The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  Left alone she deduced that her role was that of a living statue. Fitful drafts wafting over her skin and the soft vibrations of people walking past suggested that she was positioned near an entrance. As time went on the frequency of movement increased and the general rise in temperature confirmed that the room was filling up. People were brushing past now and some were pausing to look; she could sense the heat of their bodies. Then the touching started and it quickly became intimate as fingers and hands explored the soft moist folds and crevices of her sex and anus or traced the contours of her breasts. The keeper bars in her clit and nipples were a popular target and the still raw piercings reacted sharply to the continuous attention. So far there was no attempt at penetration, but the constant stimulation was turning her on. For pity’s sake fuck me. But no-one did. Time rolled on and the general atmosphere told her that the party was well under way. It was now that those hours of training came into play: Maggie was able to withstand the intense strain of immobilisation and deprivation with enviable calm.

  A body came close, a very warm body and it came very close, skin touching skin, big firm nipples pressing into Maggie’s own breast flesh. Arms enfolded her; they seemed to be fastened.

  The soft warm body pressing against her suddenly jolted. Maggie felt arms and legs stiffen as hips and abdomen were driven violently against her own. My god, I’ve been turned into a whipping post.This particular use became frequent

  Hazel had discarded the blue shift in favour of the necklace. Thus nominally decorated and defined, Hazel drifted into the main room with Mike. Already some slaves had been installed in alcoves set along one wall. ‘Viewing time for the slave auction,’ explained Mike. ‘Later in the evening we can bid for a sex session with the slave we fancy. If they fail to please us we appeal to the Beadles who will arbitrate and declare a level of punishment.’

  ‘Just one slave?’ Hazel enquired naively.

  ‘As many as you fancy.’

  Hazel strolled along the alcoves assessing each slave. There were twenty places, only eight were filled at present. Tegan was among them. She stood stoically in her niche, hands cuffed and eyes modestly cast down. A chain hanging from the alcove’s canopy was threaded through her nipple rings permitting enough movement for her to step forward and turn if required. Hazel concluded that Tegan was probably the most attractive on offer at present; it caused her a little surge of pride. Two more slaves were secured on either side of the main door, their legs and arms restrained and heads enclosed in leather helmets. Recognising Maggie by the tell-tale nipple keepers launched another wave of pride.

  The room filled steadily and more slaves were added to the line-up as groups arrived. A woman of obvious importance eventually took position on a small dais and the room fell quiet, though not silent. Hazel guessed the newcomer was Lady Jane whose presence seemed to attract respect. She carried herself well and the very brief black dress she wore flattered her excellent figure. Hazel could quite understand how such a woman might lure away a fickle personality. Lady Jane extended words of welcome and declared the evening’s entertainment under way. The lined-up slaves were released and some were taken away. A small corps of girls dressed in brief diaphanous shifts was employed as ushers.

  Several of the auction group were selected for the first competition. On the opposite wall six bays had been set up. A slave was installed in each, sitting against a reclining backboard with legs widely spread. Their hands were sealed inside stout leather mittens. About one and a half metres in front of them stood a long screen. This had a pair of holes positioned opposite each slave. One aperture was at floor level, the other about half a metre above. Competitors chose a slave and were allocated the appropriate position. A rod resembling a snooker or pool cue was passed through the lower hole. This had a stubby dildo plugged onto its tip. By peering through the upper hole the contestant had to steer the dildo into the easily accessible vagina. It was then the slave’s job to grip the dildo while the contestant attempted to pull the rod free. Once the dildo had been detached, the slave had to stand and carry the dildo to deposit it in a tub at the end of the line. Retention of the dildo was entirely down to the slave’s control of her pelvic muscles; canes threaded through the palms of the mitts prevented any manual assistance. The whole action was timed and recorded and the slave resumed her place ready for the next attempt. Called Pot Pink, this was a popular game, with contestants signing up for several attempts using different slaves. Hazel found it really testing and great fun; in the final reckoning she was listed at fifty-two out of a total of ninety-six.

  Throughout this event coitus was in continuous progress elsewhere. Hazel succumbed to Mike’s overtures and they repaired to an ante room with couches where she was competently fucked. Many couples performed their coupling while watching the activities and when another guest propositioned her, Hazel suggested they followed suit; it was, she decided, a most pleasant experience. Meantime she strolled across to the twin sentinels and, like most guests, she fingered their cunts. Discovering that Maggie was lubricating freely, she pinched a raw nipple as a reward.

  After Pot Pink, refreshments were served. Hazel was amused by the Trolley Dollies, especially by the slave propelling the tea and coffee trolley who, on this occasion, dispensed milk from her teats.

  Any lingering inhibitions that Hazel carried were quickly shed in this highly charged sexual ambience. She was very aroused and desperate for relief. When the time came for the auction she found herself bidding recklessly until she was rewarded with a thirty minute session. The slave she had won had already been sold to two bidders who had used her thoroughly and both had lodged ‘complaints’ with the result that she bore the marks of a vicious tit caning and a body whipping. Hazel led her to a quiet corner and, squatting on a stool, had the girl kneel to lick her aching pussy. The slave injudiciously lifted her eyes and smiled before she plunged her tongue into Hazel’s swollen labia and therefore earned herself a complaint even though she was an extremely competent lover. But Hazel was growing wise to the whiles of slaves so at the height of her rapture Hazel gripped the girl’s hair and held close contact to spurt a fulsome flow of urine over those pretty features.

  Once Hazel was satisfied with the girl’s licking dry, she pulled the slave over her lap and administered a rigorous spanking. Little piles of sex aids were provided all around the big schoolroom. Keeping the girl on her lap, Hazel reached for a good thick dildo and eased it home between the inviting frills deep into a receptive vagina. The girl squirmed, uttering sighs of pleasure, so Hazel snatched it out and thrust it brutally into the winking anus.

  The girl screeched.

  Hazel smacked her and rammed an equally large toy into the creaming cunt. The girl arched, then relaxed and began purring as the two probes were skilfully manipulated in both holes. ‘I’ve a good mind to put one in your mouth too, would you purr then?’

  All too soon the bought time was finished, but as appeals did not count against the bid Hazel dragged the slave across to a Beadle, a well-built man wearing a black kimono. ‘She tried to manipulate the situation,’ she said, going on to explain the incident of the smile. The Beadle smiled, ‘It’s a common ploy,’ he agreed. ‘You may command a suitable punishment: up to five minutes.’

  Hazel indicated the two sentinels. ‘Secure her to a live whipping post, the one with nipple bars, and bugger her.’

  ‘As you wish, my lady; will you assist?’

  ‘Fasten the slave behind, then I can tickle the post’s pussy with that wicked looking cat.’

  The auction was very popular, but it was increasingly clear that controlled events were giving way to spontaneity and it was no surprise when Lady Jane, now naked except for a skimpy thong resumed her position on the dais. ‘Friends and slaves, I know it is unusual to acknowledge them, but the slaves have served us well and this has been a most successful evening with a huge sum going to our charities. But the centr
al purpose of this gathering is to celebrate the birthday of a dear and respected friend. So please join me in singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to dear Princess Astra.’

  As they sang a tall, slender black girl strolled into the centre of the room throwing imperious glances to either side. Had Maggie been able to see, she would have recognised the centre of attention as the mistress of ceremonies from the farm. Quite naked except for a belt of gold medallions fastened round her waist, Astra soaked up adulation like a sponge, casting about in expectation.

  ‘Is she really a princess?’ Hazel asked Mike.

  ‘No more than Jane is a lady.’

  The gathering parted to allow four ushers to push a trolley into the centre where they sank to their knees and touched the floor with their foreheads in mock obeisance. On the trolley lay a figure completely encased in white confection with three tall candles set where nipples and clitoris might be. The apparition was greeted with applause and a chorus of ‘Oohs’. Hazel guessed that it was Carly concealed within the shimmering white cocoon. A man stepped forward with a gleaming curved sword and presented it to Astra, declaring, ‘If your highness is pleased.’

  The princess took it with carefully assumed disinterest. Then, with an imperious wave, indicated that the man should extinguish the candles. He pinched the flames and withdrew backwards. Astra raised the sword and made two parallel cuts across the centre of the confection. Deeply shocked, Hazel almost screamed, expecting to see blood welling up into the sparkling white, but nothing happened. A pretty naked slave ran forward, dropping to her knees to hold out a silver dish. Still playing the ersatz princess, Astra used the sword to carve out a piece that the slave, now standing, lifted onto the dish. Walking ahead, the slave carried the dish to a large throne-like chair on which Astra was regally installed. Acknowledging her audience with a royal flourish she accepted the dish from the mute slave and stuck two lumps of confection to the slave’s breasts before proceeding to nibble it off.

  ‘The Princess craves that you share her cake,’ Lady Jane announced to the room. At once the gathering surged forward, grabbing pieces from the recumbent confection. Hazel eventually reached the trolley, discovering that Carly was now largely exposed and that the covering was actually a stiff artificial cream. As it was consumed, people started licking away the smears until Carly was virtually clean, close attention being paid to the morsels clinging to her crotch, breasts and mouth. The amount of wriggling from the blindfolded figure suggested that she was thoroughly enjoying the experience.

  After a while a group of ushers began to remove Carly’s restraints. Hazel demanded to know the purpose. The nearest girl turned deferentially, her status confirmed by the black choker. ‘She must be prepared, my lady.’

  ‘I see, what’s your name?’

  ‘Sukie, my lady.’

  ‘Now, Sukie, tell me exactly what will happen here.’

  The girl curtsied. ‘If you please, my lady, we must scrub her clean and administer a douche and enema. She is then released for the room to enjoy. When her Highness instructs we must repeat the cleansing. Then Her Highness will punish the slave for having got dirty again and after punishment Her Highness will use the slave privately.’

  Hazel rapidly analysed the information. ‘Listen carefully, Sukie: there must be no enema; do you understand, no enema?’

  Horror contorted Sukie’s features, ‘But, my lady, I have my orders.’

  ‘You have mine too. If you disobey me, I shall punish you as well. Your colleagues may start the cleaning, but I want you to find my slave, Tegan, and bring her to me here. Then you may consult your mistress.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ gasped Sukie, scampering off like a frightened rabbit. Hazel gazed after her – unsure whether she was observing total loyalty or abject degradation.

  Tegan was delivered in a matter of moments. She was dishevelled and stained, her body bearing the marks of repeated chastisement, but her eyes were sparkling. She bobbed down onto one knee. ‘You sent for me ma’am.’

  ‘I did indeed Tegan. You are to search for the master or mistress who met you on arrival. Tell them we are leaving and I require the immediate release of Maggie. If they refuse, you are to go to Maggie at once, unclip her yourself and take her to the car; she will have to hop. This is an emergency, you must refuse any offers of sex or punishment, no matter how tempting they may seem.’

  Tegan dipped her head, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Leaping up she scurried away, neat little breasts bobbing urgently.

  At that moment Lady Jane arrived.’ What is this that Sukie tells me?’

  Hazel explained. ‘Carly is a novice still under training. I have explicit instructions: no anal entry is permitted.’

  ‘This is nonsense. As a slave mistress so you should know that novices are not “eased in”; they are expected to meet the full rigour of slavery from the first. This has been so since the dawn of history.’

  ‘You may be right, but there are countless recorded cases of slaves being held in hand for special events, celebrations or feasts, which is the case here. Either give me your word of honour that Carly will not be anally violated or we must leave immediately.’

  ‘I cannot do that; it would be an affront to our guest of honour. The Princess has been promised a novice and a novice she must receive, with total freedom of action. I have no doubt that she will want to explore the novice in every opening.’

  ‘Then I suggest you quickly find a substitute; I will offer myself.’

  ‘You are not a novice!’

  ‘No, but I am inexperienced in the matter of slavery.’

  Lady Jane’s anger was terrible. Her whole body quivered, glowing red with fury. ‘This is an outrage; it will destroy our relationship with the Syndicate – beyond repair.’ The last two words were spat with venom.

  ‘In that case you will not welcome our presence any longer. I shall take my slaves and depart.’

  5.3

  Thwick, thwick! The cane began etching its evil grid on smooth creamy skin. Carly lay on her back with her arms secured to the bed head. Her elevated legs were held vertical by a single loop hung from the ceiling. Maggie smiled to herself. What a wonderful way to start the day. She’s sublimely beautiful and never more than she is now. And I can enjoy the pleasure of hurting her because I know why she wants me to. What a privilege! Nestling neatly between strong thighs, Carly’s pussy was coming to life: the slim line of the inner lips framed by the outer plumpness was broadening as the girl’s reflexes responded to the cane’s painful caress. A darker pink infused the blossoming tissue of the lesser labia and the clitoral hood: soon the beautiful vulva would burst into full bloom, tightly bordered by those lovely slender thighs.

  Thwick, thwick! Only minutes earlier Carly had been sleeping. Maggie had rolled her over, slipping loops over her wrists and grasping her ankles with one hand; there was no struggle, the eager compliant girl waking to her restraint with calm submissiveness.

  Thwick, thwick! The rattan bit into pliant flesh, carving momentary valleys so, so close to the neat fragile labia, before sliding away under control. The magic of the white trace turning quickly pink was wonderfully rewarding and Maggie struck again, tracing fiery comet trails across that porcelain-delicate feminine flesh. Carly was moaning. She’s expressing her suffering, but I recognise her contentment too. Maggie viewed the result with a sense of privileged awe, deeply moved by the indescribable beauty of delicate symmetry framed by the angry pattern inscribed by the cane. A slender line of femininity led the eye downward to the darker hollow of that tempting, alluring rosebud nestling within the assaulted valley. Is she longing for the cane to bite her there, to incise its cruel cut on her womanhood? Maggie trailed the tip of the cane slowly downward tracing the lovely slit from clitoral hood to vaginal porch, teasing the perineum before lingering on the anal rim: hinting at possibilities, sowing seeds of desire that would one day soo
n lead to exquisite pleasures and torments. Carly tensed, a certain sign of inner yearnings. Maggie felt a thrill of excitement and a longing to insert a lubricated finger and explore the hidden virgin beauty, but Caen’s edict was clear and the rule of obedience rock solid.

  Instead Maggie’s finger parted the flowering labia, hastening their blossoming before trailing down to probe for the vaginal threshold. Slowly and firmly she opened a way, one finger then two, pushing deep; savouring the warm, silky, quilted lining, sensing its eager life – This is heaven. – pushing deeper to touch the cervix. Standing clear, where Carly would see, she sucked the nectar from her fingers.

  Being restrained created an elegant paradox; this was something Maggie had quickly learned during her sojourn in The House. Being denied the means of escape placed the subject in a position where nothing was ruled out: restraints erased all barriers; the dominator could select any action. And just as restraints conferred absolute freedom of action on the principal, so it applied an inverted freedom on the subject; being denied any influence on the outcome sharpened the sense of anticipation, which ramped up fear and in its turn this boosted the charge of adrenaline. It was an elegant principle and Maggie was determined to ensure that Carly received ample experience to achieve total understanding and the consequent serenity that marks a true, dedicated slave. In pursuit of this aim Maggie shifted her attention to Carly’s breasts. In her supine position these were lying snugly on her chest, although the nipples stood proud, a certain indication of her arousal. Smiling balefully at the lovely, compliant girl, Maggie flicked the hard teats with the tip of the cane. Carly stiffened, her eloquent eyes silently pleading. ‘Slaves have no right to choose,’ Maggie whispered, using the cane to rock the plump breast flesh to and fro across Carly’s rib cage. The girl rolled her body in response and Maggie reacted by cracking the cane down on each boob in turn, deeply excited by the way ripples surged out through the supple tissue. A pause, then she struck again, going directly for the hard, throbbing pinnacles. Carly howled, a sound that fed Maggie’s libido, urging her to lash again and again. Carly was keening now, a long, soft, soulful howl that spoke of anguish and delight. Red trails appeared, growing in intensity. Maggie felt herself rising toward orgasm and rounded off the movement with a rapid quartet while vigorously circling her clitoris. Urgently she changed target, slipping round to address the exposed elegance of Carly’s posterior once more.