  ‘Don’t bother then – let’s move on – ten for the record!’ This was Shane.

  Ten slaps, all hard, all on the plump curve of Maggie’s butto
cks. Fire burning deep, flesh boiling, she whimpering. Trembling, she gripped the handholds, pressing her feet against the rests to tense her body, anything to try and contain the heat in her assaulted bottom, mentally cursing her pussy now throbbing with arousal. This is no time to be aching for a good fuck, or is it? She imagined the feel of flesh on flesh, cool flesh on burning flesh, hot rod of flesh in sheath of flesh. Pure lust.

  ‘Paddles?’

  ‘Sure! Use the perforated ones; they leave good marks on the skin.’

  Thwack, thwack. A rapid tattoo on burning skin. Hard and wicked on tender flesh. Maggie sobbed. Hell’s teeth! Thwack, thwack again. And again. And again, ten times in all, twenty hard, unforgiving smacks from stiff inflexible blades, the sound echoing in Maggie’s ears as she fought to absorb the suffering.

  ‘Thirty!’ called a voice. ‘One hundred and sixty to go!’

  Maggie shuddered, a great spasm racking her body. This must be how hell is!

  ‘Hey don’t fall off or we’ll have to start again.’ cried Karen. I won’t, I mustn’t.

  ‘Tawse next?’ Karen again, to Shane.

  ‘Cane would be better, a bit sharper, heighten the suffering, she’ll enjoy that.’

  Bastard! Maggie silently heaped curses on her tormentor.

  The canes whistled in concert, cutting across her mounds with only a micro-pause between one side and the other. The prognosis was right: the pain was sharper; it sliced into her flesh, no mere flick, but powerful lashing incisions capable of breaking skin. The weals seared her soft tissue, burning white hot. She felt wet.Blood or sweat? O mercy! No time to dwell as swish and crack continued to assault the already hot and injured dome of her bottom. No matter how much she wriggled or squirmed, there was no escape.