Moonslave (17 page)

‘Shhh, my slave. You have to learn. Such lessons are necessary. Do you believe me, slave?’

‘Y-yes, your majesty, but—’

‘There are no buts, slave. There is only obedience and trust. Do you trust me? Trust me to do what is best for you?’

‘Yes, yes I do, your majesty,’ Corin whimpered, and nestled against the gloved hand that moved to her cheek, her tears running onto the burnished hide.

‘And are you content to languish here, alone, suffering for me, thinking on your slavery to me?’

‘Yes, your majesty.’

‘Then say it, slave. Let me hear your submission from your own lips. I want to know that you are entrusting everything that is you into my care, without hesitation or regret.’

‘Please, your majesty, please leave me here to learn what it is to be your slave, I want to be yours, forever,’

she stated with corrupted tones of strain, knowing how despicable her containment would be, but resigned and 138

eager for her servitude.

‘Good slave. I will be back for you later. Until then, think over your woe and know that it is for me. You are in this pain for my purposes. By doing this I declare my love for you, the love I have for all my slaves, a love I express by punishing them so, by giving them what they need most. Control. The pleasure of submitting totally to another’s whim, in losing oneself to the rule of another, and gaining the security and fulfilment that consensual slavery brings.’ She rose, balancing on one leg to offer a pointed toe to the lips of Corin, who kissed it feverishly before it fled, taking this meagre reward while she could before she was deserted.

‘Would my slave like something to remind her of me more distinctly in my absence?’ asked the queen.

‘Yes please, your majesty,’ blurted Corin with haste.

‘Very well, slave. A little treat for you, because you have done so well today. I am very proud of your progress thus far.’

‘Thank you, your majesty, I’m glad to have made you happy,’ beamed Corin, because even against her bondage she was full of joy at hearing such words.

The vampiress hooked her thumbs under her dress and drew down her thong, removing the slender garment and wafting it before Corin’s flushed features. Corin sniffed at the air, catching the scent and closing her eyes with hunger.

Threading it over Corin’s face, the queen snagged the hips over her ears and placed the strongly scented crotch over her nose, allowing the lupine to smell deeply of her personal perfume with every breath. ‘There, how is that, slave?’ she asked.

‘Thank you, your majesty, thank you so much,’ she gasped, drawing of the scent, working herself against 139

the knot buried against her belly.

‘Come, Thanos,’ the queen snapped, all the gentle emotion with which she had regarded Corin vanishing as she turned and snapped the leash to her servile male, leading him out of the room.

Thanos felt a measure of sympathy for his sibling, for it was a position he too had suffered once or twice, and he knew from personal experience just how evil it would grow as time dawdled past. But as with all bondage the elation at being freed would be a reward, and the adoration of the queen would swell when she came to set Corin free. The gratitude of being shown mercy would clamp Corin to the queen’s heels and have her sobbing her thanks. Truly the vampiress was an artisan of no mean skill.

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As the entrance to Corin’s tomb pulled aside it exposed the awaiting form of the seneschal. Cassandra was clad solely in polished latex leggings that merged expertly with her stiletto-heeled footwear, making the entire thing seem as one garment.

Her chest was bare, leaving her breasts exposed to open view, pert and succulent to the eye. Latex opera gloves trailed up her arms, and her hair had been swept back away from her collar of ownership.

Dana did not speak, instead she let the door hum with mechanised strain and restore the defences to Corin’s cell. Then she watched as her most trusted servant grovelled and kissed her boots in reverence, her leggings squealing in soft notes as they brushed each other, her thighs pressed together, her arousal plain as she conducted the obeisance. Dana smirked at the alluring image of her rubber-clad rear, wiggling in the air, the two rounded cheeks enveloped by the polished sheet, the fabric slung between the peaks, smooth and inviting to penetration or punishment.

‘What brings you here, my seneschal?’ she asked, looking down upon the back of Cassandra’s head, her hair sweeping from side to side as she adored each of the boots before her. ‘You should be contacting Kitjana.’

The woman lifted up, brushed her ponytail back over her shoulders and looked into the face of her delicious tyrant. ‘A Wyrm demon arrived just before I was going to send forth your message. It was from Kitjana,’ she 141

stated softly, her words half expressed, her mind clearly loitering upon the visage of her queen and all she dreamed of doing with her.

Dana knew just how obsessed Cassandra was with her, but it made it all the more fun to tease and torment her as a consequence, and she enjoyed psychological torture just as much as more physical forms of abuse. ‘And?’

she firmly pressed, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips, the aggressive stance snapping her seneschal from her dithering and to applying herself more fully to matters of duty.

‘She says she will be arriving here in two weeks,’ stated Cassandra.

Dana chuckled, letting a smirk of amusement spread across her features. ‘How very like her,’ she mused, noticing Cassandra’s sneer of contempt. Her seneschal bore no love for Kitjana, not just for the fact that she was a diversion whenever she arrived, but because she flaunted the normal decorum that Cassandra was largely responsible for. One did not just
say
when one was going to arrive at the palace. One could ask humbly, one could suggest a meeting and leave the queen to decide when and where, but to automatically invite oneself and assume it would be acceptable was an unheard of offence. There were several vampire lords in the feed banks who could testify to the consequences of such mistakes.

But Kitjana was a lover of risks, she thwarted order, defied all etiquette, delighted in annoying and perturbing those who were sticklers for such pedantic matters. It was an endearing trait that kept the mighty witch in high regard with the queen, and thus they had remained firm allies throughout recent decades.

Dana particularly relished the woman’s hurricane appetite for living. Kitjana was mortal, with powers 142

beyond even the most learned and adept shaman, and because her longevity was finite she devoured every second of her life as though it were her last. This furious hunger had been one of the prime motivations in Dana’s recent rise back to authority. Before, she had been quite content, though slightly resentful of her position as part of the city council. But encountering Kitjana and spending a few weeks with her had changed everything.

The infectious charisma of the woman had lit new fires in Dana’s dead heart. No longer was she willing to lie around and wistfully dream of better days, now she wanted to take the offensive, to fight for what she wanted

– to tear back what was hers.

It was soon afterwards that Dana had concocted and instigated her capture and training programme of Thanos, sent him forth, consolidated and plotted in the ensuing storm of assassination and wild paranoia. She set houses against each other, sent others into ambushes, framed, deceived, betrayed, kidnapped, blackmailed and murdered anything that stood in her way or posed an obstacle.

‘Well I can see I will have to prepare a great feast for our witch companion,’ beamed Dana, and patted Thanos’

head as he knelt beside her.

‘Your majesty, surely you cannot allow her to get away with such a demand,’ snapped Cassandra, venom in her voice, the hatred seeping through the professed protection of the queen’s image and social standing before others.

‘She gave you an order!’

‘Yes, she did, and I had best obey,’ she replied, looking into the fawning eyes of the adoring lupine.

‘What…’ began the seneschal, left speechless, unable to voice her astonishment that her divine ruler was going to allow herself to be commanded like a slave.

143

Dana treated herself to a raucous laugh, having achieved her intention to antagonise her servile. ‘Don’t fret, my seneschal, I’m not going soft on you,’ she added, hiding the awareness that against the sorceress in a genuine combat, she would stand little chance. ‘It is a game with Kitjana, to bait each other thus. It is no sleight, it is merely a peccadillo between nobles, and I’ll not dishonour myself before the sects by rashly responding to it or foolishly treating it as anything other than what it is.’

Kitjana might well be mortal and short-lived, burning her life in a raging dazzling and all too brief pyre, but that fire granted her power beyond match. Sorcery such as hers could breach the royal palace with ease. Her guards and defences would be as nothing, and even Thanos would be hard pressed to face her and survive.

Where a whole regiment of shaman would fail, Kitjana could succeed with ease. It was a power Dana admired, adored and respected. Get too close to the entrancing fire that was Kitjana and one would be consumed by it.

‘As you wish, your majesty,’ muttered Cassandra.

‘Arise,’ stated the queen, the words without inflexion, making Cassandra wonder if she had seriously offended her ruler. With trembles in her limbs she stood erect, keeping her eyes lowered a little.

Dana reached forward and let her left hand encompass one of the proffered breasts, stroking it, teasing the nipple as Cassandra released small shivers of pleasure at the touch. Continuing the play, the queen reached down and cupped the latex-sheathed crotch of the woman, rubbing the taut material, massaging her seneschal’s loins, the impermeable fabric slithering with ease against Cassandra’s moist sex.

‘Now listen to me carefully, seneschal,’ she stated, 144

watching as Cassandra’s head draped back and she panted, using her lungs as an answer to the intimate fondling. ‘I want my orders carried out to the letter.

Understand, slave?’

‘Yes, majesty,’ she hoarsely hissed.

‘When Kitjana and her party arrives I want a grandiose feast prepared and waiting,’ she stated with gravity, ensuring that her seneschal knew there was to be no forgiving of error in this matter. ‘I want you to excel yourself, to make me proud. I want everyone there, every quarter allied to me, a full menagerie of my followers. I want to show Kitjana just how powerful I have become since last we met. Is that understood, slave?’

‘Yes, your majesty,’ she murmured, her jaw drooping wide, her tongue running across her lips as her shoulders tightened inward, her body approaching climax.

‘And I want them to be entertained. I want shows that will have them talking of this feast for centuries, and make everyone who did not attend bitterly regret having failed to gain invitation,’ she continued, working the woman further onwards.

‘Yes, majesty,’ she groaned, and broke into wild shudders, rising to tiptoe, her hands clenching into tight fists that had her knuckles straining against the rubber gloves.

‘Oh, majesty… my queen… oh, oh… please don’t stop…’ she cried, overwhelmed with pleasure, swaying unsteadily, supported solely by the hand to her breasts and loins. ‘Don’t…
oh
!’

‘Suck!’ snapped the queen, thrusting the hands that had teased her breasts into the woman’s mouth. The seneschal swallowed the bunched fingers, her lips clamping to them with suction. Spasming, she adored the digits with insane verve, riding through the delicate 145

yet assertive grip of the queen, taken to an apex of rhapsody.

‘I shall concern myself with the training of Corin. I shall have her ready to be unveiled at the feast. I want you to arrange her first public performance, so you had best make it a spectacular one.’

Once she had been sufficiently toyed with, Dana stepped back, pulling the moist fingers from her servant and letting go of her. Cassandra wobbled on her heels, her body flickering with riots of residual feeling, her nerves tensed, her mind in a dreamy morass.

‘Now get to it, slave,’ she snapped, watching as the woman staggered away, lurching from one side of the passage to the other, trying to gather her senses and assimilate the orders she had been given.

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The engine of the limousine thrummed quietly to itself, its signal seeping into the interior as the softest of background noises. The elegant vehicle cruised as part of the convoy, the mirrored windows screening the passengers from outside scrutiny.

Kira remained on her knees before her seneschal, licking her owner’s boots as the woman gently stroked her tumbling hair. Kira’s oppressive uniform was gone, now she was dressed frugally in shades of silver and ivory, presented to tantalise.

A white thong of satin was matched with albino hold-up stockings, the white band at her thighs dropping into a sheath of mesh, the fishnet vanishing beneath her white patent ankle boots. The stilt heeled footwear was zipped at the front, with a locking band whose silver padlocks denied her the option of removing them. Her fingernails had been manicured and painted silver, and her collar and cuffs had been polished to a mirror finish. Other additions of body jewellery had been made in the form of silver hoops through her ears, and similar matching rings that transfixed her nipples. Other than these token adornments, and a subtle application of cosmetics, Kira wore nothing save a silver chain leash, the leather handle of which was gripped by the seneschal.

Her beloved owner was far less unadorned. Her hair was swept back and woven into a fierce plait, her military peaked cap pulled down onto it to add to her saturnine disposition. A sleeveless halter-necked dress of latex 147

spilled down her alluring frame, ending in an exceedingly short skirt that barely served to hide the latex thong beneath it. A fishnet bodysuit covered her entire frame, the extremities of which were hidden beneath fingerless opera gloves of rubber and similar thigh boots. The only portions of it available to view were the areas between skirt and boots, and the mesh that covered her shoulders and upper arms prior to being submerged by the gloves.