Moonslave (20 page)

‘I think so,’ answered the seneschal, taking in Kira’s earlobe and suckling upon it.

‘You
must
be impressed by her. Not that I can’t appreciate such sentiments, I myself found her most enchanting during our short time together. I may have to try and persuade you to give me another turn with her, seneschal.’

‘We’ll see, duke,’ smiled the seneschal, and removed the leash, taking it up as normal. ‘Well, I will have to continue this later, duke. I have preparations of my own to finish, and the guests will be arriving soon, I should be ready to greet them.’

‘Of course, I’ll see you later,’ he answered, turning 164

and heading away into the crowds.

Kira watched him depart, recalling her time with him, thinking on what he had said. What was this hunt? And why was it so strange that she should be part of it? Was it a noble pursuit, one for the guests of this place, something slaves were not supposed to be part of?

‘Come, slave,’ said the seneschal, taking her away to ready her for the main event.

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Standing in the entrance hall, Kira loitered just behind the seneschal in anticipation, her heart and belly aflutter with furore.

A wall of servants formed a premature corridor around them, so that as soon as the guests began to enter they would instantly be equipped with serviles to tend to their every need and show them to their allotted place in the main hall.

From the air itself coalesced a series of forms, the people materialising in an instant, stepping into the archway and using the mystic tunnel to access the sorcerous other world domain.

The servants stiffened to attention and the warriors arrayed behind tensed in paranoid anticipation.

A group of women emerged, each of them clad in vinyl lingerie, their hair wild, their appearance intense and savage. Sauntering within gloss basques and thongs, with matching gloves and boots, their eyes flashed around, their predatory senses sharp and keen. There was a strange scent to them, one she had barely picked up on before, but which through association she could now allocate. The seneschal confirmed her suspicions.

‘I bid you welcome, daughters of the Shadow-Angel tribe, may your time here be joyous,’ she announced, bowing slightly. ‘The property of the queen is at your disposal.’

‘Thank you, seneschal,’ stated the leader as several rubber-clad female servants emerged from the lines to 166

offer their leashes to the women. Taking the chains, they smiled and followed their guides past and into the main hall, every step full of might, their power a tangible aura about them.

A large group poured from the ether, the men and women clad in silken pastel robes and sections of sculpted armour. The plate mail was armed with studs and spikes, granting a fierce appearance to the group.

‘I bid you welcome, esteemed members of the Purple Tentacle sect, may your time here be joyous. The property of the queen is at your disposal,’ said the seneschal with a bow, as more maids emerged to offer themselves to their temporary owners.

‘We accept your gracious offer, seneschal, and look forward to availing ourselves of your hospitality,’ hissed the first member, his forked tongue flitting through his lips.

As they passed her by, Kira noticed that what she had mistakenly thought were decorative additions to their metal garb were in fact natural growths that had been incorporated into the style. The horns that spilled from their helms, the spines, the scales and claws, the extra eyes and mouths, and additional limbs all were part of their mutated bodies. It took a concerted effort to avoid staring at them once they had wandered past with their serviles, their warped flesh attracting the eye with its methodical, precision deformity.

The women of the Obsidian Fang emerged again, and as they thanked the seneschal they locked their inhuman eyes to Kira as she dwelt behind her owner, showing that they had not forgotten her. Even now they were still interested in exploiting her for their sensual recreation.

More and more attendees emerged and were furnished with slaves and greetings. Vampire houses were 167

announced, shamanic sects of the Wyrm, tribes of dark lupines, representatives from every quarter of power in the land that could appreciate decadence and depravity.

They stemmed from across the globe, representing every portion of human heritage – proud Asian nobles, bold American tycoons, defiant European aristocrats, mighty African chiefs, aloof Middle Eastern sheikhs, and gaunt Russians whose head, Volodia, she had already heard Cassandra conversing with. No doubt his invitation to this event was designed to augment his ties with the queen, especially with the upheaval his people were readying to implement on the world.

Of all the new arrivals, none disturbed her as greatly as a duo that stepped through the portal near to the end of the rota of people. One was clad in a full catsuit of leather, a studded harness laid over the closefitting polished hide. Gloves coated his hands, and heavy boots were buckled to his feet. A mask that covered his entire head hid his features. It depicted a snarling wolf effigy, the copper surfaces encrusted with gems and flowing lines of strange bizarre script. The seneschal addressed him as Deil.

The other was a little taller and more muscular, his body entombed within a latex suit, with a matching harness and a different mask to his partner. The crescent moon mask was a leering horrible sight, the sneering features of the crooked visage joined by fangs and acute ears, with veins of rage throbbing at the temple. This man was introduced as Mammon.

As they passed by, taking their slaves with angry yanks to their leashes, Kira froze as their hidden eyes fell to her for a moment, a terrible hunger in them making her dread ever being left at their mercy. There was something innately dark about them, an evil presence that agitated 168

her soul and filled her with anxiety. For a short time after she was plagued by their residual aura, the two men tainting her mind’s eye even as more guests arrived to show themselves as wanton arrays of perverse indulgence.

The last of the slaves fell in with a sect of shaman called the Eldritch Claw, and the seneschal indicated to the warriors beside the portal. ‘Close the defences,’ she ordered, causing a pair of the murderous goliaths to step back through the rift, their bodies vanishing into thin air. A moment later that same spot gave a startled shimmer and then settled.

‘Seneschal?’ asked Kira, looking at the sealed gate and the empty chamber about them.

‘Yes, slave?’ replied her owner, marching towards the hall with Kira in tow.

‘What about this Kitjana?’ she asked, aware that the duke was obsessed with this woman and thus deducing it was she that was to be the primary guest of the feast.

‘Where is she?’

‘She will use her own means to achieve entrance,’

scowled Cassandra.

Kira chose to drop the topic, as the name of the woman irked her owner greatly. There was obviously some sort of animosity between the head of the queen’s house and this most honoured of guests.

The muscular ring unfurled and granted them access, the hall now resplendent with the sounds of life and enjoyment. The guests reclined on their soft divans, being tended by their slaves, the serviles serving as cushions or footrests, while others were being made to perform on each other or the guests. Some were being tormented, others were sent off to gather food and drink for their charges.

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Clearly anything was available to the denizens of the hall, for other modes of slave were being brought in –

pets and furniture, harem slaves, all served to the licentious whims of the preternatural gentry that dwelt there.

Kira was led to the side of the circle, where three divans remained unoccupied. Two were vast and sumptuous, with purple fur and a spinal column that reached up at the back, swinging ribs out in an ascending triangle, offering a throne-like appearance to the twin seats.

The seneschal stepped up onto the ordinary version, hauling Kira with her. Kira settled into the glossy fur, the living hair sensuous and delightful to her skin as she sank into the giving depths of the large organic cushion.

It was comfort beyond anything she had known before.

The seneschal reclined, lying on her back, propping herself up on her elbows and looking across the menagerie of obliquity all about them. ‘Pleasure me, slave,’ she snapped, giving a jolt to the leash and parting her legs a little.

Kira formed into a ball, her hands taking gentle hold of the seneschal’s fishnet-smothered thighs and then burying her face between her legs. Nuzzling into the rubber thong, she stroked and probed with nose and tongue, working through the thin material, unsure whether to risk moving it aside or drawing it down to permit easier access. Her owner was in a fickle mood.

She was enjoying herself, and her post, but exterior political machinations were putting a melancholy edge to her temperament.

Kira stared lovingly across the fabric-coated torso of her gorgeous oppressor, following the ravishing latex curves. Cassandra closed her eyes, her head lolling to one side as she delighted in Kira’s attention, letting the 170

cunnilingus take away some of her stresses, the slight obscuring of feeling through the latex drawing it out for longer. ‘Good, slave,’ she purred, her fingers stroking the soft fur.

‘Seneschal, when is the queen intending to make an appearance?’ grumbled a female voice after Kira had been working slowly and relentlessly for a lengthy time, her own libido and hunger rising with every lap. ‘Or is she declining to attend her own party?’

‘I apologise for any delay, Hyrthuz,’ replied the seneschal with dreamy tones, setting her legs wider, the thigh boots brushing against the fur as she exposed herself more promiscuously to Kira’s attention and perhaps suggesting that her slave should escalate the affair.

Kira straightened a little, unable to resist temptation any longer. Using her left hand to pull aside the obscuring curtain of rubber, opportunity was gained for her right hand to slide fingers through the slit in the mesh bodystocking and into the seneschal’s sex. The vampiress arched a little with a gasp, Kira’s dextrous toils playing her loins and conducting symphonies of euphoria.

‘But her majesty will probably not appear until the guest of honour has taken her place,’ she added, indicating with a dip of her head the empty divan beside the vacant neighbour which obviously belonged to the queen.

Kira glanced aside, the momentary glimpse catching the eye of the inhuman guest, and like a shy child she threw her eyes back to her seneschal.

The demon woman was kneeling on the arms of a latex-clad maid, her splayed thighs pressing naked loins into the female’s features, smothering the girl as she performed valiantly against the cruel impositions of Hyrthuz and her companions.

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Pinned down, the maid wriggled as another of the devil women kept her taloned fingers locked about the hapless slave’s ankles. Holding her legs up and apart, stretching them exceptionally wide, the hircine sorceress employed a dark strap-on phallus to pound into the sex of the maid, thrusting with severity. Small gurgles of pleasure and pain seeped through the muffling loins of Hyrthuz, the girl assailed by sensation.

The third member of their party simply reclined beside them on the expanse of the divan, a second maid kissing and suckling on the female’s breasts, attending the albino leopard patterned flesh with diligence.

The demonic woman held a dressage whip, the long weapon allowing her to deliver flicking swats to the rump of her slave, the arbitrary sadism only escalating the arousal of the maid serving her.

Their third maid simply knelt to one side, her hands folded on her lap, her eyes kept low as she awaited inclusion or an order to bring her to life.

The woman released a string of complex words, the soft clicking and hissing syllables causing the others to smile. The other woman addressed her compeers in response with a similar unintelligible speech, their private language like a sibilant chattering.

‘Isn’t that the same little filly you were towing through the palace?’ wondered Hyrthuz, being the first to speak in English after their swift hidden discussion.

‘Yes, she is my personal maid, Kira.’

‘The brood?’ asked Hyrthuz, a wide grin revealing her banks of slender teeth.

‘The same. You like her?’

‘I’d like to fuck her,’ she snapped with crass hunger, using such a phrase to aim it at Kira and trouble her with worry.

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‘Help yourself to an orifice,’ smiled the seneschal, watching as Kira’s eyes widened with dolour.

‘Thank you, seneschal, I think I shall,’ replied the diabolic female, rising from her seat, the slave girl gasping new breaths to recover, her face wet with the juices of the succubus. The other woman dropped the captive legs aside and flopped beside the girl, clamping a hand over her mouth, dragging the back of her head firmly into her chest, the other steering the strap-on into the untouched anus of the maid. A jerk of motion had the length fill her, and she choked against the muting hand. The devil girl started to thrust, opening her hands, letting the slave suckle on her malformed fingers, treating them to a display of mock fellatio as a forked tongue lapped and ran along her neck.

With a spry leap Hyrthuz jumped from one divan to the other, her landing causing a rippling disturbance to wash through the structure. Stepping boldly forward, her hands danced before her loins, her fingers crackling with a malignant power, the thin arcs of radiance pouring into her flesh, altering it, sculpting it like clay and encouraging prolific growth.

The seneschal pulled at the lead, towing Kira’s face in nearer to her loins. Once it was sufficiently close she let go and reached forward, enclosing a hand into Kira’s hair, to force her mouth tightly against her clitoris.

‘Present yourself, slave,’ she commanded with a soft voice, drinking again of Kira’s flitting tongue.

With concern, Kira did as she was told, trusting herself to the rule of her seneschal. Shuffling her knees back she lifted her rear, her knees slightly apart.