The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  Maggie had to turn away. I really do feel sorry for you, Hazel, but you’re turning me on. The hollow thwock, thwock coming from Carly’s tree was even more potent: just seeing her buttocks flexing under the impact was sufficient to trigger the deep churning desires that fired up Maggie’s motives. The girl was being hurt and Maggie knew that above all she wanted that hurt to be severe, hardly bearable: strong enough to feed the powerful needs that would be surging up.

  I want my turn! The frustration was still difficult to contain. I want to hurt you Carly, god you can’t imagine how much I want you to be hurt because knowing it and thinking about it makes me so horny I want to ravish you. And I know how the hurt will make you want to be ravished. There’ll be more love than either of us can express and I’ll feel so guilty and grateful that you love me enough to not simply let me hurt you, but actually crave it. Oh, for God’s sake, Clyde, leave her and thrash this wicked, selfish woman.

  Clyde did. The hollow plastic, less yielding than a cane, but more flexible than a rod, hurt as much as either. The heat and pain soaked into Maggie’s flesh and she drank it deep, surfing on the combination of physical and emotional responses that were charging her libido. She shifted her feet, pushing out her rump in blatant invitation to assault and copulation. Clyde was strong, with stamina, and his strikes bit hard, but Maggie made no noise other than the involuntary gasps as breath was driven from her by the impact. She was in her natural element, responding to powerful, overriding impulses. I was born for this.

  Hazel was muttering, so Maggie guessed that Barrie was servicing Tegan. Clyde moved to Carly and Maggie stared, pandering to her lust. Carly met her eyes and in them Maggie read deep, deep bliss. She had detected this response before when punishing the girl, but never so intense. The quality transcended egotism; in those fathomless dark pools she read devotion. Yes, Carly, we’re kindred spirits. I love you.

  The continuous thwock, thwock echoed so loudly that Maggie was certain it must attract unwanted attention before the event could reach its climax, but Barrie and Clyde showed no inclination to stop. Beating naked women, it seemed, was a new-found addiction. Carly’s haunches, already reddened by the nettles, burned bright crimson and yet she seemed as willing to absorb the punishment as Clyde was willing to deliver it. Maggie knew she must present the same picture. As to Hazel, she must be in torment.I hope the experience doesn’t blunt her determination when it comes to punishing us. It was a fleeting concern, pushed aside by seeing Clyde toss his piping aside. In extreme arousal he was tearing off his trousers to let his immense cock jut over the top of his boxers as he advanced on Carly. Please, not up her arse. Maggie’s fears were groundless, for Carly was flagrantly flaunting her fanny and he homed in, spearing her with a single mighty rush that changed her expression of rapture to utter astonishment in an instant. Without pause he began thrusting with desperation.

  He must come; come on, Carly, force him to shoot his load. Maggie did her best to convey the message by mouthing words and exaggerated facial contortions, but there was no need. Carly had already sussed out the scenario and was working him with every wile she had learned from her devoted tutors. Clyde’s predicament was obvious, with a yell of triumph loud enough to waken a whole cemetery, his body tensed rigid. He rammed his penis home and huge convulsions marked each gush of semen.

  Moments later Barrie climaxed noisily, sliding from Tegan into a deflated heap on the ground. Hazel gave a subdued cheer. Neither man moved to release their captives, choosing to spend time recovering from their exertions. Barrie returned to action first. ‘Witches!’ he snarled. ‘Let’s get the hoses and show them who’s boss.’

  Clyde staggered sheepishly to his feet. ‘Good idea!’ Slowly he climbed the gate and the waiting girls heard a pump start up. Clyde passed two hoses over the gate, each fitted with a spray head. They took up stance, twisted the control to jet and attacked their tethered targets. The water was cold and the jets powerful, but the power of them quickly sluiced the dirt and grime from their bodies, though both men paid more than necessary attention to crotches and anal cracks while their victims squirmed. At last the water tanks were exhausted and Barrie re-coiled the hoses into the van. The engine started and Clyde paused at the gate. ‘Thank you ladies, you can keep the cords: they might prove useful in future endeavours.’ He vaulted over and the van drove away.

  It took some time before Carly’s suppleness enabled her to escape from the tight grip of rubber. Not bothering to dress they scampered for the car and were soon homeward bound. Hazel wriggled to ease the pressure on her bruises as she drove. ‘You all enjoyed that far too much!’ she muttered ominously while casting sideways glances at Maggie, eyes burning with anticipation. She twisted her head to include the rear seat passengers, ‘I’m going to put you all across my knee when we reach home. And no-one will ever mention this episode again on pain of instant annihilation.’

  ‘We’ve had a lovely day, and now temptation!’ whispered Tegan.

  Carly screamed. ‘Urgh! I’ve found a woodlouse!’

  Part Six

  6.1

  The House was all of a bustle, pervaded by the inevitable excitement preceding a big event. Custodians and guests were already arriving, taking up residence and exercising their slaves on the trim track or in the cellar.The slaves on house-duty were fully occupied, the usual trio had been increased to eight for the occasion. All the Syndicate slaves were accustomed to this role for they were called in to serve regularly, their temporary loss to their Custodian being a small price to pay for the immense privilege of ‘owning’ a perfect slave. Since it was a Syndicate rule that every slave should also be trained for an independent career, they were practically self-supporting and many Custodians kept a pair of slaves.

  Expectancy was high, since every Custodian and slave had been summoned to attend this most significant event, some travelling long distances to witness the branding of a new slave. The House was full with many Custodians being accommodated in nearby villages. A number of guests were in attendance: people like Donata who while not members, were well know to the Syndicate.

  The direct cause of this activity was satisfying her desires on the electrified dildo, hands on the bar, feet on the pads, immersed in self-indulgent suffering as the control unit sent shattering shocks through every erogenous zone, a veritable orgy of melded torture and stimulation. In addition to the dildo Maggie was penetrated by a wired-in anal probe. She also had cables hooked to her piercings in navel, nipples and clitoris. Each shock was randomly routed between any two of the ten points. Jacques had created the system from the germ of the idea put forward by Maggie herself, though this was far from her mind as she rode the agonising roller coaster of intrusion. She was only conscious of total possession, herself at the centre of a web of pure, intoxicating torment.

  Maggie had arrived on Friday afternoon, in slave role under Hazel’s control. Tegan and Carly had been instantly assigned to house-duty leaving the evening free for Hazel to exercise her devoted slave. An evening of continuous punishment and sexual exploitation had tuned Maggie to concert pitch. On the cusp of physical exhaustion she had been sent to the study pending the great event on Saturday evening. She was very content to be back in The House; returning to immerse herself once more in the rigorous routine was welcome and she had slipped smoothly into it. Today had offered just one spanking (protocol demanded that the postulant should be paraded unblemished) but a thorough workout in the gym, two circuits of the track, several good fuckings and a session in a cage had restored her to quiet compliance. In the study she could relax with a little food, re-read the eagerly received copy of Justine or indulge herself as she was now doing. The knowledge that she was providing a living backcloth to numerous Custodians and others partaking of R & R held no importance; days and days of exposure had wiped away all inhibition. Maggie Moon was rapturously happy being exactly what she was, a masochistic sex addict.

  In the
brief moments of calm Maggie’s thoughts drifted back to Meg, the mysterious influence responsible for revealing this suppressed aspect of her complex personality. I can admit it now, the image I spent so much effort on projecting: the super efficient, faultless administrative paragon was a front, a veneer I created to conceal the self I had been taught to fear; thank you Meg, for being so persistent in breaking through.

  Will she be present? She ought to be. But I don’t suppose anyone has thought to invite her, or been able to, after all only Hazel and I know about her and even I don’t know how to reach her. But then, she’s always turned up before. Sometimes I think she shares my brain; she seems able to read my thoughts, even predict my actions. And this is my big day – I’m to be finally confirmed as a true and complete slave. It’s the conclusion she drove me to, so she ought to be here: I can’t do this on my own! Of course you can; better not let Caen hear defeatist thoughts! The voice was internal, but very clear; too clear to be a thought?

  Maggie’s impression that the big lounge was full of relaxing Custodians was incorrect. That room was being prepared and the gathering guests were using the smaller drawing room; among them Caen, Hazel and George.

  ‘The thing is, George, I can’t do what you suggest. I simply administer the Syndicate; I don’t own it. It’s a democratic club. If Cilla wants to be a Custodian she will have to satisfy the accepted criteria and nominate her own slave partner.’

  ‘She don’t see it that way. I think you know what she’s like. Cilla thinks all she’s got to do is come here tonight, put her money down and say, “Here I am, give me a slave to play with.” I’ve tried to explain, but she’ll only accept what she wants to hear.’

  Caen smiled grimly, ‘You’ve got a problem and I don’t envy you at all.’

  Hazel spoke diffidently, she still felt in awe of Caen. ‘We’re called Custodians, George: that implies certain attitudes and obligations. I wonder if Cilla might appreciate the role better if she served as a slave for a while. I was thinking, she could be put on the racks with the amenity girls this evening.’

  ‘That’s a brilliant suggestion,’ Caen declared.

  ‘I’ll ask her, but I don’t guarantee an answer suitable for a lady’s hearing.’

  ‘I’m no lady George, but my advice is don’t ask: we’ll shanghai the wench.’

  Caen chuckled at George’s red-faced reaction. ‘Hazel Repton-Cooke, you are one wicked woman.’ He shifted focus and continued, ‘You see George, once the slaves are adopted by the Syndicate they become common property: they get moved around and are frequently called in here for house-duty. There is no argument that slaves must be treated with anything other than rigour, but it takes training and practice to apply rigour without damage. If a slave was damaged while in the care of another Custodian, disputes would arise and trust would be broken. The Syndicate’s high standards avoid this. Hazel’s suggestion is excellent, let’s see how Cilla responds and go from there. Does that sound good?’

  George nodded, a little uncertainly.

  Caen backed up his argument: ‘Let matters take their course. You never know, this might solve your problems. What you need now is something to take your mind off them. There is a caged slave in the cellar in need of some vigorous exercise. Have you ever whipped a girl wet from swimming?’

  Pip came to collect Maggie late in the afternoon, escorting her along to Patty’s little salon. Patty looked superb dressed in a tiny crimson thong glittering with diamante and set off by matching adhesive nipple guards.

  ‘Will you have to dress tonight? Maggie enquired.

  Patty shrugged, ‘Mistress hasn’t decided, I hope not. I guess you’ll be nude though, so I’d best turn you out to look beautiful as you really are.’

  They chatted amiably as Patty set to work on the full treatment: manicure and pedicure, whole body depilation, shampoo, hair styling, body lotion, full make-up and finally the all-important and highly appropriate, perfume. When all was complete Maggie twirled before the mirror.

  Zelda arrived to take charge. ‘Good luck: enjoy.’

  ‘I wish it were me,’ said Patty softly as she slipped away.

  Led by a rope threaded through her clit ring, Maggie was conducted through the house. It was just the right level of humiliation, reminding Maggie that slaves were the lowest form of existence at a time when her pride was in danger of bursting through. Despite this, she was aware that they had entered that part of the house set aside for the true heart of the Syndicate, the Custodians; she would be entering the great lounge through the grand door. Reaching it, Maggie was made to hold it open for Zelda to pass through. Zelda did not advance any further; she paused, stepped aside and indicated that Maggie was to kneel beside her like an attendant dog. Ensuring that her eyes appeared to be cast down, Maggie stole a look. No medieval theme tonight, the great room had reverted to contemporary splendour augmented by comprehensive provision for sexual excess. Down both sides of the room, posts, stools and benches for punishment were set out. It seemed as if every example had been gathered from all corners, even the one from Isolde’s private suite was in use. In between them small alcoves had been created where slaves available for copulation were displayed. In about half of these the slaves were strapped into a variety of positions ready for instant penetration. The sound of slaves being chastised or fucked mingled with conversations and the rattle of cutlery or clink of glass. The appetising smell of good food and drink was overlaid with the unique aroma of sex. Pure paradise!

  The lounge was already filled with people and Maggie scanned the assembly seeking familiar faces. She failed to spot Carly, but Kayt and Titty were serving at the buffet and she was surprised to see Astra mingling with the crowd. Hazel was busily talking in a group of Custodians and looking striking in a black and red ensemble consisting of a laced corset that supported her breasts without covering them and a matching abbreviated taffeta skirt, all frills and flounce. Donata sported a similar outfit in pale blue and silver. Maggie deduced collusion with Hazel’s sister. I wonder if Jenny’s been invited. Perhaps it’s not her scene. After a careful search she identified Tegan strapped to a sex bench being serviced by a tall elderly man with a striking bush of silver hair. For all his advanced years he seemed efficiently virile and judging by Tegan’s animated gasps he was serving her well.

  The assembled gathering was slowly registering the arrival of Zelda and her charge, and the noise subsided steadily until the only sound was Tegan building to a full-blown orgasmic yell. Lost in impending climax her donor pounded into her, lifting her body with the force of his thrusts. As he came down from his peak he suddenly became aware of the expectant silence. Disengaging, he turned to face the room.

  ‘Apologies!’ he said with a cheeky smile, ‘When you reach my age you don’t want to rush things.’ Someone chuckled and clapped and whole room applauded, slaves excepted.

  As the approbation subsided, Zelda tugged the rope to bring Maggie to her feet. They set off, Maggie trailing with genuine submissiveness as the beautiful, haughty and starred chief slave paraded her charge before the assembly, describing a complete circuit that returned them to the great door. Zelda unthreaded the rope and tapped twice on Maggie’s groin. Instantly responding to her training Maggie dropped into a half crouch thrusting her crotch forward to emit a surging golden shower and drawing a hum of appreciation from the watching crowd. The action was smooth and natural, entirely devoid of any shame or sensitivity, even though she knew the consequences. So cruel, but the agony will be fantastic.

  Caen addressed the gathering from beside the great hearth where a shallow brazier burned brightly. ‘I will come to the point. We are here to enjoy and celebrate the branding of a slave. Maggie will be marked as Syndicate property. As we know well, sometimes a slave is identified as having special skills and this earns her recognition as a slave mentor and an additional star brand. One of our first slaves at the time
of our formation was Leonie who later revealed a rare ability to switch roles. In due course Leonie’s servitude was lifted and she became a Custodian, an honour that has remained unique among us. However, it was obvious from the start that tonight’s subject, Maggie, was also special and after much consultation it has been agreed that because Maggie has declined the offer of absolute freedom, she should be granted dual status as Slave/Custodian and to distinguish this rare classification and to further distinguish her from the Slave-mentors, two stars will be added below the Syndicate symbol. This makes the occasion unique: the only time we’ve done a triple branding. When Leonie was branded it was done by Bill Jurgens our very first Patron. Bill later departed for foreign climes, but he has recently returned on a short visit and is with us this evening. It seems appropriate to extend the honour to him and ask him to brand this slave.

  The silver haired man, wearing the short tunic favoured by male Custodians, stepped forward diffidently. ‘I am indeed honoured. Being what is known as an ex-pat, it is some years since I attended a Syndicate gathering, but I hope you will have noticed that I retain the taste. Prepare the slave!’

  Four slaves placed a large white box in the centre of the room opposite the hearth. Zelda seized Maggie’s wrist and propelled her forward. God, it looks like a coffin. Despite her eagerness to be branded, Maggie’s mouth went dry; even if the silence rule had been lifted, it would have been difficult to speak. The four were Kayt, Ali, Titty, and a slave Maggie did not recognise: a proud, impressive figure, possibly Polynesian: tall and strong, voluptuous yet firm of figure and branded.

  Zelda indicated that Maggie was to mount the box and kneel. Restrains were snapped on ankles and wrists, binding them together. Kayt and the unknown slave that Maggie supposed must be Leonie, remained to stand either side; the others glided away.