Moonslave

by Bruce McLachlan

  Kira tried to focus on the woman, to see if she could spot what one of the six the woman was, but she was carried past the entrance before she could tell.

  The bustle of life was a contrast to the serene quiet she had seen earlier, and she could now see that such a time of docile tranquillity was merely the calm before this debauched storm.

  From her path she peeked into another lounge, this one laden with men and woman from what seemed to be all walks of life. Dressed immaculately, some wore suits or other business attire, and others were more in favour of ceremonial robes, the hems laced with strange runes.

  Others placed themselves clearly in the category of the dominant, adorning themselves with leather, latex and vinyl, but all of them without exception were visions of pulchritude. There was not a single blemish on their skin, no impairment to their features or their bodies. Yet it was a strange perfection, one that seemed somehow false.

  The skin seemed real enough, but it felt illusionary, as though it were not really part of them. There was something that just didn’t look natural, a niggling doubt Kira could not fully place but which would not depart.

  Amidst them she spotted Duke Khardekk, emphatically 15

  gesturing as he relayed the story of Corin’s capture to his fellows, his audience entranced by his words. It seemed little different to the scene of a country club or group of friends socialising.

  However, their personal slaves were far less mundane of visage. The men and women were moulded like clay by the hands and will of their owners. The same castes as existed in the palace were evident, but the imposition of a uniform upon the flesh of the slave had not been enough for their masters and mistresses.

  Kira looked with aghast and appalled fascination upon the sights. For a moment she had thought them adorned by flesh-coloured sculptures and additions to their uniform, but then, as though this misconception were brushed aside to let reality dawn, she noticed that the additions were organic. Those formed into pets had real tails, snouts, pricked ears and paws, their fingers retracted and formed into accurate representations of bestial extremities.

  Those charged with providing light were restrained stems, their bodies squeezed into a rigid stance, their skin merged to deny them limbs as the skin of their bald heads released a soft phosphorus radiance. With the very structure of their cells reconfigured to create light, they simply stood and shuddered on occasion, the process of such generation not being a completely painless one.

  The furniture slaves were rigid and inflexible, their uniforms aided by the manipulation of their very structure to hold them still and help serve their singular purpose.

  A coat stand had fingers emerging from every area of her torso, and she held them crooked to serve her purpose more effectively. The tables had been merged with chitinous shells, making their backs smooth and flat so as to accept more burdens. Those serving as seat or 16

  footstool had their arms and legs fused to their sides, depriving them of any other lot, their mouths sealed over into a sheet of unblemished flesh. A woman shoe cleaner had been treated to similar melding, and her long and prehensile tongue spilled from her lips as she crawled to and fro, the yard long stalk able to dedicate to this task with great efficiency.

  The source of such terrible mutilation was immediately apparent, for the men and women holding court in the lounge made constant displays of their power.

  Crackling flashes of black energy, tainted by putrid greens, grim blues, ghastly reds and rancid yellows were often set lose, the shamanic followers of the Wyrm using their sorcerous abilities for even the most trivial things.

  In the moments she grasped while passing this sight she caught sight of slaves being transformed. The hands of owners merely took hold of the limb and guided their arcane will into it, making the meat and skin dance to their hermetic tune and reform as they desired. The effects were also being reversed, changing slaves into and out of various castes, releasing them to serve more effectively in a fully human capacity.

  Removed from their presence, Kira had a horrible sense of apprehension about ever surrendering to one of these wizards. To be transformed and twisted at their mere glance and touch? It was a tantalising thought, but one that also disturbed her greatly. It was such an alien power to her, something so strange and unknown that it caused an instinctive and consuming dread.

  A tug to the lead overwhelmed her loitering intent and Kira continued her walk, passing by the last of the inhabited wings before she reached the access hall of the throne room and the private regions of the palace.

  These were by far the most intimidating of the guests; 17

  the lupine followers of the Wyrm. Black of fur they reclined in their full wolfen forms, as mountains of lethal muscle, claw and fang, their eyes burning with incarnadine auras.

  Royal slaves tended their needs, intrigued and frightened by the monstrous beasts before them. The strength and pernicious qualities of the lupine were well known to all vampires; it was what made them the most deadly of archenemies, and was the reason for the nervousness of the slaves.

  From her lessons of initiation she knew that these beasts followed the dark and corrupted power called the Wyrm, fighting against the purity of the earth that other lupines defended and called Gaia. The vampire was as much a felon against the Wyrm with its abstaining from the laws of nature as it was to Gaia, just as these beasts were enemies of the witches and warlocks from the previous wing. The dark shaman stole and manipulated the power of their chosen force, enraging the lupines who were fed it to permit their radical changes and who defended their deity with fervour.

  Yet all who had come here were guests of the queen and were held in peace by a devotion to debauchery.

  Where ordinary versions of their kind would fall on each other with fangs, claws and charms, here, in the hallowed halls of the queen, these decadent sects and tribes had found an uneasy peace and common ground.

  Already in the waiting room certain guests contemplated their chance at an audience with her majesty, monitored by grim-faced vampire guards. The goliath sentinels were placed strategically about the room, their weapons ready, their eyes hidden behind dark goggles, making it clear that peace was the only option here.

  18

  Kira had not seen them in this area before, but with so many feudal groups abroad it was obvious that precautions had been taken to ensure all knew who ruled here. Some of those waiting were people from the ranks of the guests, others were vampire lords or ghoul messengers from the rest of the world, stationed in private quarters as they awaited the completion of their business.

  Many were uneasy at the sight of the carnal slavery about them, the vampires rigid and aloof, disdainful of such prurience. They were here to see the queen on matters of business and finance, questions of power and territory. Controlling the city had set her tendrils of influence throughout the globe, her power vast, her claws delving deep into multi-national corporations, banks, businesses, politics, the stock exchanges, even the military, law enforcement and organised crime. With such might at her disposal, other vampire houses that required assistance or her permission to undertake their schemes readily made the long journey to seek audience with her or her advisors.

  The elevator arrived, the massive doors opening and letting three men step out and march gruffly away from the trio of guards stationed within. Kira’s jaw dropped at the sight of them. She knew their faces, she knew them as high level politicians from aboard, people she had seen on television dozens of times speaking out against their various targeted problems and causes. The notion of some supernatural force holding the reigns of power in every quarter had seemed a little incredulous, but now this sight had confirmed it. In fact, it made sense.

  Who would not be swayed when offered immortality, strength and immunity to disease and harm, the power of backing from these creatures, and the possibility of being made a full vampire once they proved themselves 19

  worthy? Some mortals could be gained for far less of cour
se, simply for money. If any suffered from incurable illness or ailment the blood would be their cure, and wavering fealty would result in deprivation and swift ageing and death. It was a state of affairs so perfect it would be easy to leave it undetected, for only through betrayal would it come to light, and who would risk such a foolish gamble with the high level stakes that were involved?

  The lift doors hummed and swung back into place, beginning their descent and carrying them to the centre of the queen’s power.

  Kira was led to the side and into the obscure regions hidden behind the pillars. They did not emerge into the vast cathedral of the hall; instead they proceeded directly into the side passage that accessed the private regions where only the denizens of the palace might go.

  Guards were stationed throughout the throne room, and another three manned every access point to the rest of the palace. These soldiers of the queen’s military were more heavily armed. They cradled automatic shotguns or assault rifles in readiness, each of the weapons fitted with laser scope, silver bayonet, and doubtlessly with silver ammunition as well. Of course, they were still armed with the additional arsenal of sub-machine gun, pistol, silver knives and sabres, plus a set of composite plastic stakes, all of it making them formidable indeed.

  The warriors kept wary eyes to the new arrivals, their paranoia rampant with so many possible assassins abroad.

  Taken into the soft carpeted tunnels, Kira was escorted deep into the winding maze and to a slim passage with two guards stationed at the end, a heavy armoured door drawn aside by straining hydraulics to reveal the cell of the lupine.

  20

  The woman was awake, in human form and petrified, struggling vainly against her bonds. She was disturbed and repelled by her appearance. Not because she was naked, for such a state did not really trouble the wild tribes; instead, she was disturbed by the additions of latex garments to her. It was as though such fetish materials were deeply associated with perversity and decadence, aspects she reviled, and to be adorned with them somehow corrupted her.

  A latex girdle threw thin straps over her shoulders and compressed her admirable breasts, the garment squeezing as it flowed over her strong contours and unleashed suspenders that grabbed her rubber stockings. Opera gloves spiralled up her arms, and one of the segmented collars encircled her throat.

  Since her capture she had been washed and shaved, her pudenda now bald and the tangled knots of her unruly hair defeated by their removal, her hair now cut into a brief bob.

  The room was small and dark, apparently without any features save the primary core to its purpose. A padded reclining plate supported her back and her head. She was stopped from slipping down by the two long arms of steel that reached from the sturdy base of the chair, rising up above her and holding two dense shackles. Her arms reached out and up, stretched taut to enter the unforgiving limbs of the furniture, pinning her down.

  Another set of such restraints extended downwards, snagging her ankles within fetters, splaying her legs wide, exposing her nude sex and rear, leaving her open and accessible, a state that was obviously making her mad with anxiety.

  A spotlight directly over her released a cone of dazzling white that revealed her as the star attraction of the room, 21

  rendering all that lay without the powerful beam dark and obscure to the woman within.

  As they came in and she beheld the seneschal and her pet, and more importantly, the open door, her face rippled with strain as she forced her change. Her skin quaked with the internal release of force, her flesh answering the call of metamorphosis as the power of Gaia started to flow through her. Suddenly the collar decided that it was being stretched enough, and applied its charged discipline to her.

  The crackling growl of the device dragged a startled cry from her lips and as she forced herself onwards the intensity started to grow with it. Finally she gave up, the searing abuse of the collar making her release the reigns of her willpower. With the influx of power cut her body shuddered and folded back into itself, restoring her ordinary mortal appearance.

  ‘Undead filth!’ she wailed, tears of frustration in her eyes. Let me go!’

  The door whirred shut and set its dense locks in place, giving them privacy and depriving Corin of any true means of escape. Her ordinary physique was far too feeble to break down such a barrier, even if first she could somehow break get of the engine of restraint to which she was served.

  ‘Such words of protest from a naughty pet,’ purred the seneschal, strolling past the woman, running a hand up her body, the latex squeaking against her leather gloves, her skin smooth to the touch, moist with sweat from her struggle to break free.

  ‘Please, please let me go,’ she whimpered, her outrage dropping into imploring. It was clear that her sanity was being grievously taxed. She had lived a life of unending strain and oppression since coming to the city, and where 22

  a few years ago she would have died rather than speak to a vampire, now she was a meek and harried shadow of her former self.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible,’ mocked the seneschal, obviously taking great relish in seeing this exquisite and deadly female grovelling for her freedom, helpless and bound under her gaze. ‘We have decided to give you a gift, and what sort of hosts would we be if we deprived you of such a wondrous present.’

  ‘I don’t want it, I just want to leave,’ Corin began, her words humble before she thrashed against her bonds and continued with outrage. ‘Let me go!’

  The seneschal went to the wall and turned a section of it, revealing a small and dark cupboard from which she removed a stern gag. She walked back to the trapped female, who struggled and battled to get away, throwing her face away from the seneschal in a bid to avoid being muted.

  The vampiress grabbed her chin and drew it back, overcoming her strength. In full form the lupine was infinitely stronger, but trapped in this current façade she was just very strong for a mortal, and nothing compared to the ancient developed might of the vampiress.

  Gurgling, she fought as her jaws were opened and the inflatable gag threaded in. Applying the buckled straps under her chin and around her head, an inverted Y ran the sides of her nose, joined and then wandered over her head to connect to the back strap. Tightening it to a firm fit, the seneschal set the locks in place and started to screw the inflator bulb onto the bobbing nozzle.

  Kira watched with fascinated eyes as the woman struggled, her eyes bulging as she retched in convulsions from the feel of the swelling orb in her mouth. Kira knew from personal experience what was happening, and drew 23

  forth such recall as she watched, wishing she could reach to her submerged sex and stroke herself as she watched, the arousal of such gagging being a fond memory. Her tongue would be slapping against the rubber tang, trying to fight it before being remorselessly crushed into the bottom of her mouth, the tip extending to the back of her throat, her jaws being stretched until they ached. Just recalling the feeling of being deprived of speech, of the dull thumping ache in the corners of her mouth, the feel of saliva flooding in her mouth, swallowing almost being impossible, it had Kira yearning to replace the woman.

  But she to had once been akin to this captive, afraid of the unknown, of surrendering to the licentious appetites of vice. She had learned differently since, and so too would the lupine.

  Removing the inflator the seneschal ran a finger along the tight straps, tracing their configuration and ignoring the tear-filled eyes of the woman. ‘You have been sacrificing yourself for a long time now, Corin,’ she stated. ‘It’s time you were relinquished of such nonsense.

  Give yourself over to us and we’ll give you pleasures you’ve never even dreamed of.’

  Corin’s rampant battle to get free was the answer, muted bellows seeping through the intruding gag.

  ‘It’s inevitable, Corin,’ reported the seneschal, moving to the cupboard once more, removing a single bag of blood. ‘We are going to break you. You will be trained to be obedient, faithful and apprec
iative of your slavery.

  Have no doubts that we will achieve this; it is only a matter of time. We’ve done it thousands of times and have never failed once. So you had best resign yourself to such a fate, it will be easier that way.’ She held up the bag. ‘This is the essence of a vampire. I am going to feed it to you and taint that precious flesh of yours. I am 24

  going to turn you into a ghoul, Corin. Once this is done, you can never go back. Your tribe will see the taint upon you, will think you no more than one of us, and will kill or exile you. This is your home now, and we are your people, Corin,’ confessed the seneschal, removing the long tube and putting it to a socket on the front of the gag plate.

  The self-sealing aperture swallowed the thin tube, and as the seneschal started to feed more of it in the pipe migrated around the bloated rubber balloon and started to glide down Corin’s throat. The woman moaned and struggled, beset by the horror of what was happening to her, knowing that if she let herself be fed this undead vitality her life as she knew it would be over.

  It was arousing for Kira to watch her buck and squirm, just as she herself had done in times past. But it was a valuable ordeal, one that would sever her ties to her former life and help dedicate her to her own fulfilment as a slave to the queen.

  Lifting the bag the seneschal turned a valve and watched Corin’s mortified look as the line of crimson started to dribble down towards her gag. Muted screeches of denial were spilling from the implement as the red trickle reached the faceplate. Her hands were straining down, her fingers wriggling like worms as they sought to reach it and yank the pipe out, and when she felt the cool power of the blood enter her stomach she broke in paroxysms of torment. The feel of the dark life infecting her, sending its power through her form, changing her, throwing off the claws of time with a rude shove, confirmed without doubt that she had been despoiled.