Moonspawn

by Bruce McLachlan

  ‘Gag her,’ came the decree, and the spectres of latex were once more brought to action.

  A hood was grabbed, the latex bag without any feature or vent, its neck armed with buckles to make it airtight.

  Kira started to panic at the very sight of it, for she was still having trouble accepting her lack of need to draw breath. To be introduced to it so forcefully was frightening. But fortune smiled as Cassandra saw the distress riding beneath her thin veneer of calm and decided to show clemency.

  ‘Use a normal variety for now,’ she ordered, and instead of the helmet, a thick contraption was delivered to her face. As she panted and wriggled against her bonds, her mouth was forced open by latex fingers. The thick plate at the front was moulded to gather in her chin and her lower face, and flung buckled rubber strips out from its perimeter. Two flaccid bulbs hung on the inside and led the path into her maw, laying slack on her tongue as the plate was pressed to her lips. An inverted Y ran the sides of her nose, joining and rolling over her head to connect first to straps riding over her cheeks and temples, and then to one that traversed the back of her head.

  Using forceful hauls the buckles chimed and with a murmur the elasticised straps were drawn terribly tight, making the entire apparatus squeeze her skull in an uncompromising hold. Oval bulbs were forced onto the twin nozzles protruding from the front, and in the eager 62

  fists of the women they started to inflate.

  Her tongue slapped at the swelling balloons, and was slowly deprived of space in which to move. Caught under the swelling orbs they grabbed it and forced it into the floor of her mouth, stamping it down and making Kira gag and retch as their tips touched the back of her throat and then stopped. Choking on the forceful gag, her eyes bulged and she flashed her gaze about. The sensation was disturbing yet delightful, the feel of being treated so casually, gagged, her voice taken from her by her owners.

  ‘Use the trapeze on her,’ the seneschal softly said, and walked away without further word, returning to her seat and observing Kira’s continuing bondage lessons.

  The assistants moved in and fingers slid into the small pits that held her ankles. A soft muted click reached out and identical fixtures located above her sprung open.

  Two chain lengths dropped and with a chatter of metal on metal they jerked to a halt, swaying steadily, both lines of chain bearing a locking clip.

  One of the assistants went to the cupboards with hampered steps and retrieved a length of rope and a short pole, the stout length fixed with a hoop at either end and just wide enough to slip between the chains. Snapping the anchors to it, the stern trapeze was set in place.

  Kira resisted as her collar was grabbed, a woman threading rope through the fastening at the front and dragging it out to the rings of her feet. Taking in the excess she drew it in, pulling Kira over the pole.

  The cold steel touched her belly and she started to wriggle, trying to get her arms free, snorting in fright.

  She wanted to submit, to prove herself to these veterans of perversity, but she was afraid and inexperienced.

  The pull continued, and folding at her belly she was 63

  drawn over the hovering strut. Her feet left the floor, pulled tight, her collar being the other anchor. Stretched over the pole, her arms twisted up her back, she was rendered immobile with her breasts hanging and her hindquarters struggling in the air.

  The discomfort in her stomach was great, but her trepidation as to what other treatment she was to receive was a far greater matter weighing upon her immediate thoughts.

  ‘Bring me a paddle,’ ordered Cassandra, rising from her seat and pacing slowly behind Kira’s vulnerable bottom.

  An assistant shuffled to the drawers and removed a leather paddle, the weapon broad and fitted with a gripped handle. At the sight of it being delivered past her to the awaiting woman, Kira’s breath was rushing in and out, her body shaking and trembling, tears welling in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks as saliva gathered into a pool in her mouth.

  A long pause followed where Kira closed her eyes and shuddered, then came the steady beat of stilettos on the floor as Cassandra walked around to her front, patting the implement into her palm. The woman again squatted before the suspended prisoner, and an eyebrow raised in questioning at the sight of Kira’s obvious dismay.

  ‘What is the matter?’ Cassandra wondered, and followed Kira’s eyes as they flashed to the paddle.

  ‘You’ve never been punished before?’ she quizzed.

  Kira shook her head as best she could with the collar dragging her down and towards the floor. There had been other occasions, but not ones that counted. Sure, she had been savaged by a bully with a ruler, but that was far different to this brand of erotic punishment.

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  Cassandra smiled and tutted, reaching up and running soothing knuckles down the tear-streaked face of Kira.

  ‘Don’t worry, it is necessary,’ she crooned, continuing the gentle touch, a strange consideration considering the havoc she was about to apply to Kira. ‘I won’t be too harsh with you, but you need to be taught your place.

  Discipline is very important for slaves.

  ‘Do you want to be punished?’ she asked.

  Kira stalled for a moment and then nodded. She needed it, she needed to feel that she was owned, and the paddle was a certificate of authenticity she would gladly invite and then revile.

  ‘Good slave,’ attested Cassandra, rising up and walking behind the girl, continuing to clap the stern device into her gloved palm as she went.

  The smooth material of the treated hide laid itself gently to Kira’s rear and started to rub in steady swirls, sliding easily against her rounded rear, the cheeks spread by the intruding metal path of the chastity belt.

  The weapon jumped back, and suddenly the interior plugs of the belt sprung into life, tickling her clitoris, surging into her, filling her as they swelled and contracted like living things. Kira wailed from the pleasure, and there was a hum as the wide weapon beat the air with a deep tone and then sounded sternly against both of Kira’s buttocks. A blast of heat and shock rolled through the skin and Kira spasmed, wriggling and choking into her gag.

  The stinging flashes started to dwindle and the paddle again started to draw soothing circles on her rear. The teasing caress of the belt continued, settling to a slower rhythm, drawing out her pleasures. Squeezing her muscles to the plugs she closed her eyes, snorting in fits, 65

  her pain melting into exquisite pleasure.

  ‘So you are a virgin?’ Cassandra purred, and a hand came in to join the instrument, her fingers running down the smooth steel strip between her buttocks. ‘You’ve never tasted the sting of a weapon across these delicate little mounds?

  ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ she pondered, and the paddle swept out before slamming back again, causing Kira to fling herself against her bonds and struggle in the restraints.

  As the pain dwindled so did her fight to get free, and as Cassandra returned to bestowing caresses Kira panted and braced herself for the next stroke, the chastity belt still toying with her most tender zones.

  ‘Well, it matters not, it changes nothing,’ she stated, and slapped another ferocious stroke into Kira’s rear.

  ‘You see, I saw the way her majesty was looking at you, and the time she spent arranging your seduction, and I’ve seen it before.’

  Kira’s skin was now hot, flicking with prickly riots of mayhem, but the belt was making her start to seep into the ordeal, to relish it, the heady heat of her lust accepting the fires of the paddle’s impacts.

  ‘When that damned lupine came into her hands she forgot all about me, and devoted all her time to training it,’ she spat, her temper rising, making her strokes fall with more severity than before. The initial pleasant façade of tolerance she had displayed had snapped, the issuing of punishment had let it escape and it was starting to run rampant.

  ‘So now I have another rival for her attention? No!’

  she hissed,
and applied another swat, making Kira choke and squirm, the intensity of the pain making her ecstasy all the sweeter. ‘I won’t tolerate it, not again. I already 66

  have that damned werewolf, and now some fledgling vampiress? You think you’ll take my position? You think you can be seneschal and take Dana from me?’ Another sweeping slap was delivered, and another. The woman sent resounding smacks through the room, each one making the slender bound frame of Kira thrash and writhe in jeopardy, totally unprepared for the severity of the castigation.

  ‘Well think again, little Kira. I’ll not let you usurp me without a fight. Tangle with me and you’ll regret it for eternity.’ She continued to spank Kira with all her might, driving her deeper into harrowing. The influence of the belt continued to steal her towards climax, offering her a paradox of whether to hate or love this abuse.

  ‘Come on – weep, cry, suffer, this is what you wanted!’

  she shouted, her arm flashing back and forth. ‘This is what you deserve!’

  Screeching into her gag, unable to get any sound save gurgles through its defiant walls, Kira was lost to panic as she was punished. The strokes eluded her count as all she had was suffering to dwell on and the rapture blooming within her loins, vying for control over her mind.

  Slapping kiss after slapping kiss fell, and Kira started to pray that the woman continue, hoping that the belt and the punishment were related, for if the woman stopped, then would the belt not stop to? She was too close to climax, the relief offering itself as just moment’s away, growing closer with every vibrating thrust of the dildos within her.

  Choking into her gag she closed her eyes, screwing up her face beneath the tentacles of the gag, wailing for her final release. A stern spank of the weapon made her rear 67

  ripple and with an orgasmic detonation every muscle flung to attention, straining against the bonds as her battle for freedom became a wild dance within them. Flying into paroxysms, each swat of the paddle added to the effects, the toys still dragging out every measure of her pleasure, her mind boiling from the intensity of the sensations.

  The attack stopped and she went limp, hanging over the pole, her body touched with a sheen of sweat, her rear throbbing with an internal fulgent pulse. She had not felt an orgasm of such intensity since her night with the queen, aeons ago during another life. Was she already attuned to such algolagnic vices? Was this the reason for the interest of the queen? Had she seen some untended seed within Kira, one she intended to nourish and let bloom?

  Sobbing and elated at the same time, Kira was overcome with the strangest sense of purging, of having received justice and been set free of a guilt she bore but had not ever realised. The beating granted the oddest sense of exorcism, one that had her head wafting in giddy heights of intoxication. It was like being drunk on pain, as though the heady brew of her torment was a drug more powerful than any manmade pharmaceutical.

  The queen wanted her to suffer for a reason, because she wished it. All the slaves being tormented here, all the people in bondage and terrible incarceration, it was so her majesty could know that it existed. She could lay back and think about all the pain her slaves were undergoing, just for her, just because she wished it. It was a reassuring thought, one that soothed Kira even in the face of Cassandra’s jealous tantrums.

  What was she to do? What was this woman planning?

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  Could she fail in her training? Could she be rejected if this woman made her fumble in her goal to be a slave for the queen? She doubted that Cassandra would allow her an opportunity to be one of the queen’s personal servants, but there had to be a way.

  ‘Put her in an isolation suit,’ ordered Cassandra, and walked back to her waiting seat. Handing her paddle to an assistant she settled in, brushing a few dislodged strands of hair from her face. ‘I want this little viper to think about her fate.’

  The assistants moved in immediately, their rubber gloved hands working with haste. The chains and rope were set free, the pits drawing them back out of the way but not removing them from view, hinting that they were still to play a part in her sorrow.

  A cabinet was opened and piles of rippling black latex were removed and set beside her as she was extracted from the trapeze.

  Kira collapsed to the floor, her legs weak and trembling, her arms resonating with internal havoc from having been kept under control for so long. Every shift of her abdomen made her sensitised openings move against the intruding dildos, bringing new flicks of sharp bliss through her body. Drained, she gently rubbed her scorched rear and watched the assistants prepare her for her encasement.

  Manoeuvring her as though she were a lifeless mannequin, the women started to thread a set of tight latex stockings up her legs, the material more dense than any normal clothing, making any movement a battle.

  The rings of her fetters were pulled through slots at her ankles, and a severe straitjacket of uncompromising rubber was drawn up, its sealed arms flapping, the many buckles and straps chiming and swaying like reeds.

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  ‘You have a lot to learn here, slave, and I’ll be glad to make sure you learn your lessons flawlessly,’ promised the seneschal.

  Intimidated by the sight of the awful garment, Kira started to shuffle away, only to have her hair grabbed and used as the means to keep her still and deliver her into the garment. As she was held the strands were gathered up into a high ponytail and fixed with a stern elastic band, keeping them there and making the roots growl as they were stretched by the pull upon them.

  The fist forced her forward, and wincing she followed it, her arms still too weak to offer any real resistance.

  The back of the attire was unzipped and opened, and her arms slipped into the waiting sleeves. The jacket slithered back, the cool latex interior riding along her limbs. Then she saw the hood that hung before her eyes, the sight of the loose bag growing immediately more close as it was taken up and forced over her head, the back of it opened from neck to crown.

  The helmet offered her nothing, not even nostrils, and she started to panic as she was forced to draw restricted breath through the meagre chinks of the garment. Once they sealed it though, there would be no such access, and even though she knew she had no physical need to breathe, the idea of suffocation still frightened her.

  With a groan of debauched passion Kira answered the feel of the smothering jacket being zipped up. Two of the spectres drew it in, making the latex stretch across her front, squeezing her breasts as the other zipped it up.

  The compression onto her torso made it distinct with every hampered breath she stole, the latex compressing her ribs and squeezing her belly inwards as the jacket served another role – that of a stringent corset.

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  ‘I’m going to make you adore being utterly submissive.

  I’m going to make it so that the very thought of control never enters your head.’

  One woman each helped themselves to an arm, holding it firmly and tightening the buckled straps that ran the length of the limbs, the strips placed only to make the embrace of the jacket more forceful. The third woman busied herself with the laces of the back, the criss-crossing path of the thick cord laid over the zip, adding further to the power of this fist of a garment.

  Kira’s breath hissed out as the jacket drew ever tighter, the feel of it stoking a libidinous haze. When they started to draw her arms in she almost fainted from the pleasure of being bound thus.

  The women crossed her arms and pulled them back behind her, each hauling at a limb while the third kept hands in Kira’s back, fighting the strength of the other two so as to stop Kira from falling.

  ‘I’m going to break you, Kira, turn you into the most grovelling simpering vampire slut the world has ever seen,’ said Cassandra, and there were two soft snaps as she was locked into the classic configuration of this most non-standard straitjacket.

  Two of the women began to apply the chest straps that ran around her body, adding even more stretched belts to her senten
ce, enclosing her within a terrible cocoon of compressing bands.

  Whimpering from a mixture of fetishistic glee and actual discomfort, Kira was suddenly thrown into jeopardy as the helmet was zipped up, pressing tightly to her face. The zip ran straight down after leaving a small hole through which her red hair exploded forth as a curled plume.

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  Instinctive panic took over and she flung herself against the numerous bars of her prison, trying to get free and haul this asphyxiating mask from her face. As she felt the laces being tightened over the zip, further compressing her skull, she started to settle, the burning angst of her denial fading away as no ill effects manifested.

  ‘When I’m finished her majesty will congratulate me on a job well done, and whatever plans she has for you will have to be forgotten, because all you’ll be able to do is crave punishment and bondage.’

  The women loosened their hold on Kira, and once she had calmed down they continued their task of transforming her into a latex zombie such as they.

  The hood was sealed tight, the zip of her spine and her head being connected by a padlock. Then a stout collar was applied, the rigid walls of the band propping her head up, craning her neck out and keeping it there where she could do nothing save maintain the position. Blinded by the latex, her nose still bloated with the smell of it, unable to breathe or speak, her skin able only to feel the pressure of this latex tomb, her only sense left was hearing, and even that was muffled by the thick sheet stretched over her ears.

  Kira was lifted onto her feet, the crimp of the latex to her legs as they sought to support her making her shiver with delectation. There were clicks of metal on metal from directly above her as fastening grabbed an anchor atop her hood she had not noticed before, its existence hidden by the voluminous folds of the jacket. Other clicks again grabbed her ankle bonds.