The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  ‘Can we go now?’ she demanded, ignoring the presence of Lady Jane who was accompanying him.

  ‘You can go, Jane will accompany you.

  ‘What do you mean, I can go?’ Maggie roared. ‘We’re going on holiday, remember?’

  ‘That’s all changed. I’ve sold you: for the next three weeks you are Caen’s property.’

  ‘You can’t do this, I didn’t agree! I’m going nowhere except home.’

  Lady Jane stepped forward. ‘You have no choice; remember you are a slave, sworn to serve her master and your master is Caen.’

  Before Maggie could respond, her arms were grabbed from behind and her wrists bound. A ball gag was jerked into her open mouth and she was tilted backwards. Hands took hold, lifting her bodily to carry her from the shed.

  ‘Have a nice time, enjoy!’ called Greg.

  Maggie howled in fury, but no one heard.

  Part Three

  3.1

  Just how stupid can I be? This is where wild impulses lead! This is abduction. “I am Margaret Moon, I am nobody’s slave!” The impassioned protest emerging as a muffled mumble remained unheeded; the scene had taken on a sinister aspect. Maggie was being carried toward the car park. Lady Jane strode straight ahead, nobody spoke.

  They reached a motor home parked slightly apart from the main group. Lady Jane departed, throwing an imperious order over her shoulder: ‘Deliver her as instructed.’

  Maggie was set on her feet. The vehicle’s accommodation door was opened and a light came on. An escort still clad in her leathers and sporting her dildo, indicated that Maggie should enter. What she encountered made her stomach knot in a queasy way that was as exciting as it was frightening: she froze, staring in disbelief.

  A trussed, naked, shaven girl was secured there: tall and stately, beautifully proportioned with superb golden-tanned skin. Beautiful yet unrecognisable, for her head was encased in featureless leather. An arrangement of straps held this in tight contact without a hint of features. No apertures for eyes, ears, mouth or even nose were apparent. The girl’s arms were fastened behind her back in a kind of sleeve that encased the limbs from wrist to elbow, enforcing an impossible posture. Her legs were held apart by a shining metal bar clamped round her calves. Movement was restricted by two chains lowered from the ceiling and clipped to rings in her nipples in such a way as to pull her breasts upwards. Another chain secured to the floor was threaded first through a ring pierced through her clitoris and then through another ring suspended from the arm sheath before returning to a fastening in the floor. As well as imposing immobility the downward pull forced the shoulders back and the breasts forward.

  The escort pushed past the transfixed Maggie, released the chains and pushed the constrained figure aside.

  ‘Come right inside.’

  Still mesmerised by the vision, Maggie squeezed past into a small compartment that was all but filled by a bed. Questions spun in her mind. This is unreal; how long has she been fastened there? What if she needs the loo? Who ordered this? The emotions were a mixture of envy and disgust. The escort appeared to have deduced Maggie’s thoughts, for she said, ‘It has been so since we arrived. It will not urinate. It has total control, as you will also learn. Le Patron will decide whether It will be released when we return, but that is no concern of yours.’ She removed Maggie’s gag. ‘You will sleep now and be fresh for the morning.’

  ‘Does it have no name?’ Maggie asked angrily, staring at the motionless figure beside the door.

  ‘Within the hood there is no identity.’ As if to deny any further discussion the girl turned away and unfolded a rudimentary seat across the doorway. The figure was guided to sit on it facing outward. Straps fastened it into place. The escort dowsed the lights and left in silence. Moments later the engine started and the vehicle moved away.

  Maggie lay back and pulled the thin duvet over her body. She reckoned the time to be nearly two-thirty in the morning. That meant that she had been totally naked since reaching Greg’s flat on the evening before last, almost thirty hours ago. She was beginning to consider clothing a luxury, or perhaps an inconvenience! In the moments before sleep she considered her strange travelling companion and the malevolent mind that had imposed its will upon the hooded victim. What frame of mind submits this way? Who is granted such power and what kind of mind can exercise it? Does possession of total power remove all guilt? The prospect of being utterly callous was suddenly enticing and the curious curdling surge formed her last memory before sleep.

  Maggie was woken by a sense of stillness. As consciousness returned she recognised that the vehicle had stopped, its engine turned off. Strong daylight filtering through the drawn curtains told her that it was well past dawn, yet her hooded companion was still strapped in place, forming a living door.

  Sounds indicated that someone had entered the van; it was the escort of the previous evening, still sporting her dildo and trapped breasts. She released the seated figure and instructed Maggie to follow. This she did, blinking in the bright sunlight, filled with curiosity. The motor-home was parked on a concrete apron surrounded by dry stone walls close to a large house of Georgian aspect looking southward across high moorland. Wuthering Heights!

  A bizarre figure was approaching across the paved area. My god, this is seriously weird.The girl was not dressed, rather she was encased. An elaborate leather harness enclosed her head with its intricate network of straps: one descending from her forehead widened to enclose the nose, others ran under her jaw and around her head, all being connected to a broad leather collar decorated with studs, rings and spikes. The whole network held a bright red ball gag in place. Rope around her upper chest was knotted into a complex pattern and wound around her ample breasts forcing them into grotesque bulging sausages with her nipples jutting obscenely. The binding continued downwards over the girl’s belly, tapering into a single strand that vanished between succulent labia. Prominent between her thighs a silver rod projected downward between her knees and, as she turned to face the escort, she revealed a similar rod curving out from her buttocks. Maggie swallowed hard as she concluded where those rods were lodged. The presence of the rope strand rising up from between the cheeks indicated that its purpose was to hold both rods in place. The thought of being thus impaled made her blanch and as she calculated that their presence would deny any prospect of sitting, she marvelled at the girl’s fortitude. Being made to endure such an imposition frightened Maggie beyond expression. What have I been committed to?

  The newcomer nodded to the escort who turned to Maggie with the words, ‘Ali will take charge of you now.’ Having delivered her message she obediently climbed back into the motor home and drove it away. Incredible, she must have driven here like that; oh lord! And turning her attention back to the outlandish figure before her, she groped with memories of the previous evening. Can this really be the girl who buggered me so nicely last night?

  Ali, for it certainly was she, scanned Maggie approvingly with lively but speechless eyes before turning to the living statue. She tapped the creature’s belly. The hooded girl crouched, emitting a golden spray that splattered and pooled between her feet. Ali signalled that Maggie should copy. Consumed by embarrassment, Maggie went into half-squat, spreading her legs. Nothing came, not from need; she was bursting to go, but from inhibition. Try as she might to rationalise her reactions, the act of urinating was more shameful than displaying her sex. Ali waited patiently until reflexes finally overcame reticence. Maggie tried to look away while her stream of piss splashed onto the concrete, but it was hard to escape Ali’s expression of disappointment.

  Ali led the unknown slave away, indicating Maggie to follow. Their little procession headed around the house. They entered by a simple door into featureless passage with a tiled floor. At the first door Ali ushered the hooded girl inside and locked it. Urging Maggie forward, she stopped at the second door.It slid open
with a soft rumble.

  Maggie entered a stark rectangular room about ten feet long and six wide. Three walls and the ceiling were finished in plain cream paint, the fourth, being one of the longer walls, was entirely mirror. Brown vinyl covered the floor. To the right of the door was a wide divan bed bearing a plastic covered mattress. To the left of the door was a semi-circular cabinet and beyond that an open shower area with a glazed appliance set into the floor; Maggie recognised it as a Turkish toilet. Tiling completed the section up to the mirror. The room was comfortably warm with air conditioning from grills gently humming at floor level and light came from glazed recesses in the ceiling. She wondered if this was to be her accommodation. You couldn’t call it homely! Apart from a water cooler and the bed there was no furnishing: nowhere to sit, no table of any kind. But the room possessed notable features. In front of the mirror two slender stalks sprouted from the floor, each gracefully curving to present a dildo of heart trembling proportions and detail set at an appropriate angle. Running behind them and fixed across the front of the mirror was a strong stainless steel bar. Arrested by this erotic provision, Maggie stepped forward to examine them closely. Each stem was supplied with a pair of footrests set in the angle between floor and mirror. I guess my latest hobby will be wanking. Curse Meg and her persuasive chat!

  Further thought was curtailed as Maggie was positioned facing the mirror. A determination to escape sprang into Maggie’s mind, realising that the door had sealed itself persuaded her otherwise. Trying to remain calm she submitted to having her ankles fastened to a spreader bar and her arms in another. I should have put up a fight, am I admitting that I actually desire this? More was to come. Taking a remote control from a pouch fastened to her bindings, Ali caused two slender cables to descend from the ceiling. Each carried a nipple clamp on its end. Positioning Maggie by pushing and pulling, Ali rubbed and pinched the buds into hard prominence. This would be lovely if I didn’t know what follows. Pain; lovely pain, pure torture. I can’t believe this!

  Ali fixed the clamps, causing Maggie to mewl as the pain grew beyond endurance. Ali stepped back slightly and used the remote again. The cables tightened, lifting Maggie’s breasts slightly so that their weight was carried by the tortured nipples. The agony saturating her brain eradicated rational thought. All she could do was curse: Ali, Meg, Greg and anyone else who came to mind. Ali appeared unmoved and produced a bag of thick black fabric that she dropped over Maggie’s head.

  Maggie stiffened, her body tensed in temper. The pain in her teats became unbearable and she hastily relaxed, savouring the relative comfort of simple agony. Behind her, the door rumbled softly.

  She had no idea how long she stood in darkness. The hood draped over her shoulders was totally opaque excluding all light. Movement was virtually impossible. If she shuffled her feet the tension on the cables changed causing one or both of her nipples to be pulled higher; this procedure had no recommendation, but became essential to prevent pins and needles in her limbs. She began to comprehend the fortitude of the living doll, her sympathy slowly turning to admiration, or was it envy, for each shuffle brought pain of such exquisite form that it was almost desirable. While her suffering did not diminish, Maggie found herself drifting into a kind of trance where her brain could comprehend her condition and begin to accommodate it. I understand some of this: I have no responsibility; there is nothing I can change. I sense a kind of peace; with the right key I might capture it.Is this what Meg has been trying to tell me?

  The faint rumble detected through the muffling hood announced an arrival, soon confirmed by relaxation of the tension on her nipples. Maggie steeled herself for the rush of pain that would follow the removal of the clamps. For the moment she could savour the pleasure of soft gentle hands on her breasts, then the awful assault as circulation was restored. Where is the pleasure of clamps, the suffering of wearing them, or the agony of release? It was a profound question and Maggie marvelled at herself having time to even consider it. The restraints came off, followed last of all by the hood. The light was harsh to Maggie’s eyes and several seconds elapsed before she could discern that her rescuer was not Ali but another girl quite naked except for a large dildo strapped to her groin.

  ‘You will shower now!’ ordered her jailer, for that was how Maggie considered her.

  Maggie crossed to the shower stall with the girl watching. A container of gel hung from the fitting and the spray sprang to life as Maggie stepped onto the tray.

  ‘Quickly now!’ the girl commanded; she had a slight foreign accent.

  ‘What should I call you?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘You don’t need to know; slaves are not permitted to speak unless to answer questions put to them, but because you are new I will tell you. I am Kayt. Now hurry!’

  ‘There is no towel,’ Maggie protested as she stepped out of the spray.

  ‘I said you must not speak; this time I must report you. Slaves do not qualify for towels. Come!’

  Kayt moved decisively like a sheepdog and Maggie found herself being herded from the room. With her drover following, she padded along the corridor leaving damp footprints. At the end another door opened automatically. Steps descended into a large vaulted cellar illuminated by subdued lighting. It was filled with an amazing assembly of equipment that caused her belly to churn in that alarming and arousing way.

  One spotlight, brighter than the rest, picked out a narrow cage running floor to ceiling. Within it was Ali, still trussed and unable to move, held captive by rods slotted through its mesh.

  Kayt ushered Maggie to a curious piece of apparatus; once she had been positioned, its purpose was clear. Moulded sections held her spread-eagled legs, pads supported her hips and other pads her shoulders and arms. A chin rest surrounded a stubby penis-shaped dildo. Her torso lay along a central rib that allowed her breasts to dangle either side and in this way her body was both displayed and made available for a range of sexual activities. Maggie hooked her fingers over an obvious bar and took the dildo into her mouth as its angle suggested. At once Kayt buckled a strap round Maggie’s head to hold it in place. This brought her forehead into contact with a curved plate that formed a visor restricting her vision. Trembling with a mixture of eager anticipation and dread, she waited her fate.

  ‘So, we are ready. She responded well to the hood, is she compliant?’ a velvet voice, smooth and rich as finest dark chocolate; just the slightest trace of accent beneath the precise English.

  ‘So far, Patron.’

  ‘Good, we have chosen well it seems.’ His voice caressed her soul, not a calming sound and not a safe sound; it made her captive.

  He touched her, a firm hand, silky smooth, sliding sensuously over her lingering stripes, fingertips sketching the contours of contusions incised at the farm. ‘This was dedicated work; she did well to withstand such an assault, a fine display of endurance.’ The fingers moved on, lightly teasing the swell of her labia.

  Is this heaven or the other place?

  ‘Exquisite! Observe the shape: flawless. All cunts are beautiful; few are perfect, but this… faultless appearance, faultless performance: she would have set a new record had she been permitted to continue. Pretentious conceit – it’s time we put that ‘Princess’ in her place.’

  Another voice intervened. How many are watching – am I a freak show? The new voice was female, cultured by privilege, accented more strongly. ‘Do I detect sour grapes, envy maybe?’ Almost in the same breath the voice switched target. ‘No leniency Kayt. Perfection does not protect her from rigour.’

  ‘Of course my lady. I promise she will experience everything.’

  ‘As she must if she is to be the means of humiliating the Princess.’

  ‘I trust Kayt implicitly; she is my most efficient mentor ever.’ His fingers teased Maggie’s anus, making her squirm. That’s demeaning, why is it so nice?

  ‘Here too, have yo
u ever beheld such perfection?’

  ‘She must have faults, all girls do: Kayt must reveal them.’

  ‘Ruthless as usual, Isolde.’ He parted Maggie’s labia, making her swoon. Sliding over the delicate moist membranes he teased her inner lips into prominence and flickered over the sensitive clitoral hood, easing it back to caress the hidden bud. Maggie writhed in ecstasy.

  He smacked her. Just once, loud and firm on one buttock.

  Resuming his caress he teased and tickled, evoking soft moans and much squirming from his submissive subject and punctuating the pleasure with sharp slaps on her bottom.

  Oh glory!

  Using two hands he continued stimulating her sex while easing her buttocks further apart. Lubricating a finger in the abundant vaginal juice he eased it into the tight puckered hole.

  Oh Glory, This is heaven! Maggie squirmed in utter delight.

  Maggie yelped when her abused nipple was flicked – she guessed by Kayt. When it was pinched and twisted she cried out, humping and clenching by reflex. He laughed as his finger was squeezed by the powerful sphincter. ‘Bravo! She lives. Now my beauty, learn not to do that when you are hurt, but sense when your lover needs it: then you may claim to be perfect in other than the mere physical sense.’

  He began to spank her, provoking deep desires. Over your knee, that’d be lovely. The longing for intimacy remained unfulfilled, but Maggie was learning to savour pleasure in the profound sensations flowing through her body as his hand rose and fell on her bruised skin and flayed flesh. Each wave of pain fuelled a stronger and ever stronger arousal, shocking sensitive places into wakefulness and setting every nerve tingling with desire. She wallowed in deep sensual pleasure. Though still surprised at how sexual satisfaction and suffering crossed over, her brain no longer wrestled with the conundrum. It was becoming less of a puzzle and more a fact of life capable of accommodation. Enlightenment burst upon her.