The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  Jurgens began stirring the glowing embers with his branding iron while Caen explained the task. ‘It has been decided that she will carry the Syndicate brand plus two stars, just below and either side. Allow for a little recovery between applications, but not so long as to delay treatment.’

  Bill nodded his understanding and made to pick up a glowing iron, but Isolde intervened. ‘There is punishment to administer for soiling a carpet, and I have received a complaint from the manager of a certain tea shop regarding her unsociable activity, which earns another fifteen.’

  Treachery, this is vindictive and so admirable; I hope I can do this inspiration justice.

  ‘But because the matter of the tea shop was never admitted by the slave concerned, the tariff is doubled so, forty five strokes, which the slave will count. Head up, slave!’

  Courage, mon ami! Was that Meg’s voice – in my head?

  Crack! The cane sliced into the soft breast tissue like fire. ‘One! The branding iron will be far worse.’

  Again it sliced, then again, alternating left and right.

  Crack! Vindictively it snapped at her nipples catching just above the rings, setting the tender, sensitive flesh aflame. Again and again, on and on, breast and nipple, left and right: twenty, thirty, forty; Maggie’s proud, pretty breasts had become a crimson mass, burning with vicious heat that soaked deep into her tissues, provoking reactions, releasing hormones: pure, intense pain assaulting vulnerable naked flesh and echoing in her brain as bliss. Caught in the enigmatic loop of the great paradox, Maggie was soaring toward orgasm.

  ‘Forty one…forty two…’ Maggie’s voice crumbled as coherence decayed and all faculties focussed on the all-consuming desire to submit to emotional overload. The watchers were tight-packed now, closing in to indulge both prurience and admiration of this plucky slave. ‘Forty three…four…five…’ she croaked, barely audible when the last stroke carved a signature that immediately vanished into the glowing red mass that had been Maggie’s beautiful bosom. Hovering in the misty boundary of orgasmic ecstasy, she was only vaguely conscious of bustle. A hand offered a strip of leather to bite upon; she shook it away, likewise the hands wanting to grasp her shoulders, but her attendants insisted, holding her firm to prevent damage. She steeled herself to look her tormentor straight in the eyes. I want you to enjoy this. The brief flash of thought rapidly dissolved into the turmoil that was her mind, but it was clear enough, a conscious acceptance of the bond between two strangers with complementary desires. With just sufficient clarity left to brace her body, she thrust her breast forward in welcome. She was only vaguely aware of the brilliant white light coming into vision: hot light that her brain told her was dangerous, but unavoidable.

  There was a fraction of a moment of exquisite coldness, then pain beyond telling. Maggie’s scream echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Incapable of withdrawing, she pushed against it in an inexplicably vain attempt to extinguish the source. The scream modulated into base animal howls as a colossal orgasm racked her body.

  Kayt and Leonie wrestled to contain Maggie’s throes while Jurgens exchanged his branding iron. Maggie subsided a little, but she was panting furiously as she fought to regain self-control. Fearful that the fluttering might upset Jurgens’ aim, Leonie grasped Maggie’s left breast squeezing the tissue to harden it. Maggie was only vaguely aware of the glowing rod approaching, hardly flinching at its wave of heat, but bucking sharply at its touch. She felt the pain in a strange muted sort of way, very conscious of damage being done to her body, but it was the stomach wrenching smell of burning flesh that projected her scream of horror. Kayt soothed her by wiping her brow with cool cloths while the iron was re-heated. All too soon it returned and this time Maggie shrank from the heat, striving to wrench her arms free to repel it. Kayt and Leonie, resorting to the logic that it was better to expose her to short pain than to prolong the matter, held her firm as the white hot metal sizzled her skin.

  Jurgens spun to his audience, holding his smoking brand aloft. ‘Behold your slave!’ he cried.

  Kayt snatched away Maggie’s restraints and laid her supine on the platform. Through the mist of tear-filled eyes Maggie saw the hazy figure of Patty fetchingly clad in a powder-blue baby-doll nightie with a matching Alice-band, and felt cool liquid sooth her violated breast. A shadow fell across her face and an elegant, succulent, fragrant pussy presented itself to her lips. Instinctively she extended her tongue and was rewarded with a taste of sex nectar. Reviving, she probed deeper, worming into delightful crevices, burrowing into the exciting warm mysteries of a well exercised vagina and lapping generous gobbets of girl juice. The soft mewling grew into squeals of delight as Maggie explored the fresh young beauty of her reward.

  Between her legs strong fingers were pushing into her sheath. She wriggled in welcome and squeezed them hard. Maggie Moon was returning to reality, her appetite for sex undamaged.

  The ring of onlookers was melting away and soon only Maggie and her attendants remained on the improvised podium. Maggie sat up. Leonie asked, ‘Did you enjoy my Kitten? What is she talking about?

  Looking beyond Leonie, she saw a figure standing in the classic slave pose: hands behind, legs nicely parted and eyes averted. An excitingly beautiful figure, so young, so fecund, her gorgeous skin the colour of smooth café-latte, rich dark hair and eyes like liquid love. ‘She’s delicious.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Leonie responded with obvious delight, ‘If Le Patron agrees, I believe she should be your companion tonight. Kitten, display!’

  The impish girl spun round and swept down to clasp her ankles, parting her superb thighs to expose her exquisite sex still infused from Maggie’s attention. It peeped out from plump, spankable buttocks displaying extensive purple-brown bruising that was evidence of intense employment. ‘You will observe her dedication. With good fortune she will be delivered to your room.’

  ‘Thank you My Lady, you honour me.’

  Maggie watched the delicate figure being lead away. I wonder how I might use her: shall I enjoy her passively, or subject her to assault? I wonder whether Jurgens experienced an orgasm as the metal burned my flesh.

  Still mentally debating the inexplicable symbiosis, Maggie approached Caen with extreme diffidence, dropping to her knees and waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. When he invited her comment she began, ‘Sir, I do not understand the protocol; must I request permission to switch or wait upon your or my Custodian’s pleasure?’

  Caen laughed. ‘There is no protocol. You must assess each situation and accept the consequences.’

  ‘May I make a suggestion, sir?’

  Caen assented, listened and pondered. ‘A good choice. Do so by all means.’

  6.2

  Maggie hurried away in search of Carly: she found her in one of the cages, lightly restrained by a couple of bars and quietly pleasuring herself on the one threaded through her crotch. Maggie released her, opened up the cage and clipped a lead to Carly’s collar. With her compliant slave in tow, she made her way through the jostling company until she located Bill Jurgens. The effect of Patty’s soothing balm was wearing off and, acutely aware of her injured breast, she approached him all the deference she could muster.

  ‘Sir, by reason of the honour granted to me, I approach you as an equal. I wish to thank you for the tribute you bestowed on me. This is my slave, she is a novice, but showing great promise, and she’s an anal virgin. I grant the privilege to you.’

  Maggie glanced at Carly. She’s trying hard to keep a placid face, but I can see the fear in her eyes. Yes, Carly, it will hurt; I’m sure you’ll love it.

  ‘I am indeed honoured. Tell me, should she be strapped down? I prefer them to be loose.’

  ‘She is totally obedient sir.’ Maggie unclipped the lead, feeling Carly tremble.

  Jurgens positioned Carly across the box used for the branding. On elbows and knees with legs sp
layed and breasts dangling, she was fully compliant. He pulled on her bottom cheeks to better display her sex and anus, but it was mere vanity, Carly was already flagrantly flaunting her assets. She is gorgeous. Maggie felt a swell of pride.

  He inserted two fingers and began to probe Carly’s sheath, twisting and drilling. Pulling out, he gave them to be sucked. Carly dried him eagerly. ‘Assiduous!’ he remarked. He lifted his tunic to unveil his budding erection. ‘Make me solid, slave.’

  A knot of people began to gather to view the action. Maggie felt hands stroking her bottom: Hazel and Donata either side were bent on pleasure and fingers began to roam, tickling Maggie’s labia and anus. A thrill rippled through her body; it seemed so apposite. As his phallus expanded, Jurgens began to slowly fuck Carly’s mouth; she responded with enthusiasm, alternately taking his stem to the root and laving the huge purple glans, while in between her active mouth was working the retracted foreskin to invoke a pleasure openly expressed in his eyes.

  You little beauty! From experience, Maggie knew Carly would be creaming freely. And so it seemed did Bill, for he suddenly withdrew and roughly dragged Carly round presenting a fleeting view of her distended cunt, glistening with abundant juice. Without faltering, he drove into her, the force momentarily lifting her off her feet. Carly let out a great sigh of delight. More followed as he vigorously shafted the yielding girl.

  Maggie’s mind was flooded by envy when she felt something pressing insistently at her anus. Instinctively relaxing, she bent a little to ease its entry. Something hard, pointed and cold penetrated her tight warmth. Parting her sphincter it pressed home, intent on full penetration. The smooth entry was very pleasant, but a sudden widening made Maggie clench, the pain provoking tears as the pressure increased. With a sudden ‘pop’ so strong that Maggie could swear she had heard it, the thick ridge broke through and began to stretch her rectum. She prepared to enjoy the delightful sensation of being filled to bursting, but another ridge stretched her tunnel, then another and another, each popping her ring until the whole skewer was deep inside. More torment followed as Donata began to twist the probe causing tiny studs on the waisted stem to scour the sensitive membrane. Maggie squirmed, at the same time clenching in an effort to milk the intense discomfort. Donata laughed, ‘Lovely, isn’t it? Patty says she hates it: she always complains, but never refuses, so she must enjoy it.’ The probe continued its relentless journey and fingers began to tease Maggie’s clitoris. She squirmed even more, torn between watching Carly being callously used and wallowing in her own violation. Maggie was close to saturation, assailed by pleasure and a discomfort so intense it was delightful.This is malicious yet so beguiling.

  ‘A diverting little device,’ crooned Donata. ‘You should get one; Carly would benefit from it once she’s been broached. I keep mine in the fridge.’

  Carly was fast approaching orgasm and Maggie forced herself to concentrate through the insidious stimulation invading her body. The signs were all there, the tell-tale arching, head thrown back, the pink flush in her lashing breasts and gasping breath. Don’t spin her over the edge, Bill! Bugger her now and show her what amazing pleasures lie within her body. The thought was loud, but remained a thought: Maggie knew better than to advise a slave-master at work. It was likely that Jurgens wanted to contrast the pleasure of fucking with the pain of buggery and Carly would have to learn to embrace the alternative delight by self-discipline. But Maggie’s fear proved groundless. At the last moment Bill pulled out, lifted his glistening cock and drove it hard into Carly’s second hole. She screeched, squealing when the thick meat broached her sphincter, but thrust back. Bill rammed deep, banging his balls against her vulva.

  ‘Oh, my god!’ Carly cried, and began to ride his thrusts with a determined endeavour that made her dangling breasts dance, scuffing the box with her erect nipples. She zoomed back to the brink of orgasm. The dam burst and howls of delight echoed the huge convulsions jerking her body as she rode his thrusting, pumping pole.

  Almost in time with Carly’s shuddering the rings of the anal probe plucked at Maggie’s rectum and the studs scoured her anus while fingers on her clit played havoc with her equilibrium. Maggie came powerfully, jerking in response to the waves of sensation surging through her body as one by one the rings were tugged free. Descending from her pinnacle, Maggie sought her intruder. Sitting on the heel of Donata’s hand and fixed to a harness resembling a fingerless glove was a stainless steel rod of mind-boggling length. The ridges and studs were obvious. Maggie felt dizzy just looking at it. My god, did I really take the whole of that? Carly, you have a surprise waiting!

  This was a good time. Maggie loved these orgies, especially when they reached the stage when all inhibitions were discarded and the scent of sex pervaded all. Almost the whole company was naked now, slaves and masters alike, nipples hard, pussies aroused and flaunted, majestic erections carried with pride. Can anything be more beautiful? The only times when Maggie was conscious of being naked was when she experienced something novel, and then it was not through shame or false modesty, but the sheer pleasure of being continuously available when encounters could happen without pre-amble. Maggie’s idea of foreplay was a sound spanking or beating. The last tiny waves of orgasm fluttered through her body, but already she was tuned for more sex. I hope somebody decides to give me another good thrashing before the party breaks up.

  Her brief reverie was shattered by a commotion. Nearby, under the supervision of a Custodian, two house duty slaves were struggling to install a naked, spitting, blaspheming wildcat on a whipping frame. Maggie instantly recognised Cilla, once again the centre of attention. A crowd was gathering to enjoy the contest. Bill Jurgens hovered on the fringe, his cock still firm from shafting Carly. He snorted contemptuously, ‘She’s a proper little spitfire! I guess it was wiser to leave her strapped down.’

  Any further comment was blocked by a black whirlwind in the shape of Astra planting herself before Caen, facing him full on and focussing all her regal energy. ‘I protest! You have humiliated me yet again. Twice I have been promised the virginity of the novice slave. First I was denied because your minion decreed she was not ready and again tonight you compounded that unforgivable slight by allowing a mere slave, and one freshly branded at that, to grant the favour to some colonial planter. This is an affront to my status as a slave-master, and – most unforgivable – to my royal blood.’

  Taken by surprise, Caen seemed to whither before the tirade. Normally in total control, he was momentarily lost for words. Into the gap sailed Leonie. Much heavier than the elegant princess, Leonie had a mighty presence. Equal in height and much wider, she could face Astra eye to eye.

  ‘Royal blood indeed, such presumption! You’re no princess; your father is a mere village elder. I should have you on your knees in homage.’

  Astra wilted slightly and Isolde joined the debate. ‘Leonie is the daughter of a paramount chief, who in days past would have ruled as king.’

  ‘We’re not here to score points off each other!’ Caen interjected, ‘I very much regret that you were mislead. Lady Jane begged the Syndicate to provide a novice slave; no mention was made of virgins.’

  Astra was on the cusp of rejecting his overture when Isolde resumed her offensive. ‘We invited you to this event in a spirit of goodwill: we would never offer you a virgin because it is Syndicate policy that virginity is surrendered only to a living penis.’

  Leonie chipped in. ‘Unfortunately I have just seen Carly being buggered with a strap-on so you can’t have that privilege either; you should have protested more quickly. But my Kitten is available. She may not be an anal virgin, but she is a superb subject, and a genuine princess to boot. I guarantee she will satisfy you, your highness.’ The appellation was made without stress and it was obvious that Astra recognised the sop that was being offered. She was not, however, blessed with good grace.

  Pouting, she spoke with all the injured pride
she could muster, ‘I will not dignify your excuses; I have been slighted and your offer is paltry; I shall accept it only if you include the slave Carly on the same terms.’

  ‘Very well!’ Caen said grudgingly. Turning to Maggie he spread his upturned palms and shrugged.

  Maggie was still cruising in post-orgasmic bliss, too high to be depressed by petty bickering. In a moment of resolve she spun on her naked heel and set off in search of Carly. She found her at the far end of the room, strapped into a fucking frame and looking very relaxed. With her legs spread wide, Carly’s sex was on open display: her gorgeous labia distended, the luscious inner petals peeled back and to the open threshold of her eager vagina fully deployed. Her deep, dark eyes were alight with pure adoration. Maggie remembered the uneasy girl who had arrived from Central Personnel, uncooperative and uncertain, those same eyes hooded in resentment, and was overwhelmed by pride. She suppressed the urge to fall on her knees and lap the abundant girl-juice; the situation demanded direct action. QUITE RIGHT! The voice in her head was unmistakeable and Maggie spun round with her heart beating. Most of the guests were grouped around the argument. On the edge was a familiar figure, one of few looking the other way. As their eyes met, Meg smiled and strolled away. Maggie started in pursuit then stopped.

  Carly and I need each other just now.

  Snatching up a lead, Maggie clipped it to Carly’s collar, released the straps and, proudly guiding her slave, set off in search of tranquillity. She found a sofa in an empty anteroom and pulled Carly down across her lap. Groping a hanging breast, Maggie drank deeply of the deliciousness that is captive girl-flesh. In a state of high ecstasy, she smacked the round half-moon hard and Carly moaned, a deep expression of fulfilment.

  One hard smack: the plump, spankable flesh compressing under the impact and bouncing back, infusing to turn the skin pink: skin heavily bruised by savage leather and incised by whip and cane, evidence of pitiless usage. Maggie hardened her heart and set about adding to her dedicated slave’s suffering. Carly’s cries mutated into a crooning purr as relentless smacks targeted those luscious orbs until an expanding pool of smarting red veiled her myriad marks. All the time Maggie’s hand palpated the soft pendulous breast. Pausing from her barrage, Maggie pinched the acorn-hard nipple, causing Carly to yelp. Maggie smiled ruthlessly. ‘A while longer, my pet, before I turn you over to thrash your pretty tits.’