The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  There was a therapeutic edge to having Carly at her mercy and Maggie maximised its potential by inflicting another round of firm blows, urged on by Carly’s writhing and kicking. Pausing again, Maggie used both hands to ease the beleaguered buttocks further apart, parting Carly’s thighs to expose her aroused sex and the tight anus. ‘Not so tight now!’ Maggie remarked as she probed with her finger, feeling the warm moist wall squeeze her as Carly responded to the intrusion. The girl’s purring changed in pitch, dropping a couple of tones in expression of her pleasure. ‘I think two would be better.’ Maggie observed.

  ‘Oh, yes, mistress,’ sighed Carly pushing against the pressure of Maggie’s fingers.

  With her fingers pressed beyond the second knuckle, Maggie twisted, provoking cries of delighted pain. With her free hand she reached down to smack the dangling breast. Carly cried out in shock, clenching on Maggie’s fingers. Total intimacy without constraint, can there be anything more satisfying? Maggie decided not and drove her twisting fingers deeper. Carly sighed.

  Maggie smacked the breast and pinched the hard nipple between her manicured nails to make Carly sob. Snatching her fingers clear, Maggie delivered six hard smacks directly on Carly’s distended vulva, enjoying the satisfying squelch of saturated flesh being assaulted and the even more satisfying cries of anguish uttered by Carly.

  ‘Stop that self pity!’ Maggie snapped. ‘Turn over and spread your legs.’

  Carly obeyed, splaying her body across Maggie’s naked lap and lifting her head to regard her mistress with total dedication. Maggie applied more hard smacks to the exposed pussy, focussing on the swollen clitoris and being rewarded with immense jerks as Carly’s body reacted to the assault. The beautiful, plump pussy was bright red now, glowing with the heat of chastisement. Without warning Maggie switched target laying into the fleshy breasts with unrestrained glee, savouring the sight of the pliant tissue distorting with each impact and growing pinker with each smack. Only when the colour reached an angry redness did she halt and pinch both nipples to pull the twin orbs into conical peaks. Carly’s eyes filled with tears and Maggie pulled even harder. Carly was clenching her teeth to stifle her cries, but her brimming eyes glowed with the same deep adoration. Maggie gave the tender flesh a further tweak and crowed, ‘Tomorrow, my miserable slave, I shall have you pierced and ringed. What delicious pain you will feel then. Nipples and clit, sharp needles through the delicate sensitive flesh until you scream and beg for mercy that will be denied. You were created to suffer and suffer you will: suffering without end throughout your life; my slave for eternity.’

  Carly’s eyes lowered through her pain and her lips framed the words, ‘Thank you Ma’am.’

  Maggie resumed smacking. Then she made Carly kneel, reaching from overhead to chastise the plump boobs from either side. Spotting a discarded cane lying on a chair, Maggie retrieved it and began to cane Carly’s nipples until they stood hard and angrily red like ripe raspberries. The cane inspired an idea. Picking up Carly’s lead she towed the slave back into the main room heading to where Isolde’s cane bench stood unused. Adjusting the leg slings, Maggie installed Carly on her back, legs apart and infused sex on full view. She hooked the curved handle into Carly’s vagina. Leaving the cane to dangle as a mark of occupancy, Maggie went in search of something she had spotted early in the evening, soon returning triumphantly with her prize. Removing the cane, Maggie thrust the end of the yellow plastic pipe into the wide open hole, pushing it as deep as possible to coat it with Carly’s fluids. Extracting it she presented the juiced end to the slave’s lips.

  ‘Get licking slave, I want this thoroughly wet: you know where it’s going and I want it to hurt.’

  Carly took the pipe avidly, licking her own juices from it and coating it amply with her saliva. Maggie urged her victim on with pleas and threats until she felt the tubing was sufficiently wet and then used it to flay Carly’s exposed sex. The distinctive hollow sound of it striking the soft defenceless flesh drew attention and a group gathered to watch and call out encouraging suggestions or make lewd comments about the slave’s appearance and reactions. Isolde’s caning table presented its occupant ideally and below the angry redness that was now Carly’s sex, her tight brown rose winked enticingly. Maggie was considering the idea of jamming the blunt end into that tempting orifice when a male Custodian named Allan produced a large butt plug. ‘Put this in.’

  Maggie paused from beating and pressed the pointed tip against Carly’s anus. The girl opened to it eagerly. Lubricated by the ample flow from her vagina it slid into place until the safety pad stopped progress. Inspired, Maggie leapt onto the table and knelt astride Carly’s torso. With Carly looking straight up her bottom, Maggie resumed her assault on Carly’s sex, using the slight curve of the tube to strike simultaneously at her sex and anus, each blow driving the plug hard against Carly’s anus. If we’d used a dildo I could have hammered it right inside, then she would have suffered when she expelled it. The thought provoked a powerful churning in her own bowels, by far the strongest she had felt in days. It took her back to those strange early days when every suggestion by Meg – they were really commands – had set her on the road to discovering the darker delights of sex. Quite suddenly Maggie’s body jerked:the feel of Carly’s tongue probing her own anus was fantastic and Maggie bent to her flailing with inspired effort.

  ‘That looks good; I shall take it with me. Pass me a lead, someone!’ Apparently unaffected by the heated argument, Astra’s voice remained arrogant. She snatched the proffered lead from Allan. In so doing she stepped directly into Maggie’s arc of attack. The flailing pipe struck Astra on the arm and she reacted by smacking Maggie across the cheek with a blow that shook Maggie’s brain. In that moment Astra snapped the lead onto Maggie’s nearest ring. In an instant Maggie knew her role had been switched; she was a slave once more. She dropped the pipe and sank into submissive mode with Carly’s tongue still burrowing.

  Astra jerked the lead so hard that Maggie feared her piercing must tear through; the pain was eye-watering. She half fell from the table tumbling into a tangled heap and kicking Carly in the process. She was scrambling to her feet when a raucous voice cut through the hubbub like a chain-saw.

  ‘Hey, I want that cow; I got things to do to ‘er!’ Cilla hurtled into view, seemingly unaware of her nakedness or the lattice of marks decorating her sallow skin.

  She’s been well beaten and I guarantee she wants revenge for every stripe. Maggie was beyond illusions as to motive or outcome.

  ‘We will share her!’ Astra’s tone left no room for dissent. Shepherding the ranting Cilla before her and dragging Maggie with no regard for her stability, Astra marched out of the lounge. Many eyes followed her progress, but no-one made to intercept. Maggie did not expect rescue; she was, after all, only a slave.

  Astra was heading for the cellar. It was empty and strangely bare with all the benches and cradles removed. However, the racks of whips and implements that remained, formed an intimidating backdrop. Likewise all the fixed equipment was usable and this was what Astra was targeting. Treating Cilla like a servant, Astra began ordering her about. Cilla obeyed grudgingly. She was not quick and took some time to remember the cellar’s facilities, which did nothing to calm Astra’s temper. After much arguing Cilla succeeded in lowering a set of suspension chains to which Maggie was fastened. The chosen method involved a bar that Maggie had to grip, the grip being reinforced by strapping that relieved some of the strain, but was primarily to secure her.

  This could be dangerous. Maggie knew from experience that suspension bars tended to swing when a subject was chastised, making it difficult for those wielding the whip to maintain a steady aim. The victim received hits over a much wider area and was thus susceptible to injury. That her captors were intent on corporal punishment was not in doubt and their anger guaranteed that it would be hard, so the risks were high. Under Caen’s regime, suspension was use
d to test endurance, its suitability as a restraint for chastisement in the cellar being further limited by the relatively low headroom limiting the choice of target.

  This will be buttocks and belly. The prospect of being whipped did not faze her; this was bread and butter stuff to a girl who had been through the House regime. Pain was welcome, the more severe the better; humiliation likewise. Such things were lifeblood to the submissive, just as domination and the exercise of power fed the needs of custodians and mentors. These things she had come to accept and appreciate. It was an expression of interdependence, a co-operation: the essential symbiosis of domination and submission. These two have a different agenda. There was no mutual understanding between Astra and Cilla. Their motivation was the exercise of power, of revenge at a personal level: common objectives without empathy. In their eyes Maggie was an object, or less, a mere symbol. What constitutes satisfaction for them?

  Maggie began swinging when the suspension cables were retracted: dangling, and stretched by her own weight.

  ‘That’s good!’ Astra crooned, ‘See the discomfort in her shoulders; that will increase as she’s whipped.’

  Cilla regarded her new ally with a contemptuous sneer. ‘It ain’t enough; I want to see the bitch suffer, really suffer. Let’s see what they’ve got in ‘ere.’ She set to rummaging among the neatly racked items. With a yelp of triumph she hoisted up a long bar. ‘This’ll be great!’ she cried.

  Maggie knew the extra-long spreader bar and its effect. Once in place it imposed great strain on the victim’s hip joints, especially the ligaments and the tendons around the crotch, and had a tendency to dilate the vagina. Quite demeaning – this is going to be a long night. The bar was also heavy, being made of wood, and it took Astra and her helper some time to fasten the clamps since Maggie was determined to resist every imposition. I owe these no loyalty at all. Supporting the bar increased the load on her shoulders. I wonder how long I can hold out. If I struggle too much I might tear something vital. Her worry was increased when Cilla returned from exploring the gymnasium with some iron weights that she hung on the spreader. The extra drag made Maggie’s feet brush the floor and when the cables were raised to their maximum, the pull on her shoulder sockets was excruciating causing her to bite her lip.

  Astra was gleeful, ‘Now she is hurting, we should gag her.’

  Cilla frowned, her eyes blazing with contempt. ‘No, I want to hear the dirty fucker squeal. I still owe her for fucking me with that bloody dildo and it was her cunt of a keeper who had me strapped up tonight. I came to see this bitch burned but y’ can’t see anything when y’ cunt’s full of cock. So let’s start, we’ll use these first. I’ll do ‘er arse, you do ‘er thighs.’ Cilla thrust a tawse into Astra’s hand.

  Astra demurred. ‘You can’t speak to me like that: no one tells me what to do. You may request, I might agree or I might not. In any case, I’m not ready; there is something I must do.’ She dropped the tawse as if it was something repulsive and walked across to the racks. Cilla ignored the slight, apart from swearing, and began to belabour Maggie’s buttocks. The height difference caused Cilla to stretch, which tempered her effort a little. Maggie was relieved for the girl’s boiling temper was on the point of exploding and she was thrashing the swinging body with demonic strength.

  Astra returned. ‘Stop that!’ she commanded, grabbing Cilla’s flailing arm. ‘Cow!’ cried Cilla wrenching herself free, but Astra ignored her and steadied Maggie’s body to insert a thick butt plug. ‘Very fitting,’ she remarked.

  ‘If you mean she’s an arse ‘ole, I agree. Come to think of it, so are you.’

  Astra glared at Cilla and picked up her discarded tawse; the gleam in her eye spelled danger. A pregnant silence filled the slow moments that followed as the ill-matched pair glared at each other, their joint venture momentarily forgotten in the enmity that divided them. It was Cilla who broke the impasse. ‘Don’t fanny about, fucking well ‘it ‘er!’ she roared.

  Astra drew back her arm and paused to take aim. Maggie was sure the target was Cilla, but when the tawse flashed down it was she who took the blow. The leather snapped against the stretched thigh muscles with incredible force. Pain racked the tormented flesh and jerked the straining ligaments, heat and pain suffused her sex bringing tears to her eyes and provoking a flush of pussy juice. The blow twisted Maggie’s body presenting her bottom to Cilla who lashed out in frenzy.

  Crack, slash: their mutual loathing was re-focussed onto their captive. They’re hitting me but seeing each other. There was no plan or co-ordination: as Maggie swayed and twisted the leather tongues struck whichever part of her body was in range. Some hits were heavy, causing bruises, others sliced or cut when the edges struck. She lost count of the number, conscious only of her thighs and bottom being reduced to tenderised steak, a raging sea of pain. Maggie could contain pain: she was accustomed to pain, even sought it and welcomed it, bearing its evidence with pride, treating it as transitory decoration. Now she was disturbed by worry. Her tormentors were possessed by a dangerous blindness, there was no knowing what damage they might inflict, damage that might prove to be life-changing. Protest was useless, even supposing she could overcome her internal discipline, it would be ignored.

  Moments later, Maggie’s concern was diverted. Astra stepped away, saying, ‘We should try something else: caning her inner thighs would be excruciating.’

  ‘We should cane her cunt,’ Cilla countered venomously.

  ‘We will, when her shoulder joints are close to dislocating.’

  Cilla shrugged. ‘I could do that now,’ she said, lurching forward to grab Maggie round the hips and tugging down. Liquid fire seemed to flow through Maggie’s joints and she feared the worst. Automatically, she slackened her grip on the bar and the strain switched to her wrists as the straps bit against the bones. Something must give way. Something probably would have done, but Astra snapped, ‘Not yet – she must suffer properly while she thinks about your plan.’

  Cilla let go. ‘Yeah, let her suffer.’

  Each selected a cane. With Astra in front and Cilla behind, the assault was total and Maggie’s thighs became a grid of glowing cane marks as the beating went on and on. In this joint activity the two assailants seemed forget their differences. I wish they’d start arguing again, I’d be safer then. Although the caning was severe, it was an everyday experience, the lingering fear of sustaining a serious injury still lurked and Maggie’s anxiety notched up when Astra spoke.

  ‘Time to switch to her belly: whips are choice I think.’ She threw down her cane and marched over to the racks where she took down a heavy bull-whip.

  Maggie blanched. She knew this whip and its potential. In the hands of a fanatic the experience could be exquisite or appalling.

  ‘I’ll use this long bugger,’ Cilla announced. The whip she took had a short handle and a long plaited lash with knots at intervals.

  Maggie steeled herself. Being whipped across the soft abdomen was immensely risky, with only sheets of muscle to protect the vulnerable internal organs it was rarely practised even by the most skilled custodians and it called for super concentration on the part of the slave. She really needed to have her feet planted firmly on the floor to provide a sound base, but on the other hand being suspended would allow natural movement to absorb some of the impact. All would depend on the strength of her shoulder joints.

  Astra took stance. Maggie braced herself. The whip curled back and unwound coiling round her belly and threatening to slice her in half as the force dragged her sideways. The impact shook her body, initiating the awful nausea that results from a blow below the diaphragm: air was forced from her lungs and she struggled to re-inflate as the malicious leather thong slid from her body like some primeval serpent. Before she had time to recover, she was struck from the opposite side. Cilla’s lack of skill was evident; no advantage this, it increased the danger. The lash struck low,
across Maggie’s pelvis, the knots biting the soft flesh above the bone sending unwelcome tremors through her bladder, an unwanted counterpoint to the agonising effect of being hit so low in so many places: the knots were evil. Maggie knew that this was the ultimate test of her resolve and physical capacity. I really do not think I have enough in reserve.

  Heedless of their victim’s distress the two women indulged their vengeful desires, lashing the swinging body as though it were nothing more than a suspended sack. Maggie was one mass of searing pain. The constant lashing across her bladder was becoming critical and the restriction to her breathing caused by the suspension was accumulating; she was almost overwhelmed by nausea from lack of oxygen..

  Cilla danced gleefully. ‘The filthy cunt’ll piss ‘erself soon!’ she laughed, and lashed Maggie again.

  Maggie was rapidly drifting into semi-consciousness, the determination to control her body decaying with every second as the merciless assault drove on. It was through the red mist of imminent blackout that she became vaguely aware of what happened next.

  Suddenly Cilla threw down her whip and bent double gasping for breath. ‘Christ I’m fucking shagged.’

  ‘Wimp!’ mocked Astra. She was lining up her next lash of Maggie, the comment broke her concentration and the blow deflected. Its force caused Maggie to swing into Cilla who was knocked to the floor, cracking her head.