Moonslave (11 page)

‘Are you ready, Kira?’ he asked, stroking her hair as he shook the lithe strands beside him.

She looked up at the warlock with adoration and nodded, her eyes wet with tears of pain and pleasure.

His face was marked with occasional beads of perspiration, his hair dishevelled from the exertion as he assessed her expression.

Without further word his arm launched overhead, 87

swinging high and bringing the strands down across her back. Kira jolted, crying out against the gag, the burning lines the whip had painted being far harsher than the paddle.

The women tightened their holds and pulled her more forcefully, making Kira believe she would be dragged apart should they apply any more strength to their task.

She could not even claw against them; her hands and feet were squashed too effectively within a cushion of internal tracts.

The whip fell again, its savage tone releasing fitful purls from Kira’s throat as she suffered for his delight.

The duke continued to whip her, making her battle to get free, her mind churning with mayhem as the expanse of her back was rocked with fulgent streaks. The repeated blows ate into her, sometimes dancing under her flanks to attack her undersides, her belly and the sides of her breasts, the wiry stalks terrible harbingers of havoc. But there was a keen sense of abandonment, of being deprived of will and left helpless to the mercy of another.

Going slack, each lambasting kiss of the whip brought out a moment of tension from her pained form, but then she fell weak again, the whip eating away her energy, almost making her resigned to it. Her battle was lost, so she was surrendering.

Grizzling, she was treated to the whip again, the duke elevating her sorrow, lashing her with regular and swift strokes. Prancing back and forth, his hair spilling around him, his necklace danced in the light, his features flushed.

For long minutes she was abused thus, the warlock dripping with moisture from his labours, hacking into her, a cruel smile across his lips, his eyes alive with pleasure, the crystal glowing with new levels of radiance.

With a growling hiss he jumped over her arm, then her 88

leg, placing himself between her legs after vaulting the hurdles. Grabbing one of her torrefied buttocks he clasped the flesh and purred with lust, confirming that the mere sight of her writhing under him was making the warlock burn with desire to again have her sultry body.

Slamming the whip across her rear he thrashed from side to side, the oscillating strokes skimming her skin, making her screech, the welts all the more pronounced on this well-tenderised flesh. Dropping forward, he could resist her no longer. Grabbing his tumescent shaft and the plug he yanked the toy out, bringing wails through Kira’s mutated gag, the sharp flash of its flight kindling a similar paroxysm from her body. Flinging it rudely aside he replaced it with an organic sample.

Kira’s head flung back to its limits, her mouth grinding on the gag as she felt him enter her, the feel of such penetration almost making her climax. The intensity of the pain she had endured carried her to a new intensity of pleasure. With his body resting on her he thrust deep, pounding with rabid drives, drops of sweat falling onto her back, warm and moist, a frenzied drizzle, the weight of his body elevating the mayhem in her stretched limbs.

Growling with animal lust the duke clawed at her skin, recalling the whip, letting his fingers emerge once more, his nails scratching her, leaving flushed lines but failing to break her hardy skin. Kira was screeching for him to finish, to have him pour his seed into her, the rapture unequalled.

The feel of a warm phallus in her cool tracts was glorious, like coming in from the cold to nuzzle by a fire. The drag at her rear as he stabbed into her, sinking to his fullest extent, made her groan with delight at being filled so acutely.

With a roar of rapture the duke broke into random fits, 89

injecting a hot jolt of semen into her, the grinding phallus moving in fitful stabs as he stole every portion of pleasure he could from her bottom. Kira squeezed to him, adding to the sensations, equally delighted by the feeling of being used so, of having him thrusting into her, churning her insides with bliss.

The duke slumped back, dragging free of her rear and dropping onto the carpet, arms and legs splayed out, his breath long and panting as he recovered from his exertions.

The demon women lowered to the floor, letting Kira’s front nestle upon the carpet before they released their sphincter shackles and pulled free of her, excreting her extremities.

One of them leaned in and stole one of her tears, catching it on a shifting finger and running it across her pointed tongue with a smile. Then, as quickly as they had come, the women stepped back into the seas of shadow still shifting across the floor, their bodies vanishing into it. Only their eyes remained – fixed to her before they too closed, letting the tides of darkness retreat.

Huddled on the floor, Kira’s body was alive with feeling. Wiping her eyes, she arose and crawled over to him, settling in beside the naked form of the warlock.

He felt her settle and placed a hand into her hair, guiding her in to nuzzle beside him where he stroked her gently, his eyes closed, his features slack, his chest rising and falling with deep gasps. It was strange to see breath being so needed. To Kira it was rapidly becoming a forgotten function, one she could barely even recall.

‘Did I please you, lord?’ she asked, wondering if she had lived up to his expectations. Since coming to the palace, since losing her life, she had been possessed by carnal intent. Sex and sensation were never high on her 90

list of priorities, but she had no idea how much she had been missing with her abstinence. Upon her death a world of possibilities, of new experiences, had been opened to her. She wanted to see everything, to feel it all, to do things with creatures and people no mortal had ever conceived of.

‘Most definitely, Kira,’ he chuckled, a smile broadening his lips.

‘May I ask you something, lord?’ she questioned, wondering if perhaps she should continue, afraid she might offend him, because she wanted to know about his art and was unaware if there were some binding code of secrecy about it.

‘Go ahead,’ he replied lightly.

‘How do you do this magic? What is it? What’s the Wyrm?’

‘There are two powers of nature. They are the source of life, of everything. In its simplest terms, Gaia is life, the Wyrm is destruction. The fight between Gaia and the Wyrm is necessary and eternal, for without the Wyrm, nothing would end, stagnation would set in, there would be no change, no evolution, no learning, no advancement.

And if the Wyrm ruled, everything would be shattered and consumed.’

‘Then why seek Gaia’s destruction?’ she wondered, seeing no sense in such a goal. It would be like trying to destroy the world, a self-defeating objective unless one wished to die with it.

‘Not I, little Kira. I like things the way they are. But many are more fanatical. The Flesh Dancers are a carnal sect devoted to pleasure for its own sake, dedicating to one facet of the Wyrm. Others though are more military and radical. The sects that follow paths of destruction, greed, and carnage seek ascendancy, to destroy Gaia and 91

let the Wyrm run free. They hope for a world of anarchy and chaos where they will thrive.’

‘And you tap this energy?’ she asked, her hand reaching out and enclosing his shaft, the flesh wilting in her fingers, warm and throbbing with a rapid pulse, one so different to her own lazy metabolism.

‘Very astute, Kira. Yes, through will and use of runes, talismans and charms, we gather that energy from the realms of the Wyrm and mould it, using it to affect reality and alter the physical world.’

‘And only the living can do this?’ she asked again, examining his length, taking the opportunity to take a close and prolonged look at such an organ.

‘The powers of living energy can only pass though that which lives. A creature beyond destruction and life cannot,’ he replied, knowing the reason for her question and confirming that the vampire was forever denied access to such arcane feats.

‘Now, I need a bath,’ he concluded. ‘Come and assist, slave.’

He revealed a bath chamber, the white tiled room bearing a raised tub in the centre, the large jacuzzi-like structure bubbling with warm waters, pre-set and ready to attend them. Set on shelves to one side was assorted toiletries, soaps, sponges, oils and lotions. Next to it were racks of luxurious towels, everything scented by the small censers hanging from chains in the corners, their grey lines of scent mingling with the shifting fog banks of steam that ruled the humid air.

The duke stepped up and put a toe in the water to test it. Finding it satisfactory, he slid down into the shimmering pool, sinking to his neck. ‘Aaaah, yes,’ he drawled contentedly, ducking his head under and rising again, trickles running his face, his hair slick against his 92

head.

Locking his arms along the sides he reclined and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the hot waters as they swirled and lifted the sweat from his body. Kira almost felt envious. She didn’t sweat any more, she didn’t know whether she would if she ever got hot enough through exertion, or whether it was just not possible. It was not something she particularly missed, but the pleasure of sloughing off perspiration in a hot bath was a delight she would have liked to experience again, and she felt herself pining for this ridiculous chore.

‘Attend me, slave,’ he uttered softly, beads of moisture forming on Kira as her cold body attracted condensation.

It almost looked as though she
were
sweating, perspiring profusely from the humidity of the room.

Walking to the shelves she took out what she required, knelt before the pool and sank them into the water. The heat of the waters poured into her flesh, radiating inward, inspiring a shudder from her.

Kira began to work the soap across his skin, attending him with humble devotion. It brought a smile to her lips to perform thus, to be someone’s body slave, to clean them, stroke their form. It was pleasing to attend the duke thus, but what she would really prefer would be to handle her seneschal. It was a foolish daydream and hardly likely simply because, like her, the seneschal did not perspire.

But then again, perhaps it was not so fanciful a notion after all. Vampires would be soiled by their environment just like anyone else. They had to wash some time. She herself would probably need a bath soon.

Her hands wafted across his bare form, foamy trails being left behind as the soap moved in small gentle circles, the sponge following behind. The necklace swayed and rocked upon the tides, the crystal surrounded 93

by refracted lines of darkness, projecting its radiance into the pellucid waters.

Watching her from the corners of his eyes, the duke seemed fascinated with her form, his eyes rarely leaving it, glazed and obsessed, as though mesmerised by an exquisite masterpiece. Was she really that attractive? It was not something she was used to – the adoration of males.

Letting her hands explore and cleanse at the same time it was an excellent excuse to trace his whole body, to know that she had felt every part of him. When she reached between his legs she found him rigid against the turbulent waters, the feel of her gently working across him having stoked his appetite once more.

The act of cleaning started to change, and instead of lathering his length she started to work her hand upon it, slowly masturbating him. A hand reached out behind her, slowly rolling up and down her back, her rear, her thighs. The duke’s eyes were closed, his head lounged back.

With unhurried effort she continued to pleasure him, one arm in the water, clasped to his eager length, the other continuing to roll soap or sponge across him, a sensual massage to compliment her more carnal labours.

‘Come in with me, slave,’ he uttered softly, almost as though in his sleep.

Rising, Kira slipped into the warm waters, the heat engulfing her, feeling even harsher to her because of the radical difference to her chill skin. Kneeling before the inert form of the duke she reached forward and enclosed his penis once more, continuing where she had left off, studying the relish carved distinctly into his features.

On a whim she leaned in, letting her head drop below the waters, settling down and swallowing him once more.

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With her lips closed upon him she clutched to him to fight off her buoyancy and the steady shove of the bubbles rolling across her skin, tickling her with furtive caresses.

Her hair flowed around her like the limbs of an octopus, riding the random eddies of the pool, a wreath of dark red lines that swayed and danced about the sight of his shaft in her mouth.

Breathing out through her nose she released a steady plume of silver bubbles, emptying her lungs into the geysers of air being released all around her. Letting herself sink she remained at the bottom of the pool without effort, hibernating as bubbles poured across her from every direction. As an aquatic creature she lurked beneath the waves, her lips fixed to him, her head dropping down and hauling back, her cuffs and fetters scratching at the tiled interior.

Occasionally she removed herself from him, to kiss and nibble at his thighs, to suckle on his toes and make him quiver, her hand maintaining the rhythm in the absence of her mouth. Kira felt the familiar tensing of his frame, his shaft throbbing, becoming more solid against her deft tongue. She pulled back, finishing him with some slow shuffles of her hand, her gaze peering through the clouds of bubbles in anticipation.

Cloudy streams poured from the tip of his penis, speeding away and being dispersed on the whirling tides.

The image was one that amused her greatly, the sight of it so eerie. Continuing with a few more pumps of her hand she treated him to the full banquet of orgasm, and then slowly rose up, her face emerging from the surface to regard a face sated and smiling.

‘Dry me, slave,’ he said, out of breath, recovering a semblance of awareness, dazed by the pleasure.