The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  The strain was beginning to tell, Maggie knew that to endure this cruel confinement, this deprivation, she had to clear her mind and seek refuge in passive control, but today the turmoil colonising her mind was inescapable.SOMEONE PLEASE RELEASE ME. She screamed the words aloud behind the gag within the hood and no-one heard.

  When release came it was in the form of Titty. Maggie didn’t know it was Titty until the sling, hood and plug were removed and she saw the tall girl with the big comfortable breasts and suckable nipples. Given the choice she would have snuggled up to her mentor and taken one of those tasty teats between her lips, but the business-like Titty hurried Maggie out to the trim track.

  It was good to be out in the open air, but Maggie was desperate for a pee and hungry; the morning porridge had not filled her for long. The slave called Pip was jogging up and down, breasts jiggling, waiting to be Maggie’s partner and on Titty’s word they set off. In the shelter of the copse, Maggie flung caution to the wind and paused to relieve her bursting bladder; feeling the stream of urine gush from her pussy was bliss.

  As Maggie completed her lap she saw that Caen had taken up his usual position beside the bench, accompanied by a woman, bare breasted, but wearing a grotesque mask, thigh boots and latex briefs that supported a murderous-looking black prosthetic. Maggie swooned with delight at thought of its thickness storming her belly. Caen beckoned and Maggie trotted over feeling hypnotised by the presence of this enchanting woman carrying the most wonderful breasts, so firm and shapely, cleanly sculpted, with prominent upturned nipples as large as acorns and dark as black cherries begging to be plucked.

  ‘This is she!’ Caen announced. The woman, whom Maggie had mentally labelled Madam X, stepped forward assertively to reach between Maggie’s thighs and stroke the plump aroused labia. Maggie swooned with pleasure. The probing finger delved further, encountering tender skin chafed by the abrasive tape. The pleasure modulated, pain merging to induce a deeper delight. When the fingers pinched her raw clitoris, Maggie howled and the mysterious woman laughed.

  Caen chuckled. ‘She’s yours to do with as you desire.’

  Madam X pointed to the bench. Maggie instantly knew what she had to do and crouched over it, flaunting her sex. Caen tapped her rump. Maggie caught his glance and turned to lie supine, legs apart, eager and ready to receive the thick black dildo. Her masked benefactor hurriedly took stance. Her fumbling attempt to enter Maggie’s willing hole revealed inexperience, but there was no doubting her enthusiasm. Maggie wriggled to present the best position and was rewarded by the inspiring satisfaction of invasion. Madam X worked hard, thrusting with more strength than skill: hard and relentless. The action was not kind to the much assaulted flesh, but Maggie had long since graduated from gentle sex: the rougher, harder and more painful the better. She rose to meet the thrusts, quickly matching the rhythm and it was obvious that the woman was experiencing great pleasure from the encounter. She lowered her body, coming closer and closer to her victim until the bestial carnival mask was just inches from Maggie’s face. With built-in dark lenses concealing the eyes there was no way of identifying features, but Maggie experienced empathy, sensing that they shared similar needs and for a moment she was back in the coppice thrashing Zelda. Impelled by instinct she reached up to those lovely naked bouncing breasts to touch the dancing nipples. The woman sighed deeply and hammered deep, forcing the breath from Maggie’s lungs as they both slid willingly and helplessly into orgasm.

  No time was allowed for recovery. As soon as the woman had disengaged Caen had Maggie on her feet and jogging away to the first activity point. The pair of them followed, strolling round but contriving to meet up with Maggie at every activity, observing her strenuous efforts with obvious enjoyment. Although she was extremely fit after days of regular exercise, Maggie was beginning to feel tired after repeated penetrations, but she did not object or falter when Madam X twice more demanded access, first to her anus then later her sex. It was a well used and exhausted student who was ushered to the showers by Pip. I wonder why Madam X never chose Pip.

  From the showers she was taken to the cellar where she was hooded. This was the full version, the leather one she had seen on the night she had been ‘bought.’ Special pads closed her eyes and ears and a stiff tongue was inserted into her mouth. All these became firm when the various external straps were tightened. With her hands restrained behind, her only contact with reality was by smell and the sensations collected by her exposed erogenous zones: Maggie Moon had become a mere sex object. To her astonishment she did not consider her condition as demeaning; it was inexplicably exciting to know that she was purely cunt, tits and arse.

  When Kayt released Maggie the evening was greatly advanced and she was hungry and thirsty. Kayt provided a glass of some milky compound and Maggie drank it thankfully, recognising it as an energy source; it augured for an active evening.

  Kayt escorted her to the cellar. ‘Le Patron is disappointed with you,’ she explained. ‘Madame had specifically asked to see you piss. Le Patron has decreed that Madame may punish you before dinner. Stand here and place your hands on your head.’

  Maggie adopted the pose. It seemed an interminable age before Kayt returned escorting Madam X. Maggie studied her with curious interest: she still wore the mask, but had swapped the rubber briefs for a loose black kaftan, and she was barefoot. Even with her body concealed Madam X continued to radiate allure and Maggie experienced strange stirrings deep in her soul.

  ‘What is Madame’s wish?’ Kayt enquired deferentially.

  Madam X scanned the racks of implements and took in the facilities offered by the room. ‘I shall whip her: that short cat, I think,’ she said, pointing out the selected item. Her voice was deep and gravelly and Maggie wondered why she should need to disguise it so obviously. ‘Fasten the bitch’s legs and stretch her arms high: I fancy belly and arse.’

  Maggie quailed; she knew this particular whip from experience; it would be doubly harsh on her taut belly. Perhaps I should be glad she didn’t choose to whip my tits; or maybe I should be sorry, those lashes curling round my teats would be something special.

  Lash! Eight lengths of snarling whipcord viciously embraced her buttocks, winding round hips to lick at her groin.

  Lash! Eight tongues of fire lapping her rounded belly drove fire deep into her loins. Lower, please, lower. Cut my thighs, lash my pussy. The longing was deep, but unspoken

  Lash! Again the same area, the same longing. ‘Drink deep my lovely, savour your penalty and learn that it doesn’t pay to thwart my desires.’ The same gritty voice. Why, Madam X, why?

  Lash, lash! Five more times the whip bit, weaving its lattice of stripes on the smooth soft skin of belly and buttock: sixty four lines of burning scourge.

  Madam X stood, reversing the whip, using its handle to tilt Maggie’s face, holding her gaze with those sightless lenses.

  ‘Nicely marked, do you agree slave?’ The gravelly question was directed at Kayt.

  ‘Excellently done, Madame.’

  Madam X dropped the whip and turned away. ‘You may take her down.’

  It would be lovely to be a mistress just for a little while, I do envy Donata. There was no mystery about the source of the thought, for Patty was busily preparing Maggie for dinner. What was amazing was how a vision of Carly popped in beside it.Freshly showered, powdered and perfumed, with hair newly set and bearing her marks with pride, Maggie was led into the grand lounge. She gasped at the change wrought. Six naked house-duty girls were busy putting the final touches to the amazing scene that met her eyes: a room furnished to resemble a baronial hall. The big mirrored windows of the studies were covered by huge tapestries, mock shields hung along the cross beams and between the pictures.

  The light came entirely from candles. Suspended between the beams was a vast chandelier consisting of an iron ring carrying at least forty thick candles, all alight. Four
naked girls were chained to the walls with a fifth hoisted above the fireplace. They were all arranged to give the appearance of supporting more candle holders. Their outstretched arms were chained to brackets each carrying four candles and between their parted legs another bracket was fixed close to their crotches to suggest that these sprang from their vaginas with each bracket holding a huge candle whose flame licked dangerously close to their bellies. Each girl was gagged with a tall candle fixed to the ball, its flame reflecting from a tiara set in her hair.

  Tables laid for dining were arranged as a large U. In the space thus enclosed stood a bier on which another naked girl had been spread-eagled, blindfolded and gagged. Ten, tall, iron holders surrounding the bier each carried a huge altar candle.

  A thick pole was set up beyond the bier. Maggie was gagged then chained to it: the fine polished chain being wrapped twice round her chest above her breasts, crossed over and wound under her breasts, crossed in her cleavage, looped under the upper band and back down to encircle her feminine orbs then padlocked. More chain was looped round the post, passed below her crotch, up over her hips, crossed behind the post again and across her belly to be padlocked below her navel. To complete her bondage her wrists were chained to a bar located behind the post.

  Content that Maggie was secure, Kayt hurried away to assist with arranging the place settings. The flickering candle light played impressively on the fine silver cutlery. Now fully accustomed to bondage, Maggie surveyed the scene with calm detachment. The size of the room, its general ambience and the atmospheric influence of dark, dancing shadows tended toward the sinister, but she no longer saw it in those terms. No threat, only the promise of excitement. Pain and suffering within context were conditions to be avidly desired. She gazed down at the girl on the bier. Does she feel as excited as me? Maggie did not recognise her, but neither did she recognise any of those chained up as candle holders. I expect all will be explained eventually. Most things were, she had discovered. The girl lay feet first, allowing an excellent view of her sex. She was fully aroused, the dark patch between her labia revealing an open, welcoming vagina. I hope you get lots of lovely fucks. Maggie was certain they all would, the whole room sizzled with sexual tension.

  Zelda appeared and clapped her hands. ‘Slaves, to your places.’ Instantly the room became organised. Kayt and Ali took position behind a side table laid out with bottles, decanters and glasses. Pip and Patty, naked at last, came to stand statuesque and motionless one each side of Maggie while the remainder vanished through side doors. Shortly people began to wander in, strolling across to the side table where Kayt and Ali dispensed drinks. The first comers were men, all wearing robes: simply cut, but elaborately decorated in vivid colours. Three women followed. Two were elegantly gowned: Donata, who was the third, typically wore a very brief mini-dress, hardly more than a tunic top. A trio of robed men followed. Maggie recognised Jacques and James. Oh yes! Crude lust engulfed her, she longed to be used, even violated. But the mood was fired up by the greatest shock of all: accompanied by Isolde, who should stroll into the room but Hazel.

  Hazel, glamorous in figure flattering, plum- coloured satin that contrasted superbly with Isolde’s simple white Grecian gown. The satin shimmered in the soft candlelight, a vision of perfection. Maggie was transfixed. Hazel, on the other hand, appeared not to notice the trussed naked figure in the centre of the room, being engaged in close conversation with her escort. Before they reached the table Isolde paused to re-arrange Hazel’s bodice exposing her superb breasts and gently stroking the tips of their big dark nipples. A ripple of applause ran round the room. My god, Hazel was Madam X. No, I must be hallucinating again. But there was no mistaking those unique nipples.

  Impelled by Hazel’s exhibitionism, Donata pulled down her scooped neckline to expose her own boobs. The applause picked up: auspiciously, for Caen chose that precise moment to arrive. He escorted Hazel and Isolde to the table for drinks.

  In a corner of the hall, a naked slave beat a gong and Caen conducted his two ladies to the head of the table. More than twenty guests were at table and when all were seated, he took his place as host with Hazel on the left and Isolde to the right. It was obvious that Caen enjoyed the respect of all his guests and Maggie studied him with close interest. Although his commanding posture, his place at the head of the feast and the richness of his golden gown set him apart, she concluded that the respect was wholly spontaneous. I’m not surprised; I know how they feel.

  A sense of pride invaded her body, igniting a warmth in her bowels. The entire situation spoke of quality and privilege. And I’m part of it: judged acceptable? As the first course was served a quintet in a side gallery began to play Baroque chamber music. Maggie looked up, not in the least surprised to see that the players were all female and all naked. How exactly right! Just perfect. As indeed it was. The room was filled with beauty and images of beauty: the naked sconces, the paintings and portraits, the setting, the food, Isolde, the bare breasted girl, the naked waitresses, Hazel… And even me?

  She glanced down. Pip and Patty had begun to circle the prostrated girl. As they passed each candle it was withdrawn from its holder and tilted slightly to drip molten wax onto her skin. Slowly, methodically, starting from her vulva, they were encasing her in molten wax. With each drip she jerked, her cry muffled by the gag. Being blindfold and restrained that must be exquisite – more beauty! Oh why couldn’t I be chosen to experience that?

  The meal proceeded, there were many courses, all tempting and designed to grace the palette, but eventually the last dessert was eaten and the diners relaxed with their drinks. Caen rose to his feet. ‘Friends, I trust you have eaten well. I have welcomed you already, but I also thank you for gracing this most pleasant occasion. This evening I am proud to introduce a new member of the Syndicate.’ He turned slightly, directing attention to Hazel. ‘Fellow members, in your name I extend the patronage of this fraternity to Hazel Repton-Cooke and admit her to our body of Custodians.’

  A round of genuine applause followed and someone called, ‘Speech.’

  Looking more than a little embarrassed, Hazel rose.

  ‘Thank you,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I appreciate the privilege you have bestowed on me. Today has been my first experience of sexual dominance and it has been enlightening. I began reading SM fiction years ago and grew to consider it just that – fiction, the stuff of stories. You Caen – all of you – have revealed it to be real and welcomed me into the scene. You have my gratitude, you have my trust; I hope I shall repay your confidence.’ She ended abruptly and sat down quickly, overcome by the moment. There was a general expression of approval from the close knit group. The girl on the bier continued to jerk as hot wax was dribbled on the few remaining bits of exposed skin. Only her head remained untouched: she was almost a living candle.

  Caen resumed his feet. ‘Our second task this evening is to mark the acquisition of a new slave, always a special moment in Syndicate annals. She has been tested and proved. She accords with our highest standards. From this moment forward her life is in our hands. Everything she does will be at our command and her sole purpose in life will be to please and serve us. She has no part in this decision. As the gag demonstrates she has no voice; this is right and proper, and she understands why this is so. The decision has been made under the rules of this fraternity and by her passive acceptance she has acquiesced. By this decree we liberate her to her destiny. Even though in the future she might choose to deny our fraternity she can never ever escape it. In the name of the Syndicate I confirm her name as Maggie and declare her to be a house-maiden. The act of induction, and her branding will take place six weeks from now. Hazel, I place House-maiden Maggie under your control, to develop her skills, explore her talents and prepare her for the induction. Do you accept?’

  ‘I do, Patron.’

  ‘Excellent! Maggie may be released. Friends, the house and all slaves present are at your disp
osal. Take pleasure.’

  Isolde sprang to her feet. ‘I claim droits de maison! Have Maggie delivered to my room.’

  Caen took Hazel aside. ‘Donata is without a partner this evening; I suggest you join forces to peel the wax from Tegan. It is a most diverting occupation and an excellent way to evaluate a slave. You see, Tegan is presently without a Custodian. Karl Sorenson has begun a semester’s exchange with an Ivy League University and was unable to take Tegan with him. I’d like you to take her on, it will be good preparation prior to receiving Maggie, and Tegan would benefit from a new perspective. Will you agree?’

  Hazel was flattered, her expression revealed it. ‘Of course, Patron, I’d be delighted.’

  Isolde entered the room to find the new slave waiting quietly in a submissive pose and lifted Maggie’s chin with her finger. ‘You are free at last.’ She stepped back to ease the gown from her shoulders. It cascaded round her feet leaving Isolde gloriously nude. ‘To begin, a sound spanking over my knee.’

  Beautiful!

  Part Five

  5.1

  The checkout queue shuffled forward. Maggie, despatched by Hazel to replenish the larder, breathed a sigh of relief: the heat wave had arrived suddenly, the hypermarket was heaving, tempers were shortening, the queues were long and this till was ready to close. Hurry up; I want to be home and nude. She hoisted the elasticised neckline of her dress, little more than an ankle length boob tube, but full and flowing, created by Jenny in response to Hazel’s edict on public appearances: everything covered; nothing concealed. The pearl grey gown, its sheer floaty fabric as light as gossamer, no more substantial than a cloud, flattered her near perfect figure. Barefoot and sensuous – sex on legs, Hazel had declared – Maggie had toured the shop with barely a glance being cast in her direction. So much for public reaction, I reckon I’m over dressed. After continuous nudity it felt that way.