‘Cow! You knew the cunt would swing; you did that fucking deliberate!’
Astra was taken aback by this verbal assault. Her moment of inaction had consequences. Scrambling up Cilla grabbed her whip and lashed out, missing Astra but cutting Maggie across the groin. The shock was too much: her bladder capitulated. Immobilised and still swinging, Maggie could do nothing as urine spurted, sprayed and splashed over floor and assailants. Not that they were really aware: blinded by anger, Astra had flung herself upon Cilla, snatching the whip and flinging it clear. Now they were rolling in Maggie’s puddle, clawing, scratching and screaming like alley cats.
As Maggie regained some control of her faculties a general hubbub overlying the sounds of conflict told her she was no longer isolated. Through the door piled Hazel, Isolde, Jacques and James, led by Caen with Zelda and Kayt bringing up the rear. They formed a ring round the wrestlers, watching in amusement until Caen signalled Zelda and Kayt to intervene. This only stopped the physical part of the fight, for as the slaves dragged Astra and Cilla away the pair continued to hurl invective like missiles. Jacques and James lowered Maggie and released her from the restraints while Hazel examined the scene. ‘Oh dear!’ she said, ‘you seem to have wet yourself. Really, a slave should have more self control. You know what this means?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Maggie dropped to her knees, looking up with adoration as she hoisted her breasts in invitation. Hazel calmly retrieved a discarded cane and landed fifteen powerful strokes across Maggie’s right breast. Maggie almost swooned. After the pitiless beating she had undergone this chastisement had a dreamlike quality. Hazel was rigorous, but her delivery was calculated to stimulate and arouse. It was a much calmer, restored Maggie who regained her feet to stand quietly while the ropewas threaded through her clit ring.
Caen conducted Maggie through the house and into the lounge to parade her before the assembly. As they saw the extent of her bruising some began to clap and as she progressed the applause grew into a full ovation. Circling the room Caen halted at the white box. Unclipping the lead, he indicated that Maggie should mount. She did so, falling naturally onto hands and knees. Caen parted her buttocks and stroked her crotch from mound to anus. An electric thrill ran through her body. Hazel hooked solid brass baubles onto the nipple rings to turn the dangling teats into inverted cones. Maggie flexed her body to set them swinging; this was close to paradise. When strong thick fingers probed her vagina she fixed her gaze upon Hazel. Intently holding her friend’s eyes, Maggie mouthed the words, ‘Both holes please,’ as precisely as she could. Hazel confirmed by pointing to her own naked sex and Maggie nodded. A moment later she felt the slim body of Jacques sliding between her knees and adjusted her posture to accommodate him, her open vagina eagerly searching for his rigid stem. They connected and she angled for the best and deepest penetration. This must be heaven! More meat nosed at her anus, sliding smoothly into her educated opening. It really is heaven! As the thought formed, a rich moist pussy presented itself to her face. She had no need to look: Hazels’ succulent aroma was familiar and welcome. Maggie used lips and tongue to pleasure the sweetness. Cilla was crass to use cunt and fuck to demean: this is more than heaven, cunt and fuck are paradise.
Maggie was on the lead again, meekly following Hazel. ‘A quick visit to Patty to have your wounds checked, then to deliver you to an anxious Carly and a delicious Kitten.’
‘I thought…’
‘Not any more. Astra is taking instruction on social etiquette from Isolde.’
‘And Cilla?’
‘Bill Jurgens made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. She thinks she’s going back to his ranch to take charge of his team of slaves. Actually she’ll be trained as a pony girl. Bill reckons that six months in harness with a studded dildo up her cunt and a tail plug in her rectum will be remarkably calming.’
‘I hope he’s right, but I’ll not be surprised if he isn’t. By the way, I expected to see Greg here.’
‘Greg’s gone to work in Chicago; Jane got bored and threw him out. She turned down her invitation, must have been something I said.’
Hazel halted outside the salon. She slipped the rope and plunged two fingers into Maggie’s well lubricated sex while standing on tiptoe to kiss her. ‘Enjoy your night; it’s work tomorrow, we’ve a business to launch. I must be off, Tegan awaits.’
6.3
Carly was framed – and stretched.
The large fitting that occupied the centre of the playroom was copied from the Farm’s gallows, adapted and constructed by technicians in Caen’s employ. It had already justified the expense. After a night-long session this was Carly’s finale. Pierced and branded, a graduate slave, she was firmly secured: splayed feet strapped into stirrups incorporated into the lower bar; arms aloft, straight up with hands strapped to the upper bar. Both bars were fashioned to slide within the verticals, an integral screw system allowing adjustment to any body size, plus, as was now the case with Carly, a facility to expand further and exert traction on the helpless victim. Its potential danger made it a torment that demanded total trust between slave and Custodian. The six inch restraining band across the hips was rubber, mounted on springs to absorb impact and to ensure a vigorous recoil, the point of which concerned the slender steel rod threaded through Carly’s nipple rings. This was mounted on outriggers causing her breasts, flayed raw by cane and lash, to be extended into grotesque cones.
Maggie allowed the heavy bull whip to dangle on the floor as she studied the body secured before her. It glowed with the efforts of the night: a tired girl who had been subjected to intense punishment interspersed with huge orgasms fuelled by extensive chastisement and subtle stimulation of nipples, clitoris, anus and vagina. Thighs, buttocks, belly and bosom all bore evidence of remorseless assault; only the upper back remained unmarked, for the moment.
Maggie idly teased her clit, just enough to keep her simmering in preparation for the massive arousal that would soon flood her mind. This was total indulgence, beset by no boundaries, accepted without question by her victim. Cilla might approve, being addicted to cruelty. Maggie could fully appreciate the callousness that drove Cilla: she possessed it too; in need and thought they were so alike. What Maggie could not comprehend was Cilla’s absolute contempt, her inability to form a bond. Cilla’s time with Bill Jurgens was almost up and Maggie feared that the experience would serve only to harden the girl’s attitudes. Cilla might decide to stay with Bill, but if not she’ll be looking for revenge. The thought was stimulating and Maggie rubbed herself vigorously to focus her mind on immediate matters and boost her own libido.
Purposefully she raised the whip and swung it with all the power she could muster. The heavy lash generated a blood-chilling howl as it traced its wicked parabola through the still cold air. The sudden tension in Carly’s body was visible causing her to whimper from the pain induced in her joints. The flailing leather thong connected with a deep, satisfying thud; a massive serpent’s tongue maliciously curling over the smooth tanned skin before sliding down the smooth convex curve of her spine. Carly jerked forward, screaming as her body bent like a long bow. The rubber belt flung her backward and she screeched as her breasts were stretched unnaturally, an expression of distress and fear for the tearing of her nipples.
Maggie pressed a pedal with her foot to give her arching slave a burst of electric current through the probe in her vagina. Carly convulsed and slumped as much as her restraints allowed: head down, sobbing and suffering.
Maggie rubbed her clit with vigour, pushing two fingers into her freely creaming sheath. The climb to orgasm was begun – for both.
Again the great whip whirled, incising its signature on the tender flesh: distorted body, stretching nipples, wresting screams and howls marking another sequence of suffering, pain and pleasure. Time was a meaningless concept for those in the playroom: the endless succession from indulgence to indulgence the only mark by w
hich progress was measured.
The dawning day heralded, with work to do: a routine of orders to be downloaded, processed and prepared, cherry picking, shipments packed and despatched. Not a tedious routine for it could be set aside to indulge whims and fancies: a little whipping maybe, or a caning; perhaps penetration, caresses and kisses or full-blown fucking with the strap-on cock. Orgasms a-plenty to feed four voracious appetites. It’s a good life! The thought was fleeting for Maggie was engrossed with whip and slave. Again and again she belaboured the young, unprotesting girl until fatigue set in and it was obvious that Carly was exhausted, not that this alone would provoke Maggie to cease; it was a given rule that Custodians never spared a slave.
Maggie lashed her again. The crack-thud, the arching body, the vocals and the obvious suffering all exerted their power, she was driven and satiated. The moment she touched her clitoris her world exploded and in her ecstasy she mustered just sufficient will to stab the pedal and ensure that Carly climaxed too.
Hazel entered wearing only the belt of silver medallions she had adopted as her badge of superiority. Tegan scampered behind on all fours, led by dog chain and collar. Hazel smiled indulgently at the sight of Maggie sprawled on the floor, writhing in orgiastic bliss and thought wicked thoughts.
‘Had a good night?’ she asked prettily.
Maggie scrambled to her feet uncertain in her confusion whether she was now slave or equal. Hazel offered no hint, simply unclipping Tegan and directing the slave to release Carly. Slowly the frame reverted to normal, the straps were unbuckled and Carly was assisted to regain her feet. The welted girl tottered the short distance that brought her face to face with her tormentor where she sank to her knees, gazing up in supplication. Maggie looked down, her expression hard and cold. She’s a real gem. The brief surge of admiration touched momentarily on compassion, but Maggie killed it dead: she knew what the slave expected, knew that what her slave required above all was not compassion, but humiliation. Moving forward to tower above her slave, she opened her legs and pissed. The urine spurted over that abused body, splashing on face and breasts, pouring over beaten skin to form a pool around the kneeling girl. The flow subsided to a trickle and Maggie wriggled to ensure that the last few drops were not wasted. When she stepped back Carly looked up, her deep, dark eyes glowing with adoration: ‘Thank you Ma’am.’ she said softly before twisting to roll her body in the puddle surrounding her.
In stepping back Maggie entered the arc of the twin angled mirrors installed so that slaves could view the evidence of their punishments. In this position she was reflected in both: her perfect body encased in studded leather straps that concealed nothing but presented an intimidating vision. She savoured the sight. Intimidation: the whole point, Meg would approve.
Meg did not visit any more. There was no need. The darker side of Margaret Moon, long denied, suppressed, concealed, was liberated and given free rein. Two sides living in harmony, each complementing the other: two personas, two reflections.
Maggie glanced at her images and nodded.You were right; I do know who you are.
One reflection smiled: a sweet, enigmatic, slightly conceited smile.
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The Dark Side of Maggie Moon Page 22
