‘So, you wish to take the burden for yourself, eh, Kira?’
‘Yes, seneschal, I have to tell you the truth.’
‘How very noble.’
‘Kira, don’t,’ rasped Thanos through shuddering lips, trying to stop her before it was too late, but she had no intention of letting him continue to suffer for what she herself had craved.
‘Quiet you!’ the seneschal snapped, and made him yowl with a momentary burst that sent the werewolf back into silent endurance and recovery. ‘Now, what did you say?’
‘It was all my fault, seneschal,’ she stated with a quaking voice, knowing it would be a terrible ordeal, but one she would gladly face to preserve Thanos. It was the only manner she had in which to offer him a clue to her attraction for him. ‘I’m sorry, please don’t hurt him any more, it was my mistake, you should punish me instead.’
‘You are willing to admit your folly and surrender to the consequences, slave?’ Cassandra asked, walking towards Kira, making her shake with dread.
‘Yes, seneschal,’ she testified sheepishly, quailing under the woman’s shadow.
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‘Then get on your belly, arms by your sides,’ she commanded.
With frightened sloth, Kira obeyed, lying upon the floor. The woman stepped astride her and sat down, her rubber coated rear pressing into Kira’s shoulder blades, her folded legs squeezing Kira’s arms into her sides.
‘If you make a single noise I’ll go back to punishing Thanos, slave,’ warned the seneschal, making Kira swallow with dread, wondering if she could hold out, if she could keep quiet and take this chastisement in silence.
‘Kiss,’ she demanded, offering the leather hoop of the crop to Kira’s lips.
Placing a trembling peck to it, she laid her head down to the cool stone and stiffened in anticipation.
There was a deep thwack and Kira stiffened, her jaws clenched tight, her eyes screwed shut as the usual fires swept through her rear. The stroke had been impossibly harsh, more than she could cope with.
Another impact sounded, rippling the soft flesh, making her mouth drop open, her hands furling into fists as she fought to hold back her screams.
Another fell, and another, the sheer strength the woman was applying feeding the scream that was starting to well more distinctly in Kira’s lungs. Biting her tongue she tried to distract herself with this different source of pain, but as a fifth fell it proved a useless tactic.
Tears welled in her eyes on the sixth, her body shaking with its fight to hold her throat in check. Her flesh was boiling with the need to fight to get away, to flee and preserve itself, the concept of taking this abuse to save another something only her mind could appreciate, making the two sources vie for control.
A sudden deluge ended with a twelfth stroke that had 190
her lungs swelling with a shriek that was creeping insidiously up her throat, gathering in her larynx.
A thirteenth fell, causing Kira to kick her legs against the floor, the boots scraping the stone as her rear pounded with a lambent internal heat. Salty trails were trickling down her cheeks as she screeched in silence.
Another fell, bringing the scream to her mouth, escaping as a long exhale of air, refusing the final portion of effort that would manifest her sorrow and condemn Thanos.
Again the woman struck, Kira no longer aware of how many strokes she’d received. Further strokes swatted her rear, dropping like meteors, filling her rear with fiery bursts of agony.
The excruciating travail was too much, she couldn’t hold it in, she had to scream, the need to wail an internal pressure that felt as though it would rupture her insides should she not release it.
A virulent sweep caught her inner thigh and a faint purl slipped her lips. The seneschal exploited it immediately, attacking the exact same spot with all her might. Kira’s yowl tore through the air, matching her previous wail of bliss with one of harrowing. The moment she was broken the woman began a swift deluge, ripping into the soft buttocks of Kira as she bucked and wailed, fighting to get free.
When the woman stopped Kira was barely conscious, sobbing at her defeat, grizzling in apathy at her failure.
For all that she had gained she might as well have screamed at the first stroke.
‘So the truth has come out,’ Cassandra said, placing a heel onto Kira’s back, holding her down and tracing her striped rear with the tip of the weapon. ‘I guess it was all 191
Thanos’ fault after all.’
‘Seneschal… please… it was me, I swear,’ she choked, barely able to speak, her flesh alive with havoc.
‘You still cling to your fable?’ she quizzed, pushing the heel in.
‘It… it’s the truth, seneschal,’ Kira blabbed.
‘Well, okay, I will give you a second chance to prove your words. It’s a choice, Kira, a simple one. Either I fry Thanos for his wanton urges, or…’ The seneschal looked down and met Kira’s tearful eyes, her smirk of utter glee spread wide, showing how much she was relishing this subjugation of her two rivals for the queen’s attention.
‘You go back in the chastity belt.’
With those words Kira flinched as though slapped, the sentence imposed on her a most grievous one. She couldn’t go back to the horrible frustration, she just couldn’t. But Thanos would suffer far worse if she didn’t.
Looking to the dazed male, she saw him lying slack, barely aware of his surroundings, torn by the electric scourge about his throat. She couldn’t let him suffer such a fate for it. Chastity was a mild imposition compared to the vengeful abuse of the seneschal.
‘I’ll go back, seneschal,’ Kira said.
‘If that’s your wish,’ she grinned, removing her boot from Kira’s body and stepping back, twirling the crop and lodging it under her arm. ‘Now get up,’ she commanded, and then continued with revealing the sentence Kira had earned for herself.
‘Seeing as you have such a penchant for hounds, we’ll get you back into your uniform and keep you away from any testy cats,’ she grinned, walking to the door and beckoning for Kira to follow.
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Once again Kira was faced with the interior of the seneschal’s private residence, her heart dripping with dismay that she was again to be starved of sexual release.
The previous incarceration had been terrible, but how much sterner would it be on her now that she had gained this new inflated sense of appetite for debauchery? She would be aroused constantly by her punishment, her bondage, her slavery to this vicious goddess, and yet prevented from enacting a more physical reply to it. The thought was too terrible to dwell on.
‘Come this way, slave, I’ve just had another idea,’ she smirked, walking through the door Kira had used to be served into the kitchen. But this time she was led past the plain door to the storage place of stolen blood, and instead she was escorted forwards towards one of the further subterranean rooms.
The door slipped aside with a smooth swing and permitted them access, the lights arising through strengths to a dim glow. They revealed the interior and its contents first as subtle hints, then as more substantial outlines, and finally in a melancholy light that added to the ferocious image with ample shadow and hesitant illumination, as though even the light was afraid of the implements within.
‘First we had better strip you of your demerits, eh, slave?’ chuckled the seneschal, indicating the array of engines of torment and precision tools of suffering with 193
a wave of her leather gloved hand.
Kira wilted at the sight as she beheld the stern rack, its leather restraints hanging loose and expectant, awaiting a captive to stretch with their mechanical winches.
A large and extremely stocky throne dwelt against one wall, the rigid structure armed with numerous buckled straps to pin down its occupant.
A tiny cage, its bars thick and flecked with small thorns to dissuade movement loitered to one side, promising the tenant a dwelling of cramped restriction.
The last of the diabolic furniture was what appeared to be a large and roughly constructed ladder. Made solely from thick beams, it was fastened at an incline to one wall, allowing body parts to be fed in and around, allowing for extreme restraint with the many coils of brightly coloured rope hanging on wall hooks beside it.
The walls also bore other items that dwelt patiently on hooks. Weapons of punishment: canes, crops, dressage whips, cats and tawses, all of them fashioned from dark leather and decorated with an obsessive detail.
As well as these devices of lambasting, there also hung the usual selection of clamps, toys, pinwheels and bondage paraphernalia, much of it defying Kira’s shallow knowledge.
‘Stand in the middle,’ snapped the seneschal, the crop swinging around and clipping Kira’s buttock, making her yelp and spring into the centre of the room, her heels sinking into the deep texture of the blue carpet.
Looking up, she saw heavy rings fastened to the ceiling, the metal hoops matched by similar ones against the foot of the walls all about her.
The seneschal removed two lengths of dense chain, each end armed with a thick padlock. Snapping these 194
security devices to the rings of her cuffs, the other end was lifted and connected to the overhead rings, stretching her arms wide and preventing her from sagging from this erect pose.
‘Now, slave, you have a choice to make. What level of punishment do you want?’ asked the seneschal, stepping before Kira, one leg out to stretch the skirt tight. The crop lazily stroked up and down Kira’s torso, tracing the outline of her breasts, the leather soft against her skin, a distinct contrast to the usual feelings she associated with it.
Kira considered her options quickly. Afraid to try the most extreme, she also did not want to spend a vast period of time hanging in suffering. So she opted to play it safe and select the medium method.
‘I’d like the second way, seneschal,’ she whispered with resignation, wondering if she would regret her decision once it was applied. But then again, that hardly mattered, for once some time had elapsed she would be looking back on it fondly. Even now, she was using the abuse of the nuns to remind her that she should try and find enjoyment from this session, that she would love it in retrospect and should try to transfer some of that relish to the deed as it was occurring.
‘Three demerits per half-hour it is, slave,’ confirmed the woman, and strode aside to fetch coarse rope.
The middle of the woven coils was flipped about her waist and the ends fed through the hoop at the centre.
The excess was passed between her legs and drawn up, pressing to her loins. A swift knot was established to press into her clitoris, and the crotch rope was threaded under and over the rope digging into the base of her spine.
Kira winced as her ankle was lifted up to her rear and 195
the rest of the rope used to bind her right leg. Encircling the boot, Cassandra used the heel as an extra anchor to form a tight harness, stopping Kira from dropping the leg, and causing any strain or kick of the limb to chafe her sex with the minute shuffle of the crotch rope.
Standing on one leg, her hands pinned in the air, a blindfold was tied about Kira’s eyes, plunging her into darkness, and she assumed she had been set in her bondage position. A sigh of relaxation spilled from her lips, glad that she was not being afflicted further.
When she felt the woman tying more rope around her other boot, creating a similar harness, Kira was straining to see through the tight blindfold, to try and spot what the woman was doing. Surely she wasn’t going to be placed in suspension? That level of abuse was only for the most severe level of justice. What was she doing?
Was she disobeying her own rules? Kira started to fret, worrying that she was going to be confined in the air, and she knew that such a fate would be a dreadful one.
The cuffs she wore were inadequate for such a mission, and would dig into her as she dangled, kindling the most distressing pains.
Kira wanted to petition mercy, to ask what her owner was doing, maybe even just to remind her that this was not what she’d asked for. But she had to keep quiet, if she complained, if she showed disobedience, the position might be compounded with spiteful additions.
The rope was drawn out and threaded through one of the low rings on the wall, and the seneschal started to draw Kira’s leg out. The heel dragged at the carpet and her breathing quickened as her balance was eroded.
The woman stopped and tied off the rope, leaving the ankle directly below the cuffed wrist. The position was 196
awful, and Kira grimaced as she tried to get used to it, to tell herself that she should be revelling in this. But it was horribly difficult and panic was setting in; panic that she would be left like this. She prayed that her demerit tally be low, for she couldn’t take much of this in silence.
‘Your first period will be serving time for speaking without permission. Namely, when I was punishing Thanos. There were two distinct counts, but I shall be generous and just punish you once for it.’
‘Thank you, seneschal,’ said Kira with gratitude, bringing a smile to the woman’s lips, as though she had not expected Kira to agree.
When the weapon struck Kira’s inner thigh the leg bucked against the rope, and she choked a cry. The use of the weapon confirmed she was in level two, but the furthest reaches of it as far as Kira was concerned, almost meriting redefinition as level three.
The crop slapped its leather hoop to the other side of her thigh, making her sob. Unable to move, only squirm seductively in her bondage, Kira was served up to her chastisement.
The seneschal paced relentlessly about her, laying down a slow and methodical application, dropping the crop to her hips, her thighs and her rear, torrefying Kira’s skin with its hot kisses until she broke off her battery.
‘Think on your place here, slave,’ she snapped. ‘You speak only when addressed or given permission, understand?’
‘Yes, seneschal,’ muttered Kira, and then squawked as a swipe caught the base of her rear. As she shuddered, letting the storm subside, she heard the door shut and was left to herself and her ordeal. Standing in the enforced darkness she pulled at her restraints, well aware that they 197