Star Slave (4 page)

‘No!' she wept, lost on the frenzied rush of sensation that swept her along to its shattering crescendo.

 

The silence throbbed with a charge of erotic excitement. A shaft of brilliant white light arced down onto the marble centre of the room, following exactly the contours of the four-pointed black star. Beyond the pure whiteness of the light was an impenetrable blackness, yet there was the sense of unseen presences; watching... waiting. Even the slim figure at the centre of the spectacle, whose eyes were covered by a black velvet mask, sensed it. Until her frightened mind was occupied with the ritual that was unfolding about her.

She was a coloured girl. The close-cropped head was bare, the face half hidden by the mask. Her long neck was also bare of any adornment, and protruded from a long black cloak that reached the floor and hid the rest of her completely. At either side of her two similarly clad figures held her lightly by the arms, leading her to the central point of the star. At the tips of each of the four extremities of the star stood other cloaked figures. The one corresponding to the compass designation of north stood on a dais about two feet high. Unlike the others, her enveloping cloak was a rich scarlet.

All the participants were female, their heads, with hairstyles of various lengths and colours, bare. The blindfolded initiate was positioned facing the figure on the dais. At a signal from the scarlet clad form, the two women at each side of the coloured girl removed her cloak, with a single dramatic pull. The material fell to her feet.

Her slim body was naked, the skin a burnished coppery brown, the small breasts generously nippled. The scrub of pubis looked insignificant against the smooth planes of the belly and thighs. She stood with her feet slightly apart, gazing blindly ahead. Though she made no conscious movement, her body betrayed her nervousness by its tiny tremors.

When the figure on the dais spoke her voice was amazingly deep, resonant, almost masculine, yet exuding a sense of powerful sexuality. ‘Do you now avow your wish to become a daughter of our sacred band? Answer.'

‘I do.' The reply was scarcely audible, a husky whisper. ‘Do you swear on your life that you will obey our tenets, and do you swear to keep the secrets of the society?'

‘I do.'

Further ritualistic questions and answers followed, the latter being given in the same hushed monosyllables. Then the scarlet leader declared, ‘Daughters, prepare her for the ordeal.'

With a balletic fluidity of movement and timing, the three figures at the outer edges of the star, and the two escorts of the initiate, slipped off their cloaks to reveal their own nakedness. They came forward and lifted the dark girl off her feet, then positioned her face down on the cold marble, her pinioned arms and legs following exactly the lines of the black shape beneath her. Four of them remained kneeling, holding her by her outstretched wrists and ankles. The fifth advanced to the foot of the dais and picked up a short handled whip, with three slender lashes in soft black leather.

Her arm drew back, then the wrist flicked and the tails of the whip fell across the flexing buttocks. There was a smothered cry, and the captive girl squirmed and then lay still.

‘Do you swear obedience?' the voice from the dais intoned.

The prisoner's voice cracked on a sob. ‘I dub - do.' The whip cracked again, and a dark thin line appeared on the brown skin of the behind, the curves of which were lighter than the rest of the twisting body, almost a pale mushroom at the crown of the dimpling cheeks where the marks of the whip were most evident.

‘Do you swear undying loyalty?'

Again, the sobbing affirmative. The whip hissed again across the burning flanks. The girl was sobbing audibly now.

‘Do you swear secrecy, above all else?'

The response was loud and shrill through the sound of her weeping.

‘We accept you, Deborah, into our sacred order. We take you unto us. Come, daughters, let us make her one of us.'

Someone was already tending the abused buttocks, bathing with a cool cloth the angry red tracery of the whipping. The velvet mask, soaked with tears, was now removed, revealing the young face which, smeared as it was, was clearly seen to be beautiful. The five naked figures turned her gently over and spread her again along the shape of the star. Thus her beauty was exposed in every splendid detail, but was soon almost hidden from view as the five girls knelt and bent over her, caressing and kissing until the remnants of the sobbing were transformed into moans of soaring passion.

This loving went on for a considerable time, the only sounds being those of the slurping assailants, and the increasing cries of the figure pinned beneath them. Cries not of pain but of mounting hunger for fulfilment. Only when these had almost reached their crescendo did the majestic figure move from the dais. Her five acolytes parted at once, exposing again the lovely girl who lay, spread wide, weeping in her need. The cloaked figure knelt, then lowered herself slowly over the girl. As she did so she opened her cloak until it lay like a rich blanket covering both their bodies, the folds undulating as they commenced the rhythmical movements which seemed to imitate the thrusts of sexual intercourse.

The leader's long black hair, rich in its glossiness, spread like the scarlet cloak, masking the face of the supine girl, hiding the sealing kiss which bound them together as tightly as the bodies writhing beneath the red folds, until at last there came a frenzied increase of plunging movement and a smothered cry, trapped in a captive throat, to mark the climax.

The cloak ceased its wild tossing. Everything was still.

The only sound was the uncontrolled sobbing of the girl still hidden from sight, and a faint sighing exhalation of breath which came from the outer darkness.

 

Later, in an elegantly lit drawing room on the floor below, a select group were eating and drinking and chatting easily, lounging on the luxurious furniture and being tended by the same beautiful girls they had watched perform the ritual of initiation in the mystical upper room. Most of the men were elderly or middle aged, though not all. They were all wearing monogrammed robes and displaying, with equanimity, their nakedness beneath. The girls were naked, too, but without benefit of robes or any other covering. All that is, except the tall figure who had led the ceremony above. She was at least six feet tall, her square shoulders indicating her athletic build which in no way detracted from her startling beauty. The face was flawless, the dark eyes magnificent, the deeply glossed lips full and temptingly feminine. The magnificent features were framed by brilliantly black hair hanging down past her shoulders. The body was clothed in a dress so tight it appeared like a second skin. It was cut low, so that the upper half of her breasts rose above its deep red which glittered with a myriad of sparkling diamante. She could move only because the garment was slit up the left side to the hip, so that her leg showed in all its glory. The outfit was completed by four inch heels which raised her even further so that she soared over the rest of the company, both male and female.

‘Magda, that was divine. The most beautiful spectacle we've witnessed in a long time.' The gravelly voice belonged to the host for the event, Lord Burnopside. He came forward and Magda raised her hands to meet his, her long fingernails perfectly shaped and coated in the darkest magenta shading. He planted a respectful kiss on her lips, formed to receive his homage.

‘Yes, she's a gorgeous creature, isn't she? She's a very worthy addition to our ranks.' Their eyes looked across to where the coloured girl who had figured so prominently in the ceremony was the smiling centre of attention in a large group near the glowing logs of the living flame fire.

‘There's none of them can hold a candle to you, my dear.'

Her chuckle was deep, infectious. ‘What an interesting choice of metaphor,' she said appreciatively.

‘You know what I mean, damn it,' he went on. ‘Ever since we've known each other you've known what I've wanted. You know you drive us all crazy, you witch. I'd give you anything you want to have you... properly.'

The dark eyes regarded him with cool amusement. ‘Why, Lord B, you know I'm a virgin. How could I be the Grand Mistress of the Whores of Babylon otherwise? It's a responsibility I take very seriously, as you know. Besides, the girls are so much more beautiful than I. And younger.'

‘Nonsense, Magda,' he replied. He was not being gallant. The elite society, whose patron he had so willingly become, fascinated him. The notion of these lovely girls, carefully culled from all walks of life, often having the binding rules of the secret order as their only common element, dedicated to a sexual life which demanded obedience to every dictate of their Grand Mistress, had appealed irresistibly to his libidinous nature. They were not prostitutes. They were fully aware of what membership of the Whores of Babylon entailed, and entered into membership as ardent volunteers. And there was not one of them as intriguing or thoroughly desirable as their magnetic leader - the one who had taken the shocking name of Magdalene; so shocking that none outside the select circle knew of it. And even those of the fellowship always referred to her as Magda.

He had known her for several years. Like all the other men of this exclusive society, he had never known her to have sexual intercourse. He had never even seen her naked, and neither, as far as he knew, had any other of his male acquaintances. All her passionate pleasure was reserved for her own sex, and even that, as portrayed in the powerfully erotic initiation ceremony, literally cloaked from the male eyes which gazed absorbedly at the spectacle from the hidden outer darkness.

But her activity was not confined to homoeroticism.

Now, she saw his excitement, the gleam that betokened his aroused appetite, a gleam reflected in the gazes of all about them.

‘Have you anything else for our diversion?' his lordship asked, with a gesture towards his colleagues.

She nodded, as he knew she would. ‘Yes indeed, my lord. I was hoping perhaps you or some of the other Masters might help us out. You remember we decided Barbara should be given to Sir Mortimer Durrance for the summer? She went with him on his cruise to the Med. I don't know if you've heard anything, but things didn't work out. She was a very silly girl. She caused an awful lot of trouble. For someone who has been a Daughter for almost a year now, it's very disappointing. And a bad example for the others. I've had her brought back here. I think her punishment should be rather special. Public. Tonight would be ideal. In front of the Masters - and the Daughters, too.' She nodded at the girls scattered about the comfortable room.

‘Very good, my dear,' Lord Burnopside answered smoothly. ‘Whatever you suggest.'

‘I'll have her brought in now, if you're ready, my lord.' The weeping girl in question made no effort to resist as two others swiftly undressed her, peeling off the dress, the lacy black underwear, the dark stockings and heeled shoes, until she was as naked as they were.

She was led forward to one end of the long dining table, the highly polished surface of which shone like a mirror. At Magda's nod Barbara .was thrust face down over the table, shivering at the cold contact against her breasts and belly. She turned her head sideways to rest one cheek on the gleaming surface, her brown hair masking her despairing expression. Her arms were spread out wide. Magda had produced two sets of silver handcuffs, linked by a looping metal chain. Bracelets were fastened over the girl's wrists, then secured beneath the tabletop so that her pinioned wrists remained spread, her pale upper body held flat to the table's surface.

Her taut buttocks flexed, the little rounds hollowing deeply. Magda moved forward and ran a hand in a gentle caress over their outline. Then she quickly smeared them with ointment from a small jar, so that they shone in the light that fell upon them. ‘There! That will save you from being cut, I hope.' Her lovely face bent low, her lips brushed against the pale neck of the captive figure. ‘Take your punishment like a true Daughter,' Magda murmured, with another light kiss. ‘And then you will be forgiven.'

There was a sharp intake of breath and the muscles tensed in the girl's long legs, which were spread wide apart to take the chastisement she knew was about to come.

Magda produced a short-handled whip of black leather.

It had many thin thongs. ‘Please, Grand Whore Master,' she declared, passing the instrument to Lord Burnopside.

He slipped the folds of the robe back from his shoulders in order that he might perform more freely. The iron-grey covering of hair at his chest and the thick hanging shape of his prick showed through the dark material. He stepped forward and measured his distance.

The whip hissed as it curled through the air to strike with a satisfyingly sharp crack on the quivering flesh. The blow was a shade high, the thin red line appearing at the very top of the buttock divide. The slender back jerked, the play of the shoulders under the pale skin delightful. The bare feet lifted, did a little jig of agony before they settled again, and the figure waited, still, except for the involuntary trembling.

They could hear her weeping, but she had not screamed. He struck again, aiming carefully, and there was a ripple of appreciative murmuring as the lashes fell squarely across the centre of the bottom, whose cleft was neatly bisected by the horizontal stripe of red. Soon others were crisscrossed over the writhing rounds, and the girl's cries were more desperate, though he'd still failed to elicit the pure scream he'd hoped for. Like most of the other males present he could feel the rising and stiffening of his penis. He was breathing quite heavily. ‘Good girl!' he growled, with reluctant admiration. He passed the whip to another male, a much shorter, plumper figure, who took it eagerly.