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
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
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