0 - 0 - 3 - 07:05 - Evanescent

“Holy mother of fuck! You scared the shit out of me!” Evanescent cursed.

The Queen’s Witch, Morgana, cackled. “You wouldn’t have thought that an old hag like I could be so nimble.”

“I would never question your skills,” Evanescent said, recomposing herself.

Morgana looked over the drawing that Evanescent had been working on. It was an incredibly realistic likeness of P-346, Slave Karma’s face. Her long locks on her right side were drawn back in braid to highlight the elaborate set of jewelry and piercings that had been made to her ear and the three delicate chains that swept beautifully across her cheek to their anchorage on the right ala of her nose. Her full lips were relaxed with the ends naturally tipped up. Rings were embedded in her lower lip on each side. Her eyes were drawn with extensive detail that seemed to pull the admirer’s focus.

“Your skills are unparalleled in your generation,” Morgana complimented. “You have the greatest degree of focus I have ever witnessed in a sorceress. And while that is your strength, that is also your weakness.”

Evanescent looked up at Morgana questioningly.

“I could have stabbed you in the back, my dear,” Morgana laughed. “You would be dead before you even knew what had happened.”

Evanescent looked around the lab, past the statue of Ivankara and the Gag of Complicities, into the shadows cast by the sparse torches lit about the room. “I thought that I was in a safe space. Is that not true?”

“Yes, you are, of course,” Morgana said. “Now, I must suggest though that you are wasting your time - drawing such a precise picture of the Princess’s missing slave. She’s gone.”

“The Princess has hired an independent to look for her. I’m trying to help her,” Evanescent explained.

“Oh, yes,” Morgana said. “That fierce little gray bitch. Aife, she calls herself these days. Her search will be fruitless. If the slave is even still alive, she is most likely condemned to yield to the ravages of the Crown’s Concern disease.”

“You said that we have until the full moon - seven more days,” Evanescent said. “In fact, couldn’t we extend her time by continuing to manage the disease just as we have and do for Pet.”

“We could only extend her time, if we could determine that her current array of piercings are intact. If any have been removed, then she is already doomed. And that is most likely the case, if you were unable to detect her locator charm,” Morgana explained. “Even if she is still alive, our best path forward is to leave her to the whim of the disease. It would sufficiently incapacitate her soon enough which is the best state for her and for us. You’re wasting your time.”

Evanescent looked down at her drawing. “I must comply with the Princess’s wishes still.”

“The Princess is gone,” Morgana sighed. “But go ahead, let that little Aife bitch waste her time looking. And when you see her to give her the picture, tell her that she has taken one of my utility slaves from the castle illegally and I want it back immediately.”

<>--+-

Evanescent returned to her castle quarters only to find Paris getting ready to leave. Paris was a domestique who had successfully extended her career as a castle slave by proving her usefulness with minor skills as a witch.

“I have strung up Slave Xexxia as best possible according to the desires of Mr. Bowman,” Paris said pointing to a closed door. She pronounced Xexxia as though the X’s were S’s. “I believe that I was able to make the ties so that they are as comfortable as possible. Mr. Bowman has a tendency to leave his visitors… uh… hanging for extended periods of time.”

“Thank you, Paris. I will go and have a look at her - see how she’s doing. Why don’t you go and eat dinner? I’ll let you know how the ties have worked tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“Yes, Mistress Sorceress,” Paris said, bowing her head slightly. “Oh! And I started to prepare another batch of the magic hemp.”

“You are brilliant, Paris.” Evanescent opened the door to her quarters and quickly ushered Paris out into the hallway. The middle aged slave curtsied and walked down the hall and around the corner. Evanescent then closed and locked the door to her quarters. She stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a few mint leaves from a dish and began chewing on them. She went into the bathroom, checked herself out in the mirror - running her fingers through her hair. She spit out the mint in the chamber pot, rinsed her mouth out and looked in the mirror again.

Evanescent stepped across her entry hall and opened the door. Inside a nude woman was suspended by a web of glittering ropes from a pulley attached to a sturdy overhead ceiling beam. Her head was pulled back by twine braided into her long hair, pulled taut. She would have had a clear view of Evanescent’s entrance were it not for the pair of ropes loosely passing before her eyes. Evanescent placed her hand on the woman’s cheek and stooped a little to look past the rope into the moist brown eyes of the suspended slave. She placed a light kiss just below this pair of ropes and above another pair, tied much more tightly to cleave the woman’s mouth, pulling her lips into a grimace.

“Hello, my love,” Evanescent said. “I’ve missed you.”

The woman’s reply was lost behind the cleave, but its song contained more glee than discomfort.

Evanescent let a hand brush across the woman’s shoulder, passing down her arm over regularly spaced pairs of rope which helped pull the woman’s arms back into a secure box tie. Extra attention and lengths of rope had been applied to the slave’s hands leaving her fingers twisted up and ineffective to any purpose.

Gently, below the woman, her breasts dangled, pulled further by clamps weighted with light chains, terminated with large, clear, glass jewels. Evanescent let her fingers slide with the lightest touch across the woman’s chest until goosebumps arose. She fingered one of the chains until the slave moaned and flexed her torso into the cage of twisted twine which supported her sculpted body from underneath. Her shape was a bow. Her legs were bent double, calf to thigh, tightly bound, and spread enough for Evanescent to see and advance and feel her slave’s core. And there, too, lovingly clamped so intimately, was another glass jewel and chain allowing Gravity herself to tug and tease the slave with every twitch and lustfully labored breath. The big toe on each foot was wrapped and pulled toward the ceiling forcing an attractive point to the slave’s feet. She could wiggle, but nothing more.

Evanescent returned to the slave’s face, lightly stroking her hand along the slave’s side, around the side of her breast feeling the way the slave trembled as she pulled in heavy breaths of air. She found a knot to the side of her head, which she was able to loosen easily and the ropes slipped from the slave’s mouth. Evanescent pulled the ropes below the suspended woman’s chin and stooped to gently press her lips to the slave’s.

“How are you coping?” Evanescent whispered.

“Much better,” Xexxia responded, a hint of a smile flashing across her face. “Now that you are here. The ropes… they tingle all over me.”

Evanescent smiled and stepped back. She pushed gently on Xexxia’s shoulder and the slave spun a half turn around on the single cable dropping from above. Evanescent stepped between Xexxia’s knees and reached her hand to cup the slave’s sex where a pair of ropes met, knotted together and pressed between the slave’s labia minora. The rope was saturated with moisture. Evanescent let her tongue play across the slave’s sex following the rope as it fed out across her perineum, letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction. Xexxia trembled and let out a throaty groan as well, her sex clenching involuntarily around the knotted rope.

“Oh, my,” Evanescent said. “I see why Paris thought you needed the gag.” She stepped back out from between the suspended woman’s legs and gave her another push, this time waiting for Xexxia to spin one and a half times before stopping her and lightly kissing her lips.

As she began to re-apply the pair of ropes between Xexxia’s lips and teeth, Xexxia cooed, “Light me up, Mistress Sorceress.” Evanescent pulled tight the knot forcing the ropes more deeply into the slave’s mouth and she stepped back.

“Your wish is my pleasure, my love.”

Evanescent stepped over to a vase and upended some powder into her hand. She began to rub her hands together and chant a mumbled rhythm. There was a loud pop and when Evanescent opened her hands a bright silver flame danced on each palm. She stepped over to the suspended woman and held a palm beneath each dangling jewel - first each beast and then below Xexxia’s sex. The jewels seems to catch the flame and glow with a sparkling silvery light.

Xexxia began to shake and writhe within the confines of her tight bondage. The flame did not burn. It’s fuel was not physical elements. Instead it fed upon the syrup of desire.

Evanescent stepped back around to the slave’s spread knees and changed the rhythm and inflection of her chanting, quickly grabbing each knee in one of her flaming hands and pushing Xexxia into a harrowing spin widdershins.

Evanescent held out her palms as Xexxia spun rapidly. The ropes began to sparkle even more brightly. Suddenly in a flash, the silver flames erupted from the jewels and from Evanescent’s hands, licking out across the slave’s captured flesh, focusing and then anchoring along the lines of each strand of rope. Shortly, the entire web of hemp was alight with silvery flames dancing in the vortex of Xexxia’s rotation. Xexxia was grunting and her body jerked uncontrollably. If she was in pain, it was certainly an a erotic torture.

After no more than the count of twenty the flames again flashed and a host of sparks burst away from Xexxia’s body - their glowing embers quickly fading as they descended towards the floor. Xexxia’s spin slowed to a stop and when the fireworks faded Xexxia remained, suspended in the air, held as she had been trussed, yet the ropes had completely vanished into the ether.

Evanescent slipped her hands to Xexxia’s hips and slid them around the sides of her body, each hand reaching a breast at the same time. She unclipped the chains from the slave’s nipples and pulled the glass jewels away leaving Xexxia to tremble. Moans of pleasure slipped from her mouth which was still stretched by the ghost of the cleaving rope. And when Evanescent pulled the dangling jewel from Xexxia’s clit, her body bucked and sexual tears dripped from the suspended slave, but the bow shape enforced by the strategically tied ropes remained though the ropes themselves had disappeared, leaving nothing but the bumpy imprint around the slave’s flushed flesh.

Indeed, the slave’s arms remained in their tight box tie and her legs tightly doubled, toes pointed. Her hair pulled back, lifting her head. Still suspended chest-high off the floor.

Evanescent took a moment to look at her trembling lover. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “Now, that is what magic is truly good for.”

She ducked between the slave’s legs, her tongue extended and went to work. Xexxia’s muffled moans filled the room for the next hour or more.

<>--+-

Evanescent lay in bed, her arms were wrapped around Xexxia, pulling her close. Every once in a while she would press a light kiss on the slave’s neck just below her ear. Xexxia lay with her eyes closed. Every kiss caused a tired smile to slip across Xexxia’s face until exhaustion once again gained the upper hand.

“You should have left when the Princess emancipated all her slaves. The Queen’s Witch has rescinded the proclamation now. The window to escape your slavery has closed again. I worry...”

Xexxia frowned but said nothing.

“It’s too dangerous in here for the Princess’ ex-slaves. The Queen’s Witch is abusing them for her own cruel intentions,” Evanescent whispered. “I’m afraid for your safety.”

“It’s more dangerous for a slave outside the castle,” Xexxia responded. She turned to face Evanescent. “Did you hear? Some girls went to try to make money dancing at Madam Shovair’s. They saw two men carrying away one of the Princess’s ex-pleasure slaves, Chelsea. They tossed her unconscious body into the back of a steam truck. The girls tried to get the bouncers to stop the truck, but the bouncers said that their jurisdiction ended at the door jamb and refused to help. No one has seen Chelsea since.”

“I did hear about that. Perhaps she drank too much… She was probably doing something foolish. But, you’re smarter than that. Besides, I could have found someone for you to stay with,” Evanescent said. “A womens house. You would be safe.”

“I want to be here. With you,” Xexxia said.

They lay in silence for a while, Evanescent idly slipping her fingers up and down Xexxia’s arm. “I was the fourth daughter,” Xexxia said at last. “My family was not rich. I grew up knowing that I would be sold. I was told by my father that I was nothing but a burden on my family all my life. I wanted to make sure that when I was sold I would go for a very high price so my mother would live her later years in some sort of comfort. I dreamt of being a castle slave. Why would I quit that dream now? What would I do outside the castle? Especially as a lesbian? I would accidentally smile at the wrong freewoman and find myself imprisoned or murdered. Here, though, I’m with you. And in a year the Princess will become a queen, and you, her Queen’s Witch, and we can be together. You and me... and Kelligrene, too. You can own us.” Xexxia smiled and pushed her hips back a little pressing them against Evanescent’s sex.

Evanescent smiled. “We will have to be careful until then. A year is a long time. Morgana is making me… She’s making me ‘prove my meddle’.”

“You’ll be fine,” Xexxia sighed. “You’re much more powerful than that hag.”

Evanescent murmured something for a moment and a torch lit across the room highlighting a desk with a large metal orb on it.

“There it is,” Evanescent said. “The thing that Morgana is making me fuse over Kapitolina’s head.”

“Oh, shit!” Xexxia said stunned. “That’s for Kapitolina? I’ve heard that she’s not doing so well as it is - down in her dungeon cell with her weaponized hands safely suspended above. Pixie has to take care of her.”

Evanescent sighed. “Morgana says she is testing my nerve. She says she’ll find a replacement for me if I fail. And when you are the Princess’ Witch, replacement means something a little more extreme than just being out of a job...”

“You’ve just got to do it, I guess,” Xexxia said, turning her head towards Evanescent. “Kapitolina is kind of a bitch anyways, but maybe you could include a spell that makes her… you know… OK with her situation somehow?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Evanescent agreed. “I’ve been kicking some ideas around.”

“Right now, Pixie told me that she’s going out of her mind with lust even though Pixie services her. Morgana is just cruel! Kapitolina has gone through the Rite of Arritus after all. Her libido has been drastically enhanced. She’s not getting the amount of physical intimacy that she has been modified to need. She’s going to go insane down in that dungeon cell.” Xexxia turned away, chewing on a finger, lost in thought.

“What do you think about this idea?” Evanescent said sitting up suddenly. “There is a gag… a very phallic shaped gag that will be sealed in her mouth. She’ll have to suck on it to eat and drink. Maybe I could design a spell such that sucking on the gag translates to the sensation of being fucked. Squeezing the gag with her mouth, could feel like she’s squeezing with her pussy. Then she could give herself orgasms by sucking on the gag whenever she wants. She wouldn’t need Pixie or anyone else to take care of her needs. Then I could also make her feel like it is totally natural to wear the steel hood - like she never could have lived without it before.”

“Yeah. Can you do that? That would really subvert that old hag, Morgana!” Xexxia said.

“I just need a… um… a sample from Kapitolina,” Evanescent said. “It wouldn’t take much. Could Pixie like… collect a bit of her... uh… ejaculate when Kapitolina orgasms? I need it to be able to magically link the gag to Kapitolina’s pussy.”

“Should be no problem at all,” Xexxia said.


0 - 0 - 3 - 12:57 - Hank

“Yer buildin another one of yer box things?” Farley asked.

“That’s right idiot!” Hank said, looking up from his work. “Can you make yourself useful and pass that hammer over to me?”

“Yeah and all the banging around you are doing is keeping me and Luke from bein able to go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright, bro. Just putting on the finishing touches of version number two - more secure for my lady friend and more comfortable for me.”

“Them slaves didn’t come round ta-night. Ah heard they ain’t letting them out to play no more,” Farley said. “Where ya going ta find another lady friend.”

“There are always losers out there waiting to be snatched up, bro. You just got to keep your eyes open.”

“Hank? What happens to your lady friends… ya know… after ya bury them?”

“Well, shit-for-brains, all I can guarantee is that they think fondly of me as they slip into a nice long peaceful sleep.”

“Sleepin? Yeah? I bet they can’t even hear all yer hammerin down under the sand… the lucky cunts.”


0 - 0 - 3 - 20:26 - Maisie

Maisie was pulled from her small cage. But rather than slipping her leather hood off immediately as they had been doing for that past unknown amount of time, instead, they gently led her out of the dungeon of hanging cages and through the halls to another room where they sat her in a chair and locked her wrist and ankle cuffs to its frame. When they finally unlaced the hood, Maisie found the room so bright that she could only duck her head forward with her eyes squinted shut. Still, she started laughing despite her best efforts not to. The fresh air against her bald head and face was such a welcome change.

The sound of her own laughter though, really began to piss her off and she began to mumble around her dry swollen tongue and the thin chain pulling at the tip of her tongue, “I’m going to fucking kill every one of you.”

One of the Dirt Room girls shoved the nozzle of a bottle in Maisie’s mouth and squeezed. Cool water splashed back against her throat and she swallowed in big relieved gulps.

Maisie had been attended to in her time in her suspended cage. Every few hours her cage would be dragged along some overhead rail to a landing where the cage was opened and her hood unlaced and slid off. But the relief was extremely brief. Only enough time for her caretakers to spray some sugary liquid in her mouth. Then she would feel the hood press against her face and pull against her chin as it was slowly closed tightly around her head once again.

Each time she had the hood removed and fought to get her pupils to contract against the dancing lights of the torches, she would yell out for Piper. Each time to her great relief Piper would respond from somewhere out in the darkness. Her voice sounded strong and clear which gave Maisie hope.

“I’m OK, too!” she would yell. Though she knew her own words were somewhat mangled by the trauma her tongue had experienced and the weight of the chain attaching her new piercing to the thick leather hood. “Keep your strength, Piper! Don’t worry about me!”

Her handlers never did anything to prevent her from these communications, but as soon as they were done spritzing her mouth and, perhaps, toweling Maisie’s bald head and the sweaty interior of the leather hood, they would efficiently repackage Maisie as she had been before and swing her cage back out into the void.

After the first “watering”, as Maisie now thought of it, she noticed, through squinted eyes, that her Dirt Room handlers had sound reducing ear muffs strategically mounted on their heads. As soon as Piper’s humming song went unanswered, Maisie could hear Piper become angry and the tones would grow until they reached an inhumanly loud scream - shrill and jagged. Maisie’s own hood had ear cups that protected her from Piper’s vocal attack, and she would shake with laughter, proud of the strength of her lover’s spirit.

Now, though, Maisie had simply been chained to a padded seat in the small gym. Not only was the climbing machine in the room, but also the moving floor thing on which they made her run, a massage table, and other strange and torturous looking machines with handles and pedals to pull and push. One wall was covered in mirrors allowing Maisie to see her head for the first time since her hair had been taken. An even sheen of stubble already covered her head. Her face was splotchy from being squeezed in the hood and her naked body was smudged with dirt and streaks of sweat. She could use a shower. On the other hand, she looked kind of bad-ass!

One of the Dirt Room girls sat down in front of her and held out a nozzle for Maisie to suck on. She was not particularly happy to be fed in this manner, but she was completely starving after such an interminable time trapped in the small cage and brain-baked in the suffocating leather hood. She eagerly wrapped her lips around the nozzle and the Dirt Room girl squeezed some kind of mush into her mouth. It was thick and mostly tasteless, but supposedly, it would fill her up and give her energy.

“You must eat it,” the Dirt Room girl said as Maisie began to get full. She did not fight when more was squeezed into her mouth across her swollen tongue.

“I didn’t even realize you could talk,” Maisie said after quickly swallowing. “I thought maybe you all had your brain cells beaten out of you. Read any good books lately?”

The Dirt Room girl said, “I have not read.” Her head flinched briefly and then she resumed feeding Maisie.

“Well, I recommend reading, if you have the chance. You could learn about all the better things in life than torturing innocent women in the darkness of an underground dungeon.”

“You have it easy,” the Dirt Room girl said.

Shortly after the food was gone, a second Dirt Room girl arrived and set a chair behind Maisie. She had brought in a tray with shaving equipment. Maisie tested the security of her wrist cuff as she looked longingly at the straight razor.

“Maybe you could clip this stupid chain off this tongue ring,” Maisie said as the woman behind her began to lather up her head with shaving cream. “It’s causing me to drool a lot and it’s really bringing down my new look.”

“Chains are your friend,” Dirt Room girl number one said.

“Ha. Funny. Chains are my friends?” Maisie said.

“Restriction over amputation.”

“Oh.” Maisie decided she had no more to say.

After they had finished shaving her head, they rubbed an ointment into her scalp and used a towel to polish her head until it was almost shiney. When Maisie looked in the mirror at her hairless appearance, she felt more alien than bad-ass.

The two Dirt Room girls unlocked Maisie from the chair and moved her to the massage table, where they spent time strapping her down securely. She was on her stomach and her face was pressed into a circular headrest that was open in the center allowing her to see the chain dropping from her mouth into her leather hood resting on a shelf just below her face.

She heard another person enter the room.

“She appears well secured.” It was Dr. Norost’s voice. “Why don’t you go wheel in the Tongue, Marit?”

Hands appeared before Maisie’s eyes. They picked up her helmet and flipped it around apparently examining both inside and out. A chair slid into view and Maisie saw the doctor’s knees as she sat down, continuing to examine the hood. A box cutter type knife was in the doctor’s hand.

The leather hood was much more complex that Maisie has noticed before. After all, she hadn’t really had the opportunity to examine it. It was just a hot, constricting, sweat-dampening emptiness that wrapped her senses up in its vast void. Now though, with her head restrained and eyes unimpaired, she noticed a web of ridges running across the surface. Between the ridges - flattened areas enclosed with tracks of perforation.  

The doctor began to cut out the flat areas with her blade. Maisie had hoped for destruction, but she quickly realized that the cuts were well-planned and she began to fear the implication of the results. For, none of the restricting features of the hood were modified. There was still the thick, contoured pad that would seat firmly over her eyes. A stiff cup was still available to restrain her jaw, preventing her from opening her mouth. There was a sheath still, for her nose with two small reinforced circles to ensure the passage of air. Finally, there were the two cups that would fit firmly around her ears muffling all sounds.

Maisie worried though that with the opened spaces between the remaining webbing, she would not sweat as much and subsequently no longer need to be cleaned. Indeed, she watched the doctors hands test the way the sealing laces that would run along over her crown to the nape of her neck could be manipulated so that only specific individual components of the hood’s collection of restraints could be loosened. For example, the jaw cup could now be loosened and folded away so she could be fed while still blind and deaf.

At one point the doctor looked to the interior of the remaining webbing of the hood and Maisie saw a grid of metal strips sewn into the straps. Also, there was some sort of connector at the back into which an electrical cable could be plugged.

Maisie maintained her silence throughout the doctor’s examination and modification of the leather hood. She was angry and determined and fearful of a twinge of hopelessness she felt. Would they really go so far as amputation as a means of restraint? Why wouldn’t they? Her sentence was for life. She was now a non-person. They could simply execute her if they really wanted to. They could do the same to Piper. That was Maisie’s greatest fear.

Regimes change. Political prisoners are freed. Sometimes injustices and righted. Maisie had to maintain hope, if only for Piper’s sake. A new Princess was coming to the land - the Princess of Cowen. She was supposed to be fairly progressive. Maybe she would hold sway. Then again... If they wanted her to exercise for some strange experiment, then she would. She would make herself so strong that it would take more than two Dirt Room girls to keep her in check.

All to quickly, the doctor finished modifying the hood. They released Maisie from the massage table and sat her on a padded bench with stirrups for her legs. The modified hood was stretched over her polished bald head. The eye pads pressed firmly and the cups over her ears stifled the sounds. As they began to push the chin cup into place, Maisie screamed, “Don’t hurt Piper!” Still the cup pressed firmly against her chin and the straps were tightened.

Maisie felt a tug on her tongue. Someone was pulling the chain that fed through the small hole in the hood, anchored to the piercing on the tip of her tongue. The doctor must have leaned close to her ear. She could hear her muffled voice. “Piper is a lovely woman. I like to hear her sing. I like the way she screams in anger when she can no longer hear you. I’ll take great care of her. So long, that is, as you follow every command without fail. If you don’t then her song will turn to screams of pain, and we’ll even take these ear cups off so you can enjoy her voice properly.” The doctor patted her head.

Maisie made fists with her hands and jerked her legs briefly. “Take it easy, my little mouse,” the doctor said. “You will enjoy this. You should savor the experience.”

Maisie felt something sticky being pressed against her nipples - some kind of cloth covering being attached to them. Next she felt the Dirt Room women systematically sliding some sort of slick material up her legs. Never unlocking too many restraints as they worked - just enough to accomplish their task. Eventually, they stood Maisie up as the smooth, stretchy material was pulled over her hips. Her arms were fed into sleeves which ended in tight mittens. Finally the suit was zipped up from behind and Maisie felt a padlock being applied.

Fingers began to manipulate her sex. Apparently, the suit had an opening there and the cut of the suit framed her sex leaving her quite exposed. Maisie was pushed back down on the bench and shortly, her legs were pulled apart held well splayed by the stirrups she was locked into. Her arms were locked at her sides.

She was left for a while, lying, mostly immobile, in her muffled darkness.

Maisie felt warm, humid breath tease her sex. Something touched her vaginal lips and she flinched, but straps applied around her waist allowed her little movement. There was something warm and moist touching her down there. Then it began to slide up her lips, slowly and methodically teasing her lips apart.

“Piper?” Maisie queried, though, with her chin held tightly by the cup, it came out as no more than a grunt. It was a tongue. There was a tongue on her sex.

The tongue was withdrawn and then reapplied making a wider and more encompassing contact. Maisie could feel a series of humps along the surface of the tongue - perhaps some kind of piercings. So, this was not Piper, and Maisie grunted in protest. The tongue slid up her sex again. A tingle of sensation flushed Maisie’s sex - a bloom. The tongue slipped over Maisie’s clit. The piercings were set in pairs along the length of the tongue - spaced just perfectly to maximize contact and slightly squeeze as they slipped past Maisie’s clit, when, with a shuddering little thump, the next set of piercings caught the engorging flesh. Thump… thump…

Maisie was confused for a moment. She should resist. Thump… thump… But why resist? What would be the purpose? The tongue withdrew, but then pushed past Maisies defenses. Striking deep. Prodding. Then the tongue withdrew again.

Once again, Maisie felt the tongue and its smooth, rounded piercings slide across her swollen clit. Thump…

Maisie groaned and realized that she was starting to breathe hard. Air was whistling through the grommeted openings in the nose sheath. She pulled her lips apart and huffed into the chin cup. Thump… thump…

Why not take pleasure when she could? Her muscles flexed and strained against the restraints. This was so much better than hanging in the darkness of the cage… Thump… thump…

“Oh!” Maisie yelled into the confines of her leather hood. “Piper!”

But this was just a random tongue… Not Piper…

“Oh!”

Thump… thump…

This was also not just a tease… Maisie slipped over the edge and bucked her hips against her restraints.

“Ohhh! Ahhh!!”


0 - 0 - 3 - 20:52 - Aife

“...and my third mother was a horse,” Zeigh was explaining, unprompted. “Her name was Mangalarga and she was permanently dyed white and black. She had fallen and severely broken her leg. She was afraid that they were going to put her down or out to pasture, so she decided to take up the mothering life, I guess, just to save herself. Makes sense, but I don’t think that her heart was in it. She had a bad limp...”

“Shh,” Aife said, grabbing hold of Zeigh’s leash. “I think that we may have a bit of trouble.”

The particular alley they were in was seedier than most, but in an area where Aife had built up a bit of respect amongst the scum that drifted through this area. Certainly, most were respectful of Aife, but she was worried that they may try and take Zeigh. She should have stuck to main roads.

“...She was my mother when I had my first period. Most of the women that I lived with were on serious birth control which suspended their cycle, so, this was not something that I had much experience with despite what you’d think. I mean, I’m not even sure that I knew where babies came from at that time. Proper education is not a priority for slaves, I guess. Well, Mama Larga - that’s what I called her - said that horses just let the blood run down their legs. It shows how tough they are...”

Aife’s thoughts: Two men approaching - not familiar with them - they’re looking at Zeigh - wait until they get closer to react - I have a knife in my backpack - no time to get that - I’ll need to use the Zeigh’s leash as a weapon - it’s long enough and has sturdy chain links...

“... luckily that’s about when Karma took me under her wing. She’s a bit older than me and even though Mama Larga was my mother for six years or so…”

“Hi there, Tiny, what d’you got there?” one of the men asked Aife.

Aife’s thoughts: He is the smaller of the two - he probably only outweighs me by sixty to sixty-five percent - he seems to favor his left foot - I’m kind of thirsty - maybe there is a weapon in his boot ...

Aife ignored the men and kept her pace, pulling Zeigh up close behind her.

“Come on T.C. Don’t be rude,” the second man said.

Aife’s thoughts: A bit rotund - probably cannot knock him down easily without some kind of anchor - he is the slower of the two though - stay away from his fists...

“Yeah. You’d be so much prettier if you would smile,” the first man said. “Anyways we just want to see what you’re pulling along behind you. Do you have a little slave girl? Maybe we could evaluate her worth.”

“... this is kind of a new situation for me,” Zeigh started up in a loud whisper. “Generally, men that I am in contact with in the castle have more teeth...”

“Don’t fucking touch my slave,” Aife said with a calculated degree of venom. They had blocked her way through the alley.

“We just want to take a look under her robe, Tiny Cunt,” the smaller man said.

Aife’s thoughts: the smaller man is going to try and touch Zeigh - grip the leash firmly at the handle - the bigger man is standing on his heels with a dumb smile - surprise will be my advantage - am I dehydrated - there are two more men down the alley, but they don’t seem to be together with these - ignore Zeigh’s rambling - the smaller man is reaching out towards her now - flick your wrist, Aife! - no holding back, these chain links need good momentum to trail well - put a little corkscrew in your motion - that’s a good enough loop to fit over his hand - now pull down and away!

“Fuck!” the smaller man said. Links of chain tightened around his wrist and pinched the skin. Zeigh stumbled toward him pulled along by the leash attached to the metal collar around her neck.

Aife’s thoughts: OK - shoulder into Zeigh - push her into the smaller man - bigger man still on his heels - hasn’t yet realized that his life is in danger - disregard Zeigh yelping - smaller man going down - arm still wrapped in chain - don’t let Zeigh trip - now, yank the chain hard - twist away - left leg, kick towards bigger man’s fat belly - grab Zeigh’s robe - anchor! anchor!...

The chain which had been looped around the smaller man’s forearm was suddenly ripped off taking quite a bit of skin with it. Zeigh had fallen into the man, knocking him off balance and sending him into the dirt.

Aife’s thoughts: The bigger man is buckling forward, gripping his stomach - he’s going to have a hard time breathing for a few seconds - the leash chain is clear from smaller man’s arm - is there enough chain? - big loop with the chain - bigger! - swing it forward - it’s around the fat man’s head - now, pull! - a third man is approaching...

A loop of chain whipped over the bigger man’s head and wrapped around his neck. He fell to his knees pulling Zeigh on top of him as there was not much chain between the man’s neck and Zeigh’s collar.

Aife's thoughts: Let Zeigh fall down on top of the fat man - plan to step on her butt to gain sufficient height for the next leap - don’t step on the small of her back - smaller man is still on his knees gripping his bloody arm - need to apply another move after my legs are securely locked around the third man’s neck - even chances that I may break fat man’s neck during the leap - fucking idiot - Oh, well...

“Stop! T.C., stop!” the third man screamed holding his arms up.

“Dogg!” Aife froze, her lips pulled back in a snarl. Zeigh continued to tumble over the fat man and fell onto the dusty stones of the street. The smaller man was starting to get to his feet. Aife watched him through her peripheral vision, but otherwise remained motionless prepared to strike.

The third man, Dogg, started laughing. “Boys, you were just about to be killed. You don’t know how lucky you are that I happened along.”

“That fucking bitch! Look what she did to my arm!” the smaller man yelled, blood seeping between his fingers.

Aife flicked her wrist and the loop of chain ensnaring the fat man’s neck flipped away. He sucked in a raspy gasp of air. Otherwise, he stayed on the ground.

“Looks like T.C. has got herself a fuck toy. I don’t think that she likes to share her possessions, Emmet,” Dogg said to the smaller man.

Aife remained motionless still, poised to strike. Zeigh began to stand up.
“At ease, Tiny,” Dogg said to Aife. “No one’s going to touch you or your whore.”

“I’m going to fucking kill her!” Emmet said. “I’m going to fuck her and then kill her!”

“Ah ah ah! You’re lucky she didn’t break your arm, Emmet. T.C. has free passage through this neighborhood. You know that. And it includes her possessions too,” Dogg nodded to Zeigh who was dusting herself off. Her hood had slipped off her head and her hair was sticking out all over the place.

The fat man was coughing, still lying on the ground.

“Holy Goddess of the Broken Chain’s Fist!” Zeigh exclaimed suddenly. “Did you see that?” she asked, apparently to herself.

Aife looked over at Zeigh who stood with her mouth open, her eyes fixed on Aife. Zeigh’s steady stare soon began to make Aife uncomfortable. Finally, she grumbled to the men on the ground, “Keep your fucking hands off my slave!”

Aife pulled the hood of the slave robe back over Zeigh’s head, gently pushing stray locks of hair under the fabric. Finally, she gave Zeigh’s chain a short, sharp pull and the pair continued down the alley leaving Dogg laughing, Emmet cursing and the fat man coughing in the dirt.

0 - 0 - 3 - 21:42 - Ileana

The human woman was still asleep when Ileana slid into her dark sarcophagus. She moved gently trying her best to not disturb her ward. Ileana knew that she had been particularly cruel recently. But, she felt, it was necessary. The human had to understand that her survival was totally dependent upon more than just the physical protections that Ileana could provide, but also she must assume an appropriate mindset. There is a huge difference between physical survival and mental survival. Ileana could keep the human alive indefinitely, particularly since she was so tightly restrained, making it impossible to injure herself. But, Ileana had to use tricks to keep the human woman alive mentally. And even with her tricks, time was the human’s enemy.

This was the third visit since she had torn the human’s flesh. Already, the wound had closed and fresh layers of skin were quickly erasing the evidence of Ileana’s abuse. Such was the healing power of Ileana’s milk - to wash away wounds and aches.

On her first return she found, to her surprise, that the woman was still repeating the phrase over and over again, just as Ileana had commanded. “I am nothing. I do not even deserve a name.” Her voice was cracked and gravelly. Ileana nursed her and relieved her of her wastes, then commanded that she resume her chant. Certainly, by the time she returned the woman would be broken enough to refuse to speak the line anymore.

Indeed, when Ileana returned for the second visit, the human had drifted into a light sleep, but the moment that Ileana touched her, she flinched and immediately began chanting the line over and over again. Her voice had been reduced to a whisper by then.

When she had last left, the woman was fast asleep - just as she was now.

Ileana looked over the human’s soft features. Her face was relaxed giving her an innocent beauty unmarred by fear or the stress of isolation and abuse.

Ileana lightly kissed the woman’s forehead. She saw the woman’s eyes pop open, staring into the pitch darkness. She took a few quick breaths and finally said, “Are you here, my… my Goddess?” Her voice had recovered some but was still quite raw.

Ileana gently lay her palm against woman’s face - slowly sliding it down under her chin and to the top of her chest.

The woman flinched at first, but she settled quickly, and began chanting again. “I am nothing…”

“Shhh!” Ileana said. “That’s enough for now... nothing.”

“Thank you, my Goddess.”

Ileana watched the woman for a few moments. She began to wonder why the human was so compliant. Was she naturally submissive? Did she prefer to defer her thoughts and actions to a more dominant presence? The endless chanting of the single phrase… It must have been painful and mind-numbing - wearing her throat raw. But yet, the woman had done it and seemed prepared to continue. Also, she so easily assumed the task of referring to Ileana with a dignity that seemed to go beyond simple spoken words. From her previous experience, Ileana knew that humans were particularly proud and much preferred to call her demon than goddess.

But this human seemed to have accepted Ileana’s conditions. Sure, it was early still, but humans before never bowed so quickly. Maybe it was the fact that the woman was a slave. Perhaps her status predisposed her to accept the power dynamic that Ileana demanded. Whatever it was, Ileana was intrigued.

“I think that you are trying to manipulate me,” Ileana said. “I have no idea why. But you have acquiesced to complying with my demands so quickly, that I am almost disappointed. I had hoped to have a good reason to torture you some more.”

“I am not acquiescing,” the slave woman said. “I am consciously choosing to do those things that you suggest that I do in order to survive.”

Ileana studied the woman’s face, but said nothing.

“I cannot move or see. I am painfully isolated for most of the time. I can feel the loneliness eating at me already. You are right. In this grave, I am nothing. There is only you and you have all the power. You are my goddess. I will do as you say if there is any hope that I may survive.”

Ileana took her hand from the woman’s face and swung it as best she could within the confined space of the coffin, slapping the underside of the woman’s breast with the flat of her hand.

“Ow!” the woman shrieked and Ileana watched as warm little streaks stretched down from the woman’s frightened eyes - tears. After a moment, the slave sobbed, “Thank you Goddess.”

“Do you want me to hit you again?” Ileana asked. She placed her hand on the woman’s breast where she had struck. It now glowed with the heat of blood flushing the skin.

“No, my Goddess,” the woman whispered as she gained control over her tears.

“Then I won’t, for now.”

“Thank you, Goddess.”

“You are not like other humans I have encountered who are always so full of pride - so stubborn. What is there for you outside of this small box?” Ileana asked.

The woman did not hesitate to answer.

“Love.”