‘But isn’t it sick?’ she wondered, a lingering notion of morality still obstinately grating against her licentious hunger for everything this place had to offer. The stalwart relic also demanded that she flee, find a cure for herself, try and recover her life, go back to being normal.
‘What’s sick? Grinding away with base urges to fulfil a social obligation to pointlessly procreate? Tedious little love rituals and offerings, indoctrinated to be “romantic” by those who profit from their supply? Losing yourself in some banal tedious job that sucks your soul dry before casting you onto a dung heap to fester for a few years before you finally die? Old age and infirmity, a life surrounded by mortals, with their pettiness, their arrogance, their bigotry and hatred of anything different?
Stifled by civilised life, kept quiet and in line, unable to break free and let yourself truly live? Dreaming of so much, but deprived of all—’
‘Or eternal life in splendour, living a life of pure indulgence, surrendering to debauchery, exploring sensation,’ she added gently, knowing that he spoke from what he had seen, and what she faced, not for himself.
He was a werewolf. He lived with his tribe in the wilds, hidden and concealed, fighting their supernatural war without any mortal ever knowing about the grievous conflict raging about them. He had genuine purpose. He wasn’t out to impress fellows or bosses, or to gain a career and wealth and renown. He struggled for a noble cause, to save what he believed in. It was a cause more worthy 185
and more dedicated to than even the most hard-line activist she could conceive of. Yet he had given that up for this, to live for himself above all other considerations.
‘It’s not much of a choice is it, Kira?’
‘I guess not,’ she replied. If he had given up such a free and purposeful existence, then she should not even doubt shedding a life that would have been brief, pointless, and useless in order to become something far better, for all time. ‘I just needed to convince myself I suppose, to throw off those last lingering second thoughts.’
The exit door opened, causing them both to jerk their heads up to see who it was.
‘Well, well, well, isn’t this cute?’ derided Cassandra.
The vampiress was clad in the image of a police officer.
An unmarked cap adorned her head, granting an extra ferocity to her sneer of contempt. A crisp deep blue shirt held her body with a matching tie, the sleeves hanging starched at her biceps. Short leather gloves were clasped about the hilt and shaft of a black crop, the slender stave being wrung in her grasp.
A waspie belt tightened her waist before giving way to a short rubber mini-skirt, stockings that followed the curves of her legs, and knee high plain boots of leather.
‘Seneschal!’ exclaimed Kira’s partner with shock, both of them scrambling to their knees.
‘So, have you been a bad pup, Thanos?’ snapped the woman, stepping in with a bold stride, tapping the crop into her palm as her eyes fixed to both of them with animus.
‘Seneschal, please, I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t help myself,’ he offered, cowering slightly to try and appease her wrath and draw the blame from Kira.
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At least now she had his name, a consideration that had not even occurred to her until this point.
‘Really, slave? So little Kira here was an unwilling partner to your base advances, eh?’
‘Yes, seneschal.’
‘So why is there that piercing hickey on your throat?’
‘She bit me, she fought back, seneschal. Look at the walls, I had to fight to take her.’
‘You lying little shit! After all this time, after all the punishments I’ve given you, you still think you can trifle with me, maggot!’
‘No, seneschal, it was a momentary slip, I lost myself when I was in my full form,’ he protested.
‘Don’t give me your tired excuses,’ she roared, her incensed attitude terrifying. The woman truly hated Thanos and was ready to apply any humiliation, any abuse to ease her choler. ‘You have to be disciplined, Thanos!
So say it! I want to hear your confession before I do!’
‘Seneschal, I have been bad, I lied to you, I need to be punished.’
‘Good. Now maybe this will teach you a more lingering lesson.’
Reversing the crop she thumbed the base, causing a startled cry to slip from Thanos. She grabbed his collar and he dropped back to the floor, kicking his legs as he roared, the metal crackling with arcs of lightning as he was shocked by the seneschal. The woman released the button, letting him go slack, panting on the floor, shaking a little. Walking over she gave Kira a capricious flick, the crop stinging her flank, making her fling herself aside with a hiss of pain, clapping a hand to the stern weal.
‘Out of my way, slave,’ she growled, and continued her route to place a leather boot onto the body of Thanos, 187
digging the heel in to make him wince.
Kira had already tasted Cassandra’s animus. The woman was going to shatter Kira for daring to have gained the queen’s attention, but Thanos was a far more established threat, one she could not tear away from his owner. Instead, she could only make him suffer, and the sheer savagery of her demeanour made Kira fear what would happen to her should the queen actually renew interest in her. Could she cope with such unbridled loathing? Derision to a slave was one thing, it made her feel more servile and truly submissive, but surely such hatred would prompt only resentment and rebellion. But where Thanos had the compensation of being the queen’s regular pet and plaything, she had nothing like it.
‘Are you ready for more, slave?’ the seneschal quizzed, a malevolent smile spread across her lips.
‘Please… please, seneschal, no… no more,’ he rasped, and had his words turned into a squeal of anguish as the woman repeated the shock, leaving her finger in place, making the collar flash with pulses of voltage as the serpentine tongues of energy licked at Thanos.
Stopping her lesson, she let him catch a few breaths, and then stroked the button before his gaze, making sure he could see it. Just as he was about to air words of clemency she applied her punishment again, tearing at him with the terrible blight of the collar, making him thrash and suffer terribly.
‘Seneschal, it wasn’t him – it was me!’ yelled Kira, unable to see this injustice continue. She was partially to blame as well. She could not let him bear the whole ordeal himself.
The woman turned with a surprised look that quickly melted to one of contempt, but she did not release the 188
control switch. ‘Did you say something, slave?’ she spat.
‘Seneschal, please, I’m sorry, but it wasn’t him, it was me, I seduced him!’ she implored, hoping to end Thanos’
abuse.
The woman pondered for a moment, keeping Thanos in purgatory as she thought on Kira’s words. Kira knelt and flicked her stare from the lupine to the vampiress, praying that she stop.
Releasing the control the attack ended, letting Thanos collapse into a stolid ball, quivering, his body wracked with pain and drenched with an icy sweat.
‘So, you wish to take the burden for yourself, eh, Kira?’
‘Yes, seneschal, I have to tell you the truth.’
‘How very noble.’
‘Kira, don’t,’ rasped Thanos through shuddering lips, trying to stop her before it was too late, but she had no intention of letting him continue to suffer for what she herself had craved.
‘Quiet you!’ the seneschal snapped, and made him yowl with a momentary burst that sent the werewolf back into silent endurance and recovery. ‘Now, what did you say?’
‘It was all my fault, seneschal,’ she stated with a quaking voice, knowing it would be a terrible ordeal, but one she would gladly face to preserve Thanos. It was the only manner she had in which to offer him a clue to her attraction for him. ‘I’m sorry, please don’t hurt him any more, it was my mistake, you should punish me instead.’
‘You are willing to admit your folly and surrender to the co
nsequences, slave?’ Cassandra asked, walking towards Kira, making her shake with dread.
‘Yes, seneschal,’ she testified sheepishly, quailing under the woman’s shadow.
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‘Then get on your belly, arms by your sides,’ she commanded.
With frightened sloth, Kira obeyed, lying upon the floor. The woman stepped astride her and sat down, her rubber coated rear pressing into Kira’s shoulder blades, her folded legs squeezing Kira’s arms into her sides.
‘If you make a single noise I’ll go back to punishing Thanos, slave,’ warned the seneschal, making Kira swallow with dread, wondering if she could hold out, if she could keep quiet and take this chastisement in silence.
‘Kiss,’ she demanded, offering the leather hoop of the crop to Kira’s lips.
Placing a trembling peck to it, she laid her head down to the cool stone and stiffened in anticipation.
There was a deep thwack and Kira stiffened, her jaws clenched tight, her eyes screwed shut as the usual fires swept through her rear. The stroke had been impossibly harsh, more than she could cope with.
Another impact sounded, rippling the soft flesh, making her mouth drop open, her hands furling into fists as she fought to hold back her screams.
Another fell, and another, the sheer strength the woman was applying feeding the scream that was starting to well more distinctly in Kira’s lungs. Biting her tongue she tried to distract herself with this different source of pain, but as a fifth fell it proved a useless tactic.
Tears welled in her eyes on the sixth, her body shaking with its fight to hold her throat in check. Her flesh was boiling with the need to fight to get away, to flee and preserve itself, the concept of taking this abuse to save another something only her mind could appreciate, making the two sources vie for control.
A sudden deluge ended with a twelfth stroke that had 190
her lungs swelling with a shriek that was creeping insidiously up her throat, gathering in her larynx.
A thirteenth fell, causing Kira to kick her legs against the floor, the boots scraping the stone as her rear pounded with a lambent internal heat. Salty trails were trickling down her cheeks as she screeched in silence.
Another fell, bringing the scream to her mouth, escaping as a long exhale of air, refusing the final portion of effort that would manifest her sorrow and condemn Thanos.
Again the woman struck, Kira no longer aware of how many strokes she’d received. Further strokes swatted her rear, dropping like meteors, filling her rear with fiery bursts of agony.
The excruciating travail was too much, she couldn’t hold it in, she had to scream, the need to wail an internal pressure that felt as though it would rupture her insides should she not release it.
A virulent sweep caught her inner thigh and a faint purl slipped her lips. The seneschal exploited it immediately, attacking the exact same spot with all her might. Kira’s yowl tore through the air, matching her previous wail of bliss with one of harrowing. The moment she was broken the woman began a swift deluge, ripping into the soft buttocks of Kira as she bucked and wailed, fighting to get free.
When the woman stopped Kira was barely conscious, sobbing at her defeat, grizzling in apathy at her failure.
For all that she had gained she might as well have screamed at the first stroke.
‘So the truth has come out,’ Cassandra said, placing a heel onto Kira’s back, holding her down and tracing her striped rear with the tip of the weapon. ‘I guess it was all 191
Thanos’ fault after all.’
‘Seneschal… please… it was me, I swear,’ she choked, barely able to speak, her flesh alive with havoc.
‘You still cling to your fable?’ she quizzed, pushing the heel in.
‘It… it’s the truth, seneschal,’ Kira blabbed.
‘Well, okay, I will give you a second chance to prove your words. It’s a choice, Kira, a simple one. Either I fry Thanos for his wanton urges, or…’ The seneschal looked down and met Kira’s tearful eyes, her smirk of utter glee spread wide, showing how much she was relishing this subjugation of her two rivals for the queen’s attention.
‘You go back in the chastity belt.’
With those words Kira flinched as though slapped, the sentence imposed on her a most grievous one. She couldn’t go back to the horrible frustration, she just couldn’t. But Thanos would suffer far worse if she didn’t.
Looking to the dazed male, she saw him lying slack, barely aware of his surroundings, torn by the electric scourge about his throat. She couldn’t let him suffer such a fate for it. Chastity was a mild imposition compared to the vengeful abuse of the seneschal.
‘I’ll go back, seneschal,’ Kira said.
‘If that’s your wish,’ she grinned, removing her boot from Kira’s body and stepping back, twirling the crop and lodging it under her arm. ‘Now get up,’ she commanded, and then continued with revealing the sentence Kira had earned for herself.
‘Seeing as you have such a penchant for hounds, we’ll get you back into your uniform and keep you away from any testy cats,’ she grinned, walking to the door and beckoning for Kira to follow.
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Chapter Fourteen
Once again Kira was faced with the interior of the seneschal’s private residence, her heart dripping with dismay that she was again to be starved of sexual release.
The previous incarceration had been terrible, but how much sterner would it be on her now that she had gained this new inflated sense of appetite for debauchery? She would be aroused constantly by her punishment, her bondage, her slavery to this vicious goddess, and yet prevented from enacting a more physical reply to it. The thought was too terrible to dwell on.
‘Come this way, slave, I’ve just had another idea,’ she smirked, walking through the door Kira had used to be served into the kitchen. But this time she was led past the plain door to the storage place of stolen blood, and instead she was escorted forwards towards one of the further subterranean rooms.
The door slipped aside with a smooth swing and permitted them access, the lights arising through strengths to a dim glow. They revealed the interior and its contents first as subtle hints, then as more substantial outlines, and finally in a melancholy light that added to the ferocious image with ample shadow and hesitant illumination, as though even the light was afraid of the implements within.
‘First we had better strip you of your demerits, eh, slave?’ chuckled the seneschal, indicating the array of engines of torment and precision tools of suffering with 193
a wave of her leather gloved hand.
Kira wilted at the sight as she beheld the stern rack, its leather restraints hanging loose and expectant, awaiting a captive to stretch with their mechanical winches.
A large and extremely stocky throne dwelt against one wall, the rigid structure armed with numerous buckled straps to pin down its occupant.
A tiny cage, its bars thick and flecked with small thorns to dissuade movement loitered to one side, promising the tenant a dwelling of cramped restriction.
The last of the diabolic furniture was what appeared to be a large and roughly constructed ladder. Made solely from thick beams, it was fastened at an incline to one wall, allowing body parts to be fed in and around, allowing for extreme restraint with the many coils of brightly coloured rope hanging on wall hooks beside it.
The walls also bore other items that dwelt patiently on hooks. Weapons of punishment: canes, crops, dressage whips, cats and tawses, all of them fashioned from dark leather and decorated with an obsessive detail.
As well as these devices of lambasting, there also hung the usual selection of clamps, toys, pinwheels and bondage paraphernalia, much of it defying Kira’s shallow knowledge.
‘Stand in the middle,’ snapped the seneschal, the crop swinging around and clipping Kira’s buttock, making her yelp and spring into the centre of the room, her heels sinking into the deep texture of the blue carpet.
Looking up, she saw heavy rings fa
stened to the ceiling, the metal hoops matched by similar ones against the foot of the walls all about her.
The seneschal removed two lengths of dense chain, each end armed with a thick padlock. Snapping these 194
security devices to the rings of her cuffs, the other end was lifted and connected to the overhead rings, stretching her arms wide and preventing her from sagging from this erect pose.
‘Now, slave, you have a choice to make. What level of punishment do you want?’ asked the seneschal, stepping before Kira, one leg out to stretch the skirt tight. The crop lazily stroked up and down Kira’s torso, tracing the outline of her breasts, the leather soft against her skin, a distinct contrast to the usual feelings she associated with it.
Kira considered her options quickly. Afraid to try the most extreme, she also did not want to spend a vast period of time hanging in suffering. So she opted to play it safe and select the medium method.
‘I’d like the second way, seneschal,’ she whispered with resignation, wondering if she would regret her decision once it was applied. But then again, that hardly mattered, for once some time had elapsed she would be looking back on it fondly. Even now, she was using the abuse of the nuns to remind her that she should try and find enjoyment from this session, that she would love it in retrospect and should try to transfer some of that relish to the deed as it was occurring.
‘Three demerits per half-hour it is, slave,’ confirmed the woman, and strode aside to fetch coarse rope.
The middle of the woven coils was flipped about her waist and the ends fed through the hoop at the centre.
The excess was passed between her legs and drawn up, pressing to her loins. A swift knot was established to press into her clitoris, and the crotch rope was threaded under and over the rope digging into the base of her spine.
Kira winced as her ankle was lifted up to her rear and 195
the rest of the rope used to bind her right leg. Encircling the boot, Cassandra used the heel as an extra anchor to form a tight harness, stopping Kira from dropping the leg, and causing any strain or kick of the limb to chafe her sex with the minute shuffle of the crotch rope.
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