The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  This is a test. I could break off and have a wee. Would they know? They’ll time me and probably be watching too, I’d better hold on if I can. Of course, I could run away; I wonder if that’s part of the test? Perhaps that’s why I have clothes; I’d be a bit conspicuous though, barefoot in a gymslip! It’s the sort of thing Meg might dream up. I wonder if she’s my observer? Why am I wasting time on speculation? Do I want to escape or do I want to stay?

  The internal argument had not been resolved by the time she reached the summit and Maggie forced herself to make a decision. Concentrate Maggie Moon, let’s get this over and reach a loo.

  But there was no loo. Even when she did manage to reach the end, there was no loo. Maggie was handcuffed and a chain linking her ankle straps to form a hobble. Straps like dog collars were buckled above each knee. Trussed in this way, she was hustled through the long gallery and into the great lounge. Here she was made to kneel and sit on her heels. The handcuffs were linked to the hobble and a spreader bar was hooked into the knee straps forcing her thighs apart. A black hood was dropped over her face and drawn tight by cord around her neck. Nothing was said and the silence convinced Maggie that her mentor had glided away.

  If this is another test it’s a lose-lose situation. Maggie was imagining an encounter with Meg. Who am I kidding? I need a wee and I do believe I want my nipples caned. It will be agony, but I crave it. My god, what a pervert I have become! In her imagination she was arguing points, refuting suggestions. That’s not true; it’s not how I’ve always been… Well you might be right, maybe perversion isn’t a flaw. So do I strive to please Caen, or indulge myself? God, I need a pee; how long can I hold out?

  As things turned out, longer than she imagined, but by the time anyone arrived, Maggie was in extremis. Prevented from clenching her thighs by the spreader bar she was reliant on mental effort to stem the physical urge to urinate. It became more and more of an effort and she was acutely conscious of seepage, she could feel it cooling on her labia and could detect its scent through the fabric of the hood. A wave of relief swept over her when she sensed someone approaching.

  ‘So she rejected the chance to leave. Is that indicative of progress; is she meeting expectations?’ The voice was Isolde’s.

  ‘Satisfactory.’ Caen was noncommittal.

  ‘And craving pain?’

  ‘Showing preference for the electric dildo.’

  ‘Excellent; for you that is. I assume she can hear?’

  ‘Yes, full sensory deprivation has not been applied.’

  ‘That will be a good test.’

  ‘She has been hooded; it was satisfactory.’

  ‘What is your overall assessment?’

  ‘Promising! She’s responding well, developing rapidly and displaying some lateral potential that might be interesting to explore in depth. But first she must satisfy the baseline conditions.’

  ‘Quite! She has exquisite nipples; you’ll have her pierced of course?’ As if emphasising her change of topic, Isolde pinched Maggie’s nipple, digging nails into the firm tissue. The pain was intense and Maggie could not prevent a reflexive spurt of piss.

  ‘It is standard practice on entering the postulant stage.’

  ‘Good, a pierced girl is visually pleasing and she would be an ideal subject with those pert boobs. They would bind well, too.’ Isolde paused, sniffing the air. ‘How long since this one pissed?’

  ‘Recorded at ten last night.’

  ‘Fourteen hours, most satisfactory: usual penalty?’

  ‘Nipple caning? Naturally!’

  ‘Superb! Then binding is definitely required. Call Titty to bring some broad tape. Then prepare to enjoy a good long fuck.’

  Titty, she must my new mentor.

  Isolde chuckled. ‘Titty, such a lovely name for a slave, and so apt; she also appreciates the “pleasure” of good tight bindings.’

  There was a pause as the two observers moved away. Something new, always something new. Is there no end to their degradations; no limit to the pleasures on offer here?’ Maggie’s bowels curdled at the prospect of more impositions. So much fun, and Sex Education lessons made it seem so clinical.

  ‘Titty – always prompt; I have no excuse to punish you now.’ Isolde sounded disappointed.

  ‘I beg your pardon Madame, I thought I was very slow.’

  ‘Perhaps you were, then I shall punish you.’ Some of Isolde’s excitement seemed restored. ‘Bind the novice’s tits, really tight in preparation for a good caning. When you have done that bring me a long, whippy rattan and some more tape. You will bind yourself in preparation for your own dose.’

  ‘Yes My Lady!’

  Maggie submitted to being bound, she had no choice. The broad tape encircled each breast, distorting the flesh and forcing the organs outward. The tightness in her nipples triggered arousal that fed voraciously on her apprehension. She tried to picture the scene. Take that you faithless bitch. The image was the unseen Titty, her monstrous boobs jutting like grotesque sausages under wicked assault. Startled by her own callousness and with her heart pounding, Maggie awaited her fate.

  Isolde began to organise. ‘Take her astride your lap and use her anus; it will be almost impossible for her to retain control with her rectum full of cock. Support her tits, that will make sure she feels the full impact. I shall thoroughly enjoy caning those little beauties while you bugger her.’

  Maggie surrendered to the surging delight of hard living flesh invading her body: the supreme gift, his flesh possessing hers. Freed from the spreader, but still chained and hooded, she was captive yet free. She settled heavily, maximising contact, desperate to express her devotion. His hands hoisted the distorted globes toward their eagerly anticipated blessing, for such was the meaning of the coming pain. I am slave, treasured captive, ardent, devoted and proud.

  He thrust deep, stretching her internal membranes, filling her belly, generating intense discomfort, evoking moans of bliss. She bore down to gain penetration. He lifted, using her breasts as levers to raise her in preparation for a second thrust. She willed him and the great stem drove deep and hard. Oh Glory! Her assaulted bladder capitulated. A golden stream gushed forth pooling on the carpet.

  ‘Surrender!’ cried Isolde triumphantly.

  The cane bit. Stabs of exquisite agony drove deep into the imprisoned flesh. Isolde gloated and struck again, both nipples this time: double the anguish, twice the bliss. Maggie squirmed in agony and pleasure. The hood prevented any prediction. Not seeing is better, the hurt is more intense.

  The shafting cock drove her onward, the cutting cane checked her and brought pleasures beyond reason; there was beauty in the paradox. Isolde showed no restraint, but the assault was measured, each cut calculated, each pause designed to heighten the impact. The pleasure she found in delivering pain was profound, equal to the gratification experienced by her victim. Maggie’s breasts burned as cut after cut sliced into the unprotected flesh. Why should I welcome such suffering? I ought to escape, but I don’t want to. “You’ll understand,” Meg had said; now I think I do, but I can’t explain. Compelled by responses to the powerful thrusting and the merciless assault, Maggie swept toward orgasm. Caen’s cock erupted, spurting her bowel with vital semen, huge spasms jerking her belly. Isolde laid a last vicious arpeggio on the beaten red nipples and Maggie plunged into her conclusion, body shuddering, her shrieks of passion echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

  ‘I enjoyed that,’ declared Isolde. ‘And there’s pleasure still to come: the new slave shall provide it. Titty, restore the spreader bar and leave her hood and bindings in place. Escort her to my room; and bring the cane too.’

  Walking blind, hobbled and with knees restrained was almost impossible. Maggie stumbled along, totally dependent on the unseen Titty. The route seemed endless, along corridors, through rooms and up staircases until at last she was
ushered into a soft and highly perfumed room.

  ‘You have been a long time, Titty; I’m almost off the boil.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, My Lady.’

  ‘That I do not grant. Your punishment is doubled. I expect you will claim that the novice’s lack of skill slowed you.’

  ‘Certainly not, Madame.’

  ‘Nonsense, it is true and you would doubtless exact your revenge in training, so why not do that now? You girl, lie here.’ Isolde removed the hood and indicated an upholstered bench with a frame placed astride one end. Two cords hung from this and, lying on her back with the spreader removed, Maggie’s thigh straps were hooked on. Isolde smiled, ‘Good isn’t it? Our very own pussy pleaser. Twenty strokes on her cunt, Titty. Take your revenge.’

  Titty stood astride Maggie’s head, a position that gave full view of her plump shaven sex, which was clearly moist. Titty was a muscular girl, strong boned and amply filled out; her bound breasts jutted impressively. Like torpedoes! Maggie stole a glance at her own: smaller and very, very red ones.

  Swish, crack. The cane cut into the tender flesh. Titty was expert, instantly finding her target. The thin rod sliced between the labia, parting the inner lips to strike the thin flesh veiling the pubic bone, and girl-juice leaked down to blend with oozing semen. Searing flame ate into the tender tissue and Maggie howled.

  ‘Count!’ cried Isolde.

  Maggie began to count, her voice hoarse with suffering. This is vindictive. It was and she was learning what lay at the core of the regime. Real pleasure for her dominators was sourced from the ultimate power held over their subjects: the power to deliver cruel, degrading unjust pain: coveted pain, the pain that the true, dedicated submissive craves; pain that is only effective if it is unjust and gratuitous. She understood their need, as surely as she understood her own.

  I do understand! Like a blinding light another enigma unfolded and Maggie burst through the veil. ‘Fifteen!’

  The cane sliced her scorched and flaring flesh. ‘Sixteen!’ It was a cry of triumph.

  ‘She’ll do! Soon we shall have a branding!’ said Isolde quietly.

  Drained by her ordeals, Maggie tottered when she regained her feet, hardly conscious of the cane being thrust into her hand, or statuesque Titty kneeling submissively and hoisting her abused breasts to assault. Steeling herself, Maggie forced her brain to take control, forcing her eyes to throw off the haze and focus on the object of her task. The nipples protruded grotesquely from huge, swollen areolas, the surrounding skin glazed and reddened by compression. Titty, calm and placid, waited her fate. Overwhelmed by the responsibility thrust upon her, but driven by base lust and prurience, Maggie struggled to make her brain rationalise her situation. Impelled more by instinct than skill she lashed the cane downward, aiming at the twin buds. The tip flicked just one, not hard, all the force had dissipated, but there was enough momentum to make the flexible rattan tweak the nipple sharply up and down.

  Titty yelped. A tiny sound, but it had a tremendous effect on Maggie. For the first time in her life she had intentionally inflicted pain on another human being. The sense of power hit her like an electric shock: all the potency without the suffering. This was powerful arousal, as potent as intense pain, if not more so. Intoxicated, she struck again, with more accuracy and greater intent. The cane struck both orbs, creating ravines as it crushed the captive tissue against the upward pressure of Titty’s hands. The flesh quaked and Titty howled. When the cane withdrew its white trace was turning red.

  Passion swamped Maggie: mind and body: a new and startling sensation, astonishment mingled with fear; like surrendering her virginity but more potent. Her thoughts were in turmoil as she adjusted to doing something so novel that it was almost alien except that the desire was real: a desire long suppressed finally liberated. Desire surged. Under its imperative she lashed the defenceless globes, embracing a grotesque urge to slice the glowing nipples from their bed. Wielded in mad lust the cane repeatedly rose and fell, etching its wicked red lattice into the smooth stretched skin, immune to Titty’s anguish. Rising to a pinnacle where passion clashed with fatigue, Maggie laid two last cuts across each areola and flung the cane aside, drained by the effort and breathless with fervour.

  Her hand cupping Maggie’s boiling pussy, Isolde spun her round: finger probing the trembling vagina, thumb thrumming the throbbing clit.

  Maggie’s brain exploded. Spasms racked her body: jerking and shuddering she was overwhelmed by orgasm.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Isolde murmured above the noise of Maggie’s triumph. ‘A very promising pupil.’

  4.2

  Maggie jogged steadily round the trim-track. Fit now from regular exercise, it was easily within her capacity and becoming deeply satisfying, especially the frequent penetrations. Titty had assumed oversight and most days she accompanied Maggie, with other girls joining in. Today Titty had slipped away and Maggie jogged alone. As she circuited she looked eagerly for Caen. He customarily watched the exercise, frequently with guests who joined in the fucking, but today no-one had appeared and Maggie felt a little neglected. With only two more laps to complete, she experienced disappointment as she entered the copse.

  In the middle, at the point where the track divided stood a large ash tree; its size forming a little clearing. Running silently on bare feet cushioned by the softness of the woodland floor, Maggie burst into the space and faltered. Bound to the tree was a naked figure, a woman of great beauty, exquisitely proportioned with peach-smooth skin. Ropes on wrists and ankles forced her to embrace the bole, breasts and belly held against the bark.

  Overcome by curiosity Maggie halted, all notions of completing her workout momentarily abandoned. The bound figure remained still, life only confirmed by the slight expansion and retraction of her torso. She seemed engrossed in adoration of the tree, her face pressed against it as though kissing. She neither turned nor showed any recognition of Maggie’s presence.

  This can’t be real, I’m imagining things, best be getting on. But before thought could turn to action, Maggie noticed a long switch lying on the forest floor, almost as though it had been placed there. Perhaps it was, perhaps I’m meant to see it. Perhaps this is another test.’ Test or not, she experienced tempting recollections of the cane biting into Titty’s tits and the amazing consequences. She glanced around. The copse was otherwise deserted: only she and the mysterious woman. Who would know? And if I’m punished, well it’s only pain.

  On impulse, Maggie picked up the switch and tested it. The whistle of it cutting the air was terrifying, sinister and threatening. The bound woman tensed. The perfect body tightened in apprehension and she turned toward the sound. A truly beautiful face, contorted by fear, or perhaps desire. Maggie smiled and struck. The crack of flexing wood echoed round the copse and the beautiful body arched as it absorbed the shock. The woman gasped and gripped the tree. The switch slid down leaving a rapidly reddening line etched across the swell of those superb cheeks.

  Intense passion welled up within Maggie; the desire that gripped her was irresistible, an inexplicable urge to deface such bewildering beauty. Possessed by it she lashed the switch into those gorgeous cheeks, making them quiver and tremble as it carved its evil pattern in that perfect skin. High passion possessed Maggie. Blind to all but her consuming desires she struck over and over: buttocks, thighs and back until the perfect, captive flesh was criss-crossed by an angry, burning lattice. Drained by exertion, but not sated, Maggie let the whippy bough fall from her grasp. She was caught in a maelstrom of sensation, desperate for a conclusion, yet as her fingers groped toward her clitoris she saw her victim jerk as spasms completed her perfection. Oh glory, I’ve whipped her to orgasm! The revelation engulfed her, but before her fingers could reach the nubbin and trigger the coveted conclusion a third figure entered the clearing. Maggie froze at the sight.

  The newcomer was gorgeous, massively built, tota
lly naked, and male. Impressively hung, his huge erection was mind-blowing: thick and long, the proportions at once intimidating and covetable. What a hunk!

  Maggie offered no resistance as he lifted her bodily to impale her with that massive shaft. The huge purple helmet slid smoothly into an eager vagina already lubricated by her unbridled sadism. The prominent ridge of his magnificent glans drove deep, scouring her slippery sheath. His immense rigidity filled her as she had never been filled and the power of his entry alone triggered the first massive orgasm that rippled through her body like some overwhelming tsunami. Huge hands gripped her rib cage just below her breasts, using her body as a masturbating aid. The vastness of that living rod invading her belly joined with her potent self-arousal to launch her onto a stupefying orgasmic roller coaster in which climax upon climax racked her frame and dazzled her mind.

  The living steel in her belly exploded, invoking a final, dazzling climax. Still jerking, she was lifted clear like a limp rag doll and dropped, tottering.

  Unaware of being observed, Maggie was surprised when Titty caught her, commanding, ‘Come with me!’ Maggie followed obediently, casting a wistful look over her shoulder at the lovely girl she had just beaten mercilessly. The hunk was releasing the girl’s bonds, she turned her head to look directly at Maggie mouthing the words, ‘Thank you!’ A tremendous shiver of passion shook Maggie’s aroused body and the significance threw her into mental turmoil. I thought I understood, but have I? What kind of person have I become? She pushed the thought aside; it was a mental protest to salve her troubled conscience, a reaction to the shock of discovering her true self. Maggie Moon had not changed: the long suppressed Maggie Moon was being set free.

  They headed back toward the main house. Entering by a rear door they traversed corridors and rooms unknown to Maggie. In the great lounge the drapes had been drawn back to reveal both her study and its neighbour. In this a naked girl was masturbating on a dildo stem, her body juddering from its spiteful, addictive electric charges. Maggie felt tingling goose bumps develop as a wave of envy swept her body.