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Authors: Bruce McLachlan

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BOOK: Moonslave
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Kira stood up, her frame rising from the waters, her 95

skin flowing with streams that dripped from her, unveiling her physique to him in full, drawing him from his enervated coma. His eyes seemed to delve into her, marvelled by the image of the vampiress he had free reign to use in any way he wished.

Stepping out she removed a towel, leaving wet footprints to and from the shelf as she opened the soft folds and presented them to accept the duke’s body. With a groan of effort he arose and ushered himself into the awaiting blankets, Kira enveloping him and then rolling the absorbent materials across his body, soaking up the water.

Once she had finished she replaced the towels and knelt before him, awaiting his next command.

Switching off the jacuzzi, the waters settled, the ventilation of the room siphoning out the steam, improving vision. The duke sat on the edge of the pool, running a tongue along the upper wall of his teeth as he watched Kira. ‘Perform for me, slave,’ he commented.

Kira did not look up, keeping her gaze lowered, her wet hair hanging about her, the waters that had drenched her still setting loose their thin tails of steam.

Almost of its own accord a hand shifted across her thighs and between her legs, her thighs parting in her kneeling stance, granting her easier access. Not only had she been trained to obedience, she herself craved it, thus her body now replied with willing, precise haste. The only cause she had to pause or deliberate was to purposefully gain punishment.

A fingertip rose between the folds of her sex, touching her clitoris, starting to rub softly back and forth before breaking into small swirls. Closing her eyes Kira left herself to the pleasure, a delight spiced with the subtle humiliation of being made to enact such a private matter 96

for the eyes of another.

Wallowing in this powerful arousal she shivered and continued, her shoulders quaking, rising a little, rocking her belly against the air as her hand worked within. Her lips peeled open, her tongue pressing against her lower teeth as she panted softly.

‘Now, you will ask permission before you come, slave,’

he stated, his face enthralled by the display. ‘Is that understood?’

‘Yes, lord,’ she replied softly, glad that he was still controlling her, regulating her pleasure, making her ask to even feel it.

The duke watched as she started to strain more and more to keep still, the rapture swelling within her womb making her writhe on her knees, gasping softly. She was on the very verge of release, and her words spilled out with her need. ‘Lord… may I come?’

‘No,’ he said flatly.

Conditioned to obedience, Kira removed her hand and grabbed her thighs, sinking her fingers into the flesh, paining it greatly as she scowled, teetering on the verge of orgasm and being forced to deny herself.

The explosive result of her onanism started to withdraw, trickling away, making her settle, her frustration rampant.

‘Begin again,’ he commanded, his entertainment being in seeing her wracked by pleasure and the effects of such denial. He knew her libido was thundering after her punishment, her bondage, her repeated sensual acts with him, and he was taking great delight in further pouring fuel onto the flames.

Again Kira started her performance, teasing her erect clitoris, stroking her lips, sighing and panting as she worked herself to orgasm, and on the very verge she again 97

pleaded for release, her words desperate. ‘
Please
, lord, please may I come,’ she whimpered, her head flopping forward, hiding her face with a cascade of damp hair.

But again the duke was not about to end his amusement.

‘No, not yet, slave… maybe next time.’

Sinking down she threw her head back, flinging her hair away, the wet strands slapping across her back as a soft whip. With teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut she struggled against her instincts. For a moment her obedience faltered, her hand lingering, considering continuing, in stealing the last few whirls that would sate her hunger. But what then? He would punish her, that much was certain, and it was something she was not wholly opposed to, but then he might betray her rebellion to the seneschal. Not only would Kira be devastated to have disappointed Cassandra, but also, she was running the risk of losing her newly gained position. She had experienced too much already as a maid to risk being demoted back into the realms of a punishment slave, or a pet again.

With her arm tensed, fighting the orders of her mind, she forced the limb back and shuddered through the harsh withdrawal symptoms of deprived orgasm, and once he was sure she had slipped far enough from her goal, the duke commanded her again.

‘Continue, slave,’ he grinned, slipping from his perch and circling her humbled form.

Kira started afresh, praying that this was the time she would be permitted to finally end her frustrations. Closer and closer she drew, her finger moist with water and the wetness of her ravenous sex.

The duke knelt behind her, reaching around, one hand locking under her chin, lifting it to place the back of her head into his shoulder. The other wove in and cupped 98

her assets, squeezing them, teasing the nipples with the lightest of brushes.

Gasping with bliss she nuzzled into him, his body supporting hers, ready to feel her orgasm, as though he could somehow steal some of it for himself, soak in the feel of a woman’s rapture through unbroken contact with her.

Snatching brief influxes of air Kira’s eyes rolled back, her hand trembling, and again her words emerged, this time dripping with sincerity and pleading. ‘Please, lord, please let me come,’ she whined.

‘Yes, slave, you may,’ he stated.

Barely had the words left his lips than Kira was spasming in his hold, her body bucking against his arms as she groaned aloud, and as her body was beset by orgasm she cried out, unable to hold in such sensations and still keep quiet. The dancing finger made her insane with delight, and sagging into his arms she slouched back, bathed in internal warmth, her thoughts soft and fuzzy, her body twitching with a random fit upon occasion, dazzled by the bliss.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she mumbled.

‘Good slave,’ he commented, stroking her wet hair.

‘Now dress yourself and bring me my clothes,’ he instructed, removing himself from her and rising.

Kira almost collapsed, her body drained of tension by the onanism, but she gathered her senses and mustered some effort, fighting her way back onto her feet. Walking to the door with shaking steps, it opened for her and let the cool arms of the room beyond envelop her, stripping off the heat her body had acquired but which could not easily support.

The soft carpet tickled her soles, and once she was alone in the chamber where she had suffered the delights 99

of the sorcerous duke she began to gather his shed attire.

As she lifted his jacket, her mind reliving the experiences that had unfolded here, his wallet fell out. Kira held it for a moment in contemplation, looking across the plain leather surfaces, wondering what lay within, what secrets, what revelations. Looking over her shoulder to check that he was still not present, she opened it, and failed to find anything within that would distinguish the man from any other mere mortal treading the concrete halls and roads of the surface world.

Tarnivelle Khardekk, a twenty-seven-year-old director of primary operations for Korin Enterprises, a massive multinational corporation Kira was well acquainted with.

The company controlled numerous businesses and was often referred to in news and media. Quite what his job description meant she was not sure, but she could guess it was a front to make him blend with the mortal herd.

A range of elite credit cards, several unmarked security cards with magnetic strip and barcode, a parking permit, and a few high denomination bills were all that existed.

A picture fell from the lining as she turned it over, looking for anything else. It was a woman of astonishing beauty, a loveliness of similar captivating allure as the queen. They had different features but the same transfixing glow that made the eyes of the viewer stick to them, never tiring of studying the perfect countenance.

A crooked crown of jet held back a mane of red hair, the striking shade almost artificial in its brightness. Her piercing blue eyes were like diamonds, boring through the representation. Silver serpent earrings dangled from her lobes and a silken cloak sheathed her tall frame.

Behind her was a wall of contorted grotesque forms, travesties of humans, bloated and distended. The mutated merging of beast and nightmare peered out through 100

dozens of eyes, their horrific ugliness only serving to accentuate the beauty of the woman through contrast.

Replacing the picture she jumped at the sound of his voice, her preoccupation having left her unaware of his approach.

‘Found something, slave?’ he questioned softly, leaning in the doorway, her intense fascination with the picture having distracted her from the sound of the door opening.

‘I’m sorry, lord, it fell out as I gathered your things,’

she offered humbly, replacing it as quickly as she could.

The duke strode over and tugged the photo out, removing it from her grasp before she succeeded in restoring the portrait to its hiding place. ‘Ah, Kitjana,’

he commented, running a finger down the glossy surface, a wistful tone of painful longing in his voice.

‘Is she your queen?’ asked Kira, the regal attire similar to her own ruler making her question whether his sect was but one allied under her banner.

‘No,’ he laughed, chuckling to himself before stopping and continuing with educating his slave. ‘She rules her own sect. I met her majesty through Kitjana. Shortly after I became grandmaster of the Flesh Dancers, I was invited to attend one of her ceremonies. Dana… I mean, her majesty, was also a guest, there by special invite from Kitjana, representing vampire interests in the city.’

‘Who is she?’ quizzed Kira, for if she were not vampire she had to at least be inhuman, for even the skill of the Flesh Dancers had failed to create the level of beauty wrought on Kitjana’s face. ‘A demon, like those you called here?’

‘Her father was a powerful grand warlock, one of the greatest of his age. He conducted one of the ancient rites and sacrificed his own sect to pour their power into her before she was born. The orders of Gaia intervened and 101

killed him, but not before he had succeeded and brought the child into the world. Kitjana was taken into their custody. They foolishly thought that with the right guidance she could resist her innate evil and thwart a prophecy that matched such circumstances as Kitjana’s unholy birth. But she escaped, and is now one of the most powerful witches in the land.’

‘So what is this prophecy?’ asked Kira, recalling the duke’s harsh words about such matters.

‘The prophecy speaks of the unborn, turned to darkness and raised in the light. She would explore the darkness and sire the Wyrm child in a nest of tainted purity,’ he said, and then sighed before explaining a little further.

‘The Wyrm child is a sort of avatar that is said will set loose the Great Wyrm’s final apocalypse, the final cycle of mankind.’

‘And you believe this?’

‘I don’t know. A few years ago I would have scoffed, but I’ve seen too many omens and other prophecies unfurling around us. Something big is brewing. Whether it’s just a major war between the Wyrm and Gaia, or the apocalypse itself, I don’t know.’

‘People are taking this seriously then?’ Kira said, aware that such events could well influence her own life, even here in the palace. If there was one constant in the universe, it was that no matter who fought it, war always dragged everyone in sooner or later.

‘Why do you think the queen is making all these pacts?

She wants everyone to know her strength, so that if something occurs she is more than able to defend herself.

She’s been consolidating power for years now, making sure that she is at the crest of the wave if the deluge comes.’

It sounded bizarre, foolish, nothing but superstition 102

and fable. But then again, so did the existence of vampires, werewolves, witches and warlocks, demons and gods.

‘I need to mediate awhile, slave. Get dressed,’ he ordered, putting the picture back and starting to don his suit.

Kira lifted her shed attire, and with liberal use of the talcum powder she found in the other room, and the polish beside it, she started to seal herself back into her uniform.

Pulling on her boots, she buckled them tight to her legs, running her hands up the material to smooth out the wrinkles. Wriggling into her dress she interlaced her fingers and pushed the gloves into position, and with some contorted wriggling she succeeded in pulling the zip up before applying the lock to the back of her collar.

Lying on the floor she laced herself back into the corset, stealing away the strings, her strength negating the need for assistance, her limbs having garnered power from the Malefic Kiss of the queen.

The last part of her attire was the plug, which she aimed into herself and clutched to the wall for assistance as she filled her anus with the wide interloper.

‘Sit cross-legged in the middle of the room, slave,’ he ordered, straightening his tie back into place with some soft tugs. Kira did as he bade her, settling into position and crossing her legs, her hands on her knees.

The duke regarded her for a moment, and then flung his left arm forward, little finger raised, thumb extended, forefinger pointing directly to her. The crystal about his neck flashed with a brief sheen of new potency, and Kira felt a sudden invisible weight enclose her, as though a huge fist had snatched her body, its influencing coming from every direction, stopping her from moving.

The duke lowered his right arm and then started to 103

raise it towards the presented hand, his fingers reaching out, tensed, like a claw readying to grab the other fist.

Lines of shadow started to form about Kira, the darkness itself solidifying, becoming solid tendrils that emerged like reeds around her, spilling from the floor. The duke reached the base of his left arm and slowly took hold of it, his fingers clasping to the other. The serpentine coils dove in, snapping to her, coiling upon her body like midnight ethereal ropes, tightening and capturing her.

BOOK: Moonslave
3.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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