The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  It’s a correlation: the more hurt, the sexier I become; the hornier I feel, the more I crave certain kinds of pain. I’m not unique: I’m privileged! If I was naked across his knees, I’d feel sexier and able to sustain more pain. I might even orgasm.

  Hormones coursed through her veins and profound satisfaction engulfed her, she felt like a surfer riding an ocean roller; this was the peak, the ultimate. ‘More, more!’ she cried. ‘Spank me harder, harder!’

  Her plea was suppressed by the gag, but he seemed to sense her need, laying into her with renewed vigour. Her buttocks flamed. As a mighty flood of heat infused her flesh, she began to convulse. He laid on four more hard blows, coming so close to her pussy that it flared in consort, crying for attention.

  As if in answer to her unspoken plea, he pierced her, parting her labia in one swift thrust, driving straight into her inviting hole and filling her sheath with his rigid stem. She gasped in wonder as his presence possessed her, feeding greedily on his flesh, feeling it swell in response, more fulfilling than any hard prosthetic could ever be. This was life; this was sex, true sex such as she had been made for: real sex, affirming her femininity, endorsing her womanhood. Her heart swelled with pride: drunk on lust she thrust back, devouring him with every ounce of desire, instinctively conceding his mastery. His strength, his vigour, his skill lifted her to new levels of joy and she rode his carnality with abandon, convulsing and screaming as orgasm after orgasm burst in her brain and the relentless fucking drove her on and on. The great spear in her belly jerked, jetting his seed, filling her with his life, her womb gulping at his incessant flood. With one last huge spasm she slumped onto the rack: exhausted. Thoroughly shagged!

  ‘Such potential!’ he exclaimed, stepping away. ‘That fool Greg had no idea what a prize she is. She craves more, so give her more: ten from the cane on each side, closely grouped. Then return her to her study; we have only a few days to bring her to perfection.’

  ‘Twenty Patron; I recommend twenty each side, in the interests of rigour, Sir!’

  ‘Of course, as you see fit, Kayt.’

  After the caning, Kayt removed the bonds and dressed the bruises with a cold balm, the soft soothing attention serving only to revive Maggie’s libido. Leaving the room, they passed close to Ali in her cage. Maggie paused, marvelling at the way the artfully arranged rods were firmly clipped to the bars. One passing between Ali’s teeth and another across the nape of her neck constrained her head. Others criss-crossing her belly, lumber region, hips and arms pinioned her body. Yet another web restricted leg movement. The arrangement revealed a malevolent ingenuity that earned Maggie’s admiration; she was torn between that and envy of Ali’s degradation. She was most intrigued by the rod that passed between Ali’s thighs just a couple of inches below her naked pussy. Protruding from it and pointing upwards were six gleaming needles, their points almost touching the soft fleshy lips and bearing traces of blood. Was it pleasure in watching me suffer or was it envy that made you press down?

  Back in the room, Maggie realised how hungry she was; it was an age since the quick snack before the fuckathon. She was also thirsty and made straight for the water cooler. Realising that the starkness of the room could prove depressing, she resolved to resist the influence.

  He called it a study; what’s to study? Her eyes lit upon the stalk-mounted dildos. Of course!

  She crossed over, fingering the contours of the polished metal, tracing their shape, lingering over the prominent ridge below the finely sculpted glans, imagining it plucking at her vaginal rim. Hot stiff flesh: in my cunt, then in my mouth. Girl juice mixed with him, the taste of his juices, the maleness of him and the slight tang of piss. She bent to suck the phallus, there was no taste except the saltiness of her own sweat, but it reinforced the image. The caning had fuelled her libido; she was horny, in desperate need of relief and the means was staring her in the face. She glanced at the foot rests; everything became clear and in a moment she had hoisted herself up. Already creaming, she lined up the imposing stalk and slid slowly onto it, relaxing to allow its girth to stretch her eager vagina. Her longing for live cock set aside, this hard, enormous presence in her sheath was enough. Balancing, she began to move against it, fascinated by the way the mirror reflected her invaded pussy, loving the sensation of her rim of yielding flesh sliding over the sculpted contours, pulling and plucking and stretching the throbbing, sensitive clitoris. This was a new and pleasing taste of heaven, where she was in control, able to tune the effects to match her own responses. With her whole body wrapped in the process, all other preoccupations discarded, she indulged herself in sex and orgasm: rising to brush the pinnacle only to fall away just before the climax. Three times she soared to the heights. Not until the fourth did she allow herself to drive on to the peak. Bouncing wildly she forced every ounce of sensation from it, plunging madly onto the great dildo while paroxysms of pure pleasure racked her body and swamped her brain.

  Maggie slumped with the huge stem jammed tight in her sheath, her legs shaking and her arms weak from the effort. It was with dogged determination that she prised herself away, astonished at the wetness between her legs. She had never before indulged herself so extravagantly. Recognising that she had crossed a significant boundary, she quickly suppressed any lingering guilt. Welcome liberated woman.

  As she debated whether to shower or wallow in the grime of her own lasciviousness, a humming sound caused her to turn round. The semi-circular cabinet had opened to display a plate bearing a croissant and a mug of steaming coffee. She grabbed them, greedily tearing pieces off the bread regardless of her hands being sticky with her juices; glad to have real food at last. Despite the salve, her bottom burned from chastisement. Too sore to sit, she ate and drank standing until both plate and cup were empty. She replaced them and the cabinet instantly closed. Her brain clicked. I’m being watched; watched and rewarded! On impulse she returned to the dildo and began to lick it, feasting on her own secretions until the object was quite clean.

  Being watched?She scanned the room for hidden cameras. Nothing was evident. If not cameras, then the mirror. Impishly, she dropped into a half crouch and began fingering her pussy, spreading the labia wide, pushing first two then three fingers into her slack hole. Balancing precariously, she used both hands to pull her labia wide apart, flaunting the dark wide hole. Gripping the rail for support, she bunched her fist, pushing first fingers then knuckles as far inside as she could, twisting and turning in wild abandon, lost in self-pleasure. Beyond conscious thought and responding to instinct, she snatched her hand away and began to spank her flaunted labia, indulging in the pleasure of self-chastisement. What will I get, reward or punishment?

  The door slid open. Reflected in the mirror was Kayt. She beckoned.

  Maggie scrambled to her feet, turning in awkward embarrassment to face her mentor and stumbled forward, very conscious of her liberally creaming pussy. Kayt seemed unperturbed. She made Maggie stand while fitting handcuffs, then ankle straps. These were linked to form a hobble. The hood was dropped over Maggie’s head, drawn tight with a collar of some sort, all this done in silence.

  Kayt ordered, ‘Walk ahead of me: I’ll tell you where to step.’ In this restricted fashion Maggie staggered along corridors, across rooms and up some stairs, conscious only of her surroundings from the few clues collected through her bare feet. They stopped when Kayt laid a restraining hand on Maggie’s arm. She halted, wriggling her toes to explore the thick carpet. She stood naked, hooded, cuffed, hobbled and waiting. What’s this all about: more punishment, more intimidation? I thought this was about sex, real sex. The thoughts tumbled round her brain in blind confusion, repeating and repeating. After what seemed an age his muffled voice commanded attention.

  ‘I am Caen. I have bought you.’

  ‘Not with my consent, this is not of my choosing.’ she retorted, anger boiling up.

  ‘You are a slave; you ha
ve no right to choice.’

  ‘I am no slave.’

  ‘Yes, exactly so. You accepted slavery at the school and the farm and of your own volition promised yourself in slavery to Greg for three weeks; I have bought your promise.’ The rich chocolaty voice revealed only certainty.

  ‘I was tricked.’

  ‘The facts say differently. You cannot deny your pleasure and you cannot revoke your promise! You will serve The House for the period of your promise. Your performance will determine your future. Your purpose is to provide pleasure to all within The House through punishment and intercourse. I demand and receive total submission and obedience.’ He paused briefly before continuing.

  ‘Abandon all notions of will or choice.

  ‘You will not speak to anyone unless asked a question.

  ‘You will call me Patron, or Sir, anyone else you will address as Sir or Ma’am.

  ‘You will be fucked hard, regularly and frequently: these are rewards, work hard and learn to treasure them. Go with Kayt and be obedient.’

  Maggie stumbled away under Kayt’s control. Carpets gave way to smooth tiling and then to rough stone. This must be the cellar again. It was not. The smell of chlorine gave the clue and she found herself beside an indoor swimming pool. Her hood and restraints were removed. Kayt held up five fingers and dived in, swimming away in a fast crawl. Maggie followed more slowly, savouring the freedom of the water with her more sedate breast stroke. Swimming naked was both sensuous and stimulating; it was her first experience and she vowed she would never wear a costume again unless forced to.

  Five lengths did not take long and Kayt finished first. Maggie climbed from the pool where Kayt was standing with water dripping from her body, little cascades dropping from her nipples and between her legs. God, she’s sexy! It would be some time before Maggie acknowledged the significance of that fleeting thought.

  The brief respite over, Maggie was escorted back to her study where a light meal was waiting. She was left alone to eat. When Kayt returned she guided Maggie to the toilet fitting. ‘Listen carefully,’ Kayt began, ‘you must never soil your room; if you do you will earn severe physical punishment. This applies even if a custodian orders you. I know that sounds unfair, but the custodians have total freedom.’ She paused, tapping her finger nail twice on Maggie’s shaven mound. ‘That is the signal to piss: you must respond wherever you are. You must always stand to piss and you will be allowed five seconds to obey, any longer time will earn you two cane strokes for every second. If you wet a tiled floor you will have to lick it dry, soiling a carpet will earn fifteen cane strokes across your tits.’ She tapped again. Hot with shame Maggie let go, leaning back to arch the stream of glittering, golden urine splash onto the glaze.

  Maggie was returned to the centre of the room where the nipple chains were re-applied, along with cuffs and a hobble that was secured to the floor so that she was now unable to appreciably shift her weight. No hood this time, but ear plugs were inserted, plus a blindfold and a ball gag. The blindfold was actually a pair of opaque swimming goggles that sealed her eyes entirely. Now isolated, Maggie could only guess at what was happening. Kayt’s fingers brushed the underside of one breast and all contact ceased. Maggie was alone with her thoughts.

  I’m being conditioned, that’s it, conditioned: being channelled into sex. With my senses isolated my only contact is through my erogenous zones and these become dominant. Very clever: the thing is do I resist or comply? Why should I resist? Sex is good, but do I want to be just a sex object? I’m an intelligent thinking woman who enjoys an intellectual challenge. But sex is nice, nicer than I ever thought: it’s an onion, layers upon layers and I’ve only just penetrated the outer skin. I must find a way to have the best of both worlds. Have you solved that one Meg? I’d like to hear your answer.

  At that moment Maggie wobbled, the clamps pulled on her tortured teats, but her howl of anguish was smothered by the gag. These things are evil, I think I’d rather have piercings; but I suppose those hurt too. How much? More than my navel stud – sure to be. She found herself contemplating her appearance. Maggie was envious of Kayt’s athletic body, it was everything that Maggie had ever longed for, sheer perfection in shape and proportion: plump tight fanny, flat belly, trim waist, luscious thighs, smackable buttocks and those firm conical tits capped by big suckable nipples made lovelier by heavy gold rings. She registered that Kayt was branded differently: below the fancy S was a five pointed star, was Kayt a paragon slave? If was a slave I’d be a paragon!

  Such thoughts spun round and round in endless repetition, the ideas merging, separating and morphing endlessly but always returning to the same theme. There was no sense of time in the windowless room, but Maggie concluded that the day was well advanced, that it might now be evening.

  The touch on her arm shocked her, causing her to snatch breath through her nose. Perhaps one day they will clip my nose as well, restrict my breathing; I’d do it if I was in control: I’d make my slave fear for her life. She mentally arrested herself, frightened by her own ruthlessness and frantically groping for reality: Kayt, or someone, had come to release her. The clamps were removed and the pain of resumed circulation temporarily blanketed all reason. She came to while being led along the corridor.

  Again the journey was monitored only by the textures under her feet; walking was easier without the hobble, but the blindfold, ear plugs and gag were left in place.

  Maggie sensed she was in a furnished room and not alone. Naked and fettered, she felt extremely vulnerable. Excitement gripped her as she predicted the likely outcome and despite her temerity the appetite for sex was as keen as ever. Her longing was quickly satisfied. Led to various points in the room she was entered again and again, vagina and anus, already sore, were used over and over in every conceivable position and manner. Absorbing discomfort and pleasure she rose to the occasion with a will, responding readily to every demand. Thinking later, she concluded that there were at least six men in the room, possibly more.

  She was given a short respite and allowed to sit on a comfortable chair knowing, with a perverse delight, that her saturated cunt must be depositing notable stains. She was certain that it would add to her coming punishment for, prior to sitting, two finger taps on her groin had made her baptise the carpet.

  Refreshed by the interlude, Maggie was led forward and forced to kneel, her face pressed down. Her nose told her this was her own piss. Her hand was held while her fingers were counted, stopping at nine. The significance slowly dawned. Is this for response delay or for soiling the chair? Eighteen strokes plus fifteen – my god!

  She was guided across the room and made to squat. As she lowered herself she encountered an erect cock. Oh paradise. It entered, smooth and firm: living flesh. Hands grabbed her hair and pulled back her head while others captured her arms, hauling her back with the hot phallus throbbing in her sheath. Unable to hear the swish of the cane and still only half aware of the message contained in the warning slaps, she was quite unprepared for the searing white heat that sliced across her breasts. She alone could hear her howls of distress. She wriggled and bucked, but the gripping hands remained inflexible. My tits, my poor tits; on fire and my nips must be severed. I shall never survive. The merciless imposition continued. At least two canes were being used, one each side, sometimes together, sometimes separate, with variable intervals. They’re evil. It was a clever calculating evil that she could admire. Her writhing was doing wonderful things in her cunt. God, that cock must think itself in paradise.

  The orgy continued long after the caning. Finally, Maggie was taken to her study, the gag and goggles removed and she was left alone. Some food had been left out for her, with fruit juice and a tot of whisky. This she swallowed in one gulp before showering. On the bed lay a book, The Story of O. Dripping soapy water and oozing semen mixed with girl juice, she picked up the book and stood to read, picking at the food until all w
as eaten. Drier now, she lay down, feeling truly peaceful. It was unexpectedly warm even without bedding and in moments she fell asleep.

  3.2

  The automated lighting woke Maggie. By the time she had urinated, voided and showered, breakfast was delivered: croissant and excellent coffee. She fell upon it hungrily. The moment she had finished, Ali, naked and gagged, came for her. They went first to the pool, completing ten lengths. Ali opened a door leading out to a grassy enclosure and the sudden shock of rain falling on exposed skin. Somehow Maggie had not considered what might be happening in the outside world or what the weather might be: once begun, jogging naked in rain felt perfectly natural.

  The grassy paddock was circuited by a track paved with the rubbery tarmac used on children’s play areas. Ali set a steady pace and Maggie followed acutely conscious of her jiggling, bouncing breasts. She recognised it for a trim-track with various bits of apparatus set out at intervals. Ali ignored them, heading up the slight gradient toward a copse along the upper edge of the enclosure. Maggie welcomed its seclusion; suddenly conscious of being nude. Ali was loping along and Maggie had to fight her growing fatigue to keep pace.

  On the second lap Ali stopped at the first activity, a set of three steps. Side by side they stepped up and down ten times, changing the starting foot each time. This is torture! After so much exercise, Maggie’s legs were numb, her calves and quadriceps protesting and sore. Ali watching in enforced silence did her best to smile encouragement; it was little more than a brightening of the eyes, but this small gesture stiffened Maggie’s determination. She dug into her resolve, for running became torment as she staggered along. They passed the steps and stopped at the second set-piece. All the apparatus was constructed from smooth wood and plastic. Here was a simplified rowing machine. Instead of a tensioned wheel it had a rope and pulley lifting a weight suspended in a pit. Two seats were supplied, facing each other across the pulley arrangement. As Maggie straddled her seat she noticed the dildo sprouting from its front edge. It was obvious that the only way to get a proper posture was to accept the phallus. Gritting her teeth she shuffled onto its length: it filled her completely, a welcome presence. I really needed this; I must be turning into a nympho. The thought had hardly formed itself when a second thought topped it. You’re just a normal healthy woman coming to understand your true needs. The thought was so intense it sounded real and she swung round looking for the source. Meg, I could have sworn I heard Meg. But there was no Meg, only Ali hauling on her rope, ecstasy lighting her eyes as she nestled onto her dildo.