Moonspawn

by Bruce McLachlan

  Into each rear was sheathed a large candle, the angle of the waxen staff letting the drool of the light drip down their buttocks and spine, each woman’s back encrusted with frozen trickles of solidified black wax.

  The legs of the living candelabrum were bathed in the 206

  amber glow of their candle. Their bodies were cloaked in shadow as they were left to their isolation, serving the needs of the palace as furniture.

  A seven-sided table, the black glass surface rimmed with a wooden lip, dominated the middle of the room.

  Before each face was a large divan, the leather cushion large and soft, accommodating the comfort of its main occupant.

  In each divan, lying on her back, was a bound slave.

  The males and females were cocooned in a sheath of rubber, their bodies compressed into a single stem, leaving only their mouths exposed.

  Their legs were hauled up into the air, a ring at their toes setting a chain up to connect to the ceiling, keeping them bound thus. A living part of the divan, the true guests of this chamber had seated themselves on these fawning maws, relaxing into them and tasting of their dedications while using their raised legs as a back rest.

  Head slave Strafe reclined in her red catsuit, a zip at the crotch showing that this was a different one to that which Kira had seen her in. From the woman’s presence she could guess that all six of the other women her head slaves, each representing one of the castes of the royal palace.

  Standing to one side were a row of five waitresses of the variety Kira had seen when first arriving in the palace.

  Their nipple and nose rings helped balance a tray laden with blue crystal glasses, the goblets filled with warmed red, the sustenance giving off small curling lines of steam as they waited to be called forth again.

  Kira was drawn towards the only seat left vacant. It was one with a slave of voluptuous physique, her alluring breasts and rear straining at the sheath, and during her 207

  approach she noticed the labels.

  Etched into the wood of the perimeter and filled with silver, each tag named the position of service held by the woman who was to be seated at that place. No names were given, suggesting that the places were set for whoever currently held that rank.

  The ruler of the livestock was a young woman with long tan hair, her strong form sealed within a uniform akin to that of a riding mistress. Tight white breeches slithered beneath tall polished boots with spurs strapped to them, the garment making it difficult for the slave beneath to attend her adequately. A leather bolero jacket hung open, revealing a crisp white shirt beneath and a studded belt at her waist. The open collar exposed the metal band of her slavery, the silver strip marked as all the others were. It illustrated well that even though these women were appointed tyrants, all of them including the seneschal were still nought but property of the queen.

  Her dark green eyes were lazy and passionless, as though she were only half-aware of her surroundings or was merely indifferent to them.

  The curator of the feed banks, whom she knew to be named Gherth, was an older woman, her slender body dressed in penurious attire. Her auburn tresses hung as a loose bob around a heart-shaped, delicate face, a strange visage considering her placement in such a place of dread.

  Kira expected her to be some brooding devilish harridan, not this fragile beauty.

  Dressed in gloss shorts and knee high patent boots over fishnet, a matching bra cupped her breasts, and gloves rolled to her elbow. Her collar had been armed with a wicked starburst of spikes that encircled her throat, but left the fastening of her ring and the symbols of her 208

  ownership and identity bared. She reclined leisurely upon the face of her slave, the zip of her shorts dropped, the open crotch mesh tights allowing access for the supplicant.

  The trainer responsible for the servants had a mane of curling dark hair that wreathed a pretty and carefree face, one stiffened with a stern glower.

  Clad in a latex dress, the laced plunging neckline sank almost to her waist where the mini-skirt moved slightly with the work of the slave buried within it. Her bare legs were covered from the knee down by stiletto leather boots, the same fabric used to create her opera gloves.

  The manufacturer responsible for the furniture and function slaves which all of them were currently enjoying was a small butch woman, her hair cropped to a short pelt of spiky brown. She was clad in what appeared to be a leather business suit. A white shirt lay over her collar and was pinned beneath a buttoned, close-fitting jacket, the sleeves giving a hint of her white cuffs laying beneath before leather gloves coated her fingers. Figure-hugging leather trousers fell from her waist with a plain belt holding them, and tall thigh boots covered her legs again, setting her atop low-heeled boots.

  The woman responsible for the harem slaves was a gorgeous woman who wore a vindictive expression, her tall body accepting a cascade of golden hair that fell wildly to her waist. A strapless bra of latex surrounded her chest, the cups small, the fastening strips almost like cord. Other than latex leggings that emphasised her towering legs and the added height of incorporated high heels, she wore only her collar.

  The seneschal stepped up and slid into her seat, showing Kira’s awed eyes that she was without 209

  underwear, her loins free beneath the skirt and stockings.

  With a soft shudder the woman settled into position, the faint sound of suckling emerging from beneath her.

  Laying back into the woman’s soft legs, the seneschal ordered forth the refreshments, the slaves wandering the table edge and showing relief as their burdens were lightened with the removal of drinks.

  ‘To her majesty,’ toasted the seneschal.

  ‘Her majesty,’ they all replied, raising their glasses and then taking a deep draught. The women sighed and lay back, some of them revealing growing fangs, their teeth emerging at the taste of blood.

  ‘An excellent vintage, Gherth,’ stated the head slave of the harem. ‘My compliments.’

  ‘Thank you, Gabrielle, I have a few choice youths in the banks I’ve been saving. Now seems as good a time as any to start on them.’

  ‘You’ll have to send me a few bottles,’ said Gabrielle.

  ‘Of course, I’ll have a slave bring them to our quarters once we’re finished here,’ she replied.

  While this exchange of pleasantries was conducted, the seneschal merely lay into her seat, devouring the attentions of her slave, her eyes closed with pleasure.

  How Kira envied the slave beneath her. She would have done anything to take that position, to taste the seneschal, to please her.

  ‘To business,’ she snapped, bringing herself from her warm torpor. ‘What is the status of the farm and kennels, Sykora?’ asked the seneschal, looking to the woman in the riding outfit.

  ‘I have prepared the report, seneschal,’ replied Sykora and reaching behind her into the cushions she handed over a pre-prepared hard copy of the data.

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  The seneschal opened it and perused the contents, turning the pages and commenting as she went. ‘Mares, Colts, Fillies, good. Though we should get some more into training.’

  ‘Yes, seneschal.’

  ‘What of the pain slaves?’ asked the seneschal, glancing to Strafe as she took another sip of her beverage before smacking her lips and setting the glass on the table.

  ‘As you predicted seneschal, the visiting Asian dignitaries have placed a number of their private property in my care,’ she replied. ‘I am using our best ordeals on them as we speak.’

  Kira smiled to herself, hoping that the suffering of the cat that had attacked her would be long and excruciating.

  ‘Excellent, the clan holds accomplishment in the field of vice with the highest regard,’ said the seneschal, revealing the importance of Strafe’s work. ‘An impressive display may well ease negotiations.’

  ‘Servants, Ditta?’ she questioned of the woman in the latex dress with leather extremities as she shifted and repositioned herself on her slave’s
face.

  ‘I’ve had an extra twenty in training since last meeting, and as a precaution, some of those with less spotless records have been placed back in intensive training, just to polish up their skills and obedience.’

  ‘Excellent,’ commented the seneschal. ‘Double all demerits assigned to servants who fail to perform as expected.’

  ‘Is that wise, seneschal? That will deplete our numbers.’

  ‘Then deny them any choice save the most strenuous to work off their tallies. That should keep you at full 211

  strength, and besides, it will work out better in the long run because you’ll have less serviles with faltering dedication to their duties. Now, what about furniture, Kristen?’ she bade of the woman in the leather suit.

  ‘A new wave of ghouls are being installed in various guestrooms, and I have another fifty in training right now.

  My trainers are under strict orders to ensure that they produce only the finest furniture slaves for duty.’

  ‘Good. I want no repetition of that incident with the Russian delegation six years ago.’

  ‘Please, seneschal, that was not my fault, it was—’

  Kristen attempted before being interrupted by the abrupt words of the seneschal.

  ‘I don’t want excuses, I want furniture that stays put and does what it’s supposed to. Ten percent of all demerits assigned to furniture slaves will be worked off on your tender hide. Is that plain enough to understand? Or do you have anything else to add, head slave?’

  ‘No, seneschal, I apologise for my words, I meant no disrespect,’ she said meekly, lowering her gaze and keeping quiet until the seneschal changed the subject.

  There was a knock upon the door and Kira turned to face it, wondering who it was, for surely a guest or denizen of this place could simply walk in. Did the doors only open for those of standing? Were slaves such as she unable to get access through them? She could guess that it was something to do with the collars. The bands might well be fitted with something that doors detected, making them refuse access or open willingly depending on who was seeking entry.

  ‘Enter,’ firmly stated the seneschal.

  The door clicked and a moment later, after acknowledging the voice, opened to let a female enter.

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  Her arms were trussed up behind her back, her mouth spread wide by a ball-gag. Shuffling in hobbles that held her knees and ankles, she tottered on her heels, her body smothered by latex that left only her eyes and breasts free.

  The woman turned about, revealing a naked rear, an envelope clasped in the cleft. The seneschal removed it with a tug and paid the messenger a tip in the form of a swift stroke of her crop. The girl staggered forth a step and then straightened to attention once more, the red smudge darkening with each passing second.

  The seneschal opened it and read the contents before crumpling it into a ball. ‘I am to attend her majesty immediately. Is there any other business?’ she asked, making the girl stiffen as the litter was absently forced through her sphincter and into her anus.

  ‘I believe that’s everything, seneschal,’ offered Sykora, looking across the others to see if there were any disagreement.

  ‘Good,’ said the seneschal with a tight smile, rising from her seat and straightening her skirt. ‘Strafe, take Kristen to the pain blocks, set her up in third level bondage, cane her regularly until she’s worked off, oh, lets say five hours. I think that’ll get the lesson across.’

  ‘Yes, seneschal,’ replied the woman, walking over and hooking a finger through the head slave’s collar ring.

  The girl looked to Strafe with sorrow, clearly dismayed that she was going to have to suffer so much.

  Strafe started to draw her away for torment, and with another swat the messenger was sent scurrying off.

  The seneschal took up Kira’s lead and left the meeting, making for the throne room.

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  Chapter Fifteen

  Sitting on the slab, Thanos dwelt on what had happened.

  Kira had surrendered herself to the abuse of the seneschal for him, suffered her wrath to preserve him from her venom.

  She was gorgeous, a girl of beauty and strength he never thought to encounter in any facet other than the queen. He would be ecstatic if he could gain access to her, if they could be enslaved together, performing for the amusement of others.

  His time on the stage with her was unbelievable, watching her squirm in her bondage as the latex nuns wracked her body with intense sensation. It had almost made him climax just to watch the show. He would love to look on again and again as Kira was punished by their mutual owners, and then to suffer alongside her, to both be trained and held in chastity until they were given a spontaneous reprieve.

  His hand enclosed his shaft and he shut his eyes, dreaming of tasting Kira’s delicious flesh once more, of following her smooth curves, of burying himself deep into her, hearing her mewl and purr beneath him.

  The door opened and he stopped his slothful onanism, jerking his head around to see who it was.

  The pair that stood before him were a bizarre sight, one of the many teams of wandering punishment slaves that meandered through the winding depths of the palace, adding to the general wicked ambience with their plight.

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  A young vampiress ambulated on the verge of collapse, deprived of sleep for many days. A short metal pole lay horizontally at the centre of her spine, her arms draped behind it and her wrists brought forth to be connected at her belly. A dress of thin rope had been fastened about her, incorporating the metal strut into its web to hold it firm. Her breasts were strained through woven jaws, her chest compressed, her arms captured by numerous hoops.

  A pole was fitted between her legs, the tip shaped into a phallic spear that had driven into her sex. The shaft descended between her legs, throwing out short chains that grabbed metal bands above and below her knees, and at the base another set snapped to her fetters. With the pole anchored into her, she could neither get off it nor wilt from her standing position, lest it push deeper than she could accept.

  Her clit ring was teased and played by a small bell fastened to it, while similar examples had been set on her nipple rings, causing the girl to air soft melodious chimes as she staggered.

  A ball-gag was forced into her mouth, straining her jaws wide. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and her long hair had been tied into a ponytail that swayed against her back.

  A clamp had been snapped to the flesh of her left breast, the pinch of skin serving to support an envelope. The use of such slaves to deliver mail was a usual one, the offer always being that maybe the letter they bore would satisfy the recipient enough to warrant their release. It was unlikely, but it was the only hope they had for early freedom.

  The girl was haunted by a rubber wraith, the curves of the male emphasised by a complete suit of dense rubber.

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  The comprehensive garment included his stiletto boots, a hood that gave him nothing save eye-slits, and a sheath that held his erect penis.

  His forearms were connected along each other behind him, the suit merging to keep them trapped, his fingers lost within the single sleeve.

  From the exposed ring of his smothered collar a chain had been fastened, the leash reaching forward to the centre of the pole that was responsible for containing the girl’s arms.

  Connected together, the only distraction for the male was to plunge himself into the girl’s rear, attacking her at random, able to only get the most minute satisfaction through his stifling condom of a suit. He could thrust away with all his maniac hunger, but had no hope of achieving release, making him more frustrated and more eager to try and ease this torment by hunting for elusive climax in the girl’s tight rear. The vampiress, on the other hand, was doomed to simply wander, hounded from behind by her faceless persecutor, the latex ghost filling her regularly.

  They stopped before Thanos and he removed the envelope, tugging it off to make the vampiress gurgle at the adde
d stress placed to her clamp.

  Opening it, he found a summons to attend the queen in her private chambers. It probably meant that he was going to be subjected to her training again, several days having passed since his last period of tutelage under her.

  Removing the clamp from the girl, she aired pips of shock from the extraction, the clamp having been set on her for some time. The sight of the strangled breast had him look upon it with a new light, and reaching out he took hold of the smooth flushed mound. The girl tried to 216

  back away, seeing what he was intending, but Thanos merely dropped a crooked little finger through a nipple ring, forcing her to stay put. She shuddered and stared at him with wide eyes.

  ‘Scared of the lupine are we?’ he scowled, adopting a fake tone of threatening to intimidate her, scare her a little, for he was of the race that butchered vampires without remorse, and this neophyte to the palace would still be utterly terrified of him.

  No one would know if he had a little fun first. He would earn it in time, because the queen was no merciful trainer.

  Drawing her in by her nipple, she was shaking as he looked up at her, peering through the valley of her breasts and into her innocent face.

  Taking hold of the pole with his other hand he jiggled it, making her stiffen in fits as he laughed to himself.

  ‘Would you like to have a werewolf ride that cute rear of yours?’ he asked, making her throw her head from side to side. Thanos laughed and set free the cilia of power within him.

  The collar had been left deactivated, so he was free to change. Ordinarily it shocked him if he tried to shift to or from the form demanded of him, but for now he could do as he wished.

  The girl shrieked into her gag as he arose before her, spreading his body outward, gathering his full form, shedding it in fur and muscle, adding claws and fangs to it.

  Grabbing her about the throat he held her firm and stepped behind her. The male kept his distance, as much as the chain would allow, for he too was terrified of the werewolf, a creature that could so easily end his un-life.