Free Moonslave by Bruce McLachlan

sealing her within her new uniform. Instead, she was fixated upon the reclining form of the seneschal.
    Since they had emerged from sleep, the seneschal had changed into new attire, strolling into her closet and vanishing from view. The sound of slaves dressing her emerged for a few minutes, along with the occasional sharp crack of a whip upon their flesh. Then she had emerged transformed.
    A leather basque with a laced front poured itself down her curves. The garment was boned, turning it into a cousin of a corset, dragging at her waist, forming her already trim figure into a sumptuous hourglass.
    The suspenders of the garment snagged fine denier stockings, grabbing the black band and being pinned down under the slender cord of a leather thong. The scanty garment ran a single strip between her buttocks, splitting to ride over her hips and plunge back down to grant a tiny triangle of polished fabric.
    Perched atop skyscraper heels, the leather ankle boots were laced down the front with a buckled strap around the ankle. The attire had emerged from the closet wet with the saliva of fawning shoe cleaners.
    A leather headband swept her cascade of blonde locks away from her face, and her cosmetics had been heightened and darkened, giving her acute eyebrows, a melancholy glower, and dark, smirking lips.
    Leather gauntlet gloves rolled up to her biceps, leaving 63

    her ebony nails exposed. One hand clenched a carved ivory handle, the grip spitting forth the long woven strand of a crop.
    Immediately she had called for Kira to be turned into a maid, and the slaves bustled from other rooms to attend their mistress as she lounged upon the bed.
    Kira was squeezed into a new array of latex garments, the material hugging her limbs as they were sealed within the smothering folds. Thigh boots clutched her skin as a pair of buckled straps at the top of each leg were wrenched tight, causing her to sway for a moment on her high heels. The rings of her fetters were pulled through waiting slots, bouncing against her with every movement. Then a dress was brought forth.
    Opened at the back with a zip, she stepped into it and had the slaves pull it into place. The short skirt arose up her body and into a high neck, the long sleeves ending in incorporated gloves that sealed over every finger. The garment was zipped up, and the zip locked to her collar to prevent any hope of removal.
    For a brief moment Kira spotted a small hand computer, the device releasing a thin cable. There was a click as it was placed to her collar, and a few keys were tapped before it was removed and taken away.
    The last part of the outfit was a corset. After being placed within the loose tube of boned rubber she was laid flat on her stomach. As two slaves pulled her cuff rings through vents in the dress, another pair worked to pillage all slack from the lacing.
    Groaning in delight she marvelled at the exquisite feel of the tightening process, the escalating squeeze to her body, hauling her in, making her rigid, imposing greatly on her deportment. More and more of the lacing was drawn away, the two ends of the corset finally meeting 64

    at a point where her ribs ached and her stomach was crushed into a ridiculous plunging contour.
    The slaves helped her to her feet where she tottered, dizzy from the experience, the corset so tight she could barely breathe, and she counted herself fortunate that such a function was purely optional for her. Perhaps it was designed this way, to make it a chore to gather the breath required to air words, making it laborious so that the slave would only speak if necessary.
    ‘Attend her features, slaves,’ purred the woman, causing the small squad of enslaved latex-bound beauticians to begin a new order of work. One of the men dropped to all fours and the others seated her on his back, serving her countenance to easier attention.
    Her hair was carefully brushed through, tended with delicacy and care, returning the tumbling red curls to their