with the property of her majesty, you will be kept enforceable chaste,’ she added, glaring at Kira.
‘Put her in the belt,’ she said, and the controlled servant who had applied the collar scampered back to the cabinets to retrieve a set of polished steel bands.
With a worried expression Kira watched as the intimate incarceration was prepared. What would chastity do to her if she were held in this sexual slavery? To be constantly aroused and tormented and denied was perhaps the worst torture she could conceive of. But what could she do? There was to be no denying this imposition.
The jaws of the waistband were opened and enclosed around her. A shove had it snap shut, compressing her waist and resting on her hips.
The same woman responsible for this then lifted her hands, saving her comrades the extreme difficulty of rising to help her. Producing a short length of chain with locking clips at either end, she threaded it through the ring at the back of Kira’s collar. The women beside her took her wrists and started to fold them up her back, presenting the ringlets on the cuffs to the waiting anchors.
With her arms contorted and her shackles resting at her shoulder blades, the locks captured them, keeping her in this vexing pose, unable to do anything save wiggle her fingers and shrug her arms from side to side.
Once this restriction was applied, the other pair used deft fingers to locate hidden panels in the floor. These small pits flipped up their lids and the women drew out clips that were affixed to stout chains. The holes paid out slack and with a snap, the hooks were set to her ankle bands.
Immediately there was a cranking grind of movement from within the pits and Kira was alarmed to see the 58
chain being devoured by them. With some panicked tugs she wrenched at her collar and feet, trying to get free, but there was nothing to be done.
The slack was lost and her feet were slowly drawn apart, spreading her legs as she toppled and swayed, the third woman remaining to assist her should her balance fail completely.
Spread wide, Kira wriggled impotently as fingers brushed her rear, applying a gelatinous sludge, greasing her rear and womb. With squeaks of shock she felt the fingers slide in, the latex smoothed digits lubricating her both inside and out. The hands were warm, the body heat and its long companionship with the rubber had left the latex contrasting Kira’s own cool flesh. These women were not Nosferatu.
‘What’s going on?’ she protested, worried at what was to follow.
‘Hold!’ berated the woman, rising from her seat and walking behind Kira. She tried to look over her shoulder to see what was being done, but any attempt affected her balance too greatly.
There was a hum of displaced air being thrown around a speeding stalk, and Kira released an agonised screech of shock. A searing line had been placed across her rear, connecting both buttocks, filling them with fire.
The assistant before her grabbed her shoulders before she fell, her equilibrium crippled by the fierce stroke.
‘What was that for?’ she complained, and then screeched again as another stroke was applied.
‘Stop, please, stop!’ she wailed, and then screeched as a third truculent hack sank into the soft flesh of her rear, rippling the tissues and filling them with harrowing.
‘What do you want of me?’ she wailed, sobbing, tears 59
running down her cheeks as she battled vainly against her bondage.
Again she yelled as she was punished, gritting her teeth, leaning into the arms of the assistant and weeping onto the woman’s warm rubber skin.
‘Are we finished?’ commented the seneschal.
Kira was too beset by the havoc in her rear to answer, a failing that served her well as the reason for the attack was divulged.
‘You speak only when given permission or addressed.
And when you do, you refer to me as seneschal. All others of stature shall be lord, or lady.’
Again the crop scorched her rear, making her jerk and croak with misery.
‘Understand, slave?’
‘Yes, seneschal,’ she grizzled.
‘Much better, now continue with the fitting,’ she demanded, pacing back before Kira, and before re-seating herself on the other humble slave she treated the servant to a virulent hack, the broad sweep and ferocious strike offered so it would eat through the absorbing folds of the latex. The slave flinched and a moan slipped through her hood, her eyes remaining tightly closed for a long minute as she rode the storm of pain.
The two women below her shuffled inward and set the crotch band in place, whereupon Kira felt the two slim rods aiming inward into her womb and anus. With a brutal shove the device rammed upward. The staffs slammed into her and the rubber interior clapped between her legs.
Lifted from her feet by their strength, the chains stopped her ascent and the band slipped its teeth into the awaiting holes. With clicks they were grabbed and she dropped back onto her feet.
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Gasping, she tried to bite back her words, the petition of its removal riding through her thoughts. It was terribly tight, crushing her abdomen, but this had to be because of her splayed pose; once she was free of it the belt would be less strenuous. And besides, she had to be quiet; she had to be a good slave, to accept her training. It was what she had to do in order to once more be with the queen. She had to be perfect, to gain a position close to the queen, so she would never be apart from her again.
With the creak of her latex garments Cassandra arose and strolled before Kira, the assistants withdrawing and leaving her standing alone, spread by her bondage, her abdomen flicking with pangs of distress. Her arms were aching from their warped configuration, but even with stern hauls she could do nothing to break their containment.
Kira looked slowly up, her gaze moving across the firm thigh boots of her captor, the fishnet, the strip of latex concealing her crotch, the corset compressing, worn like armour to protect from submissive slaves like her.
Longing flashed through Kira’s dead heart as she crossed Cassandra’s breasts, dreaming of touching the mesh-sheathed mounds, to hold them, to grovel and kiss the inviting black painted tips. After this alluring vision, she turned to meet the woman’s gaze.
Cassandra’s eyes were cold, intense, locked to hers, a thousand motives and thoughts rushing through her mind.
The woman was most agitated, that much was certain, but why? What had Kira done? Had her disobedience irked her already to a point where the woman was furious with her performance?
A hand reached up, the midnight stems of her fingers grabbing Kira’s chin and holding it tightly. She was being 61
scrutinised, her face studied as the woman concocted rationales, plotted and schemed, setting down paths and avenues to explore or thwart. It was a scary but strangely reassuring notion, to have her life set down in stone for her, taken away and left in the utter command of another, subject to whimsical twists and turns.
‘Gag her,’ came the decree, and the spectres of latex were once more brought to action.
A hood was grabbed, the latex bag without any feature or vent, its neck armed with buckles to make it airtight.
Kira started to panic at the very sight of it, for she was still having trouble accepting her lack of need to draw breath. To be introduced to it so forcefully was frightening. But fortune smiled as Cassandra saw the distress riding beneath her thin veneer of calm and decided to show clemency.
‘Use a normal variety for now,’ she ordered, and instead of the helmet, a thick contraption was delivered to her face. As she panted and wriggled against her bonds, her mouth was forced open by latex fingers. The thick plate at the front was moulded to gather in her chin and her lower face, and flung buckled rubber strips out from its perimeter. Two flaccid bulbs hung on the inside and led the path into her maw, laying slack on her tongue as the plate was pressed to her lips. An inverted Y ran the sides of her nose, joining and rolling over her head to connect first to straps riding over her cheeks and temples, and then to one that traversed the back of her head.
Using forceful hauls the buckles chimed and with a murmur the elasticised straps were drawn terribly tight, making the entire apparatus squeeze her skull in an uncompromising hold. Oval bulbs were forced onto the twin nozzles protruding from the front, and in the eager 62
fists of the women they started to inflate.
Her tongue slapped at the swelling balloons, and was slowly deprived of space in which to move. Caught under the swelling orbs they grabbed it and forced it into the floor of her mouth, stamping it down and making Kira gag and retch as their tips touched the back of her throat and then stopped. Choking on the forceful gag, her eyes bulged and she flashed her gaze about. The sensation was disturbing yet delightful, the feel of being treated so casually, gagged, her voice taken from her by her owners.
‘Use the trapeze on her,’ the seneschal softly said, and walked away without further word, returning to her seat and observing Kira’s continuing bondage lessons.
The assistants moved in and fingers slid into the small pits that held her ankles. A soft muted click reached out and identical fixtures located above her sprung open.
Two chain lengths dropped and with a chatter of metal on metal they jerked to a halt, swaying steadily, both lines of chain bearing a locking clip.
One of the assistants went to the cupboards with hampered steps and retrieved a length of rope and a short pole, the stout length fixed with a hoop at either end and just wide enough to slip between the chains. Snapping the anchors to it, the stern trapeze was set in place.
Kira resisted as her collar was grabbed, a woman threading rope through the fastening at the front and dragging it out to the rings of her feet. Taking in the excess she drew it in, pulling Kira over the pole.
The cold steel touched her belly and she started to wriggle, trying to get her arms free, snorting in fright.
She wanted to submit, to prove herself to these veterans of perversity, but she was afraid and inexperienced.
The pull continued, and folding at her belly she was 63
drawn over the hovering strut. Her feet left the floor, pulled tight, her collar being the other anchor. Stretched over the pole, her arms twisted up her back, she was rendered immobile with her breasts hanging and her hindquarters struggling in the air.
The discomfort in her stomach was great, but her trepidation as to what other treatment she was to receive was a far greater matter weighing upon her immediate thoughts.
‘Bring me a paddle,’ ordered Cassandra, rising from her seat and pacing slowly behind Kira’s vulnerable bottom.
An assistant shuffled to the drawers and removed a leather paddle, the weapon broad and fitted with a gripped handle. At the sight of it being delivered past her to the awaiting woman, Kira’s breath was rushing in and out, her body shaking and trembling, tears welling in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks as saliva gathered into a pool in her mouth.
A long pause followed where Kira closed her eyes and shuddered, then came the steady beat of stilettos on the floor as Cassandra walked around to her front, patting the implement into her palm. The woman again squatted before the suspended prisoner, and an eyebrow raised in questioning at the sight of Kira’s obvious dismay.
‘What is the matter?’ Cassandra wondered, and followed Kira’s eyes as they flashed to the paddle.
‘You’ve never been punished before?’ she quizzed.
Kira shook her head as best she could with the collar dragging her down and towards the floor. There had been other occasions, but not ones that counted. Sure, she had been savaged by a bully with a ruler, but that was far different to this brand of erotic punishment.
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Cassandra smiled and tutted, reaching up and running soothing knuckles down the tear-streaked face of Kira.
‘Don’t worry, it is necessary,’ she crooned, continuing the gentle touch, a strange consideration considering the havoc she was about to apply to Kira. ‘I won’t be too harsh with you, but you need to be taught your place.
Discipline is very important for slaves.
‘Do you want to be punished?’ she asked.
Kira stalled for a moment and then nodded. She needed it, she needed to feel that she was owned, and the paddle was a certificate of authenticity she would gladly invite and then revile.
‘Good slave,’ attested Cassandra, rising up and walking behind the girl, continuing to clap the stern device into her gloved palm as she went.
The smooth material of the treated hide laid itself gently to Kira’s rear and started to rub in steady swirls, sliding easily against her rounded rear, the cheeks spread by the intruding metal path of the chastity belt.
The weapon jumped back, and suddenly the interior plugs of the belt sprung into life, tickling her clitoris, surging into her, filling her as they swelled and contracted like living things. Kira wailed from the pleasure, and there was a hum as the wide weapon beat the air with a deep tone and then sounded sternly against both of Kira’s buttocks. A blast of heat and shock rolled through the skin and Kira spasmed, wriggling and choking into her gag.
The stinging flashes started to dwindle and the paddle again started to draw soothing circles on her rear. The teasing caress of the belt continued, settling to a slower rhythm, drawing out her pleasures. Squeezing her muscles to the plugs she closed her eyes, snorting in fits, 65
her pain melting into exquisite pleasure.
‘So you are a virgin?’ Cassandra purred, and a hand came in to join the instrument, her fingers running down the smooth steel strip between her buttocks. ‘You’ve never tasted the sting of a weapon across these delicate little mounds?
‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ she pondered, and the paddle swept out before slamming back again, causing Kira to fling herself against her bonds and struggle in the restraints.
As the pain dwindled so did her fight to get free, and as Cassandra returned to bestowing caresses Kira panted and braced herself for the next stroke, the chastity belt still toying with her most tender zones.