Free Moonspawn by Bruce McLachlan

towards climax, offering her a paradox of whether to hate or love this abuse.
    ‘Come on – weep, cry, suffer, this is what you wanted!’
    she shouted, her arm flashing back and forth. ‘This is what you deserve!’
    Screeching into her gag, unable to get any sound save gurgles through its defiant walls, Kira was lost to panic as she was punished. The strokes eluded her count as all she had was suffering to dwell on and the rapture blooming within her loins, vying for control over her mind.
    Slapping kiss after slapping kiss fell, and Kira started to pray that the woman continue, hoping that the belt and the punishment were related, for if the woman stopped, then would the belt not stop to? She was too close to climax, the relief offering itself as just moment’s away, growing closer with every vibrating thrust of the dildos within her.
    Choking into her gag she closed her eyes, screwing up her face beneath the tentacles of the gag, wailing for her final release. A stern spank of the weapon made her rear 67

    ripple and with an orgasmic detonation every muscle flung to attention, straining against the bonds as her battle for freedom became a wild dance within them. Flying into paroxysms, each swat of the paddle added to the effects, the toys still dragging out every measure of her pleasure, her mind boiling from the intensity of the sensations.
    The attack stopped and she went limp, hanging over the pole, her body touched with a sheen of sweat, her rear throbbing with an internal fulgent pulse. She had not felt an orgasm of such intensity since her night with the queen, aeons ago during another life. Was she already attuned to such algolagnic vices? Was this the reason for the interest of the queen? Had she seen some untended seed within Kira, one she intended to nourish and let bloom?
    Sobbing and elated at the same time, Kira was overcome with the strangest sense of purging, of having received justice and been set free of a guilt she bore but had not ever realised. The beating granted the oddest sense of exorcism, one that had her head wafting in giddy heights of intoxication. It was like being drunk on pain, as though the heady brew of her torment was a drug more powerful than any manmade pharmaceutical.
    The queen wanted her to suffer for a reason, because she wished it. All the slaves being tormented here, all the people in bondage and terrible incarceration, it was so her majesty could know that it existed. She could lay back and think about all the pain her slaves were undergoing, just for her, just because she wished it. It was a reassuring thought, one that soothed Kira even in the face of Cassandra’s jealous tantrums.
    What was she to do? What was this woman planning?
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    Could she fail in her training? Could she be rejected if this woman made her fumble in her goal to be a slave for the queen? She doubted that Cassandra would allow her an opportunity to be one of the queen’s personal servants, but there had to be a way.
    ‘Put her in an isolation suit,’ ordered Cassandra, and walked back to her waiting seat. Handing her paddle to an assistant she settled in, brushing a few dislodged strands of hair from her face. ‘I want this little viper to think about her fate.’
    The assistants moved in immediately, their rubber gloved hands working with haste. The chains and rope were set free, the pits drawing them back out of the way but not removing them from view, hinting that they were still to play a part in her sorrow.
    A cabinet was opened and piles of rippling black latex were removed and set beside her as she was extracted from the trapeze.
    Kira collapsed to the floor, her legs weak and trembling, her arms resonating with internal havoc from having been kept under control for so long. Every shift of her abdomen made her sensitised openings move against the intruding dildos, bringing new flicks of sharp bliss through her body. Drained, she gently rubbed her scorched rear and watched the assistants