Story - Shakespeare's Daughter - A Club Shadowlands Story by Shadowkeeper

[size=12pt][color=blue:2bdcfk2g]Please note - this is a sequel/prequel to the Sisters of the Heart Trilogy, and as such, those stories should be read before this one.[/color:2bdcfk2g] [/size]

[center]Shakespeare’s Daughter A Club Shadowlands Story

By Shadowkeeper

Prelude[/center]

Melody was lounging on her spacious bed, stroking the amazingly supple material of her boots, made from the skin of the woman that she had been named for, while she stared at the slender silver collar in front of her, the one that had adorned the neck of that same woman on the night of her death so long ago. She had never known that other Melody, having not even been conceived yet at the time, but she knew that her mom still hadn’t gotten over her, and she was worried that her desire to wear that collar and take the other Melody’s place at her mom’s side would drive a wedge between them.

Melody sighed and turned over on her back, staring at the ceiling as she tried to make the most important decision of her life, and then she felt a bump against her hand and heard a concerned mew. Listlessly she looked over and saw Miranda, the family pet-slave and her constant, most loyal companion for as long as she could remember; the voiceless, fingerless, and mostly mindless cat-girl was bumping Melody’s hand with her head, running her long pony tail along it and trying to get permission to come up on the bed and comfort her favorite Mistress.

Melody couldn’t help but smile at her pet as she sat up a bit and patted the bed beside her. Miranda responded by crawling up beside her and rubbing her face along her hand, demanding to be stroked as she purred loudly. Melody frowned at the difficulty the aging slave had climbing up into the bed; just a few years ago, Miranda would have energetically jumped up, but the onset of arthritis combined with two decades of constantly getting about on all fours had stiffened her limbs in ways that painfully reminded Melody that her pet would have to be put down sooner rather than later. Melody loved her cat-girl dearly, but she knew that it was fast reaching the point that it would be a mercy to snuff the poor thing.

Melody gave her a tender hug and kiss, and then started to stroke her like she would a real cat. Miranda was wearing her black fur cat suit today, and the feel of it under her fingertips was soothing. She watched as Miranda closed her eyes in pleasure, and then she started to confess her problems to the pet, even though the lobotomized woman would understand little of it.

Just as she was finishing, Miranda startled her by sliding off of the bed and crawling over to one of the multitude of dressers in the room. Curious, Melody followed, and then when she saw Miranda tapping at one of the drawers with a fake paw, she opened it, which turned out to be a bit of a struggle; this dresser hadn’t been used since this room was used by Miranda as Mistress of the Stables, twenty years ago, and the wood was stuck together.

As soon as the drawer was opened, Miranda stuck her head in, and one by one, pulled out the only contents with her teeth; a series of leather bound journals and several photo albums. “What’s this Mir?” The question was reflexive of course; the cat girl couldn’t have answered coherently even if she wasn’t limited to cat noises. Melody would just have to figure it out for herself, a task that she was grateful for, as she needed something to take her mind off of her quandary.

Taking the volumes to her bed, Melody opened the albums, finding pictures of strangers for the most part, but also ones of those she knew, but much younger than she was used to. There were a few of her father, and of her godfather Max, both of whom were with women she didn’t recognize, and most of all there were pictures of Miranda when she was still a whole person, ranging in age from her late thirties all the way back to her mid teens. “Wow Mir, you were a real looker when you were a teen, and you looked so happy then…in the later ones you seem so serious; I wonder what happened to change you so much?”

Shrugging, Melody set aside the albums for the moment, and started to sift through the journals, opening them to their first entries until she was able to put them into chronological order. All of them were in an elegant hand that was a delight to look at. “Mir, are these yours? You want me to read them?” The cat-girl curled up around her and looked up with expectant eyes. “Well, I don’t have anything better to do until mom gets home, so why not; maybe these will help me to decide.”

She picked up the first volume, got comfortable, and started to read…

[center]Entry One[/center]

Sunday, August 9, 1986

Dear diary – no scratch that, that sounds incredibly trite and typical of a sixteen year old, and while I may be that age, I refuse to be typical. No, these are my journals, and I intend for them to be read after I am dead and gone, hopefully after having made my mark on the world. With that in mind, perhaps I should give you, the faceless reader from some future that I won’t see, a brief description of me as I see myself, and where I stand in life at the moment.

My name is Miranda Coulter, second child of Sir Edward Coulter, shipping magnate and philanthropist extraordinaire, and his second wife, the former Emiline Watson, a great beauty in both body and soul by all accounts, though I can only know of the former, and just from photographs at that, since she died before I was old enough to really remember her. My father seems to have a tendency of running through very young wives like that, though most of his marriages end with him sending them off to exile with a load of money as opposed to losing them to accidental death, as was the case with my mother. Just this past June he found himself his sixth Mrs. Coulter when she finally finished her schooling, and I’m not talking about university – she’s sweet enough, but I don’t expect her to last more than three or four years at most.

I have quite a number of siblings – well, mostly half-siblings - though I’ve really only interacted with two of them: the eldest of us, my big brother Benedick, and my only full sibling, my sister Rosaline, less than one year my junior. All of us are named for characters from various Shakespearian plays as my father has an obsession with the Bard that borders on the psychotic; I am of course named for that ultimate fantasy woman and symbol of purity from The Tempest, a paragon of beauty, intelligence and virtue which I have always strived to emulate in my own weak fashion.

As intimated at the beginning of this entry, I am currently sixteen years old, but not at all typical for my age; for one thing, I have already completed my sixth form schooling and I am about to start attending university where I will be working towards a degree and hopefully successful career in biochemistry, and for another, despite my wealthy background, I have never really had the experience of having a true home or family of my own – or even a real nationality. Although I am officially an American, I have spent almost my entire life in extremely exclusive and isolated private boarding schools in a wide variety of other nations, along with Benedick and Rosaline. We have only rarely seen any member of our family other than our father except at Christmas and weddings, though with how much trouble some of our friends have had with step-families, we came to the collective decision that this lack of contact is probably for the better.

Now don’t go thinking of me as some lonely psuedo-orphan to be pitied; I have made more than my fair share of friends in my time at St. George’s School for the Gifted (our final and longest lasting place of education and stand in home) and its like, and I have had the privilege to be in the same grade as my sister and brother since I was twelve, when Rosaline and I were moved up into Benedick’s class. Much to my great surprise, I have also managed to experience the pleasure and pain of love - an unconventional and unconfessed love to be sure, but still wonderful, life sustaining love.

The object of my desire and most tender of thoughts is my roommate of the last four years, my sweet Kat, or Katherine as most everyone else calls her. I didn’t love her from the start or anything; indeed, we hardly got along at all at first. Two years my senior, she comes from a tight knit family that is fairly poor by our school’s standards, her parents and grandparents together having struggled hard to get her admitted and to pay her way, and she is a very outgoing and optimistic girl, while I come from a disinterested but privileged family and am, or actually was, very shy and retiring, overly studious and troubled by bouts of depression. I say was, because once my Kat got used to the fact that I wasn’t going to use my status to attack her, she used up every bit of her spare time working on me, slowly peeling away my ugly pessimism and insecurities and revealing the bright, hopeful and caring person that I had always wanted to be; I never imagined that I had that potential within me until Kat showed me what I could be if given a little encouragement and care.

It’s Kat who gave me this journal, along with an abundance of like volumes, as a graduation present; I had reciprocated with a large and carefully chosen wardrobe and several large suitcases to carry them in, to go with my invitation for her to spend several weeks with me visiting my father’s various homes, a world tour that I knew both of us would appreciate after being virtual prisoners here just south of the Scottish border. Kat was more than happy to accept my offer, but only if I agreed to accept her own family’s hospitality for a week. I was overjoyed at the opportunity to finally meet these wonderful people that my Kat has talked about so much, and to maybe experience just a touch of the warmth and love that have turned her into such a wonderful young woman.

I’m sure that you are already tired of hearing me go on about my Kat, and are saying ‘but this is your journal, what about you?’ and in answer I will have to say ‘exactly, this is my journal, so deal with it’; I still have yet to tell you several things about her, and this is important, since I plan on spending the rest of my life with her, if I can ever get up the courage to confess my true feelings to her, and if she can ever accept me in such a manner.

First I should probably tell you what she looks like, and just to throw you a bone, I’ll describe myself as well as something to compare against. First, she’s a bit tall, not a lot, but enough to equal my own recently acquired above average height. While my own hair is just a touch lighter than black and sleek, hers is like honey, and cascades around her shoulders in waves and curls that just make me want to bury my face in them. Her face is sweet and innocent, and her eyes are of the purest blue, unlike my own more aristocratic features and dark eyes that used to be best described as moody, and of late have been called intense. Finally, while I am slender and still filling out, she has a body that is the epitome of womanhood; full and ripe and soft in all the right places, while still retaining enough of the litheness of youth in other places to create a perfect balance. In short, as far as I’m concerned she is the most tempting person I have ever seen, a mouthwatering morsel that I want to taste so badly that it sometimes hurts - but I digress.

Now as to how I came to love my Kat, I’m not really sure when it came about, it was too gradual of a process for me to have even really noticed it, or realized what was happening, until just this past year. Over the previous years, Kat had taken me under her wing, acted as a mentor, but as I opened up to her, and eventually to others, she had grown steadily closer to me, until we became inseparable, a perfectly balanced duet. One day, not a special one, just a regular old Tuesday, she was modeling some new casuals that had been sent by her sisters, and I found myself becoming overwhelmed by a desire to take her in my arms and kiss her. Running to the bathrooms in panic, I locked myself in a stall and refused to come out until just before lights out, balling my eyes out as I realized that I was in love with not just another girl, but with my best friend. I couldn’t help but despair as I wondered how I could ever look my Kat in the eye again without letting her know and destroying our beautiful friendship. And then of course there was the problem that society would consider me a deviant if this should ever get out; I was certain that my father would disown me for such a thing.

I knew that I couldn’t go to Kat about this, not yet, but I simply had to go to someone, and so that night I snuck into my sister’s room and whispered my confession to her; I wasn’t worried about her roommate saying anything, since she was herself a pariah for other reasons. Surprising me as she often does, Rosaline not only accepted what I was telling her, but also offered substantial enough comfort and support to me over the next few months that I was not only able to make peace with myself and interact with my Kat naturally, I was also able to explore and enjoy these new emotions sweeping through me.

These last few months have been heaven, but this trip is my last opportunity to throw caution to the wind and confess my love to Kat; if I don’t do it now, our paths will split, and I just know that I will never find another chance to win her over before some other, more deserving person captures her heart…

[center]Entry Two[/center]

Sunday, August 16, 1986

Oh what a wonderful week this has been! And a busy one as well; this is the first chance that I’ve had to jot anything down in here. Right now we are on the plane to our next destination, in first class of course, and my Kat is asleep beside me; she has never flown before now, so I think that her nervousness at take-off exhausted her.

The week started off with the Head of St. George’s specially escorting the two of us onto the train, an embarrassing bit of distinction from the treatment of the other departing students that is of a type with many other moments in my life where my father’s money and influence have been brought to bear to ensure my overprotection; really, I’d rather he just leave me be and not draw attention to me like that. That little spectacle over none too soon, we managed to find an empty compartment and spent the long journey south boning me up on the rather extensive catalog of relatives that were likely to show up at her parent’s place, especially once word got out that there was a rich girl staying the week – Kat answered my glare at that mention of my status with a shrug and a ‘I don’t hide things from my parents, sorry’. Needless to say, I was a bit worked up about the possibility of being gawked at like some kind of display specimen, but as it turned out, my anxiety was unwarranted.

Kat’s father, a huge bear of a man, greeted us at the station with a warm, enveloping hug for each of us, something that I found to be wonderful and yet totally overwhelming, as about the only hugs that I had ever received in my life up to that point had come from Rosaline or Kat; in fact, I should have guessed that Kat’s family would be big on physical affection, considering the fact that she rarely passes up an opportunity for a hug or a friendly squeeze, a habit that I have found more than a little frustrating, and addictive. I was told to go ahead and call the man Dad, which I also found to be nice after years of being told off if I ever called my own father anything other than the formal honorific.

‘Dad’ drove us out into the country to their worn but cozy home in a beaten old estate car affectionately named Winston after Prime Minister Churchill, which turned out to be amusingly appropriate. He seems to really love that vehicle, and spending a week enjoying its understated reliability and odd personality quirks, I’d have to say that I have a bit of affection for it myself. The place where my Kat grew up is largish, but things were still a bit crowded with the three girls still living at home being supplemented by Kat and myself; we shared her old room, which had been purloined when she left for school by the eldest sister, Ellen, who is eleven and about to replace Kat at St. George’s. Kat insisted on using the floor, but I eventually convinced her to join me in her bed, something that I found heavenly, and eventually quite convenient – but more about that later.

Kat’s mother is a lovely wisp of a woman, a tiny, graceful bundle of cheer that lights up the room when she enters. She is full of energy, always flitting about cleaning or cooking or mending things, but she always seems at ease, never manic or stressed as one might expect from someone like that. She is also incredibly easy to talk to, as I have discovered on multiple occasions over this past week. Just like Kat’s father, she insisted that I call her Mom, a gesture that brought tears to my eyes unbidden, so that I had to explain about my own mother’s absence from my life before I had even really gotten past the threshold, not the last time that I found myself confessing my deepest feelings to the unbelievably understanding woman, with one obvious exception of course.

We had a large family meal as soon as we arrived, and that was when I met the sisters three – Ellen, Stella and little Ginny. They are all within a few years in age of each other, and apparently had all been pleasant surprises after the long childless period following Kat’s birth. They are all also totally incorrigible and delightful girls, and I had a lot of fun playing big sister to them during my stay.

With the warm cheer of the place, it didn’t take me long to get comfortable there, and we ended up spending most of the week just relaxing, playing with the girls, socializing with Kat’s numerous relatives that dropped by, and wandering the countryside. It was on one such walk on the third day that I made my first move, having decided that just telling her about my feelings for her without preparation would be a bad idea. As I walked along beside her, I casually slipped my hand into hers, my heart racing half in fear that she might reject this minor overture, half in arousal at being able to have even this tiny, innocent amount of intimacy with my love. To my great and pleasant surprise, Kat reacted positively, smiling at me with affection and giving my hand a small squeeze as we continued on our way. Every walk after that has been done hand in hand.

It was on the penultimate night of our stay in that wonderful home that I will always cherish, that I found the courage to embrace my sleeping Kat from behind, spooning with her and caressing her lush form through the thin material of her nightshirt. My hands were shaking from my trepidation at first, but soon my growing arousal got the best of me and I started to become more aggressive in my explorations, gently fondling and kneading her body until we were both panting with need. She turned to me suddenly, having probably awoken sometime earlier, and pulled me close, pressing her breasts against mine and looking me in the eyes with an expression of pure love, and my vision swam with tears of happiness as my heart melted.

The next thing I knew, we were locked in a timeless kiss, while our hands roamed each other’s bodies. Neither of us knew what we were doing, but that didn’t matter, as our mutual passions overwhelmed us, bringing us to climaxes time and again, climaxes that for me at least were far greater in power than any I had ever been able to bring about on my own.

When morning came, we were still tangled together, our lusts sated for the nonce, looking deep into each other’s eyes and smiling. Suddenly realizing that this wasn’t a dream, I spontaneously broke into tears, unintentionally bringing a look of distress and alarm to Kat’s precious face. When she asked me what was wrong, it took me a long time to respond coherently that I was just too happy and relieved to keep it together, and she laughed lightly, telling me that she hoped that I wasn’t going to be like that every time we made love. That statement almost took me over the edge again, but I managed to channel my joy and amazement into a renewed bout of lustful exploration, this time culminating with my finally being able to taste her juices as I explored between her thighs with my tongue.

It was hours later, as we finally snuck to the shower together and cleaned each other off, that she confessed that she had felt an urge to get closer to me for a long time, but hadn’t figured out what it meant until she awoke to feel my hands touching her as a lover would. Neither one of us could figure out what we were going to do in the long run, and so we resolved to just enjoy this new aspect of our relationship and worry about the future when our trip is done; I can only hope that what we have is stronger than the complications that will face us then…

Addendum – We have arrived in Hong Kong, and are riding to my father’s apartments, which are on the upper floors of the huge building containing his corporate headquarters. I’m writing this while Kat squeezes my off hand reassuringly so that I can stay calm, but I can feel the panic welling up inside me – the driver has just informed me that not only will Benedick and Rosaline be joining us there, but so will my father, and he is throwing a party in honor of our collective graduations. My father is a master of reading people at a glance; how in the world will Kat and I be able to hide our forbidden relationship from him, and what will he do about it?

Oh God, we’re pulling up now, I have to go…wish me luck future reader, I think I’m going to need it…

[center]Entry Three[/center]

Wednesday, August 20, 1986

Oh God, they know! My whole family, such as it is, knows about us – how could they not, with how besotted Kat and I are with each other, and with this all being so new and overwhelming for us in the best of circumstances, and these are most definitely not the best of circumstances. Oh, how I wish that we could just go back home to stay with Kat’s family for the rest of our trip, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

I’m so worried and bewildered by all of this; none of the reactions that we have gotten have matched up at all with my expectations, and that fills me with apprehension when I try to think about what the individual intentions of my father and siblings might be for the rest of our time together, which is now apparently going to consist of most of the around the world trip that I had planned on spending alone with my Kat. In fact, right now the lot of us are on my father’s private jet, speeding towards his villa in Naples.

Rosaline, my sweet little Rosaline, read what was going on with us on our faces right off, and as soon as she could get us alone she was effusive with her blessings and joy at our good fortunes, bless her heart, but amidst the cheerful pattering of congratulations, I could sense a certain wistfulness and perhaps even envy that make me think that there is some dynamic here that I am missing, one that might complicate things greatly if I can’t figure it out and nip it in the bud.

Benedick hasn’t mentioned what he knows or how he feels, but I know him far too well by now not to be able to tell that he not only has seen through to the truth of things, he is also supremely jealous and seething with anger over it. I can perhaps understand the rage – after all, he is the heir to the throne, so to speak, and has to look out for the family’s reputation and good name almost as much as my father does now that he is of age, but as to the jealousy, I can’t even begin to guess as to the origin or meaning of that one. I just have to hope that my dear moody brother can reign himself in and not do anything foolish or nasty during his time with us.

As for my father, well, that’s my really big worry; he knows, I’m sure of it, yet he hasn’t really reacted at all as I had anticipated. He has been as gracious and friendly with my Kat as I have ever seen him being with anyone that he wasn’t in the process of wooing, and was in fact the one that insisted on making this whole trip a family excursion, telling us that he wanted to take the time to get to know her.

Kat is reacting much better to all of this than I am. She has always gotten along well with Rosaline, and looks on her a bit too much as a little sister to see the changes that I have noticed in her since we arrived – the emotions are just too grown up for Kat to associate them with my innocent looking sister. As far as Benedick goes, Kat can easily see the resentment in his eyes, but she insists that it will pass if we just try to win him over – after all, he always has been focused on trying to make me happy, and Kat is the joy in my life now. Finally there is my father, who seems to have charmed her quite effectively, to the point that I’m afraid that he might be trying to destabilize this new relationship, something that I wouldn’t put past him with his insidious, scheming ways.

The party itself was actually enjoyable enough to help distract me for the most part from my worries over my family, as many fascinating people made my acquaintance and seemed extremely interested in my plans for the future. One young couple in particular spent a great deal of time with Kat and I, becoming friendly enough with us that we went to dinner with them the following two nights. They introduced themselves as Jack and Patricia Harrison, and they are incredibly lovely people inside and out.

Patricia is pregnant with their first child, just starting to show, and the pride and joy on their faces when they talk about it just makes them glow, and when I am around them I can’t resist dreaming a little about someday having a little baby of my own growing inside me – from the way Kat keeps smiling and touching her own stomach on those occasions I think that they are putting similar thoughts into her head, and that just makes me desire the Harrison’s company even more.

From that Sunday evening until last night, Kat and I found ourselves being taken around Hong Kong by a variety of my father’s associates, which was a bit galling in that it took away time that I had wanted to spend alone with my love, but in the end I think that it was probably more of a blessing since those excursions meant that I didn’t have to spend much time with my family and the attendant anxiety that they are giving me. Kat of course was just delighted to be touring around such an exotic setting, and her excitement was infectious, not just for me but for our guides as well.

Nights have been a relief for me, as Kat’s room is connected to mine, and we have been sneaking into each other’s beds once everyone else has called it a night. Those times of pure love and intimacy have been my lifeline, keeping me anchored and centered through the stresses of our all too crowded daylight activities. We have been steadily improving in our lovemaking techniques, mostly thanks to an anonymous donation of certain pornographic materials that I believe came from Rosaline, though how she got such things on such short notice is beyond me; Kat dismisses the possibility of course, with her image of my sister as the innocent girl still stuck in her mind, and she thinks that our new patron saints, the Harrisons, are responsible.

Thanks to a very late night session with Kat, I awoke this morning pretty short on sleep, and not at all prepared to spend most of my day cooped up in a jet with a rather fawning Rosaline and a Benedick who refuses to look me in the eye; the only saving grace of this flight is that my father has spent the whole trip in his little office area getting ahead on his work with his leggy secretary – I wonder if he’s copping off with the little slag back there. He probably is, I’ve seen him do his best to get into the knickers of any number of women and girls over the years, despite, or perhaps because of, the ever changing ring on his finger.

Oh, we’re landing soon; I’ll update you when I get a chance.

Addendum – It’s still the twentieth, barely. Everyone’s asleep, and I just had to tell you about this. Since Kat and I were pretty exhausted from our long session the night before, we begged off socializing once we reached the villa, and retired to our rooms while the rest of them went off to some restaurant or another. We thought we were alone, so I snuck into Kat’s bed for a snuggle and snog, nothing more though, since we really were tired. We were just drifting off peacefully, with me spooning up behind Kat, when I felt someone getting into the bed and spooning up behind me! By the small hands and breasts pressing into me, I knew that it was Rosaline, and I froze, totally lost as to what I should do.

It felt like forever that we stayed in that formation before my sister moved again, and when she did I could no longer pretend to be asleep, because she crawled right up between Kat and I, turned us both towards her, and started to kiss us each in turn – and these weren’t the kisses of a friend or sister either, they were deep and loving and full of a passion that I have never felt other than with Kat. I’m so ashamed and confused; while I froze at the intensity of her kiss at first, the moment her tongue touched my lips something broke inside me and I returned her passion in kind! What have I done? I mean, we didn’t make love or anything, but those were not innocent gestures of endearment! Sigh, I suppose we’ll just have to sort this out when we all wake up again – for now I’m going to shut away my guilt, get comfortable amidst the tangle of my two favorite people in the world, and try to find some measure of peace in my dreams…

[center]Entry Four[/center]

Thursday, August 28, 1986

Why didn’t I see all of this coming? I’m a reasonably intelligent and observant person, and the signs were all there for me to read, enough so that they were making me uneasy, so why couldn’t I fit the pieces together before things slammed me in the face?

As I’m writing this, I’m once again being zipped across the globe by my father’s jet, but this time I don’t have the comfort of my Kat’s presence to keep my centered, and it feels as if my world is spinning apart around me. At least Benedick, my looming keeper, has finally fallen asleep so that I can commune with these pages in peace.

When I awoke on our first full day in lovely Naples, I found myself being subjected to the most wondrous of attentions, as four hands and two mouths worked on all of the most sensitive, erotic areas of my body; if you’ve never had your body worshipped by two people that love you as you gradually come up from the depths of sleep, you haven’t lived. My mind still fogged by sleep, I kept my eyes shut and just allowed the sensations to envelope me, no thoughts running through my mind at all as I wallowed in the pure hedonism of the moment, until I finally reached a climax shattering enough that one of my lovers had to clamp her mouth over my own to dampen my cries of ecstasy.

Slowly coming down from that incredible high, there were tears of utter contentment in my eyes as I finally opened them and looked straight up into my Kat’s smiling face. “Good morning sleepy head.” was the greeting that I received from her, followed by a “Nice that you could join us beautiful.” from between my spread thighs. Recognition of that second voice took me a moment, as my mind just couldn’t quite connect it with the scenario that I found myself in, but when it finally registered that I just heard my sister Rosaline casually talking to me with her face inches away from my freshly stimulated sex, I suddenly sat up and stared around me in alarm.

Before I could work up a good anxiety attack, they were on me, Kat stroking my hair soothingly and making little shushing noises while Rosaline pushed back on my shoulders with surprising strength for her diminutive stature, gently forcing me back down onto the bed. I whimpered somewhat pathetically and closed my eyes as I gave in to them. “What have we done, this is wrong, so wrong…” My weak protests were easily stopped by a finger over my mouth.

Rosaline was the one who started their work on me. “Miranda dear, think about it a moment; if this was so wrong, how could you have been so happy just a moment ago. I know you love me as much as I love you, I’ve seen it in your eyes so many times.”

I wanted to deny her, but I knew that she was right; I had always felt a tenderness towards her that was entirely inappropriate in its intensity. I decided to opt for the legal and moral argument. “It doesn’t matter, this is incest, we can’t be doing this!”

Small lips kissed my still rock hard nipples, drawing an unwilling moan of pleasure from me. “Can, did, and will again dear sister. Think about it – we can’t make a baby no matter how hard we try, and what you already have with Kat is nearly as frowned upon by society as what I want with you, so what’s the sense in moralizing ourselves into misery over this. Just open up to it, let it happen, and I promise that I’ll make you both happier than you can imagine.” I tried to protest again, and this time was stymied by a long, tender kiss from her perfect lips that simply blanked my mind out for a moment. “Can’t you see, Kat has already accepted this for what it really is: destiny, fate…we’re connected, the three of us, please just try to see that…”

I opened my eyes to see Kat nodding emphatically as each of them took one of my hands and pulled me up into a sitting position. Before I could gather my wits, they were enveloping me in a dual embrace that was just too lovely for words, and I felt myself giving in; I just love the both of them far too much to deny them anything, and to be honest, the memories of the short time that I was able to spend as the warm center of their universe is all that is keeping me from losing it in my current predicament.

Over the following week, we three were inseparable as we wandered everywhere and did our best to avoid my father with his cold, calculating eyes, and most especially my brother, whose mood had been growing progressively darker and more dangerous as time wore on. My god, why didn’t I see that they were building up to something horrid?

My father’s villa is a very old one, as are most of its companions on Posillipo Hill, a beautiful, peaceful area with a splendid view over the gulf that is incredibly relaxing to just walk about in. We did a lot of that, but we also wandered through the mazelike Quartieri spagnoli, rode on the Montesanto cable railway, and took in the myriad of beautiful churches, monuments, museums and castles in the area. We ended each day exhausted and happy, and somehow sexually energized enough to end up spending most nights making love to each other until we passed out in the wee hours of morning, awakening at dawn in a hopeless tangle of limbs before sneaking to the huge shower together. In short, it was the greatest, most heavenly week of my life.

All things must end, and my happiness did this evening after we returned from an excursion out to see Vesuvius, Pompeii and Herculaneum – an exhausting trip because of the (quite worthwhile) 1000 meter climb on foot to reach Vesuvius’s crater. My father and brother were waiting for us, and while father poured the girls some wine and regaled them with some tale of his past exploits in the area, Benedick drew me away into another wing of the villa.

As soon as we were out of sight and ear shot, he was on me, pinning me against the wall with his large, muscular body and holding me steady with a hand tight around my throat so that he could assault my lips with his own. I pounded at his chest with my trapped arms and tried desperately to push him away, but he was just too strong for me. My mind was all in a whirl, unable to cope with this sudden turn of events.

When the brute finally broke his forced kiss, my lips were swollen and bloodied, and I was sobbing too hard from my pain and confusion to get out a word before his hand was covering my mouth. When he spoke to me, his voice was like a knife stabbing at me. “You’re mine, you were always mine. Father promised you or Rosaline to me long ago, and now that he’s ready for us to take over from him, I can finally get my pick…and you’re it baby, you’re all mine and your little lovers in there are going to have to live without you. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be able to comfort each other just fine.”

I was shaking my head, trying to deny what was happening, what I was being told, when I saw my father walk into the darkened room with a grim smile on his face, and I felt my legs start to collapse as that silent confirmation of my brother’s insinuations took the wind out of me. I could feel the tears splashing down my cheeks as a helpless whimper started to come from me unbidden; somehow I just knew that they had some plan to force me to go along with them, and I was right.

After my own father shoved a ball gag into my mouth and secured my wrists and ankles with some rope, Benedick carried me back into the family area, where my sweet lovers were peacefully slumbering on the couch together, their glasses lying spilled beside them. They had obviously been drugged, and I suppose that it is a good sign of my lack of respect for my father’s scruples that I found myself sighing in relief that he hadn’t poisoned them instead.

Setting me face down on a tall ottoman, my brother proceeded to pull up my dress and tug down my knickers, and then he unceremoniously shoved himself into my bone dry vagina, brutally tearing away my virginity as I sobbed and grunted into my gag, with not a care for the excruciating pain that he was causing me. My father knelt beside me and held me steady for his son’s incestuous act, all the while carefully explaining to me just what was in store for me and why, and what would happen if I balked him in this.

Apparently, my father is involved in a lot more than just shipping and charity work; he is also a key player in the underground sex slave trade, and has a slave training operation that he is more than a little proud of. It’s that part of his empire that has made what they are doing to me a necessity.

My father has been grooming Rosaline and I as partners for Benedick without our being aware of it, since his heir does not have the patience or subtlety to run things himself, but because of the extremely illegal nature of what father considers the most important part of his legacy, Benedick’s partner must be one in every respect, to make her more controllable. Apparently, I’m allowed to refuse this abomination that is being pressed upon me, but if I do, my sweet little Rosaline will be forced into the same position I am now in, and I will find myself enslaved and my well being or even survival will be hostage to her good behavior.

Around the time that I felt the warmth of my brother’s seed filling my all too fertile womb, and the horror of a possible pregnancy was about to send me spiraling down into the abyss of insanity, my father informed me of the last nail in the coffin of my freedom. If I cooperate, my lovers will awaken to a note from me breaking things off with them for the good of the family and telling them to make each other happy for me, and they will never see me again, allowing them to hopefully move on with their lives. If I don’t cooperate, not only will Rosaline pay the price, but my darling Kat will be used as an object lesson in the price of resistance. I have been promised in no uncertain terms that her fate would be unbelievably cruel and final, and I believe it.

I had no choice, I couldn’t let those things happen to my loves, and so I wrote my note, gave each of my sleeping beauties a final kiss goodbye, and exited from their lives forever, meekly following my father and brother to the car and into a future that I find horrifying and devoid of hope.

Twice since that initial rape my brother has enjoyed my charms, and both times I had to be motivated with pain to do anything other than lay there like a piece of meat. I’ve tried desperately to clean myself of his leavings, but I know that my efforts may very well be for naught. What a terrible place I find myself in, bound for a locus of human suffering that I will have to learn how to run, set to have my identity altered to allow me to wed my own half-brother, who seems intent on putting an abomination in my belly, and worst of all, totally bereft of the support of the only two people in this world that really matter to me.

I am cursed, doomed to follow in the tradition of tragedy that my father’s sainted Bard worked so well with…

[center][color=blue:2bdcfk2g]Continued below…[/color:2bdcfk2g][/center]

NEXT POST

[center]Interlude One[/center]

Noting that the rest of the pages in the first journal were empty, and aching in her heart for what had befallen the poor girl that had written in it, Melody shut the volume and turned to give the shell of a woman that was all that remained of Miranda a tight hug. “Oh Mir, you were so brave, how could you stand it? I don’t even know if I can bear it if it got any worse for you…”

Needing a break before she tackled any more of Miranda’s journals, Melody went to the earliest photo album so that she could see what these people looked like. Her father and his first wife were easy to identify of course, and she had to admit that they did indeed look radiantly happy together, and more than a little gorgeous. Also easy to identify was Katherine, thanks to the detailed description of her in the journal. The girl was indeed the epitome of sweetness, and absolutely delectable.

Miranda’s family took a little more guesswork, but the resemblance was there enough that Melody was able to identify them in fairly short order. The patriarch of the family was quite handsome, but now that she knew to look for it, she could see that there was a disturbing coldness to him. His son was big, really big, and intimidating, with a face that was handsome when smiling, but frighteningly brooding otherwise. Finally Rosaline really did look sweet and innocent, a tiny woman child, but there was a sultry, rampant sensuality in her posture and big dark eyes that made her a bit of a paradox, the image of a virgin whore, or a sweet angel more than ready to throw in with Satan’s crew just for that taste of rebellion.

Melody’s study of the pictures was suddenly interrupted by swift pattering of feet from the door to the bed, followed swiftly by someone throwing themselves on it behind her. Long slender arms wrapped around her and long raven hair tickled her face as her ear was nipped at playfully. “Hey sis, watcha lookin’ at? Ohhh, is that Mir? Gosh she’s young!”

Melody rolled her eyes and turned a bit to look at her sister; for a girl that was several inches over six feet in height with the looks of a Victoria’s Secret model, she was awfully childlike sometimes. “Yes Michelle, that’s Mir, when she was your age in fact. I was just starting to read her journals, and I took a break to see what some of the people looked like. Now, can you say whatever it was you came here to say so that I can get back to them? And please, don’t talk like one of the slave whelps, you’ve had the finest education money can buy, don’t embarrass mom like that.”

Michelle responded with a loud raspberry. “Whatever sis, stop acting like you’re in charge…oh crap, that’s right, mom did leave you in charge…” The girl broke out into giggles. “Okay, I’ll spill, but then you just have to let me check this out too.”

Melody sighed in exasperation; Michelle was her favorite sister and pretty much best friend, but her hyperactive nature and general good-natured perkiness could try the patience of a saint sometimes. “Sure, fine, now out with it.”

The hammy teen went into full gossip mode. “Okay, you know how mom is going to throw that b-day party for her sisters when she gets back? Of course you do, anyway, Kate and Elizabeth said that they’re going to enter into one of the games behind her back! Sounds kind of exciting, I wonder what kind of game they’ll end up playing…” Michelle trailed off as she finally noticed the dark look in Melody’s eyes. “Oh crap, they’re in trouble, aren’t they? What’re you going to do?”

Melody closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, a task that her sister quickly took over for her. “There’s not a whole lot that I can do, other than taking this to mom, but yeah, they’re in trouble. The problem is, it’s not trouble with mom or me that they should be worried about. I overheard mom and dad talking about the party games, and even if the twins knew what they were doing, which they really don’t, they still probably wouldn’t survive the night. Those games are mean, I mean really mean, as in two out of three of them are there mostly to provide the meat for the big dinner. And that’s not even counting the fact that even if they survive the games, they’ll be unescorted amongst a bunch of really worked up Masters and Mistresses after having demonstrated reckless and submissive behavior. They’ll be eaten alive, maybe literally.”

Melody opened her eyes to see her sheltered sister clamp her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and horrified. When her hands finally came down a bit so that she could talk, her voice was squeaky. “Oh my gosh, they’re gonna die?”

Melody so wished that she could take hold of her sister and comfort her, but she instead forced her voice to remain firm and steely, so that she could get the point across. “Most likely, yes. And probably in some unbelievably painful manner as well. Please believe me, I’ve been to these kinds of parties, and those two are putting their names on the platters with this plan, and if you or Annie tag along, I’ll be eating you at that dinner as well.”

Michelle started to shake as tears rolled down her face, and Melody, her point taken properly, relented to her instincts and enfolded the distraught girl in her arms. “Hey girl, let’s just read Mir’s journals, okay? I’ve been looking to see if they can help me with my own decision, and maybe they’ll point us in the right direction for this problem too…” Melody gave her sister a gentle kiss, and smiled as her taller, stronger sibling pulled her into a tight hug. Suddenly enveloped in the scent of Michelle’s body and hair, Melody was lost for a moment in images from the journals, of Miranda’s forbidden and doomed affair with Rosaline, and she had to swiftly pull away as her heart started to race and an urge to kiss her sister more deeply than was appropriate nearly overwhelmed her.

Taking a shaky breath, Melody clutched at the next volume while passing the one she had just finished over to Michelle, and then she tried to clear her mind for the task at hand, hoping that she hadn’t just found yet another quandary to trouble her…

[center]Second Journal – Entry One[/center]

Monday, December 29, 1986

My old life and self are gone, and I have no wish to see the memories of those times poisoned by what I am being forced to become, so I am starting my entries anew here. It’s just as well, since a large amount of time has passed since I have been able to get my fortitude up to relate what has been happening, and also because my imagined audience is now some faceless team of investigators and prosecutors reviewing my family’s case before seeing us sentenced to our well deserved executions. I think that I would embrace such an eventuality as a rescue, even if it should result in my defamation and death.

I am currently trapped in the middle of some godforsaken jungle, a prisoner without visible bonds, and Mistress in training to the poor wretches that pass in and out of here on their personal journeys of indentured suffering. But don’t assume that I am residing in some hut without electricity or running water; I am in fact living in the lap of luxury and excess. My father has built a virtual palace here, and outfitted it with every modern convenience that there is, and he has also provided me with top notch tutoring in slave training, business management and my own chosen subject of biochemistry. He has even set me up with a marvelous lab with which to pursue my studies!

Despite all of the amenities that I have been provided with, the exquisite food and the fawning slaves ready to attend to my every need, I am still a wretched, abused thing, a victim of the transformation my father is forcing upon me and of the twisted whims of my brother and soon to be husband. Oh yes, both of those men in my life have been all too successful in their endeavors with me, and the thought of what I am becoming makes me sick.

Let us start with my brother, who is preparing me for that forbidden and all too swiftly approaching ceremony by raping me at least twice daily, often with an imaginative application of pain added for his gratification, along with supplying me with regular doses of humiliation and degradation so that I may more quickly learn my place. If those were the only things that I had to deal with from him, I would probably be fine, but they aren’t, for he has been successful in the one endeavor that was guaranteed to break me – he has impregnated me. I am now three months along, not far enough to really show or for me to be affected in my daily routines, but it has been enough to plague me with nightmare visions of some warped monstrosity tearing free from my womb and killing me before going out to terrorize the world; needless to say, I have not slept well in quite some time.

Meanwhile, my father’s work with me has proceeded at an impressive pace, and we have discovered much to my shame that I am naturally adept at both ruthless business dealings and the shaping of a slave’s mind to my will. Already I have been instrumental in crushing a pair of small companies that my father saw as threats to his domination of their local markets, and on the other side of the coin, I now have several dozen slaves that are under my personal supervision and training that have obedience and loyalty levels far beyond the norm. At least I can say that my slaves are so loyal to me because they know that although I might punish them most severely, or even snuff their lives out, I truly do care for most of them as individuals; I’m careful not to show it to my tutors, my father or my brother, but my slaves can see it in my eyes and hear it in my voice anyway.

Although punishment and toughening sessions with the slaves in my care are so common that they have begun to blur together, I will never forget the first that I had to personally administer. It was after about a month of observation and theory building, along with low impact training exercises with my first small group of appointed slaves, that I was finally told that I would be dealing with a slave’s torture unguided. I was not told ahead of time which slave was to be my victim, and the thought of it being one of my favorites filled me with dread as I entered what has become my personal torture room.

I needn’t have worried; my tutors had made the selection, not the cruel males of my family, and so their choice was perfect. Her name had been Tiffany just a few weeks before, when she was a college freshman and a popular cheerleader, but since her capture and enslavement she had only the designation of slave 2246; we were waiting for her dehumanization to run its course before we were going to give her a slave name. When I saw her hanging there in chains before me, I spontaneously decided on her name, but we’ll get to that momentarily.

The reason why this particular slave was such a perfect choice was that despite the fact that her perfectly toned body, clean good looks and adorably sheltered upbringing were like an aphrodisiac for me, I found her spoiled, whining and narcissistic personality and continuous refusal to obey even the simplest of commands absolutely infuriating. The moment that I saw that she was to be my victim, all doubt fled my mind and I felt myself moistening rapidly, and the question became less of whether I would hurt her, but more of whether I would be able to stop.

Mindful of my training, I started her pain and discomfort at low levels while I worked on her degradation and humiliation, starting with the assigning of her new name and duties – cunt-licker, my new living personal gratification device. I ran through the crop, cane, several styles of whip, the rack, a dozen pins in choice bits of her anatomy and a number of clamps and vacuum devices before I broke her enough that she finally gave in and used her mouth to bring me to orgasm, but that wasn’t enough for me by that point; I was too worked up – I needed to truly break the bitch and make her mine forever.

After receiving a confirmation from my tutors that I could take cunt-licker as my personal slave, and thus would be allowed to permanently mark her, I first took advantage of her amazing flexibility to tie her in the most dreadfully painful of configurations of body and limb that I could come up with, which left her absolutely unable to move a single part of her body and exposed her abdomen, torso and face to my out of control impulses. I then ordered the presence of the Slave Stable’s surgeon and the best body artist on the staff.

When they arrived, I gave them a series of commands that horrify me as I write about them, yet I also find myself incredibly aroused when I contemplate the results; truly I am becoming a monster. First came the surgery, one that I have decided to hold in reserve for only the most special of my slaves, although I intend to vary it depending on what makes a particular slave special; in this case cunt-licker is special because of how she brings out the sadist in me, and so I went all the way with the procedure, to her great and lasting distress. First the slave’s entire outer genitalia was removed – her inner and outer labia, clitoral hood, and most devastatingly the clitoris itself; all were deeply excised and cauterized. Next, I had her finger and toe nails permanently removed by having them cut out at the growth plate, so that I would never have to worry about being scratched by her. The third procedure was touchy, as her Uvula was cut down to barely a nub and her soft palate was lightly scared, both procedures designed to reduce or remove her gag reflex, and both tricky operations because they could have caused her to have problems with food going up into her nasal passage – luckily the surgeon is truly a master of his craft, and so we were successful in our endeavors without any long term side effects. Finally, while the surgeon was in her mouth anyway, the edges of her rich-girl-perfect teeth were carefully filed smooth and round to make it more difficult for her to hurt someone with them without taking away from those fresh good looks that I lust over so much.

By the time we had reached her mouth, my slave was almost catatonic from the unmitigated pain and emotional shock of what we were doing to her. Through whispers in her ear, I made sure with every step that she understood that she was being turned into a sex toy, something capable only of giving pleasure, never receiving, and it shames me to say that even the memories of her responding whimpers and tears of despair can induce me into a frenzied masturbatory session.

Medical procedures finished, the surgeon left his assistants to help keep my slave aware but stable, and the body artist was able to take his turn. First came the peircings – a cute little naval ring, much thicker rings through the base of her nipples, a bar through her tongue which has a small convenient ring at one end to clip a chain to, and a tiny emerald stud in her left nostril, the first and last peircings being merely to accentuate that spoiled princess look that so arouses me, and the others for more practical reasons.

The peircings were followed up by a careful tracing out of her new name with a red-hot poker around her pretty little naval, which was then touched up with colorful ink. That finally brought her back to life again, drawing forth screams of pain that were raw and intense. When we untied her and turned her over for her final decoration, she was a limp, sobbing wreck, a mere shadow of the proud young woman she had been on entering that chamber. We didn’t even have to restrain her for the many hours long ink-job that permanently marked her with my accursed family seal – a huge eagle, with its wings outspread and its talons digging deeply into the globe of the Earth beneath it.

As soon as the inking was done, I had my new slave suspended by her wrists and surrounded by tall looking glasses, so that she could see what she had been made into as I repeated my descriptions of her new lot in life and my role in it. I then left her there for the rest of the night to contemplate it all, and when I returned in the morning and released her from her bonds, I found her to be the most docile, obedient slave on the grounds. Ever since, I have kept her as my personal companion, leading her everywhere by chains attached to her nipple rings or tongue, and she has served me so well that I have begun a slight rehabilitation of her as a reward, encouraging her to express her personality and individuality while keeping her willpower in the grave, by teaching her to take pride in her status as a perfect slave and her Mistress’s favorite. I have even gone so far as to give her back her original name in modified form, so that she is now my tiff-slave; I cringe to admit this, but I do believe that she is the only thing left to me that I love.

Ah, speaking of a lack of love, my soon to be husband is calling me to his bed once again, and he sounds like he’s in the mood to hurt me, so I had better hurry to him and continue to relate what has been happening on the morrow…

[center]Journal Two – Entry Two[/center]

Tuesday, December 30, 1986

Forgive me if my handwriting is not very legible; my muscles are all still recovering from last night. When I arrived for that last session with my brother, he announced that in the next few days we will be heading for my father’s ‘home club’, whatever that means, for the wedding preliminaries, and that he didn’t want me to arrive there with any marks – it would embarrass him and my father, heaven forbid. His solution was to apply extremely heavy electroshocks to every inch of my body to encourage the screams and tears and writhing that he so loves as accompaniment to his more mundane but still painful abuses of my various orifices. God, how my body aches from that, but worse for me is my memories of how he so masterfully manipulated my body to bring me to multiple climaxes, but only at the heights of my torment. He does this every time he rapes me, except when he has a slave brought in to be our ‘entertainment’, in which case he simply times my forced orgasms to the suffering and occasional snuffing of the poor wretches, and I can sense my sexual patterns slowly realigning to compensate; I am all too certain that soon my climaxes will be tied to pain and fear, either my own or that of another, and it makes me weep to think that I may never again be able to enjoy the kind of gentle lovemaking that I had with my Kat and Rosaline.

Ah, speaking of my lost loves, my captors have been less than forthcoming when I have inquired about their whereabouts and well-being, but I have managed to glean a few tidbits of information from what responses I have received; apparently after they awoke to find my note taking permanent leave of them, they retreated to Kat’s family in their distress, and transferred to a more local Uni so that they could stay there together. It makes me happy to imagine them there in that comfy home, sharing a love that I can no longer be a part of, and hopefully finding joy in each other.

At least I can still indulge myself in a little gentle intimacy with my tiff-slave and a few other choice girls that I am training. Right at this moment in fact, tiff and my favorite out of my newest batch of slaves, a sweet, loving, cuddly thing formerly named Racheal (I now call her rache) that has worshipped me since I first took charge of her, are in the process of tenderly massaging my sore body as a preliminary to using their wonderful mouths on me. I take only a small comfort in their love for me however, since they are pretty much the only slaves in the Stables that don’t have more than a hint of wariness and fear of me mixed in with their loyalty or adoration – I’ve snuffed out a few too many lives for them to react to me in any other way.

Unlike torture sessions, every snuff is an event that I commit firmly to memory; I owe those poor girls that much at least. The first time I saw a snuff, a simple beheading of a worn out breeder, I vomited all over the place and couldn’t sleep for days. By the time I was first tasked with ending the life of a slave with my own hands, I was fully capable of not only keeping my wits about me in the face of death, but also of becoming aroused by it.

My instructors once again showed their expertise and good judgment by arranging that first killing so that I would have the four oldest breeder slaves to choose from; none of them were very familiar to me, so there were no personal attachments to overcome, all of them were scheduled to die within the month regardless of the outcome of that session, eliminating that source of guilt, and finally these were women that had been slaves for a decade or more, and so they were very well trained and cooperative.

That was my first opportunity to work closely with truly mature women, so I took advantage of the situation, drawing the choosing process out over an entire day so that I could test their obedience, their responses to bondage, fear, pain and pleasure, and most of all each slave’s ability to bring me to orgasm. I’m glad that I went to such lengths to try them out, because that allowed me to find a slave that has since become indispensable to me, but more about her later.

Now please don’t think that I went into that situation thinking that it was some game, or that I take the subject of murder lightly; despite my sexual responses to these situations, I am profoundly affected by the taking of a human life, and if I could refuse such duties without placing my Kat and Rosaline in danger, I would, regardless of the consequences to me personally. It simply must be understood that the only way to live with such things as torture and murder happening so frequently around you and maintain your sanity, is for you to find some kind of pleasure in those things; I have found mine in the reading of my victim’s eyes and faces, trying to see their souls so that I may know what they are thinking and feeling as their mortality confronts them with utter, undeniable finality. I have found that each slave faces pain and death differently, each one providing me with a completely unique window on human nature, and each such experience is breathtaking and incredibly erotic. I know that I am going to Hell, if there is such a place, but don’t assume that I have chosen the path that will take me there.

At any rate, when it finally came time for me to choose and execute one of those four, I found that I was unable to decide anything other than that one of them, a woman in her mid thirties named meg that all of the others looked to for guidance, was not only going to survive that day, but was going to become my own personal slave and eventually my assistant in running the Stables. Knowing that they would never choose meg, and wanting to see what would happen, I left the choice of victim up to the slaves. That was perhaps an unkindness, but in the end it got me the result that I needed, and swiftly, as the youngest of them, a sultry Brazilian girl in her late twenties named adrianna that barely spoke enough English to get her point across, declared vehemently that she was going to be the one to die that day; apparently she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and thus had a death sentence anyway (only very special slaves are given anything more than the most basic of medical care, as they are considered disposable) – it would have helped my decision making process greatly if I had known that ahead of time, and I decided right then that meg’s first duty as my assistant once I am officially placed in charge is going to be a reworking of the records system of the Stables so that I will eventually have all of the information I need on a slave at my fingertips.

As a reward for adrianna’s bravery and self-sacrifice, I left the method of her dispatch to her, and her choice intrigues me to this day; she wanted to be slaughtered exactly like a pig so that she could be cooked up and served to her companions in the breeding stalls. Now, I had been aware of the cannibalistic nature of some of the menu of foods available to me, but up to that point I had little temptation to sample such fare, and not even Benedick had pressed the issue. This, however, was different, and I not only felt obligated to eat some of this slave, I was fascinated by the very idea of consuming the flesh of someone that I knew in life.

As requested, I took the slave across the grounds to the slaughtering rooms and enlisted the aid of the kitchen staff so that things would be done properly. We strung her up by her ankles, tied her hands together behind her back, and placed a large tub under her inverted head. I stripped naked, and then after being given the appropriate blade I crouched down a bit so that I could look into my first kill’s big, dark eyes as I carefully placed the blade at the side of her neck as instructed. I paused for a moment, seeing the fear in her eyes warring with a strange longing, and then she smiled at me and nodded slightly, and I swiftly stabbed the long, thin blade into her neck and out the other side. I withdrew the blade after taking a split second to make sure that it had passed through her major arteries and veins properly, and her hot blood splashed me as it gushed out of her. I could have simply slit her neck entirely, but I didn’t think that it was necessary for her to deal with asphyxia on top of bleeding to death, and so I went with the more elegant method. I wanted to keep her from panicking in her last moments, so I placed my cheek against hers and told her to tell me what she was thinking and feeling as her life faded; she instead whispered her last confession out to me, as much as she could in the brief time left to her that is, and I truly hope that it gave her comfort before those beautiful eyes became fixed and glazed.

As soon as I was sure that adrianna was dead, I started to rub her blood into my breasts and sex, and I instantly started to cum, writhing in the tub of hot blood without any regard for my bemused audience. After I came down a bit, and hosed off enough that I wasn’t going to be a walking safety hazard, I started her gutting and butchering, following the instructions of the staff butcher carefully as I went about the unpleasant task personally, from start to finish, in the same exact manner as one would with a pig; I even scalded her to loosen her skin and removed it in a single piece after I cut off her head, hands and feet. Her skin and head I sent out to be turned into my very first slaving trophies, and the rest of her carcass was left hanging in halves in the cooler other than the special cuts I had chosen for myself and her friends.

That night, after a long bath and shower to cleanse the gore from my body, I enjoyed my first taste of human flesh, and it was magnificent. I was addicted from the first bite, and although it damns me, I have not looked back since.

During that meal, I informed slave-meg of her new duties, and her remaining friends in the breeding stalls were ecstatic; that night they showed their gratitude by showing me the many tricks they had learned to pleasure each other between breeding session, while the two slaves still scheduled to die hung themselves for me after finding out how my ability to find sexual release had been twisted by my brother.

Mmm, my adorable rache is kissing her way up my legs from my toes, so I had better leave off here and get back to you after we arrive at my father’s club…

[center]Journal Two – Entry Three[/center]

Friday, January 2, 1987

Picture this in your mind – an estate in Colorado, in the sub-alpine zone of the Rockies, consisting primarily of vast swathes of primeval forest and accessible only through the most obscure of roads and a private airstrip, isolated from any prying eyes and yet within a marginally convenient driving distance of the huddle of towns and small cities that contain nearly all of the state’s population. Now place in the middle of said estate a large number of impressive mansion style buildings and a collection of more utilitarian structures such as stables, and connect them all through a giant underground complex that contains everything from standard luxuries such as Olympic swimming pools and spas to more nightmarish fare like a series of more than fully equipped dungeons, film studios for creating underground porn and multitudinous slave holding areas. Finally, have the government and other entities responsible for mapping and such completely ignore the existence of the place, other than to quiet any inquiries made into it, and there you have Club Shadowlands, my father’s home Club and the touchstone for his illegal operations.

Right now I am sitting at a bay window in my spacious, well appointed fourth floor suite within the central lodging facility, looking out across the dark blankets of fir and spruce trees to the looming mountains that dominate this landscape. At the moment much of the view of that great range is obscured by dark, brooding clouds, a perfect match to my own mood as I consider my position here.

Last night, my father arrived at the Stables in his signature private jet to pick up Benedick and me, along with a few slaves. I was allowed to pick two of my girls to accompany me, and I of course chose tiff and rache, leaving meg to keep order amongst my personal slaves. Even though our plans call for us to be gone from the Stables for a fortnight at the least, I was told to pack lightly, and when I arrived here I discovered why; a huge and widely varied new wardrobe has been tailored to my measurements and packed into every available inch of closet and drawer space in this suite, which I have been told is permanently reserved for me. The clothing ranges in style from subdued but still attractive business wear to sexy little things designed to accentuate my lean frame and on into fetish-wear and costumes such as schoolgirl and cheerleader outfits. The piece de resistance of course is my dreaded wedding gown, a spectacular thing that uses up yards and yards of silk and lace while somehow still managing to reveal far too much of my legs and bosom for comfort, made worse by the accompanying corset which will painfully constrict my now slightly rounded tummy and push up my modest breasts into little pillows seemingly destined to fall right out of the dress, and precariously high heeled stiletto pumps – I threw up when they had me try the thing on.

On the long flight here, I was brought up to speed on this whole Club thing by my father, a relief for me as it meant that Benedick had to leave me be the whole time, thought he made me pay for that in pain when we finally arrived.

Apparently there is an extensive network of Clubs like this one scattered across the globe, the majority of which my father is a member of, but this particular one, Club Shadowlands, is where he originally joined, back when I was a baby and we actually lived in this area. What I learned next shocked me beyond words. Security and loyalty of members and staff of the Clubs is maintained through a combination of careful tracking of loved ones with the understanding that they will suffer for any misbehavior, and a filmed initiation that requires the prospective member to murder someone that they have ties to. My father’s initiation victim was my mother, a fact that probably shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did, and I am now tortured by a ghoulish urge to see the film of that fateful, final encounter between the two people that made me.

My father was quite matter of fact in telling me these things, and in implying that my mother was not the only one of his wives to die at one of these Clubs; he was a little less casual in his statement that I will have to pass my own initiation before the wedding, which is only a few days off now, and that he doesn’t know who my victim will be. I have spent the last twenty four hours wracking my brains for possible girls that meet their requirements, one of which is a that they must be of the age of consent in the area they are snatched from (this seems to be more for practical reasons of drawing minimal attention than from any moral or ethical stand), and all of the candidates that I have been able to come up with, and there aren’t many, fill me with dread.

Just before I started this entry, my tiff and rache dressed me in a latex cat suit in preparation for my swiftly approaching initiation, after having relaxed me a bit in my newly accustomed fashion by using their hands and mouths to get me off whilst some poor Club slave tortured herself with needles and clamps. I find it hard to believe that I have grown so comfortable with such behavior and attire in so short of a time, and I can’t help but wonder what further oddities and atrocities will become everyday facts of life for me next.

Ah, there’s my father and brother come to get me for my initiation, wish me luck…

Update – I can’t believe what I have just done; what kind of monster am I become that I could commit such an act? I have just ended the life of my own flesh and blood, and yet I find myself numb to it.

After taking me from my rooms, my father and brother led me into the bowels of the complex, and into an anteroom where I was met by a member of the council of this Club, a Mr. Abrams, who is a surprisingly affable man in his mid fifties. He outlined very carefully and kindly to me what was to happen – inside would be a pair of potential victims, one of which I was to kill by midnight lest all three of us die, and one of which I would be allowed to take as a personal slave; my being given a choice of victims was apparently not standard procedure, but had become necessary due to the circumstances surrounding the snatch of the original quarry.

After Mr. Abrams took his leave of me in order to remotely observe the proceedings, I tentatively stepped into the combination torture/execution chamber with my father and Benedick right on my heels – the bastards insisted on watching in person. Who I found inside that place of death shocked me. First there was the man in charge of the cameras that would be capturing my deeds for posterity – it was Jack Harrison, the ever so charming and wonderful man from my time in Hong Kong, and one of the last people that I would have expected to find in such an environment. Jack smiled apologetically to me and gestured to the pair of figures before me, and I fell to my knees as my worst nightmares of the night before came true – kneeling with their hands tied and mouths gagged were my darling Kat and Rosaline.

I wailed out my objections and denials, and my loves immediately crawled to me and offered me what comfort they could, but I was so distraught at the thought of killing one of them that I couldn’t enjoy this reunion that I had been craving so badly. I removed the gags, and each of my girls cooed soothing words into my ears before calmly presenting an argument to me of why she should be the one to die; their bravery was just breathtaking.

I glanced up at my father, and to his credit he was pale and shocked at this turn of events; in contrast, Benedick had a cruel sneer on his face and was rubbing himself lewdly in anticipation of the show I was supposed to put on. Looking each of my loves in the eyes, searching deep into their souls, I came to my decision, and drew them to their feet with me so that I could act on it before I lost my nerve.

Carefully placing Kat and Rosaline where I needed them, I told them to stand still and close their eyes, and then I started to search through the massive arsenal of lethal weapons and tools until I found what I was looking for: a crossbow; I had trained a bit with the things in school as part of an extra credit project involving medieval weaponry, and I am more than just a fair shot with the things.

Loading a bolt with a wide deadly head, I cranked the weapon up to full tension and took careful aim at Rosaline’s breast, holding my breath and watching the reactions of the three men behind and to the side of her; my father looked about as emotional as I’ve ever seen him, Jack was grim and sad looking, while Benedick was shifting about for a better view and openly masturbating over the concept of one of his sisters murdering another in cold blood.

Resolving myself to what I had to do, I touched my finger to the trigger, and then swiftly but carefully swung my aim to the left and pulled it. There was a click, twang and swoosh, and a split second later I found that my hastily altered aim was true as with a meaty thunk, my father’s chest was pierced just to the left of center by the vicious projectile. As a bit of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, he smiled at me, and then he collapsed sideways, probably dead before he hit the ground. Staring at my weapon in shock at what I had just done, I threw the thing to the floor as if it were a viper with a loud clatter that seemed to wake the two surviving men from their own stupors. Jack pulled out a huge handgun and aimed it at my face, and I steeled myself for death, but Benedick reacted just as quickly, pulling the weapon down.

His face was a mask of pleasure and confusion as he stared at me. “Jack, she just passed the test; she killed one of her own on camera. Unlock the doors. Miranda, baby, why didn’t you pick me? I know you have to hate me by now, but you did me a huge favor just now.”

My voice was a hiss as I responded. “You moved right before I took the shot you prick. Just remember that the next time you want to take me without asking. Now untie my girls and we’ll figure out what to do with father’s body.”

Jack cleared his throat, and I knew that it wasn’t over yet. “Sorry Miranda, they can only leave as slaves or corpses. You know the rules.”

Benedick and I stared at each other, trying to decide what to do, when Kat, my brilliant Kat, figured it all out with far less information at her disposal. “Rosaline is family, just make her a member and take me as your slave.” My sister stared at her in shock, while both men seemed intrigued by the idea, probably for very different reasons.

I frowned as my father’s training in cold calculations kicked in. “We do have a certain widow Coulter to arrange for, she can be the initiation…I think that I can prepare Rosaline to deal with the idea of killing someone before she arrives…” Suddenly the thought of having Kat as my own forever overtook my rational mind. “Oh God, Kat, are you sure about being my slave? There’s no going back, you’ll be my property until you die…”

My sweet Kat answered by walking up to me and placing her head on my shoulder, the closest she could come to embracing me with her hands tied as they were. “I already am yours, and Rosaline’s…the two of you will just have to learn how to share.”

I gestured for my sister to join us, and hugged and kissed them both while Benedick released their hands, and then we turned our attentions to my father. My brother turned him over to pull the bolt the rest of the way through his chest and then out, and then I closed his eyes and gave him a small kiss, the only time in my life that my father’s lips have ever touched me. I reflected for a moment on that small smile that was still on his face, and it occurred to me that as a truly obsessive admirer of the Bard, he would have found death by patricide poetic and appropriate; at least I gave him a death that seemed to satisfy him.

It’s now many hours later, and my three lovers, Kat, Rosaline and yes, Benedick, are all collapsed around me in exhausted slumber. I’m still in shock at the act that I committed today, and I am as yet unsure as to whether I will be able to grieve as I should, but I do know that I’ve gone past the point of no return. I understand a little bit better what happened to turn my once wonderful brother into the beast that he is today, and I think that I can live with the control that he still exerts over me, and now my lovers as well.

Tomorrow I will finish the arrangements for my wedding, knowing that it is now partially by my own choice – I’m too much my father’s daughter not to see the level of control this concession will give me over my brother, something that is needed since he still has the ability to order Kat’s family killed, a possibility that Kat, Rosaline and I can’t live with. I will also be arranging for my own stepmother’s demise, yet another act that my father would have appreciated. Finally, I will be talking to Jack about finding a marker for my Kat to denote her special status amongst my slaves that will not involve modifying her perfect body, and once I have that figured out, I’m going to have my real wedding ceremony, one that really will be a lifelong, loving bonding of spirits…

[center]Journal Two – Entry Four[/center]

Sunday, January 4, 1987

This has been an exhausting weekend of planning and long, soul-baring discussion, and as usual my overbearing father had to be the one to dominate it, not just in terms of setting things up for the tragic crash of his secondary jet with some of his remains on board, along with bits of his soon to be arriving wife after we get done snuffing and eating her, but also by ruining my last two nights’ sleep by finally having that heart to heart talk with me. Oh, I know he’s dead, and as much as he might like Hamlet, even Sir Edward Coulter can’t do that ethereal apparition thing for real, but that didn’t stop some fractured aspect of my admittedly strained mind from forcing the issue with some rather disturbingly vivid hallucinatory episodes.

It’s strange, you think you know your mind, that you are the sanest person you know, and then BAM, your psyche pulls a rabbit out of its hat and you suddenly lose all of your grounding in reality. I know now that I must be broken in some way, but somehow having the awareness of my general condition hasn’t prevented me from being an active, totally immersed participant in my own strange psychosis. The first time my ‘father’ appeared to me was late on Friday night, just as I finished my last entry. I had just laid down my journal and pen, when I smelled pipe-smoke, and of a type that I recognized immediately as my oh-so-recently departed father’s favorite.

A chill running down my spine, I followed the smell out onto the enclosed balcony, my nipples instantly hardening and poking at my flimsy nightgown from the chill air. As soon as I saw what awaited me there, I froze, and then slowly fumbled my way into the nearest chair, staring in disbelief at the figure standing before me, casually enjoying his smoke while watching me with an expression of mixed amusement and disdain.

I immediately searched my mind for an explanation for this turn of events, and could only conclude that I had gone unhinged. Before I could say something inane like ‘you’re dead’, that ever so solid looking vision of my father pulled a chair up in front of me and gingerly sat in it, rubbing his chest where I had shot him just hours before, and then he was quietly but firmly telling me what his plans for me had been, and what I needed to do. God I hate to say it, but what he was saying made more than a little sense to me, and still does even in the light of day, which I suppose isn’t too surprising if that conversation really was just me talking to myself with a few special effects thrown in.

In its essentials, his scheming boils down to this: my brother is too lost in the power of his position to be trusted with the attendant responsibilities, or for me to ever be able to safely remove him from his lofty perch, and so it falls to me to find as many ways to manipulate and subtly control him as possible. The tools at my disposal are however quite limited, and not ones that I relish using.

The least awkward lever I can use, though also the most potentially horrid on the large scale, is my combined business and slaving acumen; my training and natural abilities in these areas, combined with Benedick’s incompetence and impatience in them, make me indispensable to him and offer me a great amount of latitude to affect things for the better, but only if I maintain the ruthless, brutal accumulation of power that both the open and underground family businesses rely on. I shudder to think of what atrocities I may have to commit in order to stay in my brother’s good graces, yet I am firm in my resolve to do so in order to keep safe those that are precious to me.

The most effective tactic that I can, and unfortunately will, use to manipulate my soon to be husband is also the one that I dread most, which is selfish since it only affects my own well being: I must make him fall in love with me, and trick him into believing that I feel the same for him. The idea repulses me, yet I have already started to work on my plan, inviting him to join us when I am enjoying the tender ministrations of my loves, and gradually softening my attitude towards him. It is a fine line that I am walking, as a too sudden show of affection will trigger suspicions which could then lead to paranoia and precautionary steps being taken against me, while an approach that is too slow will fall prey to Benedick’s impatience and perhaps lead to a show of temper that could very easily become lethal for me or mine.

In order to get in his good graces, I made a decision last night that pained me greatly, and allowed my brother to make use of my poor slaves as entertainment while Kat, Rosaline and I cavorted with him in my bed. As my vile sibling brutally rutted with each of us in turn, he ordered a reluctant tiff to torture my poor sweet rache, first with needles and clamps, then with a vicious flogger outfitted with nasty hooks on the ends of the strands, and finally with a long, wicked razor. That final instrument was used under his guidance for nearly an hour on my lovely little slave to gradually remove thin strips of her skin and choice bits of her anatomy such as her earlobes, part of her tongue, both nipples, and most devastatingly, her clit; it was that last that broke her spirit, and she started to fade at that point, and that was when Benedick mercifully ordered that her soft throat be slit from ear to ear. As I watched in a twisted combination of sorrow and lust, my poor rache gurgled and thrashed desperately, her pretty blue eyes wide and filled with terror and despair, and then, as the spurts of hot blood spraying the tiled play area before me started to reduce in force and her eyes started to glaze over, her mutilated but still adorable body gave its final few heaves and I felt the warmth of my brother finishing in me; I was filled with horror at the changes in me, and I still am as I write this, as that wonderful girl’s death, the horrified and distraught expression on my tiff’s blood covered face, and the feeling of that forbidden seed inside me pushed me over the edge into one of my most powerful orgasms to date.

Such is the devil’s bargain that I am entering into, but at least I can feel that I am paying for my sins, at least a little, as Benedick has not slaked his thirst for my own cries of pain; he has made a point of causing me extreme agony each afternoon these last two days. Whether that really makes up at all for the lives that I have destroyed already, and the ones that are sure to come in the future, is really not up for debate; it doesn’t come close, but at least it helps to take the edge off of my guilt.

In the meantime, part of my ‘father’s’ plans involve networking at the Club, so that I might eventually have a greater base of true power than my brother and be able to achieve some form of true independence and security for myself and my loves. To begin that process, I have, with the able assistance of Rosaline and Kat, renewed my friendship with Jack Harrison, and he has been more than willing to help me in my endeavors within the Club organization. One of his first pieces of assistance was to help me in designing and ordering made a unique symbol of my Kat’s special status amongst my slaves: a slender silver collar with no outside locks, absolutely smooth when locked in place and irremovable while the wearer lives, the last being a symbolic aspect that Kat insisted on, while the rest of the appearance was of my own devising, as I wanted it to resemble a simple wedding band without the stone. The collar should be finished any time now, and as soon as it is, Jack will be performing a ceremony for us combining a wedding and a slave collaring.

Jack and I have also started on a scheme to introduce more doctors, scientists and engineers into the staffing of the Clubs, so that we can start to develop new technologies and drugs that are specific to the needs of our underground interests; Jack is already the primary scout for potential members, staff and slaves at this particular Club, so it shouldn’t take too long for us to start seeing results.

The help that Jack gave me that really touched me was his surprisingly enthusiastic assistance with my wedding plans, especially considering that he doesn’t approve of whom I’ll be marrying or how I’ve been treated. He has made arrangements with the assistance of his wonderful wife (who knows nothing of the true nature of his job) for us to have a traditional wedding in an outside church tomorrow at noon, where he will stand in as father of the bride, a request of mine that brought tears to his eyes, much to my surprise. Other than Kat and Rosaline, Benedick and I daren’t invite anyone from our previous life in school thanks to the forbidden nature of our union, so other than Mrs. Harrison (who is to be Matron of Honor in thanks for her efforts on my behalf and also because I didn’t want to choose between lovers for the position) and the priest, there won’t be anyone at the ceremony that isn’t associated with the Club in one way or another.

Now, as far as the Reception goes, that will be held at the Club. I’m not sure what excuse Jack is going to use to keep his wife away, but he’d better, because the planned entertainment is definitely not standard fare, with slaves available to pleasure the guests and several snuffs planned, as well as a menu heavy in girl-meat dishes. How the victims of those snuffs will be chosen I’m not too clear on, as those are a part of Club tradition that I’m not familiar with, but the main event will be the killing of my step-mother Annabelle by my sister to meet her initiation requirements; Annabelle, the poor girl, just two years older than I am, will be met by security when she arrives and will find herself quite tied up until it comes time for her brief span on this earth to end, though I’m certain that if there is time tonight Benedick will insist that we have a little fun with her.

Speaking of my dear sister committing psuedo matricide, the bulk of my time has been spent on preparing her for that life changing event, first with long talks about life, death and how to see your victim as just a toy, an object to enjoy and then discard, followed by a series of demonstration snuffs of some Club slaves, culminating in a snuff presided over by me, but using her direct assistance. Hopefully I have numbed her to joy killing enough to get her through tomorrow; time is too limited for me to do anything more for her.

Ah, I just received a message from Benedick to ready myself for a session with our naive stepmother, as he has altered our plans a bit and will be meeting her at the air strip before bringing her to my chambers for an attempt at seduction; from what my father’s doppelganger tells me, she’s quite the oversexed little thing, so as long as my subconscious observations are correct, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting her to break whatever moral reservations she may have at having a naughty romp with her step-children. Either way, I’ll be too busy to make any more entries until after my wedding night, so wish me luck!

[center]Journal Two – Entry Five[/center]

Tuesday, January 5, 1987

Ever heard the phrase ‘hurts so good’? Well, that’s the best way to describe the state I’m in at the moment. I’m writing this as Gordon Lightfoot’s ‘If You Could Read My Mind’ plays over my headphones and a trio of well trained Club slaves bought from the Hong Kong branch vigorously but somehow still sensuously rub amazingly soothing salves into my bruised, welted and torn body. It hurts – with the amount of damage that my poor body has taken it’s impossible for it not to hurt, a lot – but the combination of the cool, tingly wake of the salves and the eroticism of being so intimately and thoroughly touched by three nearly identical and delicately beautiful young sisters is making me shudder and moan in arousal, and when this finishes I’ll be hard pressed not to drag the lot of them into my bed, even if that does risk waking my new husband. Hell, much as I hate to admit it, if he did wake and do something horrible to these girls, I’d probably find myself cumming like crazy despite the exhausting number of orgasms I’ve already experienced in the last two days.

It all started about twenty minutes after I finished my last entry, when Benedick and my stepmother stepped past my threshold. I was waiting for them at the bar with a bottle of Champaign, wearing a diaphanous, barely there baby-doll in the most sinful shade of reds with accompanying thong panties, a matching set of outrageously high pumps, and a smile. My nipples were already rock hard just from the thought of taking this bubbly ex-cheerleader into my bed, and I could see that her eyes were being drawn like magnets to where my little nubs were poking at the flimsy material of my garb. Poor sweet step-mom Annabelle was just standing frozen, her eyes feasting on the sight of me as her breath started to run ragged; I always had the feeling that she had a bit of a thing for me when I had the requisite new mom to daughter talk with her at her wedding, and this confirmation edged my libido up higher as my ego took a much needed boost.

That little tableau seemed to last forever, but it was probably less than a minute after Annabelle first caught sight of me when Benedick slid close in behind her and started to lightly rub her upper arms with those big hands of his; I must say, I was encouraged about my future prospects seeing that he is indeed capable of a softer touch. At that touch, she shuddered and gave a pathetic, helpless little mew that just made me want to eat her up, and I had to force myself to keep my strides casual and sexy as I made my way around the bar and across the room to her, as opposed to rushing up and throwing her to the floor as my lust was urging me to do.

Soon enough, I was standing in front of her, our bodies just inches apart and an electric feeling passing between us as she stared up into my eyes, utterly transfixed. Slowly, carefully, I placed my hands to each side of her face and lowered my head to taste her lips for the first time; she really did taste like bubble gum, how sweet is that? Shifting one hand to the back of her head while I steadily deepened the kiss, I took a firm grip on her hair to control her while my other hand made its way past her breasts, which my brother was already cupping and caressing through the silk blouse that he was also attempting to open up, and on down and around to the back of her tight leather skirt, where I slowly worked to unzip it. The poor thing was already lost, her body trembling and breath gasping into my mouth as we gradually drew her in to my room.

We took our time getting her undressed, making the removal of each item from her body not only a deeply sexual act, but one of dominance as well. The girl was putty in our hands, willing in only a handful of minutes to allow us to do as we pleased with her. At first what pleased us was to look at and explore that perfectly cared for, previously forbidden little body. She really was spectacular, I can see why my father snagged her as a breeder (which I now surmise was the real purpose of the chain of wives, other than to maintain appearances); her breasts full and firm with the cutest little pink nipples, an abdomen that walked that elusive line between toned, trim and cute, legs that despite her small stature seemed to go on forever, and gently rounded hips that somehow perfectly complemented her pert, tight ass. It was the sight of her delicate, smooth quim that broke my reserves however, and before I knew it I was forcing my way between her thighs and tasting her, using every trick that I had learned with Kat and Rosaline to bring on her flow of juices.

I have always had a bit of an odd fetish for cheerleaders, being more than a bit of a polar opposite to their type; a fetish that involved fantasies of ravishment, domination and humiliation, and here at last was my opportunity to explore that fetish, and with a more than willing accomplice no less. We explored all of those aspects of my fantasy and more that night, and amazingly she got off on every moment of it; she was a born submissive, well trained by my father of course, and my brother and I are more than a little knowledgeable about what to do with such a toy.

We made the transition between types of seduction gradually, working our way through a variety of semi-standard sexual configurations, and then we started to treat her more aggressively, adding slaps, spanks, spitting and name calling into our actions, and what had started marginally as love making moved into brutal, dirty fucking, her pleasure no longer important as we simply used her as a living tool to get ourselves off. The rougher and nastier we treated our Annabelle, the more she loved it and begged for more, and we were more than happy to grant her wish. Halfway through the night I got into my play area and then we started to really have fun with her, really doing our best to break her in without leaving any marks that would last to her show at the reception.

It really was beautiful, how easily and willingly she submitted to the pain and degradation we dished out to her, how much she seemed to enjoy being our toy, and at the end of the night, when it was time for Benedick and I to get a little sleep, and for her to be bound for the long wait for her doom, I made sure that she had vibrating toys stimulating her ass, cunt and clit as a reward, though I’m sure after a full morning of constant orgasms on no sleep, she came to view it as more of a punishment.

When morning came, I was awoken by Rosaline, Kat and tiff entering my chambers with everything that I would need to be ready for the wedding. Benedick was gone already, and Annabelle was too lost in exhaustion and constant arousal to be aware of us, so my girls got to work immediately, and soon enough I was the proverbial blushing bride, although I’m sure that most brides aren’t blushing because they are soon to appear in a House of God in a dress just this side of whorish. My embarrassment was made more acute as I realized that the dresses that I had picked out for my bride’s maids and flower girl (that would be tiff, there simply were no children at the ceremony to choose from) were merely sexy, making me look even more the trollop, which was no doubt Benedick’s plan when he had my dress made.

As we were putting the final touches on things, Jack came in with my Kat’s collar, and she swiftly stripped down to her skin, took the collar, and then knelt to present it to me. Jack formally asked each of us to repeat a few phrases, and then I took the collar and placed it around my newest, most precious slave’s neck, locking it in place and making her forever my kat.

We had to leave immediately after that, though kat slid back into her dress first of course, and so we discussed our new arrangements in the limo, with Rosaline, Jack and I sitting as normal while tiff and kat knelt on the floor. Master and Mistresses, we three Club members tried to work out how Rosaline was going to fit into this new configuration of relationships, and pretended to ignore the two slaves at our feet as tiff took the opportunity to give kat a crash course on slave etiquette, particularly how to ‘pass’ in a public setting while still maintaining a certain level of subservience to any Masters or Mistresses they might interact with. I had to really fight to keep the pride off my face as I surreptitiously observed my two favorite slaves working together so well already; kat instantly gave tiff the respect due a more experienced slave, while that respect was more than returned due to her long and special relationship to me – in fact, for the first time that I had ever seen, tiff seemed to truly be relaxed and enjoying herself as they interacted.

Despite my fears, misgivings and general revulsion with regards to this marriage, I must admit that the ceremony itself was a rather beautiful thing, with Jack beaming in pride as he led me down the aisle as if I were really his daughter, the groom looking rather handsome and incredibly happy to have me by his side, and a priest who truly was a wonderful old man, all inside an absolutely gorgeous church. As I exchanged vows with Benedick, I took the time to look deep into his eyes, trying to fathom whether he has it in him to be a good husband to me if I can succeed in making him love me, and as he said his lines, I think that I may have seen something there to give me hope.

Jack’s wife Patricia was of course as gracious as ever, and she gave me a truly wonderful wedding gift by asking if Benedick and I would be her child’s godparents, a question that I instantly answered in the affirmative. We took our leave of Patricia at the limo; she apparently had an understanding with Jack about the Club that she was satisfied with despite her lack of knowledge about the goings on there, and so she seemed perfectly content to miss out on the reception.

Oh dear, these slaves are getting me far too worked up to concentrate on relating the rest, so I’ll continue this in the morning, and tell you what we end up doing with these girls as well; you should probably wish them luck, if my own recent treatment at the hands of my husband is any indication, they’ll need it.

[center][color=blue]Continued below…[/color][/center]

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[center]Journal Two – Entry Six[/center]

Wednesday, January 6, 1987

Dearest anonymous future reader, if you wished for some luck for those sweet little Asian sisters, it looks like you didn’t wish hard enough, for what little luck they had ran out last night. After a brief but oh-so-satisfying period of being the warm fuzzy center of their universe, my cries of ecstasy did indeed awaken my husband, and as I surmised, the combination of his yet to be slaked bloodlust and the irresistible deliciousness of the trio of slaves made for a long, drawn out night of screaming and death.

What was especially cruel about how Benedick chose to go about it was that he had me take the girls into the play area one at a time while forcing the remaining sisters to service him as he watched, and he even went so far as to use his expert hands to get them off even as they wept for their sibling’s suffering at my hands. By now I well know my brother’s preferences in these types of scenarios, and so I worked my way slowly up from mild tortures into serious play, and then on into mutilations and eventually snuff play, switching victims regularly and randomly.

By the time I drew the oldest one off her feet by the noose around her neck, she had been through so much that I think she welcomed her death as a merciful end to her suffering. That didn’t stop her from kicking and struggling wonderfully for us though, as Benedick sodomized the youngest one and I practically smothered the other in my crotch, getting off wonderfully to the lithe doll-like girl’s lethal dance. The middle sister went just as beautifully after we had a chance to recharge a little, writhing and twitching all over the place and making these pathetic little croaking mews following the injection of some kind of snake venom into her veins.

Benedick’s master stroke of cruelty however was the fate that he declared for the final girl, which he made sure that she understood: to continue her pathetic existence in servitude without her sisters, living in loneliness with the guilt of having climaxed at each of their deaths (disregarding the fact that those orgasms were quite involuntary – guilt knows no logic). As soon as the wretched thing grasped what she was being told, she began to desperately beg and plead with us to kill her, tears streaming down her sweet face, until I finally took pity on her and led her off to the kitchens, where I was able to witness my first spitting and live roasting – it was immensely painful for the girl, and her agony lasted for far too long, ruining the erotic aspects of the experience that I had been hoping to find.

As the girl slowly and painfully found her way to a reunion with her sisters, an idea started to form in my mind, and I think that I’m going to enlist Jack’s help with it: I want to find a way of tricking a girl’s mind into confusing pain with pleasure. I really think that such a thing would allow me to help some of the poor slaves in these Clubs and at the various Stables without tipping my hand; it would also have the bonus of allowing me to more easily enjoy the demises of my slaves, bringing some eroticism into the more extreme snuff methods.

At any rate, I’m sure that you’re curious about what happened after the wedding itself. Well, things started out pretty tense in the limo as we journeyed back to the Club, as Rosaline and I made the situation clear to Benedick. We told him that we knew full well that the hold that he had on us through kat’s family meant that we would have to give him access to our bodies, whether we liked it or not, but I made it quite clear that if any real damage was done to my sister or my kat that he would pay dearly for it; I softened that by implying that if he treated us three right, he would find me to be a most pleasant companion, and I think that I intrigued him a bit with that.

Where my dear new husband looked really irritated was when I laid down the law with regards to my wedding night – it was to be just the two of us unless I called for some Club slaves; I was not about to risk my girls when he had obviously built up a lot of sexual tension around the idea of that night. To make sure of their safety, I went so far as to offer Rosaline, kat and tiff to Jack for the rest of the week in gratitude for his assistance with the wedding, and Benedick of course had to force a smile and go along with me; I kind of felt a little bad since that would force Jack to figure out some way of explaining things to his wife, but he reassured me that Patricia would enjoy having the girls around, and might even share her bed with them if they played things out correctly.

The reception itself was a roaring success with the Club members (with the exception of a few girls, we’ll get to that shortly), and for the most part I enjoyed myself, especially since there were dedicated Club slaves orally gratifying the wedding party under the table throughout the event. Things started off like a fairly normal reception, ignoring the naked girls serving drinks, snacks and the occasional bit of head or tail of course; you know, introducing the wedding party, the first dances, cutting the cake etc.

Things took an odd turn when it came time to do the toss the garter and bouquet bits – no one told me or the youngest female members and special guests, but there is a long standing tradition at this Club that at wedding receptions, the man who catches the garter gets to snuff the girl who catches the bouquet in whatever manner he sees fit – it’s also a tradition to not tell anyone who hasn’t been to one of these events before, and so there were quite a few young women vying to be the one to catch my bouquet. Thank God Jack fudged the rules and told Rosaline to let someone else make the catch, or knowing her, she would have found a way to be the ‘lucky girl’.

I vaguely recognized the girl that caught the unlucky item; she had been introduced to me as the daughter of one of the more prominent staff members, just out of high school and looking to get a job through the Club. She was an excitable, happy thing, at least up to that point, and she was absolutely gleeful when our handsome Jack Harrison caught the garter – I think every girl that meets Jack has a bit of a crush on him. When he made the placing of the garter on her leg into a very sexual thing, ending with his tongue in her cunt, she didn’t seem to mind at all, and given the number of men that had taken advantage of the slaves right there at the tables, she didn’t think anything of it when he took her to the floor, pulled up her dress a bit, spread her juicy thighs and entered her with little fanfare. Both of them were really worked up, though for differing reasons, and it didn’t take them long to start a very intense, theatrical mutual orgasm, and that’s when the girl suddenly minded something very much indeed. As the girl’s passions reached their peak, she suddenly found herself quite unable to breath as a pair of long, slender knives donated by a member of the kitchen staff slid in between her ribs and into her lungs, tearing through them and causing them to swiftly collapse. Her orgasm continued unabated as she thrashed under her final lover, gurgling and clawing at her chest as she swiftly drowned in her own blood. Her final convulsions were quite spectacular, arching her back painfully and thrusting her breasts up and out – with her hands just below them, futily trying to close her wounds, she looked as if she were offering the globes up as a sacrifice – and her eyes wide and wild with desperate terror and agony. I don’t think there was a single person in the audience that didn’t cum as she went; what a great opening show.

Now that it was established that at least some female members and guests were fair game, it didn’t surprise me when it was announced that there was to be a drawing amongst the single females – members, guests, staff and slaves alike – that would see one winner getting to bed the man of her choice (tradition dictated that the chosen man give in to her every whim until dawn, and it was an enforced tradition), while one loser would find herself being drawn up to her tiptoes by a noose until the end of the party, if she didn’t snuff it first…she would be allowed help in the form of being able to support herself on the cock of any man that wanted to fuck her, thus giving great motivation for the girl to give us a good sexy show.

The winner, who picked poor Jack (not surprising considering the hot show he had just given), was one of the Mistresses that Jack had helped to network me with, a Ms. Hannah Gustafson; Mistress Hannah is a very energetic and sadistic young woman, though also quite fascinating and nice in normal relations, and so I’m sure that she really put him through his paces, both physically and mentally.

The loser of the drawing nearly put me in a panic, as Rosaline’s name was called out, but then Jack came to the rescue once more by pointing out that she couldn’t very well take her initiation while strung up by a noose, and it was agreed that her ordeal would not begin until she had finished with her test, cutting in half the length of her ordeal. I was still not overly reassured, so Rosaline took pains to point out that she was more than sexy enough to attract plenty of men to couple with her, and in addition she had years of ballet and an extremely low body weight to aid her.

Several members were impatient to get inside her and started calling for the initiation to be administered right then, but they were over ruled by the Club’s council, who wanted to set up the rest of the fun first. The ‘rest of the fun’ turned out to be snuff games set up in the corner, one consisting of a set of four guillotines and the other made up of a gallows set up with four nooses; there would be no drawings for participation, but bets and challenges could be made by anyone; most of the players in those games were slaves, but a few staff and guests did end up playing, and one Mistress even lost her head when she couldn’t take a paddling as well as she gave them.

Finally, it was time for my stepmother to die. She was carried in, still bound and over stimulated as I had left her, and carefully placed before my table on a large plastic sheet. My sister was sweating and swallowing convulsively in nervousness, but she gave me a brave smile and went around the table to meet her victim. Annabelle didn’t even notice her at first, still lost in a haze, but when Rosaline started to loosen her bonds the poor thing looked up at her and started to cry in relief, thinking that she was being rescued. That was far from the case however, and I felt terrible that I hadn’t insisted on the initiation taking place in private; as a piece of entertainment, Rosaline was required to make her victim’s suffering and death long and spectacular, and it was.

At least Annabelle was a natural submissive and masochist; although she pleaded for her life, or at least to be allowed to die with her beauty intact, not once did she resist or struggle, not even when she was told to hold her fingers out to be cut off a bit at a time, and I swear that despite her begging, she got off on it when her tits were sliced from her chest. She endured an amazing amount of abuse from my occasionally sobbing sister, as without a word exchanged they worked seamlessly together to extend the torture and disfigurement for as long as possible, but inevitably there came a point where poor sweet Annabelle could take no more, and she amazed us all by quietly but firmly asking Rosaline to kill her. There were calls from the enraptured audience to use a variety of spectacular and horrid methods to dispatch the girl, and Rosaline looked to be on the verge of panic, so I exercised my marginal authority as one of the two people that the reception was in honor of by standing and demanding my stepmother’s head in flawless condition. Both of the girls on that plastic sheet smiled at me in gratitude, and then Rosaline firmed her resolve and asked that a block and axe be brought to her.

Brilliantly, my sister played the delay game again as she took her time practicing with the weapon, not satisfied until her aim was perfect. When she was finally ready, Annabelle painfully lifted herself from the floor and slowly crawled over to the block, placing her neck in the groove without hesitation and closing her eyes with a sweet little smile on her face. Seconds later, without any fanfare, the axe head came down and her head rolled away from her suddenly jerking and twitching body. Hastily cleaned and tidied up, Annabelle’s pretty little head was delivered to me on the ever so clichéd silver platter, where we were able to admire its beauty for the rest of the evening; before leaving the banquet hall, I had the thing delivered to the freezers until I can work out a way to perfectly preserve it without the fake look that occurs when standard taxidermy is used on humans.

Before poor Annabelle’s headless body had even ceased movement, Rosaline was being firmly led to the special display gallows in the center of the room, where she was swiftly stripped and brought up to her toes by her neck with her wrists tied behind her back. Everyone watched her tiny but spectacular body gently and erotically writhing about on that stage in fascination and lust for a good ten minutes, waiting for her legs to give out once so that she could get a taste of strangulation before being allowed relief. Finally she did give in, and after savoring her choking and struggling for a moment, her first partner came to her rescue. If my sister’s show hadn’t been enough to turn everyone on (and it was, believe me), her incredibly enthusiastic and athletic performance with that first man would have finished the deal. As it was, the line of men (and women with strap-ons) that formed before that gallows was more than enough to allow me to relax and enjoy the rest of my reception. She was never in danger after that; in fact, when I left, Rosaline had been released from the noose but was still taking on men that had lined up for her long before, while tiff and kat kept an eye on her for me.

And so we come to my wedding night, which I would rather not relive in any detail, even though I have rarely been taken to such heights of passion in my life. Benedick, my husband, used me mercilessly, trying every instrument of pain that he could find that wouldn’t do permanent damage, often fucking me with a brutality that was simply breathtaking, and yet he interspersed amongst those agonies times of incredible intimacy and tenderness, slowly worshipping my body before actually making love to me, softly, sweetly, and with a deep affection that brought back memories of when he was my wonderful, protective and loving brother in school. He even cuddled with me between sessions, holding me close and stroking my hair and slightly rounded tummy gently with those big hands of his until we both fell into a peaceful slumber.

The combination of the horrid and the wonderful that I have experienced during this extended wedding night (still not finished with even now), in combination with the way my pregnancy has left me so torn between revulsion and wondrous anticipation, has left my emotions in a confusing jumble, my motivations and aspirations now hopelessly tangled as my image of just what my marriage actually is has grown as fuzzy and uncertain as an electron shell. I truly hope that I will be able to figure all of this out before it takes control of me, but somehow it feels like it is, at least in some ways, far too late – I keep telling myself that I can’t fall in love with a beast like Benedick, but then I remember his better moments and I find myself aching to be with him…God I hope that kat and Rosaline can help to stabilize my emotional state, before I do something stupid…

[center]Interlude Two[/center]

“Holy crap, are all Club parties that dangerous for girls, even Mistresses?” Michelle’s eyes were wide with shock as she pulled her nose out of the second journal and looked to her beloved big sister for reassurance.

Melody, busy at the mirror seeing how her namesake’s collar would look on her, looked a bit annoyed as she turned around to respond, and then she saw Michelle’s panic written on her face and hurried over to give her a reassuring hug. “If you’re referring to Mir’s wedding reception, then I’m afraid the answer is yes, and just because we are hosting this party at the Stables doesn’t mean that it’ll be any safer; probably the opposite actually, since mom is still trying to make up for the weakening in her status from that age fight in the council.”

Michelle clutched tight to her sister. “So that’s what you meant when you said that even if the games don’t kill them some Master or Mistress probably will…oh, please Melody, go talk to them, and mom too, before we lose them!”

Melody held her naïve sister tight and kissed the top of her head, feeling guilty as she became all too aware of how nice Michelle’s body felt against hers. Damn those journals, she thought even though she knew full well that Mir’s story had only brought to the front feelings that had already been there. Using a gentle pressure on Michelle’s chin with her finger, Melody made her look her in the eyes. “I’m going to do everything I can honey, believe me. Mom should be home in the next hour, so I’ll go talk to the girls now, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll go wait for mom – I have to talk to her about the collar anyway.”

Suddenly reminded that if all went as planned, she might not have the freedom to pursue anything with Michelle in a few hours, and overwhelmed a bit by the girl’s huge blue eyes and divine scent, Melody threw caution and morality to the wind and pulled her sister in for a deep, lustful kiss that left them both breathing hard. Michelle’s only response was an amazed, “Oh, wow!” and then she shoved Melody onto her back and returned the kiss in spades.

It was probably more than an hour later that Melody finally left the room. Michelle was still in the shower when her sibling left; they had started it together, but Melody didn’t want to be late welcoming their mom back, and she needed to take her time explaining things to their other sisters, so now Michelle was in there all alone, luxuriating in the heady combination of the steamy water and her own state of sexual contentment; she felt sated in a way that she never had before, and yet she wanted her new lover to come back to her so they could start all over again.

Sighing, she turned off the water and dried off, and then she crawled naked into her sister’s bed, wrapping the sheets around her as she idly flipped through the albums and journals again. She found some pictures of kat with her collar on, and other than the inscription it was identical to the one that her sister had just left with; in fact, it looked exactly like the one on Mir’s neck, the broken one that had once been her mom’s, when she was her sister Bets’s slave. Michelle knew full well that her sister was about to offer to be their mom’s slave, and that their paths were very likely to diverge from this point, but she just didn’t want to think about that right then; her happiness over what she had just experienced was something too precious to not linger over it.

Needing a distraction, and more than a little curious about what happened to the first person to wear one of those collars, Melody decided to skim the rest of the second journal, which seemed to be relatively uneventful, so that she could start in on the third one.

The second journal covered until the seventh month of Miranda’s pregnancy, and pretty much just covered the process of everybody settling into their new roles. The entries were busy, but filled mostly with minutia. There were a few things that did catch Michelle’s eye though.

Apparently after ultrasounds and such determined that her baby was in all likely hood a healthy, normal one, Miranda seemed to become more and more happy and excited about her pregnancy, and Benedick appeared to be looking forward to the birth as well, though he was obsessed with the sex of it, a bit of information that was indeterminate in the entries of that journal. Rosaline and kat were extremely supportive, as was tiff of course.

Those two slaves, and the third senior one, meg, apparently got along amazingly well, with no trace of jealousy and a level of cooperation that made up for Miranda’s distractions, of which there were many. At the top of the list of distractions were her ever shifting feelings about her pregnancy and marriage of course, while making sure to spend time with ‘her girls’ came a close second. Then of course there were her trips to the various Clubs and competing Stables to work on her networking – Rosaline made those trips with her, since any slaves that she brought would be at risk. Other trips involved visits to prospective Club staff with Jack, specifically the doctors, engineers and scientists that were essential to her vision for the Club organization’s future, plans whose goals were more than familiar to Michelle. Jack’s wife Patricia of course had her baby, a little girl named Amber that her new Godmother doted on every chance she got.

As Michelle finished scanning the second journal, she was distracted for a moment as the small lights used to summon Miranda to various parts of the compound when she was wanted lit up green – her mom’s color. The cat slave was curled up at her feet, taking a nap, so Michelle nudged her with a foot until she woke up. Seeing that she was wanted, Miranda stretched out languorously, and then she went to her clothes bin and removed a fresh cat suit with her mouth, this one made of black velvet, with its accompanying butt-plug tail. The fingerless slave couldn’t manipulate the clothing of course, so Michelle took the time to help her change, a chore that she enjoyed as Miranda always made sure to show her gratitude with affectionate nudges and paw-massaging.

As soon as she was ready, Miranda shuffled off at her best speed, anxious to see her primary owner. Michelle gave the departing pet-girl an affectionate pat as she passed, and then she snuggled into her sister’s bed again and picked up the third journal.

[center]Journal Three – Entry One[/center]

Wednesday, March 14 1990

Today I am no longer a teenager. It seems strange that I am only now turning twenty, when I have been functioning as an adult with a great many responsibilities for so long now. I’m in the States right now, visiting Club Shadowlands in preparation for an important recruiting mission, and if I were to attempt to get a drink anywhere else in this country, I would be told that I am too young. Too young? A mother and godmother twice each, a wife of three years, a business woman feared all across the globe and a Mistress over hundreds of slaves, too young to handle a glass of wine? I certainly don’t feel young. On the contrary, I feel old and worn, ready to throw in the towel.

It’s been years now since I had it in me to make an entry in one of these journals, and in that time I have been in some kind of a strange daze, going through the motions of my life with customary professionalism and efficiency, but somehow not really connecting with the world and events around me. It’s truly amazing, how quickly life can turn on you when you think that everything is going your way. I had been so close to happiness and contentment, and then the premature birth of Ophelia, my first daughter, started the swift slide into my own personal hell. It happened while I was at the stables – a complication of the pregnancy due to my incomplete development, poor eating habits and some strange illness that had spread through the compounds from the jungle was killing me. The only way to save me was to take my child out of my womb nearly a month early, and though I tried to say no, Benedick and my girls overruled me; my poor baby was cut from me and whisked off to some Club birthing facility equipped for cases like hers, and I was left feverish and inconsolable – they never even let me touch her, see her!

Don’t misunderstand me; my first daughter is still alive and well, as far as I’ve been able to ascertain; I just haven’t been able to have any contact with her, and it has broken my heart into little pieces. It was a month after the surgery that I was lucid enough to be able to ask for my baby, and that was when my tearful loves told me that she was not accessible, and probably never would be – my bastard husband had declared that it was family tradition for the family heir to be kept secure and isolated from all of the family other than the father, and he is set on keeping to that tradition, even though it is destroying me. My hallucinatory father of course agrees with Benedick, and I’ve broken quite a number of expensive things venting my fury at that specter as a result.

My girls tried to keep my spirits up, but I was inconsolable, and matters only degenerated further when my second daughter Juliet was born less than a year later and the doctors informed me that she would be my last – my body had simply been too stressed too early, and another pregnancy was considered too risky; meanwhile, I was allowed to hold my darling girl, bond with her, and love her, suckling her at my breast as I had so desired to do with my poor Ophelia, and then within days she was gone, taken to be raised in the same fashion as I had been. I’ve been allowed to visit with her, and as soon as she is old enough we will be able to correspond, but losing her presence in my daily life opened wide the hole in my heart that Ophelia had left and added an even larger one from her, and I descended into a black, despairing hole of lifeless depression that I have only now started to pull out of.

Of course, there have been some bright spots, which are probably the main reason why I’ve been able to bring myself to function at all. My happiest moments of course are my visits with Juliet, who is a bright, pretty and exuberant child, and my time spent with my Rosaline, kat and tiff has been a key support for me as well. Jack and Patricia’s two girls, my goddaughters Amber and Melody, are a joy for me, and I visit with them as often as my schedule allows; in fact I just finished such a session a few hours ago. The Harrisons themselves have been enormously supportive, and Patricia especially has been an angel to me; when she found out about my girls she was almost as heartbroken about it as I was, and she made a point to have Jack convince my husband to make them my girls’ godparents, so that she would be able to visit them and give me reports, which is the only reason I know anything about my firstborn at all.

My kat’s family has been a light in my life as well, and kat, Rosaline and I visit with them every chance we get, though we usually have to visit kat’s sisters at St. George’s; I’ve been paying for the girls to go there, and they all look up to me as some kind of hero figure, and I have to admit, having those wonderful girls under my wing really gives me a much needed boost. Ellen in particular is of great interest to me at the moment, as at the age of fifteen, nearly sixteen now, she is almost ready to set her course in life, and she seems to be fixated on trying to find a way to work for me; needless to say, the idea of her getting too close and becoming caught up in my secret life scares the hell out of kat, Rosaline and I, but we just aren’t able to deny those girls anything. I still have a little time to figure out something, especially since I insist on the girls all completing their sixth form at the least, and I fully intend on pushing those girls to go to Uni as well; I’m entirely willing to pay their way after all, so I don’t see there being too much resistance to my plans.

Now as far as my marriage goes, that has been a source of both pain and pleasure to me, and I don’t just mean on the physical level; Benedick has been hard and cruel with regards to our children, but at the same time he has truly made a great effort to temper his more sadistic tendencies and act the loving husband when he is with me, and such is the history between us that I find myself torn between the most powerful of hates and loves when I am near him.

So you may be wondering at this point just what it is that has lifted me from my general malaise enough to get me writing to you again. Well, the answer to that question is twofold; first off, my sweet Rosaline is finally with child (surprisingly not Benedick’s, but he doesn’t know that, being unaware that my dear sister and I have been bedding down with the Harrisons every chance we get), and that means that at least one child that shares blood with me will be allowed to remain at our compound, a prospect that fills me with joy, and second off, I am now incredibly close to finishing work on my treatment to allow chosen slaves to enjoy their deaths – in fact, this appointment that I am about to have with a promising young neurosurgeon and his equally brilliant wife may just provide the last piece of the puzzle.

This young couple that I am about to meet with, Doctors Max and Irene Rutherford, are eager to gain the benefits of working for the Club, particularly the payoff of their huge school and house loans, but their memberships are being held up by Irene’s reticence over her family being hostage to her good behavior, as well as her understandable sense of conflict between her Hippocratic Oath and what she will need to do to pass her initiation. Now normally, after finding out as much as they have, they would be forced into their initiations whether they agreed or not, and if it comes down to it that is just what will happen, but Jack and I are handling our special recruiting a little more delicately, and at any rate my kat has provided me with the solution to this previously intractable case.

Unfortunately, in order to demonstrate my plan, I have had to bring my kat with me to the Club, something I try to avoid as it puts her at risk, but we only need to make it through to the completion of Max’s initiation and then I have vowed to never again bring my love here again.

Oh, there’s Jack at the door, we have to go, wish me luck!

Addendum – Oh my, what a wonderful afternoon and evening I have had! Max and Irene were as lovely as ever, and they really seemed to bond well with Jack, kat and I, even when I took the plunge and introduced kat as my slave; it helped a lot that kat explained about the near marital nature of our relationship and the special symbolism of her collar. It’s a good thing that kat’s explanation went over as well as it did, because the solution that kat and I came up with for Irene’s dilemma is for her to dissolve her official marriage and enter into a position with Max much like kat has with me, including the collar, which Jack and I are about to present to the Club Council as a new category of slave that has certain protections, thus enabling Members with special slaves to bring them to the Clubs at a reduced risk. By going with our plan, Irene’s family will be left alone, and she will no longer need to have an initiation, since she will not be staff or member, or even a guest, but will instead be chattel and considered the full responsibility of her owner, in this case Max.

After kat’s presentation and Jack’s more detailed sales pitch, the couple readily agreed to our proposal, and we celebrated with a wonderful dinner here at the Club, followed by a long evening of drinking and discussion in my suite that ended in a rather amazing mini orgy, a first for our new friends that ended up as one of the best sexual encounters that I have ever had that didn’t involve someone being in pain. Irene is as gentle and considerate a lover as a woman could ask for, and Max shares that gentleness, a very surprising thing given that he is a truly massive bear of a man, but both of them have a confidence and assertiveness to them that kept things quite exciting.

At this moment, I am cuddling up between kat and Irene, both asleep, while Jack is acclimating Max to the taking of human life by snuffing a few of the Club slaves on the termination schedule while Max either watches or participates. Jack has already notified his people that they need to find and snatch a victim for Max’s initiation, which I will admit gives me a bit of a guilty feeling, seeing as how I couldn’t mention to him that he would be killing someone close to him; his session should be taking place within the next two days, and in the meantime I will be giving the couple a full tour of the Club and my special research facilities that I have here.

The only down side to all of this is the timing of it; our newest members, Harold and Alicia Moore, who got their memberships purely through massive infusions of money into the coffers of the Club, are throwing a huge party with lotteries and games tomorrow night, and kat’s participation in the event will be mandatory…I can only go with her and hope that nothing goes wrong…

[center]Journal Three – Entry Two[/center]

Thursday, March 15 1990

Okay, just so you know, this isn’t Miranda making this entry – it’s Jack. Miranda wanted what I’m about to relate to you put into writing, because it’s such a pivotal thing for her, but for reasons that will soon be plain to you, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, even if she weren’t mostly out of it, so I guess it’s up to me, since I’ve dealt with these sorts of situations before. So, where to start? I suppose I should begin roundabouts of where she left off, and then go from there; this is all a bit painful for me as well, so delaying things a little appeals to me right now.

The night of Miranda’s birthday was a real treat for us all I think, and as usual she was the star of the show. I know that it doesn’t come across in her writing here, but everyone that meets Miranda comes to worship and love her, even people that fear her, and that’s outside of bed. In the sack, she’s a tigress, a force of nature – it’s no wonder she has so many lovers! With their patience and tenderness Max and Irene really made a wonderful contrast to our Miranda’s fierce, driven focus; combine those three with kat’s amazingly inspirational looks and sensuality, along with my own not too inconsiderable appeal, and that session ended up as something that should live on in legend.

Well, at any rate, after we had been drained of every last little swimmer our bodies could produce, Max and I left the girls to play and get some sleep while I tested his resolve – it’s something that I always do with prospective staff and members, a practice that has resulted in a one hundred percent initiation success rate amongst candidates under my watch, though Miranda’s was of course more than a little abnormal. Please don’t bother asking about what happens to those who fail my informal testing; I’m sure you can figure it out on your own.

Max surprised and reassured me when he not only stayed absolutely calm as I completed my first demo snuff for him; he volunteered to perform the second one himself, to test the waters he said. Well, needless to say, there were some very relieved Club slaves in that room with us that night, as after killing only three of the six girls that I had reserved for the session, I decided that he was as ready as I could get him, and Max graciously agreed that we might as well just allow them to live; of course, they were all on the termination list anyway, so they died the next day at the Moore’s party, but that’s getting ahead of myself.

Satisfied with the results of the evening’s activities, I sent Max to get some sleep, and then performed my last duty for the night: finalizing the snatch order for Max’s initiation. For a victim, I didn’t want to choose a relative – we only do that if we have no other viable targets, or if there are complications like when we went to grab kat and ended up with Rosaline as well – so I ran through his list of prior relationships and found a surprise; Max had only one girlfriend before he met Irene in college, a girl named Elizabeth that he had been with from grade school until her death in a hit and run accident. Amazing, a total girl magnet like that being so steady in his commitments; that boded well for his loyalty to the Club, but it made my job a lot harder.

It took a lot of digging, but eventually I came up with a Ms. Vanessa Davenport that had been a very close friend with Max and his first sweetheart; they had drifted apart after his Elizabeth died, but I thought that there should be more than enough of a personal attachment there to satisfy the council, and I was right of course. Vanessa was living alone and mostly friendless in a city that was new to her, so I estimated that she should be delivered to the Club sometime during the party, a piece of good timing in terms of having Council members on hand to act as witnesses, but in the end if I had been able to get her before the party started it would have saved us a lot of grief.

That done, I went to join my friends in slumber, and we slept in late. After showers and a light breakfast, Miranda and I took the Rutherfords on a tour of the Club while kat went to join the Club slaves in preparing for the party that evening. We focused mainly on the research facilities that Miranda and I had set up, and not too surprisingly we ended up making a small amount of progress on our projects right then and there – God those three are brilliant, and such a delight to watch in action together, even though I have no idea what they’re talking about once they get rolling.

In that pleasant manner the afternoon sped away, and I was glad that Miranda had that distraction; I knew that she had to be worried as hell for kat, and with her already unstable state I don’t know how she would have acted had Max and Irene not been there. When the time came to go get dressed for the party however, Miranda’s nerves finally showed up, and again Max and Irene came to the rescue, guiding her gently through the process of getting dressed and such while continually adding their reassurances to my own; they meant theirs, but I unfortunately wasn’t being honest when I told her everything would be fine – I know the Moores well, tried to block their memberships in fact, and I knew that they are too dangerously unpredictable to trust anyone’s life in their hands.

Perhaps I should explain a little about the Moores. Harold and Alicia are a young couple that both come from a silver spoon background. Too wealthy and powerful for their own good, neither one has ever respected limits or conventions, since they’ve always been able to buy or threaten their way out of any trouble they’ve caused. They originally caught our attention when they started making the rounds of the big BDSM clubs looking for something a lot more extreme than the standard fare. As they slipped deeper into the underground area of the fetish, their cruelty and penchant for giving subs far more than they bargained for while still managing to keep a low profile intrigued a member of the council, and I was of course dispatched to investigate and make tentative contact.

By the time I returned to the Council with my findings on the Moores, I was convinced that their entry into our little community would be a disaster. I told the Council that no matter how much money they gave us it wouldn’t be worth the chaos that they would cause, and I made it clear that they would prey on the members and staff as well as the slaves, but I was overruled; the Moores had gone around me already and made an agreement with the Council already, one involving a mind boggling amount of cash and other resources. At that point, I almost arranged for the couple to meet with an accident, but it was just too risky; now I’m really regretting that I didn’t do them in when I had the chance.

Okay, now that I’m done introducing the villains of our little story, I can go back to the four of us arriving at the party, which was in full swing already. As we entered the ballroom, we were immediately struck by the decorations – Club slaves, including the ones that Max and I had spared the night before, stretched out in chains or crucified were scattered around the place with portable kitchen stations next to each of them. Kitchen staff members were on hand at each station to slice selected cut of meat from the slaves and cook them to order, and most of the poor girls were already mutilated and screaming or sobbing into their gags. There was music playing that masked some of the noises, but the sound of that suffering was still really getting to poor Irene and even Miranda looked a little sick at the cruel display – I suppose that shouldn’t have surprised me though, considering the nature of her pet project.

Needing to distract the girls, and wanting to get it out of the way, I took my little flock to meet the Moores. It was nearly a disaster right off the bat; just as I had originally thought, they ignored our conventions, and sensing fresh, vulnerable prey, they tried to get Irene into a wager, but luckily she was too smart to respond, and Miranda and I deflected their attempts to get our friend killed. Harold took the rebuff in stride, but Alicia took it personally, and she focused her wrath on Miranda, though she hid it well enough that we didn’t know it until it was too late.

The games started just after the Moores stalked away from us. There were three of them, the first of which was a double lottery of all females on the premises – something usually reserved for special events like Miranda’s wedding reception. One lucky winner, a staff girl named Wendy who often waited on me in the Club lounges, found herself the sudden owner of a Lamborghini Diablo, which I am going to be selling off for her – hopefully Alicia doesn’t take it as an insult. Then there was the pair of losers, who added to the entertainment and decorations as they were spitted and live roasted right there in the ballroom. We lucked out on that one, only losing someone’s personal slave and a young woman who was there as a guest of one of the staff.

The other two games only involved slaves and volunteers – and yes, there were a few girls that were playing that didn’t have to; we always get at least one, and I have never really understood why.

The second game was one of pure chance, a version of Russian Roulette involving a .45 cal revolver with two bullets being shoved into a different orifice in each of the three rounds. There were nine slaves and three volunteers for that game; the free women consisted of two really drunken guests, twin seniors in high school that had come on the arms of one of our more charming members, and a staff girl that I had seen in numerous contests – she was a little punk with a severe adrenaline addiction that I really liked, a very spunky, entertaining girl. I really don’t think that the twins fully realized the level of danger that they were in until the first bullet was found – the starting round required that the girls give the long barrel of the gun simulated fellatio while they pulled the trigger, and the second girl to do so, a personal slave that also served as her Master’s personal assistant, blew her brilliant mind out the back of her head and all over the white painted cinder blocks behind her – and that was when the silly teens started to panic a bit. It probably didn’t help that they had to wait for all of the slaves to finish before it was their turn, raising their anxiety levels greatly, especially when the odds went haywire and took out three slaves in a row after the PA, and then spared the rest.

Seeing that the twins were having major second thoughts, my little favorite punk girl went out of order, grabbing the gun from the last slave and gleefully spinning the cylinder before giving the audience a real show by slowly and lovingly giving the gleaming, deadly metal cylinder one of the best blow jobs I’ve ever seen while she fingered herself shamelessly, finally tilting her head back to deep throat the thing as she pulled the trigger at the start of an orgasm. When there was a little click instead of a boom, she fell to the floor shuddering as she tossed the gun to one of the twins, and I swear that she looked disappointed.

The twin that had caught the gun seemed to be reassured and more than a little turned on by the punk’s show and she seemed to be the type that liked attention, because she emulated the previous girl’s performance before pulling the trigger herself, and she definitely came when the chamber came up empty. Her sister must have been a little jealous, because she savagely tore the gun away and then proceeded to pull out all the stops, throating the weapon constantly as she vigorously frigged herself to orgasm, screaming into the barrel as she pulled the trigger – and blew herself away. Because of her position and the angle of the gun, the bullet tore through her neck and chest, expanding her throat visibly before it destroyed her heart and lungs. The girl staggered backwards a few steps, still alive for a moment, and then she fell over onto her back, her limbs sprawled out loosely and the gun flying from her gaping mouth. The look of amazement and surprise on her face along with her sister’s futile efforts to help her were the really big treats of that whole round – slaves and staff usually go into these things fully aware of their chances of meeting their maker, but guest volunteers, especially the young ones like those two, rarely grasp the reality of their mortality until it is too late.

They reversed the order for the second round and told the remaining twin to get the gun in her snatch, but she really didn’t seem to be aware of her surroundings, so the punk came to the rescue again by shoving the dazed girl onto her back, spreading her thighs and working the gun barrel into her still moist cunt. The twin was too out of it to realize what was happening to her until she heard the click that meant her survival to the next round. With that out of the way, my favorite wasted no time in fucking herself to a quaking orgasm and then she pulled the trigger, this time actually moaning in disappointment when she again survived.

The first and fourth slaves to screw the gun soon found themselves with churned up guts (the angle of the gun allowed the bullets to exit the girls before reaching their chests), each shuddering entertainingly for several minutes on the floor before finally expiring. That left just five of the original twelve participants for the final round. The three remaining slaves butt fucked themselves as they warily pulled the trigger – and only one was not rewarded with a bullet hollowing her out. I really think that Alicia, who was doing the loading, was cheating and slipping in extra rounds, but if she was, she must be great at slight of hand, because I never caught her at it.

This time the surviving twin actually asked the punk if she could go first, and then she surprised us all by lying on her sister, quickly positioning the cylinder for a live round, and placing the barrel to her temple before kissing the corpse beneath her and blowing her brains out – there were some arguments about the betting on that one I can tell you. The shocked punk didn’t seem to know what to do to top that, so she just quickly inserted the weapon into her ass and frigged herself off with little fanfare before pulling the trigger and coming up empty again – amazing how the irony of the universe works, that of the two survivors of the whole mess, one of them was the one that wanted to feel the bullet.

The final game was the one that kat was in, and it was a classic test of self control, so I was able to be a little more honest in my reassurances to Miranda; really, I’ve only rarely met slaves with as much control over their responses as the ones trained by Miranda, and kat was no exception. The test was simple, with each of the eight girls strapped into one of our semi-portable guillotines (they have to be broken into parts and reassembled, unlike our truly portable hydraulic models) with electrical leads clamped to her nipples and clit, facing out towards the audience with the rope to the blade gripped in her teeth – all they had to do was avoid screaming too energetically when they were randomly shocked, or when they were hit at random with the cane that Alicia and Harold were wielding behind them.

Alicia first announced that they would continue the game until four heads rolled, making Miranda very nervous, but then a Council member overruled her, stating that the unusually high snuff rate of the last game would make any more than two deaths here too excessive. Alicia was pretty miffed by that, while Miranda visibly relaxed – there was a volunteer in the game that looked far too spoiled to last long, a daughter of one of the Mistresses named Angela that I had been reviewing the membership application of. Angela might have been spoiled, but she was sweet and really sexy, so I really regret that she decided to prove herself that way; when her head came off just a minute into the game, her expression was one of total bewilderment that just made me shake my head.

For the rest of the game, Harold actually kept to the rules and evenly distributed his blows, but Alicia must have found out who kat’s owner was, because she focused on her with a fury that had me wincing, and a few Council members were starting to get a little nervous. Luckily, Harold hit the Jackpot with a slave that hadn’t really been broken in yet, and the game was declared over before the disembodied head had stopped rolling. Miranda and I must have had the same bad feeling about Alicia’s expression, because we both immediately made our way onstage to get kat out of her guillotine. We almost made it there, when Alicia pulled the rope from kat’s mouth without locking the blade first. Miranda and I both screamed out no, but the bitch didn’t listen as she let the rope run through her fingers with a theatrical ‘oops’. Harold had obviously not been in on the plan, because he had been in the process of unstrapping kat’s torso from the bench when the blade came down; poor kat had enough time for an anguished ‘Mir-‘ and then her voice was cut off forever and her body was rearing up and spraying blood all over us.

Miranda fell to her knees and just cradled her lover’s head while I stood there in shock; I had expected this kind of behavior from the Moores, but not this soon and blatant. Poor kat must not have stayed aware for very long, or maybe my time sense was just off, because in just moments Miranda was handing the head of her beloved to me, and then she launched herself at Alicia Moore and knocked her to the ground, landing on top of her. The look on the spoiled bitch’s face was priceless as Miranda started to beat the living shit out of her, using the same blows that she had been taught to use on a slave. By the time Miranda was dragged off of her, Alicia’s face wasn’t very pretty anymore – her nose was broken and several teeth were missing – and her torn dress was hanging open to reveal incredibly bruised and swollen tits that were sporting only one nipple, and a tooth-marked ragged hole where the other had been.

I signaled the med staff to sedate Miranda while I watched Alicia rolling around on the ground, screaming at the top of her lungs. The three Council members on hand had a quick conference with me while Harold yelled for someone to help his wife. I took great pleasure in telling him to do it himself, as Alicia was suspended from using the services of the Club staff until a final ruling was made on her punishment. He was incredibly puzzled by that one, until we made it clear that for all their money, Miranda was worth far more to the Club than the Moores ever would be, and as such the murder, not snuff, of her favorite slave was not something that we would tolerate, especially given that slave’s contributions to our research efforts. I wish my heart had not been so heavy at the time, because I really would have enjoyed gloating over Harold’s predicament as he clumsily attempted to treat his wife’s wounds.

We took Miranda to her suite and called her sister, who is on her way and should be here tomorrow, and it’s now several hours after the abrupt and early end of the party. Max and I still have to deal with his initiation, and then with Alicia’s hearing, so we are going to leave her in the able hands of Irene. She’s quite distraught herself, having gotten to really like kat, but she has enough distance still to comfort Miranda and keep her mildly sedated until we get back. I’ll make another entry for Miranda tomorrow and tell you how things went – I really don’t think she’ll be in any condition to write in here for a while, so hopefully Rosaline can help out and record things for her after she gets settled in here. Either way though, I’m worried for the both of them; they were just starting to get past what happened with Miranda’s children, and now this…

[center][color=blue:o1a195xz]Continued below…[/color:o1a195xz][/center]

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[center]Journal Three – Entry Three[/center]

Friday, March 16, 1990

Jack here again. Rosaline will be taking over from me after this point if Miranda doesn’t pull herself together before then, but for right now the poor girls are both preoccupied with their shared grief, and besides, I’m the only one of us that knows everything that’s going on, so here goes.

I have a feeling that Max and Irene are going to be very important in Miranda’s life if she can get through this – and with her strength of will I have no doubt that she will, even if she is not herself for a long time – so I think we should start with Max’s initiation. With the way this week has gone, it really shouldn’t have surprised me that Max had a very unusual session, but it did, at least in terms of how it was unusual.

It’s not peculiar for an initiate to be anguished when presented with a person dear to them that they absolutely must kill, and quite often they start their terminal experience with that person in some intimate, tender way; it is also not a rarity for the victim to come to terms with their fate and become resigned to it before the end. What was unique about that final time that Max and Vanessa spent together was that the entire thing was a form of making love, even as he killed her, and somehow he got her to welcome her death with joy; I’ve never seen anything like it in my life, and if this is a sign of things to come, then I believe I may recommend Max for some of the duties that I find rather distasteful, to see if he can make them more palatable and humane.

Max started off with his old friend by gently explaining to her what was happening, and why it was that he was doing it, and then he started asking her about her life; it was a rather depressing conversation for all of us I think, since it turns out that Vanessa was just as much in love with Max’s lost love as he was, but never did anything about it, and had never gotten past the girl’s death. Her life was a generally lonely and pointless one, and so she started out already accepting of her death. That’s when things got odd, as Max gently but expertly seduced her into a long and apparently very satisfying sexual encounter that was so tender and loving it almost brought tears to MY eyes. By the time they were getting close to the deadline, she was looking at him with a level of affection that I couldn’t believe, begging him to kill her, saying that it would give her life meaning. Amazing the way he handled her, and all without meaning to; he’s a real natural.

Now the method of Vanessa’s termination was not at all unusual – garrotes are in fact incredibly mundane by our standards – but what was unusual is how much care Max took to make sure that she got as many orgasms as possible before the end, making love to her the entire time and stretching out her asphyxiation right to the deadline before finally drawing the garrote to lethal tightness and making her cum into oblivion with the most happy, satisfied and ecstatic look on her face.

Now, normally one of the big things that the Council observers look for during an initiation is the ability to be cruel, or at least cold, to the victim no matter how close they might have been to the initiate, but in this case, Max’s accomplishment of turning a normal, if somewhat depressed young woman into a total snuff-bunny in less than six hours was just too intriguing for them to resist, and he passed with flying colors.

After receiving the congratulations of the pair of Council observers, I took Max to the lounge for a drink that he was quite in need of. He was hiding it well, but I could see the anguish in his eyes, so I got him a good single malt scotch and described to him some of the horrors that I’ve seen other initiates perpetrate on far closer friends and relatives, comparing that to the beautiful death that his Vanessa had been blessed with. I’m pretty convincing, and Max is a resilient guy, so by the time Rosaline called to have me meet her at the airstrip, he was stable and ready to help with the girls.

Rosaline looked like hell when she arrived, eyes bloodshot and shadowed from crying and her lips and nails all chewed up from waiting for her long flight to be over. I gave her a long and loving embrace as soon as I reached her, and she practically collapsed in my arms, so I picked her up and carried her into the Club while Max followed with her bags. She was looking up at me with the most loving and gentle expression, and seemed pretty out of it, when she dropped a bombshell on me – I don’t think she had intended to say it, but she was exhausted physically and emotionally and it just seemed to slip out of her. She told me that she was pregnant, which was a pleasant enough surprise to start with, and then when she told me how pregnant she was, I stopped dead in my tracks, knowing her schedule full well – three months ago, she spent a month traveling with me, Miranda and Patricia, and there was only one man that she had been with that entire time – me.

Rosaline was too out of it to realize that the cat was out of the bag, so I pulled her close so that she couldn’t see my face and hurried her to Miranda’s suite, where we stripped her and put her in bed with her sister before giving her a mild sedative to make sure that she got some rest. Max, Irene and I then went into the other room to talk, and I couldn’t contain myself; I needed advice, badly, I couldn’t talk to my wife about it yet, and these are the two most trustworthy people I know, so it was easy to unburden myself and try to use them as sounding boards, to see what I should do. The conclusion we came up with was that I should wait for things to settle down as far as the girls dealing with kat’s death, and then I should have a long talk with her about it once she reads this entry; we still have six months after all, and I’m sure that she won’t be rational for a while. As far as talking to Patricia about it, well, I’ve never misled my wife before, and I’m not about to start now; besides, she’ll probably have a better idea of how to deal with this than I do.

That done, I left Max and Irene to get some rest while I made my way to see what the Council had decided regarding the Moores. I have to say I was disappointed but not at all surprised when the couple wasn’t kicked out, which would have been a death sentence for them, but when it was decided that they would merely be put on ‘probation’ with no real punishment, I was pretty pissed. Then I stopped to think about how carefully Miranda and her allies, including myself, are going to be watching for them to screw up, and I concluded that the Moores were no longer going to be any real trouble for me, at least until they figure out ways to get around the rules rather than just breaking them; maybe by then Miranda will have gotten her revenge on Alicia.

I really wanted to get some sleep after that, but first I had some stress to work off, so I went to the bar for a drink, and found that I wasn’t the only one with that plan; the punk girl from the roulette game was at one of the stools, drunk off her ass and not looking very happy. I joined her, and let my curiosity get the better of me as I asked the girl – who introduced herself as Leah – why she didn’t just ask one of the members to snuff her if she was so keen on dying. Her response fit with my observations of her; she wanted it to be a surprise when it happened, a matter of chance – it was the unknown aspect of her perils that got her off.

I was still pretty turned on from the show that Max and Vanessa put on, and I had always been intrigued by this girl’s reactions to death games, so I proposed that she come to my room and play around until I was able to fall asleep, and then in the morning I would find some games for her to play until she ‘lucked out’. She readily agreed, and I am happy to tell you that she was just as adventurous in bed as she was in the games.

We woke up early and I gave Leah a good morning fuck, and then we shared the shower and went out to find some fun. Things were pretty quiet, so we had free run of the place, and I took her to several snuff rooms, trying out games involving the noose, poisonous snakes, and an electric chair before we finally found one that she had almost no chance of winning – the drowning pool. The idea of the game was simple; we got into the shallow pool, I mounted her while shoving her upper body under water, and rode her until I came, with her role being to try to hold her breath until I finished.

Now, Leah was a phenomenal fuck, with amazing control of her cunt muscles, and when she had played this game before, she had sucked the cum out of her partner before she even got uncomfortable, but she had already drained me pretty dry, and at any rate I have a pretty long fuse, so to speak, so what might have looked to her to be a pretty fair game turned out to be her final fuck. Things started out alright for her, as she had great self-control, but I’m nothing if not a great cock-smith, and she was already worked up from her previous brushes with death (she came pretty close to biting it in the snake game in particular, pun intended), so pretty soon her fucking of me was involving far more than just an attempt to win the game, and then her motions started to become more desperate and disjointed as I lasted to the edges of her endurance. I sensed that her moment of truth was upon her, so I helped things along while making sure that she went out with a bang by deftly manipulating her engorged clit while angling my cock just right, and she released the air in her lungs in a long underwater scream of ecstasy as she started to cum. Leah’s legs were thrashing behind me, and her body started to violently convulse beneath me as she breathed water, and the combination of her orgasm and death throes finally drew the cum from my balls, but it was too late for her, as with one last shiver her body fell limp even as I gave her my final thrust.

Ever a stickler for the rules, I quickly pulled Leah out of the water, but she was obviously gone, her eyes wide and staring and her face filled with a wonderful mix of joy and agony that told me she wouldn’t be pleased if I revived her, not that I was going to anyway. Checking her pulse just in case, I confirmed her death for the recorders in the room and carried her to a delivery cart, and took her to the kitchens. Once there, I had her head removed for preservation (one of the advancements Miranda has made is a fluid that preserves flesh without altering the look or feel of it, which has made us a lot of money), and ordered that she be butchered and packaged for me to eat at my leisure.

That done, I made similar arrangements for poor kat’s body, with the meat and head going to Miranda and Rosaline and her bones going into the car that would be involved in a fiery wreck to cover our tracks. Now all I have to do is figure out when that fateful crash is going to take place. Faking an accident for kat is going to be easy, but there’s no way that Miranda or Rosaline are going to be able to handle dealing with the family right away, especially kat’s sisters, so that leaves it to me, as a friend of the family, and I’m just glad that I can count on my wife to help me with that, because kat really does have a sweet family, and it’s going to really hurt to see them reacting to her death.

It’s afternoon right now, and I just got done saying goodbye to the girls, who are still a bit out of it. Miranda did have enough presence of mind to ask that Irene wear kat’s collar, a request that brought tears to the woman’s eyes as she accepted, and I think that Rosaline was with it enough to realize that something was different in how I held her before taking my leave of them; I was trying to act normally, but I just couldn’t help caressing her little tummy as I thought of what was growing inside of it.

So anyway, I’ve authorized Max and Irene to have free run of the labs, and for them to have authority over the girls until they are well enough to take care of themselves. We had a little collaring ceremony a few minutes ago, and the Council should have Irene’s special status finalized tonight, so she can start wandering the halls then in safety. Meanwhile, I need to go spend some time with my wife and little girls, and find some way of telling them that they will never see their beloved kat again…

[center]Journal Three – Entry Four[/center]

Wednesday, August 15, 1990

This is hell. I really don’t want to be doing this, but it’s important to Miranda, and she says it might help me deal with things, so here goes – oh, this is Rosaline by the way, just thought you might need to know that.

First off, I just got done reading Jack’s entries, and I’ll be picking up where he left off, but before that I’d like to explain a few things about my pregnancy. Please don’t judge me; I mean, I know that I’m still basically single, and a bit young, but ever since my first niece was taken from us so swiftly and completely, I’ve wanted nothing more than to bring a child into our little family that will not be taken away, that my sister and I can hold and cherish and love for the rest of our lives. It’s…sort of a gift to my sister, but mostly motherhood is something that I’ve always looked forward to; I’m just on a more advanced schedule than I envisioned five years ago.

My brother the perv was of course keen on knocking me up himself, and thinks that he has (he’s not so good with the bleeding obvious or math, let alone a combination of the two), but comfy as Miranda may be with the concept of her daughters being her nieces, the thought of it just creeps me out, so I did what I could to cheat. Every time I was with Benedick, I was using a diaphragm, and every time I was with any other man it was a contraceptive free encounter. Usually I was with Jack, but sometimes I made use of the studs at the Stables and twice I hooked up with Masters at the Club, which was a mistake even though both were great shags, as they took my overtures as a sign of submission, and one whipped the shit out of me while the other entered me into a game of chance involving a deck of cards and a set of dildos whose size and ‘extra features’ were determined by the number and suit of the cards, respectively – I lucked out and drew a four of hearts that earned me a screwing by a ten incher with some uncomfortable studs on them, while one of the other girls drew a jack of spades and was split open by a replica of a horse cock before she was fried by a lethal electrical charge straight into her cunt and womb – needless to say, if I ever get randy at the Club again, I’ll be making use of the slaves or staff to get my rocks off.

Back on topic, my times with Jack were always rather special, especially since they almost always involved my Miranda and his Patricia, and I think I started to fall for him a bit, because I started to become obsessed with the idea of having his baby, to the point that I arranged for that three week encounter with him, which of course was successful. It was only when I confirmed my gravid state that I realized just how awkward this situation could end up being for my dear Jack and his sweet Patricia. I became quite upset at that point, but luckily Miranda was there for me, and we were able to come up with a plan to convince everyone that the child was Benedick’s. Unfortunately, when Jack carried me from the plane on my arrival at the Club, I was too upset and exhausted to control myself, and gave him the one bit of info that he needed. I didn’t even realize that I had slipped up until I read his entry just now, and I’m at a loss as to how I will deal with the situation now – I can’t even ask my sister for advice, as she’s in a mental state that I don’t trust with this.

So, traveling back in time a bit, I showed up the night of kat’s death in really shitty condition and was pretty well useless, but Jack had to go, so he left us in the capable hands of Max and Irene, who I was meeting for the first time that night; luckily for them, I was too out of it to make a fuss, especially after I took those pills they gave me and drifted into la-la land. When we woke up in the morning the couple introduced themselves and gave me a more detailed account of what had happened, and then they assured us that they would take care of everything until we were ready to deal with things. They were very kind, too kind in fact.

Well, it was nearly a week later that Jack showed up again all antsy about arranging for kat’s cover accident and informing the family and whatnot, and Miranda and I were still in bed together, talking about our times with kat a bit but mostly just staring at the walls or out the windows and letting the drugs we kept asking for float us away from the reality that we would never be seeing our love again. As you can imagine, he was pissed, and after ordering our drugs cut off, he had Max help him out, dumped us out of bed and dragged us into the bathroom for a long, cold shower, holding us under the water by our hair so we couldn’t get away and berating us about avoiding our responsibilities to kat’s family – that hurt, a lot, and after cussing him out for awhile, we agreed that he should move ahead with the arrangements for kat’s official demise. He had awoken us from our self-serving slumbers, but we were still in a state of numbness and denial, and then a few days later we had to take the remains – a carefully charred skeleton minus the head, to be precise – of Katherine Ashford to her family for burial.

The authorities had already informed kat’s parents about her death of course, so when we arrived we at least didn’t have to deal with their initial shock, but that also meant that the whole family was there waiting for us. All I can say is thank God Jack was with us when we first arrived and during the funeral and wake, or things could have been much worse.

Mom and Dad Ashford were as wonderful and gracious as ever, but the haunted emptiness in their eyes was more than I could bear, especially when they enveloped us in their frequent hugs and tried to comfort US…if only they knew how guilty that made us, especially Miranda – after all, it was our family that drew poor kat into the environment that killed her.

The worst however was dealing with kat’s sisters. Ellen, the oldest, worships the ground Miranda walks on, not that I can blame her for that, but now that her other goddess was gone, she became excessively clingy, something that my sister just wasn’t prepared to deal with. I myself have always been especially close to Ginny, the youngest of the siblings at twelve, so I automatically concentrated on her feelings and needs, but my girl is strong, and she really was holding up amazingly well for her age.

The real problem was Stella, who had always done her best to emulate kat and saw her as some sort of angel (an image that I think we all had of her to one degree or another); kat’s death had broken her inside, really badly, and she was using anger to deal with that, anger aimed straight at Miranda and I. Every chance the girl got, she sent venom our way, using her words like knives and twisting them in our hearts by insinuating that kat would be alive and well if she had never known us, a strategy that worked all too well on us as we were already harboring those same guilty thoughts. I really don’t know what was worse for me, the dead eyes of kat’s parents, or the searing hate-filled gaze of that once happy, pure child.

The funeral itself is what broke me; seeing that casket being lowered into the ground finally broke down the wall that I had built up around my grief, and I had to be lifted from the ground at her graveside and carried to the waiting cars. I was taken straight to the room I was using at kat’s house and sweet little Ginny stayed with me while I balled my eyes out until I fell asleep. That meant that I missed kat’s wake, and so I had no idea at the time what happened there to snap Miranda out of her funk, but whatever it was, she woke me the next morning with clear eyes and a drive that I haven’t seen in her since we were in school and started making complex, long ranging plans – more about those later.

After bidding farewell to kat’s family and promising all except Stella (who pointedly turned her back on us when we tried to say goodbye to her) that we would be visiting with them regularly, Miranda and I met Jack at his car and sped off to our waiting jet, and that’s when I started to notice something…odd about Miranda. She wasn’t acting or talking like the sister and lover that I know; she was acting like our father when he was making his more vicious business decisions – she even had his mannerisms, something that disturbed me more than you can know.

As soon as we were in the air, she was making arrangements to start working towards her long-term goals, goals that I sympathized with, but still can’t associate with my Miranda. First off, she’s working to chip away at the power and fortunes of Harold and Alicia Moore’s entire family, and her plans are so subtle and precisely aimed, and so long term in nature, that I don’t think the Moores will know what’s hitting them until it is far too late. A related plan involves maneuvering herself and her allies onto the Club’s Council over the next decade or so, which will eventually enable her to turn the Club into a death trap for her enemies.

What really surprised me were her plans for the Stables – she’s going to expand them significantly, adding modified slaves to our stocks, something that she had always fought with our father and Benedick over because of the lifetime of suffering it inflicts on slaves. She was such a whirlwind of activity that I couldn’t ask her about these uncharacteristic actions that she was taking until we were back at the Stables and finished with making love for the first time since she had left for the Club on her birthday.

What she told me shocked the shit out of me, but made sense in a twisted sort of way. Miranda told me that she had our father in her head – she thinks that it’s some sort of multiple personality thing, and I’m going with that since any other explanation is just too scary to think about – and she was able to use that part of her mind to keep herself from falling into an emotional black hole by making a deal with it – a deal with the devil, if you ask me. ‘Father’ is lending his strength and general nastiness to her so that she can avenge kat, and in exchange she is allowing ‘him’ to achieve his dream of having the largest, most versatile and elite slave stable in the world.

I can’t say that I am entirely comfortable with Miranda’s situation – actually, it creeps me out to no end – but when I look really deep into her eyes, and I look past the drive and determination, I can see the abyss in her soul that’s just waiting to swallow her, and there is just no way that I can condemn what she’s doing, at least not until my baby arrives and she has something new to hold onto. Well, at least I have the real her when I’m making love with her, a comfort that I cling to every time I see her emulating my father’s cruel ways.

So that brings us to the present. The Stables are expanding at an astounding pace, and there is a new wing dedicated to modified slaves that I call the house of horrors, while our scouts are making contact with slavers the world over setting up acquisition deals that will allow us to offer any type of slave a Master could ever desire. Meanwhile, I’m expanding as well, as we get closer and closer to my moment of truth and joy, and Miranda is arranging for Max and Patricia to take over my care at The Eyre, a Club in the Alps that contains the Organization’s most advanced medical facilities. I’m not due for another three weeks, but I’m not having an easy pregnancy, probably due to my small size, and Miranda isn’t going to take any chances.

Tomorrow I’ll be leaving this place, and Miranda wanted me to update this journal before she has no choice but to do it on her own, and also because she really just wanted me to get all of this off my chest, which I’ll admit has worked rather nicely. At any rate, I only have one more thing to say, and it’s not meant for Miranda’s ‘anonymous future readers’, so if you’re one of them, sod off.

Miranda, when you read this, please don’t be mad that I don’t approve of what you’re doing…I love you, and I will follow you anywhere, in any endeavor, no matter how much it might hurt me. I will support your plans, and help you get your revenge, but please, when my baby comes, and you hold your little niece or nephew in your arms for the first time, try to remember who you really are, who the Miranda that kat and I fell in love with was, and bring her back to me…I miss you baby, come home.

[center]Journal Three – Entry Five[/center]

Friday, August 31, 1990

Oh why must every good thing in my life be more than balanced out by some catastrophic series of events? As of this moment, I am watching the sweetest, most darling little baby girl that you will ever see as she sleeps the sleep of an angel, completely unaware of the danger her mother is in, and totally oblivious to the fact that the man who delivered her less than a day ago, who should be helping with her mother’s surgery, is in the corner of the room cradling the corpse of his wife and rocking it gently while his eyes stare at nothing. In other words, I am looking at a piece of heaven trapped in the midst of hell.

With how well things were proceeding for me at the time of my sister’s departure for this place two weeks ago, I should have been forewarned that disaster was approaching, but for once I had the temerity to think that maybe just this once my life might be able to pull itself into some semblance of normalcy, and thus I was blindsided by Max’s phone call just two days ago, and the events that transpired from that point on.

The call itself was absolutely terrifying to me; my sweet little Rosaline, just a week away from her delivery date, had suddenly become severely ill, her condition deteriorating rapidly, and they were going to have to get her baby out of her as soon as possible, a situation that reminded me far too forcefully of my own experience with my Ophelia. As if that wasn’t enough horror for me, Max had another piece of information to torture me with – he knew what was killing my Rosaline, and it was worse than I had feared. A random exotic virus like I had been infected with, or some bacterial infection, those I could have dealt with, but what he presented me with was a specter that had haunted my nightmares since the first time I had watched one of my favorite teachers slowly, painfully dying of one of its myriad varieties - cancer; and not just any kind of cancer, but a brain tumor. I couldn’t grasp what he was telling me at first; I thought, ‘that’s not possible, Rosaline’s too young, there has to be a mistake’, and I mumbled those very words to Max, even knowing full well that he would have made absolutely certain of it before calling me.

The flight to The Eyre was seemingly endless, as a strange, tense numbness overtook me, blocking out every thought, even those of my paternal hallucination. I think that I might have collapsed entirely if I didn’t have my husband there with me, for once knowing just what to do and silently holding me to him, comforting me without requiring me to really be there with him.

As soon as we arrived, I was rushed to my sister’s side; they were in the process of rolling her into the operating room when I got to her. She was so pale and weak looking that it took everything I had to give her a reassuring smile and tell her that everything would be fine – I didn’t really believe it, and I could see in her eyes that she didn’t either.

Sparing you the gory details, my niece came out healthy and beautiful as can be, and Rosaline had just enough time to name her Cassandra before her blood pressure crashed and I was ushered out with the baby’s caretakers. I think that I would have been a gibbering mess had I not had my sweet little niece to distract me. Looking into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, holding her and bonding with her, I was lost in wonder that such a perfect thing should be a part of my universe; I swear she actually brightened the room with her very presence.

As you may have surmised, my Rosaline survived, but she was most definitely in very poor shape, and in fact has yet to wake up. Max informed me that as soon as she was stable enough he was going to have to excise the tumor, and that she might very well die from it. I was horrified, but things only got worse from there.

Normally when a Club has a large event that will include games and lotteries, Members and staff are given warning so that they can whisk away any important slaves or guests that they don’t wish to risk, but smaller events are often planned on such short notice that there is no warning other than the summons for those required to participate. This morning such a summons was delivered to poor Irene. It was the first time that she had been drawn into the darker side of Club life, and Max was climbing the walls in worry.

Being a relatively small event, there was only one game, but it was not one that I would have chosen for a nominal slave totally untrained for death sport; I feel so guilty that I didn’t take the precaution of preparing Irene for these things, but it just always seemed that we would have plenty of time to do that – well, time had run out for her, in every way possible.

The game was a simple group slow hanging, with a dozen slaves participating. Each was fitted with a heart monitor, and after consulting about the menu for the banquet later in the day, it was declared that the slaves would hang until four were dead; Max was holding my hand, and when they essentially gave us his poor wife’s odds of survival, he almost crushed it in his distress. I tried to give him hope; after all, even though several of the slaves were gaming veterans, there were two girls that had obviously been recently abused, their bodies covered in bruises and welts, and another one weighed quite a bit more than any of the others, though that extra weight was in the form of impressive musculature – my instincts were still telling me that it was a long shot, but I ignored that and told Max about the other weak links and insisted that Irene could make it as long as she outlasted one other girl.

My instincts were unfortunately right on the mark. The abused slaves went swiftly, and the muscle bound one didn’t last very much longer, but Irene didn’t have the self-control needed for surviving the rope – she panicked right away, and her frantic kicking and writhing quickly tightened the rope and exhausted her stores of energy and oxygen. I will never admit this to Max, but I really have to say that Irene was magnificent in her final throes; her slender, pale body, covered in a sheen of sweat, trembling and jerking erotically, was incredibly stimulating to watch as it moved inexorably towards its final animate moment, and the look of pain and terror distorting her sweet face was so contrary to the image that I had always held of her that I couldn’t help but be incredibly turned on as she gave in with a final shudder and a splash of piss – she didn’t even come close to beating the other girls.

Max ran up to the stage as the survivors were let down, and I knew that I would have to work swiftly to avoid trouble, so I hurried to the organizer of the event and arranged to buy one of the surviving slaves for a live roasting to replace Irene, whose body I helped to lower into her sobbing husband’s arms. Max was completely unaware of anything other than his wife, so I gently led him to this room, where I have been caring for little Cassandra with the assistance of Alex, a very bosomy maternity slave that I purchased just for this purpose.

One look at Max’s empty eyes told me that he would not be of any use in the operating theatre, and so when the chief surgeon came to tell him it was time for my sister’s operation, I told him to proceed without Max, and ever since whatever hope I had been harboring has been slowly slipping away from me. My sweet little Cassandra is the only thing keeping me from looking like Max right now; this is all just too close to my kat’s murder for me to handle it, but I know that I have to be strong for my niece, strong enough to keep Benedick from taking her from me if the worst should happen.

Oh, there’s one of the doctors now, I’ll be back with an update.

Addendum – The surgeons believe that they have excised all of the diseased tissues, and they are ready to start up Rosaline’s chemo treatments, but they are worried, and so am I; my sister has yet to awaken, and until then, there is just no way of telling if there has been any damage to her brain. While I have been waiting, I have been keeping myself busy by making arrangements for the disposition of Irene’s remains, which I finally convinced Max to let go of, and by brow beating my husband into guaranteeing that he will allow me to raise Cassandra as my own if Rosaline cannot – he hedged a bit on that one, which has me worried, but I’m too anxious about my sister’s situation to deal with it at the moment.

Benedick has left to take care of things in my absence; he didn’t put up a fight at all when I told him that I’m not leaving Rosaline’s side. Max left with him, his wife’s collar and wedding ring clutched tightly in his big hand; he’s still out of it, but I swear that I saw something reminiscent of Stella in his eyes when he looked at me, and I can’t blame him for that. I desperately hope that I have not lost both of my wonderful friends in one fell swoop, but knowing my luck, it’s probably a foregone conclusion that he will be distant from me at the very least for a long time to come. Perhaps I deserve that, but at least I still have my Jack, who is flying in to keep me company as I write this. I can’t wait for his arrival, even though I know that I will have to deal with Cassandra’s paternity when he does get here – the awkwardness is more than worth it if I can have him here to comfort me.

I can’t stand the waiting, and Cassandra is asleep still, so I am going to go down to the banquet and eat some of that slave I purchased for it, and then I think that I’m going to find a Club slave to torture so that I don’t have to think about the future; I’ll lose myself in the sweet music of some girl’s pain, and hope that it can act as a salve on my own.

[center]Journal Three – Entry Six[/center]

Tuesday, September 25, 1990

This is Rosaline again, though you won’t recognize the handwriting, since I’m dictating this to Alex, my daughter’s nanny slave – by the way Miranda, this was my idea, don’t punish poor Alex for it, it’s not like she has a choice. I would be writing this myself, but since I woke up from my brain surgery, I haven’t really had much in the way of fine motor control, or even gross motor control for that matter, and I’m having trouble remembering how to spell things anyway, so I don’t think that you’d be able to read this if I gave it my personal touch. As far as why it’s me writing in here (in a matter of speaking) and not Miranda, well, she hasn’t really had a chance to digest everything, and she’s been busy taking care of Cassandra too, so she hasn’t touched this in a while, but most of all, I’m putting things down in here because I have a request that I know she won’t hear me out on unless she sees things from my viewpoint. So here goes.

When I woke up, it was a great relief for the people around me, but for me it was all just a huge confusing jumble - my senses and memory just weren’t working right, so I really didn’t know what was happening to me. What I did know was that my body had betrayed me; nothing was working right, and little has improved since then. Essentially, here is where things stand for me: I can’t really control my muscles – the simplest task you can think of is very hard for me, incredibly frustrating, and even my facial muscles and such are thick, clumsy things, making my voice into an ugly parody of what it once was; my memory is good enough for the most part, but there are weird places that are a blank for me – much of my youth is gone, I can’t spell for shit, and my math isn’t so hot either, yet I could tell you the names of every King and Queen of England, and my vocabulary is still perfectly intact. Those are all just the after affects of having a huge clump of nasty cells shoving at my brain in a weird line, and then having people rummage around in my skull trying to cut the damn thing out. Problem is, I’m still dying.

Miranda’s buying the bullshit that the docs are shoveling at her about my chances, but I’ve had Alex read the charts to me (oh yeah, another thing I’m having trouble with, reading) and I know what words like metastasized aggresive mean…it means that they caught it too late, and the treatments that they are trying to force on me are not going to help other than to maybe buy me some time that I’ll spend in misery – NO THANK YOU!

Miranda, I called Max, and I know that he finally made the last breakthrough on that pleasure treatment for the slaves. I know that it’s ready to test, and I want to be the first to try it out. Yes, I know that it’ll kill me in a day or so, but that’s not an issue since I want my last act after I get the injection to be a gift to the both of us – I want be a live roast, the first one to enjoy it, to be a piece of erotic art as you always dreamed of seeing. I’m not afraid of dying that way, but I’m terrified of what I’ll be put through if you make me try to fight this thing.

I know what you’d want to say at this point – what about Cassandra, don’t you owe it to your daughter to try to make it, blah, blah, blah. Well, look, I wish that I could be here for my baby, more than anything. I desperately want to be there to watch her grow up, to be the one that she comes to when she’s most in need, but that’s just not going to happen, and even if I was there, what could I really do for her? I’d be a figure for her to pity, to feel obligated to look after, and I couldn’t stand that. No, it’s better this way; after all Miranda, she has you to be her mother, and you are going to be so good at it, hell, you already are. I can be satisfied with that.

The next guilt trip you’ll want to try is the selfish one that you know will hurt you terribly to use – the what about me tactic. Well, my answer to that is very simple: do you really think I haven’t noticed how it’s torturing you to see me like this, or that I don’t know that every time you look at me you see your worst nightmares come to life? You need to be able to move past this dear Miranda, and the only way you will is if I move on as soon as possible, before the really bad stuff starts.

Please Miranda, I’m begging you, give me this one wish, be there for me as I go out with a bang, and eat me. Raise my little Cassie for me, and when she gets old enough to understand, tell her all about me, and try to make her understand why I can’t be there for her, even if you don’t really understand it yourself.

Well, I suppose I’ve said what I need to, so I’ll just sign off here and have Alex deliver this to you – remember what I said Miranda, no punishing her for this, no matter how mad you are at me.

Addendum – Oh sweet Rosaline, you always were smarter than I where it counted…I will be responding to your request in person later, after I’ve had a chance to have a little breakdown and some tranquilizers; in the meantime, this is the perfect format for me to give you an answer without losing it or backing out.

Right now, Jack is with me, and he is rocking your sweet little girl to sleep in his arms as I write this. He was here when Alex delivered the journal, and he must have had some idea of what you were up to, because he snatched the thing from me and read it himself, and then he forced some drinks into me before he allowed me to see it for myself. As you expected, I was taken aback and more than a little angry, and it was a good thing that you admonished me about Alex, or I just might have done something rash – as usual, you know me better than I know myself. It was also a good thing that this was introduced to me in a way that allowed me to think things through, and discuss it with Jack, before giving you my answer; otherwise I don’t think that I would have allowed you to get more than a few sentences in before flipping out.

First, I think you should know that Jack took your part in our discussion, albeit reluctantly. I tried to fight it, but in the end I came to the conclusion that you must have predicted: yes, I will allow this thing, though it breaks my heart to do so. Be aware however that this is a conditional decision.

First off, you are not going to spend a moment of your remaining life without me or Jack at your side, starting the moment he delivers this to you; and while we are there we are going to take every opportunity to give you pleasure – we won’t be upstaged by some chemical shot, thank you very much. Second, we are moving you into a larger room so that your Cassie can be with you; she may not remember it, but I just know that somewhere in the back of her mind you will be there, and I want as much of you in her subconscious as possible.

Obviously, you are not going to be objecting to those terms, which is why I started with them. Here are the ones that you might have trouble with. The most immediate is that I want to take you to see kat’s family as soon as possible; they deserve to be able to say their goodbyes, especially your Ginny – she’ll be hurt bad enough just losing you, please don’t make it worse for her. While we are there, I’m going start to give in to Ellen’s advances, and I want you to help me to ease her into my life; I know that will be hard on you, but I just won’t be able to survive after you are gone without being able to look forward to something like her finishing school and coming to work for me, amongst other things – she won’t fill the space you’ll leave in my heart, but I’m certain that she will eventually offer me a type of comfort that I have grown to depend upon.

Most critically, you are going to have to leave letters and videos and such for Cassie to see when she is old enough; I know you’ll already have that urge, but I also think that I know how much it will hurt you to actually make those kinds of goodbyes when it comes down to it, and I can’t have you dieing with any regrets.

My final, and most personal condition, is that you forgive me for having been such a terrible person since kat’s wake, and that you extend that forgiveness to my future actions – I have a horrible feeling that before my own end comes, I will have thoroughly earned a one way ticket into the furthest depths of Hades, and while I don’t regret that, I couldn’t bear it if you were to condemn me from your own afterlife destination.

Okay, I’m about to lose my composure, so I’m handing this off to Jack. I’ll be with you as soon as I can, until then just know that I love you more than my own life, and if I could somehow exchange conditions with you, I would do so without the slightest hint of hesitation.

Hey there baby-doll, it’s Jack. I know that I’ll be right there when you read this, and that I should just tell you these things out loud, but somehow this feels more permanent and lasting, and at any rate I’m sure that we’ll talk about all of this and more before the end. Ah, the end…it’s so hard to contemplate that, a world without you in it. It feels like such a thing isn’t possible, or like if it is possible, such a world must be a much darker place than I want to live in, and that’s were what I want to say begins…you really are one of the lights of my life Rosaline. You confessed in here how you fell a bit for me, and I have to say that I think I’ve been feeling the same way for you. I really will miss you terribly when you are gone my dear.

I know that you’ve been anxious about how I’m reacting to our baby, and I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about it; I love that little girl as much as I do her sisters already, and I will always be there for her. Patricia already knows about her, and she sends her best wishes and her love; really, she’s fine with all of this, and even if my paternity ever becomes official, she has pledged her support. At any rate, just know that nothing could have made me happier than to father your child, and it will be my honor to watch over her in your absence.

Just so you know, Max and I will be taking care of your treatment and spitting when the time comes – believe me, you’ll be in the best of hands. Max is also planning on stopping by to spend some ‘quality time’ with you as soon as he can, and he apologizes for how he’s been since his Irene died, though I’m sure you understand.

I’m really sorry that all of this has happened to you honey; I can’t think of a single person in the world who deserves to suffer like this less than you do. I really hope that there is something better waiting for you on the other side.

Well, enough of this maudlin shit, I’m gonna bring this to you, and then you’re going to find out just how sexy and pleasurable that body of yours still is…

[center]Journal Three – Entry Seven[/center]

Saturday, October 13, 1990

She’s gone. My Rosaline is no more. There’s no denying it, what with the fact that I’m looking straight at her sweet face as her head floats in a jar of preservation fluids and alex is sliding a plate in front of me that has my sister’s perfectly prepared cunt on it, but I still just can’t believe it. I know that once my animal brain does accept the reality of her death, I’ll be lost to the world, maybe for a very long time, and I can’t help but hope that the little echo of her lovely, lilting voice (the voice she had before her personal hell started) that seems to be murmuring in my ear will stay with me and keep me in a partial state of denial long enough for the edge of my grief to wear down a bit.

Hold on a moment, I am going to eat my love one final time.

Oh my, Max and I were right, having a spit roaster cum as she goes, so to speak, really does make the cunt-steak even more exquisite than normal; I almost came just from the flavor as I devoured my Rosaline’s most precious gift. From the expressions on everyone else’s faces, I think that the added quality is present in the rest of her meat as well; I’ll find out after I make this entry.

To put things in proper order, I suppose that I should start by telling you that once the decision to roast Rosaline had been made and her treatments were halted, she became much happier and more animated, talking up a storm as best she could and making love with me and Jack with an insatiable energy that more than made up for her physical limitations. She also cheerily spent hours just holding her daughter and whispering things to her. With her newfound contentment, my sister swiftly recovered enough strength for us to make the required visit to kat’s family, and so it was that just a week after symbolically signing Rosaline’s death warrant, I found myself pushing her wheelchair towards that cozy home that we both loved so much.

I had called ahead to prepare them for Rosaline’s condition, and the fact the this would be the last chance for them to see her, and I had also made the arrangements for the girls to come home from school (luckily the school year had just begun, so they didn’t miss much), and so when we arrived we were directed to the expansive back yard of the place, and there we were greeted by kat’s entire extended family, most of whom we had met and befriended at various points in the last few years. They threw a huge party for her, all of them doing their best to act happy and they made sure that she enjoyed herself, but nearly everyone, including me, had to excuse themselves at one point or another to choke up or whatever out of her sight.

Little Cassie was a huge hit at the party of course; she was nearly mobbed the whole time with people wanting to hold her, and eventually it got so ridiculous that alex had to take the poor thing for a ride just so she could get some sleep. Mom and Dad wanted to know all about her of course, especially who the father was and what was going to happen to her when Rosaline was gone; I answered their questions as honestly as I could, even going so far as to hint at who the father was. They were of course very relieved to find out that I would be raising Cassie, and that they would be seeing her as often as they wished.

We stayed there for an entire week, and I think everyone wished that it could have been forever instead. Every meal was a family affair, and each evening we all spent together in quiet activities. Mom and Dad were of course kind and supportive of the both of us, though they did abscond with little Cassie as often as they could; I can’t blame them, the tyke is just too irresistible.

Ellen, who is now the same age I was when I first seduced her sister in the very room that she sleeps in, was fawning over me as much as ever, but this time I allowed myself to respond, with a certain amount of restraint and reservation of course. The second night of our stay, Rosaline had a heart to heart with the girl, and after that she became a little less intense in her attentions, allowing me to actually have normal, relaxed conversations with her, and I found that she is a brilliant, delightful girl that I will most definitely enjoy having in my life. I didn’t take things any further than a single soft kiss, but that kiss was one that I filled with a promise of things to come.

Rosaline of course spent the vast majority of her time with her Ginny, who was trying her best to be upbeat, but was obviously suffering greatly from the thought of losing her hero and best friend so soon after her favorite sister’s death; the child is amazingly resilient, but I made sure that Ellen knew to keep a close eye on her. For her part, I knew that my sister’s heart was breaking, but she still relished every moment she spent with Ginny, and made the most of their time together by passing on every little bit of wisdom and advice that she could think of.

The big surprise for us was Stella, who was the first of the family to greet us. Everyone else had waited in the back yard, and as soon as we had drawn within range, she had thrown herself at us, hugging us desperately tight and sobbing out a babble of apologies for her behavior when we last saw her. Needless to say, we were greatly relieved at Stella’s turnaround, and were more than willing to offer our forgiveness and understanding to her. After that, Stella was even clingier than her sisters, but not in an annoying fashion – that girl has amazing social instincts, and I just can’t wait to place her in one of my companies to see what she’ll do.

Well, as they say, all good things… The end of our stay came far too swiftly for any of our preferences, and if we had a choice we would never have left, but Rosaline’s window of opportunity was narrow and of an unknown duration, so we bid our tearful farewells and continued our journey.

Our next step was a visit with Jack’s family, which went about the same as the visit we had just completed, just much more quietly and intimately. Patricia was as wonderful and understanding as ever, and she delighted in spending time with her husband’s bastard child, a situation that still makes me smile in happy amazement – I seriously doubt that Cassie is ever going to want for loving attention.

My god-daughters, Amber and Melody, were fun and sweet as ever, though I do have to say that Amber is starting to show signs of being overly spoiled. We spent as much time as possible with them, but they are of course at an age that is far too active for Rosaline to have kept up with, so in the end I was the one doing most of the playing and such. That was just as well; for it gave my sister time to finally write out her letters to Cassie, and for Jack to make some recordings of her as well.

After a few days, we said our goodbyes, left alex and Cassie in Patricia’s care, and then Jack accompanied us on the final leg of our journey. We had debated on where my sister would spend her last day on earth, and in the end she declared that she wanted to die as close as possible to where she had first made love to me and kat, and so it was that we met Max, my husband and my favorite slave tiff at my father’s villa in Naples.

Now, you may be wondering how we proposed to spit roast a live girl in the middle of the wealthiest area of a very old world city without having the authorities called on us, but in order to understand our solution, you will have to know a little something about Naples. You see, there exists an ancient ‘city under the city’ that consists of Greek funeral monuments, Roman aqueducts and tunnels, natural caves, and most important for us, a network of modern tunnels and chambers built by the local Club, the Masaniello Club. One of those underground lairs, commissioned by my father years ago, is seventy feet straight down from the villa, accessible through a cleverly hidden elevator. This place, where I am right now, is a huge collection of very specialized rooms; most are equipped for various types of tortures and executions, but several are designed for cooking women, including a well ventilated chamber for spit roasting with real live coals.

When we had originally planned all of this, I had held out for Rosaline to be tied to the spit, but she overruled me, saying that she wasn’t going to die by half measures. Thus it was that after Max expertly injected our new cocktail of drugs directly into my sister’s brainstem and a long and delightfully sensuous oiling of her body, Max and Jack slipped the sharp tip of a long metal spit into her well lubricated vagina. I had decided at the start that my part in the whole process was going to be playing with her breasts while I kissed her the entire time, so when she moaned in response to her initial penetration, it was directly into my mouth. Those moans of obvious pleasure rose in frequency and intensity as Rosaline writhed within her bonds and the spit worked its way deep inside her body, and they didn’t stop until she started to gag on the metal pole that was forcing its way up her throat. I pulled away from her face and held her head steady as the gory tip of the thing emerged from between her sweet lips, and Max efficiently implanted a breathing tube into her neck before she had really had much of a chance to panic.

It took a long time for my sister to die, and strangely enough I am glad of that, for the entire time that she turned over the coals she was making love to the spit, lost in a pleasure so intense it seemed to radiate from her. She was writhing her sleek, glistening body, humping her hips and using her legs and arms to slowly move herself back and forth along the spit in small increments, her eyes closed in concentration. Every few minutes, she started to shudder and twitch in an orgasm, and those cums seemed to last longer and longer as her skin gradually turned golden and her eyes, when occasionally open, became more and more dazed from her rising body temperature. She was a work of art, no, a masterpiece, and the most erotic sight that my eyes have ever been blessed with seeing.

We could tell that the end was neigh when her movements became jerky and disjointed, and her climaxes built into a continuous, ever rising chain. I was pretty sure that she wasn’t aware of my voice, and wasn’t in a mental state capable of understanding me, but I got in as close to her head as I could and spoke to her of my love for her, and so when my Rosaline reached her final peak, jerking and bucking so hard that the spit was flexing, I was right there to witness her eyes flying open in a look of pure astonishment, like she was seeing the face of God, before those beautiful orbs rolled up and her movements slowly died out in a diminishing series of involuntary spasms.

As her movements faded, there was a dead, shocked silence in the room, and then when her final shiver was followed only by stillness, I launched myself at my husband, taking him to the floor and tearing off his clothes in a frenetic attempt to couple with him, an attempt that was quite successful as he returned the gesture and rolled over on top of my still half clothed body so that he could enter me without any preamble while he pressed his lips forcefully to mine. I have never had so much sexual energy to burn off as I did then, and our encounter was a violent, savage, mindless thing as we rolled around on the floor, him pounding me with breathtaking force, and I clawing at him in my throes of passion.

After they removed Rosaline from over the coals just long enough to remove her organs and head and then returned her body closer to the heat, Jack and Max were just standing there staring at us incredulously, and I was nowhere near satisfied, so in a brief moment of lucidity I screamed for them to fill me everywhere, and for the next hour my trinity of men did just that. It’s all a blur for me now; I was a machine, rutting with them on autopilot while my mind was obliterated in a never ending wave of pleasure centered on visions of my Rosaline’s final performance. I’m still sore from that experience, but incredibly satiated; I don’t think that I will ever experience anything like that again unless I someday follow my sister onto the spit.

When we were all too drained to continue, we all sat and watched mesmerized as the headless body before us slowly rotated and cooked through, my reliable tiff regularly basting it all the while. We were ravenous from our exertions, yet when we took the meat from the heat and carved it up, we sat in a peaceful, reverent silence for minutes on end. Finally Benedick broke the moment by directing tiff in the allocation of the choicest bits, and that’s when I started this entry.

I don’t know whether I will ever recover from losing my kat and Rosaline in such quick succession, but I will tell you this: my sister went out in a divine glory that has profoundly affected me, and I am glad that my memory of her passing has turned out to be one that I will always cherish, perhaps balancing out the helpless horror of my kat’s final moments.

[center][color=blue:20kms8r2]Continued below…[/color:20kms8r2][/center]

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[center]Interlude Three[/center]

“Oh gosh, please don’t let me be too late!” Michelle was muttering to herself and bending the journal in her hands without knowing it as she frantically sprinted through the corridors of her home, looking for her sister. “Oh please Melody, don’t let me find you with that collar on, please!”

She had first tried the room where her other of-age siblings usually hung out together, but they were all long gone, probably to make preparations for their reckless plans for the party. Michelle desperately wished that she could do something to stop them, but she knew that Melody was right; there was no saving them from themselves, and only an amazing run of luck would get them all through the night.

Next she checked her mom’s ‘throne room’, where the Great Mother of the Stables ran her little kingdom, but it was empty. Desperate now, Michelle ran pell-mell towards her mom’s rooms, terrified by her thoughts of what she might find there. What she found when she shoved past the surprised guard and barged into her mom’s private chambers made her drop the journal and fall to her knees in despair; her sister Melody was curled up in bed with her mom and Miranda, who was purring as she rubbed up against the both of them, and Melody was wearing a silver collar.

Michelle’s mom looked like she was about to yell at the girl for her intrusion, and then she saw Michelle’s shocked, pale face and the shaking of her head, and heard her mumbling, “No, no, no, no…” over and over again, and all three of the occupants of the bed rushed across the room to find out what was wrong. Her mom and sister knelt to hug her, while Miranda rubbed up against her, but she didn’t calm down and just kept saying, “How could you let her do it?” over and over.

Finally Michelle’s mom ran out of patience. “Michelle, what the hell are you on about?”

The trembling teen looked at her mom accusingly. “Mom, how could you let her go through with it? How could you have locked that…THING?! It’s cursed, they’re all cursed!”

Michelle’s mom looked confused and exasperated, but Melody suddenly grew pale. “Michelle, what did you read in that journal? What happened to Kat?” Her voice was a whisper filled with foreboding.

The distraught teen threw the slender volume into her sister’s chest. “Not just Kat, but Max’s wife too. Go ahead and read it; that’s what you should have done before you made your decision, what Mir wanted you to see. Knowing her luck, there’re even worse things in the others, but this is what might have saved you…” Michelle’s voice trailed off bitterly.

As their mom looked on in bewilderment and growing alarm, Michelle cradled her head in her hands in defeat while Melody frantically flipped through the pages, mumbling to herself. “I don’t understand, things were going so well, they were happy…how could this have happened?” Suddenly she dropped the book and hugged Miranda, who had been wandering between the girls in confusion, unsure of who needed comforting the most. “Oh Mir, I’m so sorry!” Exactly what she was sorry about wasn’t entirely clear.

The girls’ mom finally decided that the situation was getting out of hand. She picked up the forgotten journal, and then started to demand an explanation until she noticed the handwriting on the first page of the book, writing that she hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years. Stumbling over to her bed, she sat down heavily and started to scan the pages. Looking up in shock as she got the basic picture, Vicki Thompson started to question her daughters in great detail. She was amazed that her former Mistress’s life story had been hidden away in such an obvious place all this time, and she was overwhelmed by a desire to read it all, so she called for a slave to bring her the journals and albums, and then turned her full attention to reassuring her shaken daughters. “Michelle, Melody, please, there is no curse, at least not one on the collars. Remember, I wore one of them myself, and not only did I not die, I ended up in a situation that has given me a lot of happiness and satisfaction.”

Melody was a naturally confident girl, and she visibly pushed her doubts aside and strengthened her resolve to serve her Mother to the best of her abilities, but Michelle was not so easily swayed. “Mom, are you forgetting that the only reason you aren’t wearing that collar still is because you almost took a bullet in your throat? Or how much suffering you went through before that? How about Aunt Bets and all of those others that had to die for you to be free of that thing? No, you’re wrong Mom, those collars invite death to them, and if you won’t send my Melody away before the party starts, I’m going to find a way to keep her safe. Don’t try to stop me.” She turned her back on them and rushed from the room.

Vicki turned to her remaining daughter. “Melody, follow her, try to keep her out of trouble. You have two hours to figure out what she’s up to, and then you need to go to the waiting area for the games.”

Melody nodded gravely, kissed her Mother’s hand, and then ran out the door. Vicki sighed, sadly resigned to the fact that yet another of her daughters appeared to be headed straight into a lethal situation. She looked up as a slave entered the room bearing Miranda’s journals and albums; after signaling for the slave to place them on the bed next to her, Vicki dismissed the girl absently and started to read through the volumes, pausing occasionally to check for photos of the people involved. She had always been a swift reader, and she found the material incredibly engrossing, so she reached the end of the third volume pretty quickly.

Pausing to digest what she had read, Vicki had to wonder if Michelle might be right, but then she decided that the horrid luck was most likely associated with Miranda and her family. She also wondered at what had happened to the daughters and niece of her former Mistress; they would have all been grown up by the time she had arrived at the Stables, but none had been in evidence, and she had never even known that there were any Coulters other than Miranda and her husband, who she had met only twice.

Decisive as ever, Vicki decided that the only way to find out was to keep reading, so that’s just what she did, opening up the fourth volume and reading swiftly to try to finish as much as possible before the party began…

[center]Journal Four – Entry One[/center]

Tuesday, August 15, 1995

Hi there Miranda’s mystery readers! I guess I should introduce myself, since we’re going to be on pretty intimate terms pretty soon here. I’m Ellen, the same one that you read about in the other journals (egad, was I really that obnoxiously clingy when I was younger? Well, I guess that’s how crushes go, and that was a crush, though it’s become so much more since…but that’s for later); I’m a bit older now, twenty-one actually, and hopefully a bit wiser. Miranda had me dig these journals out so that I could read them and know a bit more about what’s really been going on all these years (she doesn’t like to talk about a lot of it, can’t blame her), and she wanted me to pick up where she left off, fill in these last five years, and then continue to chronicle the events in our lives. Oh, yeah, don’t be mad at Miranda for leaving these untouched for so long; she kind of lost track of these, and then things have been so busy she forgot to look until it came time for me to enter this part of her world.

Okay, so when you last heard from Miranda, she had just eaten her sister (I’ve gotten used to the idea in general in the last few months, but the concept of someone I knew and loved like Rosaline, or my sister Katherine, being eaten is still a bit weird to me), her big projects with the preservatives and the pleasure drugs were tested and about ready for the big time (and I’ll tell you, I’ve seen them both at work, and it is so damned impressive), she was starting to raise her niece Cassandra (we all call her Cassie) as her own, and she was working on getting her revenge on the Moores. Meantime, my sisters and I were in school still, so other than at Rosaline’s funeral (when Miranda was understandably not very sociable), I didn’t really see much of her until that Christmas, when she came to stay with us for the holiday, bringing Cassie and her odd but nice nanny (and slave, though we didn’t know it), Alex.

Now, Cassie is like a ray of sunlight, and even at that age she was able to steal the show, so I didn’t really have any trouble getting Miranda alone to talk or whatever (yes, I had some half formed notions in my little head, but I really didn’t know what I wanted or what I would do if I got it). She was a lot warmer and more open with me than ever before, and after confessing to me how lonely she was, she made me several promises, all sealed with a single, deep, loving kiss that changed my entire world view for good, and for the better I think. One of those promises was that as soon as I finished sixth form, she would have a position as her personal assistant during her stays in Europe waiting for me, and that led in to her second promise, the one that set my heart racing; she told me that she wanted to get much, much closer to me, but it would have to wait until then – she said she didn’t want me to lose out on any of the youth that she never had. The last two promises didn’t really make sense to me at the time; she said that she would protect me from her dark side as long as she could, and when she couldn’t, she would do everything in her power to keep me safe. She really didn’t have to make those ones to me, but it makes me feel good that she respected me enough even then to see the need for that gesture.

Well, to make a long story short, I was a year ahead in school, so the spring after that visit, I found myself leaving my graduation party with the woman that I most looked up to in all the world, as she drove me to London in her sexy black Jag so I could see where my new workplace was going to be. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that I was going to have an entire floor of a high rise and a dozen staff under my supervision, a bit of an overwhelming concept for a fresh faced seventeen year old with absolutely no job experience. Miranda must have seen the anxiety on my face, because she was quick to tell me that I would be training very closely with her and one of her other PA’s until I was ready to take over there, and in the meantime my future office manager (this really sweet but formidable lady named Angie) would hold the fort for me.

That night she flew me to Paris for a special dinner, and then she got us a huge suite at this really posh hotel, and well, here’s where we start to get into intimate details…she was really gentle, sweet and loving with me, but underneath that was a dominant, steely aura of command that just really got my knickers soaked before we really even got very far. In terms of sexual experience and sophistication, over the course of that weekend (spent mostly in bed, but there were some breaks while she showed me the highlights of the city) I went from zero to sixty in record-breaking time. I can definitely agree with Jack when it comes to his assessment of her – she’s a tigress, or a huge unstoppable avalanche that overwhelms you and buries you in her little world of depravity and delight until she is done with you.

So anyway, the next four and a half years went by in a blur, spending every waking and sleeping moment with my Miranda when she was in Europe, and otherwise dividing my time evenly between the office, my family (especially Ginny, I really had to help her work through her feelings about her hero Rosaline’s death, and it took most of those years to do it), and random boy and girl toys that helped to keep the edge off my longing for Miranda. Don’t get me wrong though, I did a lot more than just shag when I was with her; I spent time working with some real big shots at some very impressive companies, and I also did the government circuits as well.

The only downside was when her husband Benedick (who I should have recognized as her brother at the time, but never did – I think it was just that the whole concept of her marriage is so unreal to me) came along; then I had to chose between spending my nights alone, or sharing with him, something that he was perfectly happy to do, but I learned to dread, because even though I did indeed experience great pleasure on those nights, it came at the price of pain and degradation at his hands. I’m just glad that I’ve never had to be with him alone; from what I’ve learned by rumor about his sexual practices in the last few months, I probably wouldn’t have survived for long.

The best times that we spent together were the quiet ones, just the two of us lounging or lying together, whispering back and forth, or reading, or just watching the world go by in a contented silence. Miranda once told me that those were the types of moments that she missed the most when she lost her loves, and I understand and accept that this is my true role in her life, satisfying that craving and filling a little bit of the many holes in her heart. Sure, it kinda sucks knowing that I’ll never really be her love, her one and only, that I’m just a stand in, but I just can’t bring myself to be jealous of Katherine or Rosaline, and I care for Miranda far too much to ever abandon her because of my silly, selfish little notions. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t been using Max on the side for a little extra tenderness and understanding (okay, so we’re using each other, what could be wrong with that?), and considering the estrangement between him and Miranda, that’s a pretty big thing for her to ignore.

Two years after I graduated, Stella did as well, but she went on to Uni at the strongly worded suggestion of Miranda. She’s working her way towards her goal of becoming a neuro-surgeon like Max; she’s rather more taken with the poor guy than I am, and I can tell that it’s going to become an issue in the near future. And before you ask, yes, we did have a few threesomes with dear old Max, but Stella and I didn’t, you know, do anything with each other, so it’s okay I think - the important thing is that he really got off on the idea of it, and that spiced things up for all of us (okay, so I kissed her, once, but we were giggling the whole time so it doesn’t count).

Stella and Ginny set up this sort of shrine to their heroes Katherine and Rosaline in the woods near our house (yes, we’re all still officially living with our parents, though none of us have been there in the past half year, more on that later – hey, my pay is more than enough for me to pay their mortgage and taxes for them, so it’s not a peter pan type of thing), they put up a cute little shed thing in a clearing that Katherine used to love, and filled it with every memento of the two dead girls as they could get their grubby little hands on. It’s quite moving and beautiful in its own way, but I’ve made sure to hide its existence from Miranda – I just don’t think she could handle it.

Speaking of Ginny, six months ago she just about finished her sixth form early, and that’s what triggered my involvement in this disturbing yet subtly enticing shadow world that Miranda tried so hard to hide from us. You see, for one of Ginny’s extra credit projects (she was really focused on getting into the very best University because, no surprise, Rosaline told her to) she had decided to do a paper on modern slavery, intending to prove that it exists in England despite the assurances of the authorities that there is no such thing. Long story short, Ginny is a masterful, tenacious researcher, and by the time Miranda clued in to the fact that one of her charges was walking into a minefield, she had stepped on one. One day Ginny disappeared from school, and the next Miranda was there with me, asking odd questions, and then things went all topsy-turvy. Jack Harrison was called in, he made some calls of his own, and in their rush and anxiety, they said some stuff around me that they shouldn’t have, and the damage was done, so they started to get me ready for the day that I will become an official staff member or their Club, a day that is coming up fast and that I’m not looking forward to, but it’s better than being ‘eliminated’ as a security risk. Sigh.

Well, back to Ginny - since I was now sort of in the loop, and needed to be introduced to things, they took me with when they visited England’s primary Club, The Anne Boleyn Club. They figured that Ginny had been snatched by them when she got too close to the truth, and they were hoping that she was too valuable to snuff out immediately, seeing as she was a very, very cute virgin, which I understand is a highly sought after commodity. They were right on both counts, but there was a complication: Ginny had been purchased by a Council Member of that Club, a very arrogant and nasty member of the House of Lords, and he was intent on snuff-raping her that very night.

Well, I don’t need to tell you that we were all quite upset about that, and I have to say that I have never found anyone to be as frightening as Miranda was that day. She used every tool, connection, threat and incentive at her disposal, but even so the best we could do was to get the bastard to agree that after he had finished garroting and fucking her, we were free to try to resuscitate her, and if she came to she was all ours.

Ginny’s big event was witnessed by a large crowd of crude, vile acting English ‘gentlemen’, supposedly the finest of my countrymen, who were free with degrading, foul statements as poor Ginny was led into the ball room and tied by the wrists to a big four-poster bed that had been placed on the stage just for that performance. The nobleman who owned her strutted around like a peacock for a while, and then he stripped off and took her, violently entering her and tearing apart her innocence. She tried to scream, but he had wrapped the chord around her neck and tightened it with lightening speed (obviously this was something he was in the habit of doing), and so the only sounds she could make were these pitiful little pained, desperate sounding squeaks and choking gasps.

Ginny’s suffering and frantic attempts to escape her fate seemed to add greatly to her owner’s pleasure, because he drew out her torturous murder for over an hour, giving her just enough air to live and continue her contortions beneath him. Eventually however, her strength gave out, and the only way for him to get the movement out of her that he needed to cum was by drawing the chord to lethal tightness and allowing her death throes to begin. Ginny’s body was thrashing and shuddering violently, her eyes wide and filled with mortal terror, and that got him off just as she gave her last great jerk and fell still, the bed around her crotch growing wet with a combination of the blood from her deflowering and the loss of her bladder control.

The bastard fell on her and continued to hold the chord tight for several minutes after he finished inside her, and then he finally rolled off of her, took several more minutes to bow to the crowd and strut around some more, and only then did he motion that we could take my sister’s body to the crash cart that we had waiting just off stage. I agonized over every extra moment wasted on untying her from the bed, mindlessly focused on her staring, sightless, horror-filled eyes, and then she was free and Jack gently carried her to her salvation.

Miranda and Max, who had just arrived after receiving an emergency call from Jack just a half-day earlier, worked frantically to save my sister’s life, while I stood by helpless. I will never experience a longer five minutes for the rest of my life. Finally, thankfully, my poor Ginny started to hack and wheeze, rolling onto her side and curling up into a little ball, and that’s when the bastard Lord whatever got in his last jab – he made it quite clear that his agents would be keeping an eye on Ginny, and if she ended up as anything other than slave, staff or Club member, we would all pay with our lives. I made him pay for that with a black eye, which felt quite satisfying, especially when he looked up at me with the most confused, hurt little boy look, all while Miranda laughed at him and told him that if he ever threatened her or hers again, she’d be eating his brains for dessert – like I said, she was scary that night.

We couldn’t take Ginny home until things were sorted out, and I couldn’t go there either for the same reasons, so the two of us have been shacked up at Miranda’s Stables ever since. We’ve been sharing a room and a bed, not for any naughty reasons, but simply because poor Ginny can’t sleep alone anymore (she was snatched from her bed while her roomy was away). Don’t think that Ginny is a wreck or anything though; she’s adapted to the situation better than I have really, and she’s become quite the asset to Miranda’s operations.

On the upside, we’ve been able to spend a lot more time with Miranda and also little Cassie, who is truly a delightful child that I dearly love, but on the downside, we haven’t been able to see our family, and Max doesn’t visit here, so there has been a bit of a hole in the fabric of my life. Sigh, you can’t win them all I guess.

Now that I know what’s really been going on, I’ll be able to detail Miranda’s activities better than I have so far, so don’t think that this journal is going to be all me, though with Ginny and I set to have our staff initiations soon, the next entry or so might be a little focused on us, as long as I pass that is – obviously someone else will have to tell you if I don’t, and that is a distinct possibility, since I still haven’t been able to force myself to kill a slave in Jack’s ‘training sessions’. We’ll see, but I’m still not sure which outcome I prefer; I certainly don’t want to die, dear God no, and I must admit that some of the snuffs that I’ve seen have gotten me pretty hot to trot, but to take another girl’s life with my own hands…I just don’t know.

At any rate, I’ll write more when there’s something to report, until then, wish me, and even more so Ginny, lots of luck…

[center] Journal Four – Entry Two[/center]

Saturday, August 25, 1995

Oh God, I think I’m really in trouble here. Scratch that, I know I’m in trouble, really serious trouble; the kind you don’t walk away from. I’m so terrified right now that I can barely write this, but somehow at the same time I’m so friggin turned on that I’m rubbing myself even now. This can’t be a normal way to react to being told that you are probably going to die in the next twelve hours, but my mind is so all over the place that I can’t spare the brainpower to really focus on that.

I can’t tell you how I’m probably going to die, or why I’m starting to actually look forward to it, but I can tell you one thing – if I had to choose the situation that would lead to my own demise, I’d go with one in which my death bought life and safety for someone I love, and if I do die tonight, it’ll be one of those scenarios, so right off I’ve gone into this with a relatively calm acceptance; I just hope that if I have to die, I do it well, and don’t make things harder for my sister than they already will be.

Okay, you’re probably a bit confused right now, so I’ll give you the story, and then you can judge my reactions based on that. Well, as you know, I was having trouble bringing myself to actually kill someone with my own hands. Jack kept up with his demos and attempts to get me to do the deed, telling me that if I was just able to do it the one time, I would have it in me to pass my initiation, but even though these girls were ‘just slaves’, and even though I was getting more and more turned on by the snuffs that I witnessed, I couldn’t get the image of poor Ginny being strangled to death while I stood helpless out of my mind, and I just couldn’t do that to somebody’s sister or daughter…I know, sentimental and useless considering these were girls that were going to die anyway, but there you have it.

Jack was starting to get desperate and a little exasperated with me, and then Miranda announced that we would be going to her home Club for our initiations in a week, and that’s when I was given the ultimatum by Jack – I had two more chances, and if I failed them, I was going to attend the initiation as a victim, not an initiate, and that would mean forcing my sister to kill me. That almost worked, and then he let slip that staff initiates that kill family in their tests are given provisional Memberships, making them safe from the predations of other Members. Well, with my silly little dreams of self-sacrifice, I lost the drive to kill once more, and I failed both of Jack’s tests. The second time I failed, I was immediately restrained and locked in an isolated room.

Jack came to see me often, but Miranda and Ginny weren’t told where I was or what was going on. Jack explained that Initiates were not allowed to know the identities of their victims until the moment of truth, and since Miranda wasn’t likely to react well to losing me, she had to be out of the loop until then as well. I of course asked the obvious question right off the bat, “Why can’t I try to pass the test?” His answer was a simple one that had just enough self-interest involved to leave me feeling betrayed – he had never had an initiate under his care fail their test, and the security of his position was dependant on the reputation that came from that fact.

I cried a lot during my two day stay in that room, and I also screamed and pounded at the door, venting my rage at my fate, but by the time Jack came to take me to the Club ahead of Miranda and my sister, I had reached that state of acceptance that I was talking about. I spent the flight in a dark box, and when I was let out of it, it was only to be placed in another small, blank cell, the one I’m in right now. There are no windows in here, the light never goes out, the room is sound proofed, and there is nothing in here other than a prison style toilet and a thin mattress, so I quickly fell into a timeless dreamlike state, running through my all too brief life like I was living it again, and vividly imagining what my final fate might be like, and that’s when I went from acceptance to my current terrified but very aroused state.

It made me cower in shame the first time I came to a vision of myself dancing at the end of a noose, but I soon got over that as other ways of dying plagued me, and I’ve been cumming buckets ever since. I’ve only stopped playing with myself for naps and Jack’s occasional visits. The last one was to give me this journal, a pen, and the news that he would give me one last chance…I will be allowed to take my test shortly, before Ginny’s, but I will only have an hour to kill my victim, and if I don’t, I get to watch whoever it is die, and then I will be bound and hooded for my sister’s arrival.

Can I do it? When it really comes down to a definite life or death decision, will I be able to kill? I truly can’t say for sure, but if I have to die tonight, I think that I will enjoy it much more than snuffing some poor defenseless girl. Really, the only thing that might sway me is the effect my death will have on my poor Miranda; she’s so dependant on me, and I truly do love her, so why shouldn’t I try to survive for her? Well, we’ll see…the door is opening; I’ll make sure that somebody tells you what happens if I can’t…

Addendum – Oh god, how could I have lost three people so important to me in one night? I can see from her final entry that my poor Ellen was at peace with her fate, and further, now that I review tonight’s events in my mind, I’m certain that she enjoyed it as well as she could, but losing her in this manner is just too much for me to bear. I will never be able to look at Jack or Ginny again without seeing my lover’s sightless eyes staring through me, filling me with anger that they would take her from me, regardless of the look of pained joy on her face or the fact that they had no choice in the matter.

I really had no clue that anything was wrong until it was too late. I should have known things were going pear shaped a few days ago when Jack told me that he was going to take Ellen to the Club early, but I was too caught up in my daily busywork to really think about why he would do such a thing. Such a fool I am. Really I blame myself for what has happened more than anyone else; after all, should I not have been there for my lover in her time of need, preparing her for her most critical of tasks? Instead, I was focused on my continuing schemes for revenge, all too excited that I was about to become the youngest member of my Club’s Council ever. Knowing the Club as well as I do, how could I not have anticipated that my Council seat would come at a price?

My first clue that something was amiss was when Jack met me and Ginny at the airstrip and had a slave take my charge and our luggage to my suite before guiding me into the Club himself with a firm grip on my arm. I naturally asked him what he thought he was doing, and he responded by telling me that my acceptance into the council was dependant upon how I handled judging an initiation, and not just any initiation, but one of somebody close to me. Well, it didn’t take me more than a few seconds to intuit just who I would be judging, and a chill ran up my spine as I realized that my Ellen’s test being moved up and separated from her sister’s was not a good sign.

Just this one time I wanted my instincts to be off the mark, but of course they were as accurate as ever. When I entered the anteroom of the testing chamber, I was met by Dennis Abrams, one of the most powerful Council members and a good friend of mine who had judged my own quite unusual initiation, and a nude Ellen, who gave me a sad smile when she saw me, the look in her eyes telling me that she had already at least partially given up on passing the test. In that moment I came close to deciding to try to make a run for it with her, but I knew far too well how futile and counterproductive such an action would be, so I restrained myself and gave my Ellen a smile that was meant to be reassuring, but I’m certain that it was tainted by my fears and doubts, because she mouthed ‘it’s okay’ to me while the men were busy talking.

When the rules for Ellen’s test were laid out, I was horrified. One hour! That was all the time the poor girl would have to build up the courage to murder a friend. I just knew that it was an impossible deadline for my sweet girl to meet, and I was correct, but there was no way for me to offer my support or assistance, as I was trapped in the observation lounge with someone who was looking for any sign of weakness on my part. With my daughters, niece and kat’s remaining family hostage to my maintaining my position in the Club, I had no choice but to condemn yet another lover of mine to death after she spent her entire allotted time comforting her intended victim, a girl that she had been friends with before her time at St. George’s.

When I entered the chamber and stared at the pair of girls in a brooding, dark silence, Ellen kissed her friend goodbye and told her to just close her eyes, that it would be over soon, and then she stood and turned with her hands behind her back so that she could be restrained…condemned. Her submission was so exquisite, and my care for her so great that I desperately wanted to demand that she be my slave, but my hands had been tied the moment Ellen’s test became mine as well. I couldn’t show her any mercy, God help me.

While Jack went about binding Ellen, I lifted her friend to her feet and came in close behind her, turning her so that the two girls would be forced to watch each other, a touch that I’m sure Master Abrams was quite pleased with. After waiting for a moment that was pregnant with tension, I motioned for a knife to be brought to me, and then I cut open the windpipe of Ellen’s poor companion, carefully avoiding any major blood vessels so that she would drown in her own blood rather than bleed out. I could see in Ellen’s eyes that only now had it occurred to her that she had done no great favor to her friend by sparing her, that she could have given her an easier death, and that now both of them were to die for no real purpose at all. What a bloody mess.

I held the dying girl’s thrashing body close to mine, making certain that the two doomed souls could commune with their eyes in their last moments together, a seeming cruelty, but actually more of a kindness as the love from Ellen’s eyes must have helped to ease her friend’s passage from life in some manner. Soon enough the girl in my arms was just meat for the kitchens, and Master Abrams helped me to place the carcass on a cart to be taken and parted out for my later enjoyment. I picked up the knife again, ready to dispatch my lover and thus shred another piece of my soul, when I was stopped by the men and informed that Ellen’s final fate would be determined by Ginny while I judged her trial as well. Suddenly my confidence in Ginny’s ability to survive the day plummeted, even as I also appreciated how my Ellen’s death would no longer be such a pointless waste.

I really shouldn’t have doubted Ginny and Ellen. To be certain, when Ginny saw that she was supposed to kill her beloved sister, she was more than a trifle upset, but Ellen talked quietly to her, telling her that it was all right, that Ginny had no choice, and most of all that she wanted it, had been fantasizing about her demise and getting off on it. That last statement took me by surprise, and I thought that it was just a fabrication, but then Ellen asked that her sister make it last, and actually looked excited like a little girl about to enter the zoo!

Ginny did a really good job of making it last in a way that satisfied Master Abrams with a variety of tortures, from standard whippings to water-boarding, while making Ellen’s last hours on earth good ones, by making the tortures as erotic as possible and interspersing more gentle, loving treatment throughout the evening. Finally however, Ellen’s stores of energy were depleting, and so she asked her sister to move into the final stage while she was still lucid enough to appreciate the experience properly.

Ginny chose to make use of the Club’s version of the electric chair, which is distinct from the standard versions in that it has large metal dildos, electrified and vibrating, to be inserted into each of the victim’s fuck holes, live clamps that attach to the nipples, clit and labia, and a kill cycle that starts out at a very low level and slowly rises in power until it becomes lethal, a cycle that is very pleasurable in the beginning and stays that way as the victim is given plenty of time to adapt to the changes in the current.

Ellen never looked sexier than she did strapped into that thing, sweat pouring down her body as it shuddered and jerked about from the heady combination of being electrocuted and having an ever-rising chain orgasm. Her eyes were filled with a strange combination of agony and ecstasy, seeing nothing as she was lost in sensory overload; I don’t really think she was even aware of it when her heart finally gave in and she died, her body still twitching from the current running through it but no longer moving independently, her eyes staring and clouded from being partially cooked, a site that will remain fixed in my mind along with the cold manner in which Jack, Ginny and I had to treat her body while we were under observation. I know that I wanted to run to my Ellen and hold her to me, and I think that my companions in betrayal also wished to do the same, but it was not to be, and my poor lover went to the kitchens without a final bit of affection.

After receiving congratulations from Master Abrams, we three exhausted souls moved on to the Club lounge, where I bought a round of drinks and made toasts to the memory of our lost girls – Kat, Irene, Rosaline and now poor Ellen, and then I told Ginny that she was going back home, and that I would not be visiting her anymore, nor would I be taking my trips to Jack’s any longer. They were shocked at this of course, and more than a little hurt, and I am sorry for that, but at the same time there was a guilty understanding that passed between us, and at any rate I left for my jet with not another word.

I can no longer risk getting so close to anyone again, lest they too fall under the sway of my curse. I cannot let go of my sweet Cassie, so I will have to take that risk, but there will be no new attachments in my life; perhaps that will save what little is left of my heart, but if not, at least it will mean fewer deaths on my conscience. I will miss my friends dearly, and keep close tabs on them, but from now on I will be satisfied with the company of my father’s doppelganger, my sister’s whispers, my sweet niece and of course my dear, hated husband, who I’m sure will be more than happy to honor my request to be punished when I arrive at the Stables in a half an hour.

[center]Journal Four – Entry Three[/center]

Wednesday, April 14, 1999

Max came to visit me today, an event that was more than a little surprising and uncomfortable. You see, other than in emergencies, like Cassie’s birth and my poor Rosaline’s final days, and official meetings at the Club, he has been avoiding contact with me as if I were some kind of Typhoid Mary, which is an assessment that I am in full agreement with and thus I do not hold it against him when he so painfully shies away from having contact with me. It has been years since Max has set foot on Stable property, and thus when he arrived this morning I was thrown quite off-balance.

I still adore the man, so I rushed to give him a proper greeting and offered for him to stay for a while. He accepted awkwardly, but tempered his discomfort with a sheepish grin that told me that he still liked me, despite my tendency to have people close to me drop like flies.

I could tell that whatever it was that had brought him to me was something that he needed to build up to, so I filled our time with small talk until things came around to where he was able to lead into his reasons for breaking his self-imposed exile.

I had just broached the subject of Kat’s family, hungry for any news about them, when Max, with a great amount of discomfort, dropped the bomb. He told me how Ginny had become obsessed with the idea of bringing her remaining sister into the Club and making use of the girl’s fresh doctorate and Max’s unabated skills to restart my old research and development program. Jack, whose home Ginny was staying in, had made it quite clear that he didn’t think that Stella had much more of a chance of passing the initiation than Ellen had, but that just exaggerated Ginny’s mania – obviously I hadn’t been the only one gravely affected by Ellen’s death. She had gone to Max with the idea, knowing how close he and Stella were, and how it hurt him to hide things from her, and he admitted to me that he had been sorely tempted, until he thought of the possibility of losing yet another woman in his life to the Club, and then he did his best to talk Ginny into giving up on her plans, but it was to no avail.

That’s when Max decided to come to me for help. Jack is apparently close to caving into his beloved Ginny’s demands (apparently the spunky girl has won a place in the hearts of Jack and Patricia Harrison, and is more than a little spoiled by them), and Max has finally hit the panic button. I’m now expected to either attempt to talk Ginny out of this, which is an endeavor quite likely to firm her resolve, or I am to use my resources to hide Stella from not only her sister, but the Club as a whole, a monumentally challenging task even for me, especially since trying to do so without telling her why she is being hidden isn’t an option, yet telling her would quite definitely be the height of stupidity.

So I now have a terrible dilemma with a very brief period of time in which to solve it. Surprisingly, I am finding myself quite invigorated by this, a state that my dear Cassie picked up on swiftly; luckily Max was more than happy to volunteer his services as a distraction for the child. It really is a shame that Irene died before giving him one of his own, he really is wonderful with kids.

Actually, it’s Cassie and my daughters, or more specifically their futures, that have served as my inspiration and sources of motivation as I’ve started to tackle this project – if I really can hide Stella effectively, then I can do so with my girls before they are old enough for my husband to introduce them to the Club in one manner or another, an eventuality that horrifies me and could be a reality for at least my Ophelia within six short years. Being able to do the hiding on short notice will most likely be important, so this really is the perfect test case for me.

Of course, half of my challenge will be to convince the girl that she needs to hide without telling her too much of the truth. That’s actually going to require my organizational skills just as much as the hiding itself, for I’m going to have to create a false threat to Stella just obvious enough to justify my intervention to her, without causing her to panic and cause a ruckus that will make my efforts run afoul of law enforcement.

To be sure, I’m not going to count on being able to hide Stella, but I have no intention of contacting Ginny in such emotionally charged circumstances; one of us would surely find herself quite unable to walk away after such an encounter, given the latent feelings we each have regarding Ellen’s final days. Thus, I have decided that my backup plan, which I will not inform Max of until I have to, is to see to the girl’s preparations for her initiation myself, and if it comes down to that I will temporarily break her if I have to.

At any rate, I feel that once this is all taken care of, one way or another, I’m going to have to deal with Ginny; now that I’m actively looking into her activities at the Club, I’ve become less than pleased, and more than a little disturbed. It would appear that despite her normally bright and cheerful disposition, the minx has been twisted into quite the sadist by her initial experiences with the Club, and has chosen my nemesis, Alicia Moore, as her mentor, working out a system between the two of them to lure new Members to their deaths without breaking any rules, a practice that has earned the pair no end of enemies within the rank and file membership of the Club as it is very much in violation of the traditions of the Club, and has annihilated quite a number of favored protégés.

I know that I have been remiss in my chronicling of my life over the past four years, but really I have grown to prefer keeping my entries to key events in my life, and really not much of any particular importance has occurred, unless you count the steady process of merging my father’s doppelganger and my sister’s whispered advice with my mainline persona, but that has been far too gradual of a process to warrant any entries in this journal. Regardless, I shall endeavor to keep you up to date on any developments in this current set of sticky situations.

[center]Journal Four – Entry Four[/center]

Tuesday, May 4, 1999

Amazing, how success in my life is so often balanced out by dismal failure. On the positive side of things, I have succeeded in hiding dear Stella, to such a degree that even I will not be able to find her. Poor Max was quite distressed to learn that he would no longer be able to see his sometimes-lover, who he is quite fond of indeed, but he appreciates the fact that any visits by him would endanger her, and he has expressed his gratitude to me even as he has retreated into his work and the strange crew of misfits under his command.

Convincing the girl that she was in immediate danger and had to be uprooted and planted in a new life was easier than I had thought; all it took was an ‘incident’ occurring near her parents and she was more than willing to go along with my plans. The fact that I had to deceive the girl and distress her so really hurt me, but not as much as it would have if I had been forced to train her to kill. At any rate, I now have a template for allowing Cassie at the very least to escape this hellish life that the rest of us are trapped in, just as long as I can find someone that I can trust to act as her guide and guardian; alas, that is a stumbling block that has brought my plans to a halt for the nonce.

The hiding itself was quite a complex, many stage affair that I will not detail here in case my husband should get his hands on this. Suffice it to say, as long as Stella doesn’t do anything stupid, she will be safe and comfortable for the rest of her days, and that girl is anything but stupid.

Here’s where we get into my failures – shortly after Stella disappeared from the face of the earth, Jack and Ginny invited me to the Club to have a talk. They suspected that I had a hand in Stella’s disappearance, and while Jack was merely curious and rather bemused about the whole thing, Ginny was furious. She really has turned into quite the fiery young woman, and a dangerously viperish one at that. After establishing that I was going to profess my innocence no matter what, and that she would never believe or forgive me, I broached the subject of her behavior at the Club and her choice of companions; her response was to, quite legitimately, throw in my face my absence from her life when she most needed support and guidance, and then she metaphorically spat in my face by promptly going to Mrs. Moore and their specially trained slaves. The pair of bitches then challenged the Club’s newest member, a sweet, barely eighteen year old girl named Louisa that I had watched grow up – her father was one of the Club members that I had originally met in Hong Kong just before I was introduced to this underworld.

Poor Louisa fell into the trap before I could intervene, and soon enough the confused girl was standing on her tiptoes next to a slave, held aloft by a noose about her neck whose height was controlled by a sensor built into the cuffs that held her hands behind her back. All she had to do was have enough self-control to not move her arms, but that task was an impossible one for a sheltered girl who had never played around with breath control, let alone death-games. As her legs started to cramp and the noose tightened about her neck uncomfortably, her body’s natural reaction was to try to reach for her neck with her trapped hands, and she didn’t have the will or training needed to counteract that instinct. Within ten minutes, poor hapless Louisa was off the ground and thrashing her cuddly body about in a futile attempt to avoid her fate. Her efforts of course only hastened her demise, and soon enough that girl who I will always remember as a delighted ten year old opening my gifts to her on her birthday was motionless other than some most likely post-mortem twitching and a steady trickle of urine down her legs.

To say that I was enraged is a vast understatement; Jack had to drag me away lest I smash up Alicia’s face again while adding Ginny’s to the mix. I asked my former friend how he could stand having such a little monster in the same home as his little girls, and he slapped me, actually gave me a smack across my face that nearly knocked me over, telling me that he trusted her with his girls’ lives, and that I should be ashamed to question his dedication to his girls, that I was the true monster.

I left with not another word, making several vows to myself as I went – one, I am going to accelerate my devouring of the Moore’s power-base both within the Club and in the wider world, and two, that I am going to do my best to keep Jack’s youngest daughter, my favorite, sweet Melody, safe from Alicia and Ginny’s predations, even if I have to scare the hell out of her or even enslave her to do it; the elder girl, Amber, is of no great concern to me as she has turned out to be shallow, spoiled and reckless, a combination that will no doubt lead to her downfall no matter what I might do to help her.

While I am making resolutions, I should add that I have every intention of protecting Max from losing another woman in his life, as I truly hate to see that dear man suffer; if I do find that he has a woman that I can’t save, I will endeavor to find him one that I actually can protect, and if it comes down to it I will force him to enter exile with Stella whether he likes it or not – she really is a sweet, wonderful girl that I think he would have been happy with if he hadn’t been dealing with the doubled stumbling blocks of his never fading love for Irene and his guilt over her demise.

As far as Jack goes, I still care for the man, but someday I will find a way to pay him back for today, and he most certainly won’t enjoy it when that time comes…

[center][color=blue:6w9om37g]Continued below…[/color:6w9om37g][/center]

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[center]Journal Four – Entry Five[/center]

Sunday, December 25, 2005

How does a mother go about telling her daughter goodbye, forever, especially when that mother has always wanted nothing more than to be with that child more, to have her close, forever? And how does that woman do the same for a girl that she raised as her own, truly loving her as a daughter and having been there for every stage in that girl’s life? How to let go? Those were questions I had to ask myself not so very long ago, and ones that I had to contemplate in all seriousness, for those were no random hypothetical scenarios, but an all too real combination of both that was approaching with the momentum and speed of a locomotive at full acceleration.

It all started on my Ophelia’s eighteenth birthday, when I saw her for the very first time in the flesh, and was horrified by the circumstances of said sighting, for I had walked into my husbands bedchambers after returning early from a trip, and needing comfort as I have on that day every year, and who should I find in his bed but a gorgeous, all too familiar looking young woman who was casually introduced to me as my own daughter as the sweat-soaked duo made absolutely no attempt to cover their naked forms. I really shouldn’t have been surprised, but I found myself in a swoon nevertheless.

You see, Benedick had been hinting that he wanted to initiate our eldest daughter into the Club and our life at the Stables at the same age that I was, an abhorrent suggestion to me, particularly given the lust that I saw in his eyes when he spoke of it, that I stalled via my position on the Club Council, by raising the minimum age of entry for Members and staff to eighteen. I had thought to try to secret my eldest girl away before that dread birthday came, but through her godmother Patricia, I found that she was far too close to her father to gain her cooperation, and so our plans had shifted to my other daughter Juliet. Those plans had so preoccupied me that I had pushed my worries for Ophelia to the back of my mind, and then there my worst nightmares were, staring me in the face with a friendly smile and eyes like midnight pools that seemed to try to pull me into them.

After being revived from my shocked collapse, I found myself conversing with a young woman that reminded me quite a bit of myself – well educated, delightfully clever even while fighting with a certain amount of social awkwardness, and possessing a deadly keen edge of ruthless realism that I knew with great sadness and horror to be a very real threat to my safety, especially with my twisted husband as her mentor and now lover. I suppose my first truly difficult question to myself therefore was ‘how do I force myself to destroy this girl that I should be welcoming and loving instead?’, a question that may have originated with the remnants of my father’s doppelganger, but swiftly became accepted by the rest of me with little delay. I know that makes me seem the villain in these affairs, but you must understand that I still had Juliet, Cassie and to a lesser degree my god-daughter Melody to worry about; I just couldn’t afford to be gotten rid of just yet, and it was immediately clear to me that I was about to enter into a life or death contest for dominion with my own progeny.

My first concern, after exchanging pleasantries with my newest nemesis and throwing some heavy objects at my husband in private of course, was to start on my plans to ensure my Juliet, Cassie and Melody’s safe dispositions in case I should fall. This meant that I would have to betray the trust of an old if estranged friend and rend his family apart. You see, I was desperate, and the only person left to me that I could truly trust to do what was best for my girls, and be able to handle the difficulties involved, was Patricia, and the only way that I could ask such a thing of her was to reveal the truth of my activities, and by extension those of her husband and the permanent houseguest that she had thus far trusted around her children implicitly.

She took it well, all things considered; Patricia truly is one of the strongest women I have ever had the pleasure to know, and her stoicism in the face of the horrors thus revealed to her was nothing short of breathtaking, particularly since I knew her well enough to tell that she was tearing apart inside. She understood my position and how a web of obligations trapped me in it, but she was incapable of comprehending how her sweet husband could have actively destroyed the lives of countless innocent girls and women all the years of their marriage and still came home and acted as the loving, protective patriarch of her family. She saw immediately the need to protect our innocent girls from such a life, and our plans proceeded at an amazing pace – after all, my Juliet was only a year younger than Ophelia, and we really couldn’t trust that my perverse husband would wait until her eighteenth birthday to ‘break her in’. What truly amazed me was that she was able to maintain a façade of her old relationship with her husband, even as she cried on my shoulder over his betrayal of her trust and planned her irrevocable leave taking.

That of course is where the question that I first put to you came up, though it only gradually occurred to me that I should be contemplating it, as I was so busy with the complexities and minutia of our schemes that the personal aspects were buried until the time to enact our little set of dramas was neigh at hand. The first time it truly struck me that I would never see my beloved girls again was just after my penultimate visit with Juliet at St. George’s; it took me a day and a half to function properly again, though thankfully my alter-egos were still independent enough to take care of the necessary work during that period. After that, I was so clingy around Cassie that she swiftly grew annoyed with me, but she’s such a good child that she dealt with my behavior with good grace. My final visit with Juliet before the big day saw my behavior a little improved, but that was mostly due to the fact that I couldn’t let her minders see that anything was wrong, lest they place her in more secure environs.

Things were particularly busy and stressful for me as I had not only to deal with the preparations for Patricia’s flight with the girls, I also had to put in place the essential elements for the grand distraction to take place during the escape – my challenge to Ophelia, the first potentially lethal situation I had been in since my initiation half a year before her birth. It was a fair question as to whether it was a wise move on my part, but I felt that it was better to face my enemy directly rather than await the knife in the dark or poison in my drink, especially given that such an event would draw the full attention of Benedick, Jack and Ginny; I could only hope that it would be enough.

I couldn’t even make my farewells to my girls in person, as I was in the midst of a fight for my life while Patricia and her assistants – each a slave handpicked by me for the combination of loyalty, love for Cassie, and a desire to escape their life of bondage – had grabbed up Cassie and Juliet at the Louvre, where I had arranged for them both to be taking a tour. Thus it was that my tearful leave takings were done on camera and with pen and paper; I will not endeavor to tell you those words here, as it pains me too greatly to think on them.

Poor Patricia was supposed to take her Melody with her at the start of things, but something had gone wrong – the girl had unexpectedly gone with her sister to visit colleges, and we could not afford to delay our scheme as there would be no way of enacting it if I failed in my bid for dominance over my rival. So it was that at the end of that day, Patricia Harrison, a handful of slaves, and the two girls that really were daughters to me disappeared into the void forever, leaving sweet Melody bereft of her most vital support in life.

Now you know that my primary endeavor was successful, and you have probably ascertained that I did indeed survive my encounter with my remaining daughter, yet certain questions remain to be answered – what of that challenge? What events occurred, and what happened to that girl?

In order to answer those questions, you must first understand that as a Council member, my challenging my daughter before she was technically a member of the Club was not something that could be done lightly; I had to talk the Council into allowing it as a replacement for her initiation, thus why Jack’s presence became required. This had never happened before, a Council member risking her life in a challenge, and the fact that I was doing it because of a twisted, doubly incestuous power struggle involving the most powerful single element in the Club’s structure brought Members and staff out of the woodwork to witness it.

The challenge itself was a simple, brutally straightforward contest allowing for only one of us to walk away alive and free; I still had enough remnants of my old sorrows over having lost Ophelia from my life that I left an opening for me to enslave her rather than kill her if she asked for mercy, but regardless, things were set up to nearly ensure a much more lethal outcome. Each of us was given our choice of bladed weapons and placed nude on opposite ends of a small caged area, which was then closed off until one of us was dead or had accepted a request to be enslaved.

Since I was in school, I had been an avid practitioner of fencing, and I had often used real, though blunted, rapiers instead of foils, and done pretty well with them, and thus my chosen weapon was a sword-rapier, an obscure variant on the standard rapier design in that it is heavier and equipped with a double edge while still maintaining its narrow shape so that it is effective as both a thrusting and a slashing weapon, which is quite an unusual trait. The sword-rapier is still a one handed weapon, and so I accompanied it with a main-gauche, an off handed parrying dagger.

Ophelia chose the prettiest blade, and the most deadly in the right hands – a masterfully crafted katana of long and storied lineage. I frowned as she made that obvious choice, but not in worry, for I knew full well that someone of her tender years would not have the experience and patience needed to properly use that sword; she would have been much better off choosing a more straightforward weapon, since without the proper training (not exactly a commonly available thing in Europe) the curvature of the blade can be more of a disadvantage than an asset.

My daughter stepped into the cage and faced me with the haughty overconfident bearing that only a born aristocrat can pull off and gave me a mocking salute with her blade; I merely took a misleading resting/ready stance and allowed a small tear of remorse for what I was most likely about to do trek its way down the side of my face. The moment the cage was locked, Ophelia was charging me recklessly, trying to break my calm and gain a swift victory, but I merely sidestepped her blow and repositioned myself to deal with any potential follow-ups; there were none, as she spun about and warily started to circle me, now aware that I would be no easy opponent.

Minutes passed swiftly as she used many combinations of feints to try to draw me out of position, but I refused to be moved more than what was required to stay safe. Now, for a basically two handed weapon, the katana is very light, but even so her blade was heavier than mine, her arms unaccustomed to it, and she was wasting quite a bit of energy by maintaining an offense for so long, and so soon enough she overextended and gave me the opening that I needed. Stepping into her strike, I deflected the blade with my main hand (did I mention, I’m left handed, something that throws opponents off more often than not) and slammed my dagger home to the hilt in my daughter’s toned abdomen, just below and to the right of her navel. She looked down in shock, let out a breathless gasp, and dropped her weapon; as it clattered to the floor she looked up at me with an expression of the purest bewilderment, as if she had never considered that something like this could occur to her, and perhaps she really hadn’t.

Her injury was not immediately lethal, it could be treated fairly easily, and I told her that, offering her servitude in place of death, begging her to just try to finally be my daughter, but her father had instilled far too much pride in her, and she grasped my dagger hand, forcing it across her belly in an ironic parody of seppuku. Damage done, and decisions made, I pulled the dagger from her and stepped away, allowing my beautiful girl to fall to her knees. She made no attempt to hold herself together, instead watching her torn intestines peeking out from the massive gash, and then she looked up at me with tears streaming down her face to match my own, and lifted her chin in a clear signal of intent. Throwing down my own sword, I picked up the more appropriate katana, took careful aim, and in one stroke ended the life of my only remaining daughter. The sound of her head rolling away, her blood splattering all over after gushing into the air, and her body slumping over on its side after a moment will stay with me forever, haunting me.

So it is that I am spending Christmas alone, excepting of course the presence of a few trusted slaves. I have not spoken to my husband or Jack since that day, and I have taken precautions against any strikes against me that they may chose to take – I wouldn’t blame them, after all, I have torn apart all of the assumptions that they had built up about their futures – nevertheless, I could care less at this point if they succeeded in killing me, other than to regret not being able to keep my vow to protect Melody. I have now killed my father and my daughter, a feat that even a Shakespearian character would be horrified by. All that I live for now is the thought that if anything should happen to my remaining charge, I will be free to seek revenge for the life of happiness and relative normalcy that was torn from me so many years ago, and for all of the lives that have been lost since as a consequence.

[center]Interlude Four[/center]

Vicky Thompson looked up from Miranda’s Journal and straight into the patient eyes of that same woman, transplanted several decades in time. The cat-girl kept her expectant gaze on her owner and former slave while she gently placed a paw on the book, then on Vicky’s chest, and finally on her own before repeating the motion, until Vicky’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh my God, I’ve become you, haven’t I? I’m about to sacrifice my own children because of some series of justifications in my head – blaming circumstances and obligations for my own heartless actions…Mir, what should I do?”

The fallen Mistress could make no response of course, if she even understood half of what had just been said, but her next actions spoke volumes; she carefully slid down from the bed and crawled to the door, and then stopped and turned to look back at her owner expectantly. Getting the point, Vicky jumped to her feet and ran out the door, hoping that she wasn’t too late…

At that moment Michelle was in the process of tightening the straps that were holding her beloved sister in place on the punishment chair in one of the most seldom used playrooms of the Stable complex. Melody was glaring up at her, making it clear that if she hadn’t been thoroughly gagged she would be treating her captor to a stream of invectives. Michelle stopped her activities and kissed Melody on the forehead. “I’m really sorry sis, I know you want to prove yourself to mom – I mean, your Mother – but you’ll have to wait for a less dangerous time to do it. I’m not going to let you throw your life away, not like this. Don’t you realize how important you are to all of us? You’re the glue that holds this family together…and just think of what your senseless death will do to our dads; bet you didn’t think about that. They’ve lost too many already to deal well with this. No, I think that if the Masters and Mistresses really want to see a slave-daughter die tonight, it’ll have to be the less important of us.”

With that, Michelle straightened up, pulled her hair out of the way, and placed a collar around her neck, a collar that was nearly identical to the one Melody wore; almost identical, because this one had no inscription and was split by a crack centered on a deep gouge in the fine silver material. “Oh, recognize this? Mir gave it to me, that’s what gave me this idea; actually, I think that she’s starting to get some of her old self back. Anyway, I highly doubt that any of the guests out there will know the difference in collars or daughters, or even care, so as long as mom or our sisters out there don’t flip out, I should be able to take your place with ease.” She glanced at her watch, and then started to strip. “Well, looks like it’s almost show time, you’ll see me later, one way or another.”

Now naked but for the collar, Michelle did her best to hide the way her heart was pounding from the fear and excitement that was threatening to overwhelm her, and then she bent over to give her sister and lover a final kiss before whirling away and dashing out the door to hide the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Guys, are you sure this is such a good idea? These people look pretty serious, and I don’t think those choppers are in here as part of the décor…” Annie was huddling close to her confident looking older sisters as they waited in line with the various slaves and volunteers to be assigned to a contest. Hours ago, in their favorite playroom, Annie had been excited and more than a little turned on by Kate and Elizabeth’s daring talk of sneaking into the games, but now that the point of no return was nearly upon her, the teen was starting to have major second thoughts.

Kate ignored her, focused on where her fathers were randomly assigning girls to the three games, and Elizabeth just looked down at her with impatience. “Look, you don’t have to do this, we won’t think any less of you if you take off right now, but if you’re going to stay, you’d better change that attitude or you’re going to snuff it. Better decide now though, we’re almost up.”

Annie looked up to the twins, her heroes, and bit her lip in indecision. She was just about to make up her mind when a hand gripped her shoulder and she heard her mom’s steely voice. “Annie, why don’t you put these clothes on and help out your fathers; they could use someone to guide the players from elsewhere to their games.”

Seeing the determination in her mom’s eyes, Annie allowed her mom to make her decision for her and gave her sisters an apologetic look as she took the proffered clothing and started to put it on. She took her time at it though; keen on seeing what would happen next.

The twins tried to ignore their mom, but she wouldn’t let them. Putting her head between theirs, she whispered fiercely to them. “Look, girls, I know you want to prove yourselves, but this isn’t the right time. Let me get you trained up, and I promise I’ll take you to the Club and let you play there after your initiations. Really, you don’t want to be one of the naked girls here tonight, especially since Max’s old crew are here, and they always were jealous that they didn’t get to snuff your namesakes.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Ma, look at how many of these girls are volunteers; it can’t be that dangerous…” She trailed off as she saw the sad look in her mom’s eyes. “Wait, you mean it really is that bad? And they don’t know? How come nobody told them…I can’t believe…”

“Believe it dear; by the time the night is through at least half of those girls will be dead, and by morning half of the survivors of the games will be as well. What, did you really think that a group of bloodthirsty slavers, sadists and murderers would actually advertise the odds at these events? Jesus, if you even knew how much me talking to you now hurts my position…but never mind, I’ve got a perfect excuse for you to leave the line, and I suggest you take this opportunity, because after this I can’t help you, I may even end up getting off on it when you die, and believe me when I tell you, you will die; you being my daughters makes you too tempting for my enemies to resist.”

The formerly confident twins looked at each other in silent communion, and then they turned to their mother and anxiously nodded their acceptance of her help.

Thus it was that ten minutes later, after their mom had left them to go looking for her other daughters, the twins and Annie were there to witness their sweetest sister registering for the games while a large group of Masters and Mistresses crowded around to admire what they assumed to be the rumored slave-daughter of the Stable Mother. It was poor Annie who had to guide Michelle to her assigned contest, which was to take place in a large pool filled to about waist height on a man with water.

Annie was filled with dread for her sister. “Michelle, what the hell are you doing? Melody said you weren’t going to play…didn’t she warn you about how dangerous this is?”

Michelle’s lips were trembling and her eyes were tearing up. “I know, I’m gonna die. It’s okay, just as long as it’s me and not Melody. Now tell me what I’m facing so I have at least a tiny chance of making it – I-I’d like to be able to say goodbye to mom and apologize, you know, before some Master decides to snuff me…”

Annie hugged her sister tight and whispered in her ear. “You’re gonna be giving head underwater sis, and you’ve gotta get your guy off before you drown. This is the worst contest; daddy said the survival rate is less than twenty five percent. Oh, shit, I just thought, you’ve never had a dick in your mouth, have you?”

Incongruously, Michelle giggled. “Actually, you remember that stud slave Benjamin? I kinda snuck into his stall a few times last month, and well…let’s just say he taught me a few things…”

Annie sighed in relief. “Good, that makes this easier for sure. Now, daddy had some advice for me to give Melody if she ended up here, so I’m sure that I can pass it on to you…remember, deep, calm breaths until they pull you under, then do your best to get turned on by the dick in your mouth, that way you’ll concentrate on giving head instead of how you want to breathe so bad, but don’t get too excited or you might just cum – that’ll do you in just as well as panicking. The twins and I will be on fluffer duty, so if one of us gets your guy we’ll try to get him as close to the edge as we can, but we can only do so much without getting in trouble, so don’t count on it too much. Now, this is the last game, so it’ll be a couple hours before you play…don’t get worked up, just relax and think of something pleasant while you wait. Shit, gotta hand you over…love ya sis…”

When Vicky and her slave-daughter Melody entered the room, Miranda perked up, and then she moved to make room on the bed for the pair as they curled up with her, obviously in need of comfort. There were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, and then Melody spoke up. “Mir, are you really getting some of your mind back?” Vicky stared in amazement as the cat-girl nodded and smiled before starting to purr and rub against them. “Mir, right now my Michelle is waiting to die in my place, well, unless some miracle should happen…and it was your plan that put her there…why? Why did you do that?”

Miranda curled in closer around Melody as she started to cry in worry and frustration. After she calmed down a bit, the cat-girl placed a paw on each of their chests over their hearts and smiled. Both of the women looked at her in mystification, so she pawed her fifth and final journal toward them.

Vicky looked at the volume in puzzlement, and then she looked at her distraught daughter and shrugged. “Well, we have some time to use, and it’s better than worrying about things we can’t change…”

Together they opened the book and started to read…

[center] Journal Five – Entry One[/center]

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Poor Max is suffering again, and once again my involvement appears to have made things worse even as I tried to make them better. It didn’t help things that I my position no longer allows me to directly assist those that I care for, such as Max. At least my guilt is assuaged by the fact that this time there is a specific individual responsible for the situation as a whole.

It all started out a week before Christmas, when Jack noticed that his eldest daughter, Amber, had taken the wrong portable hard drive with her when she left his home to return to college. Not wanting to draw attention to his daughter, he ordered Max to steal it back on Christmas Eve, while Amber and all of her roommates would be away spending the Holidays with their families. Well, it seems to be Max’s lot in life to find girls that he really likes in situations that make a normal relationship with them an impossibility. He entered Amber’s apartment, and what should he find but one of the roomies, a girl named Kate Thompson. Taking her with him to the Club after grabbing the hard drive, he became infatuated with her, and desired to take her as his slave, but a member of his team that Jack and I had been carefully watching created a situation that forced Max to cook the poor girl, something that greatly upset him, and drew me from the Stables for the first time in months.

By the time I had arrived, the situation had deteriorated enough other Council members were becoming involved, tying my hands with regards to what actions I could safely take. First off, Amber had breached the security protecting the data on Jack’s drive, a death sentence for the girl, since she had shown a complete lack of responsibility on many occasions, and thus couldn’t be trusted with our secrets. I tried to convince the Council to allow for her enslavement, given how important Jack is to us, but his position made that too risky of a scenario, and so it was ordered that Max capture Amber and her remaining roommates, which led to more complications, and even greater heartache for poor Max.

All of the residents of Amber’s apartment were swiftly captured and dealt with in one way or another, with Jack personally delivering his daughter to meet her doom, but when Max had first returned to the apartment to set things up for the captures, he found Kate Thompson’s twin Elizabeth, there to investigate her sister’s disappearance. One thing led to another, and the two fell head over heals for each other in a very short period of time. She adapted to his lifestyle and the nature of the Club with astonishing speed, even snuffing two girls and turning another into a loyal slave, and things looked to be going good for the couple, when Max’s enemy, an angry, unstable but still valuable man named Harvey, made everything go pear shaped, and pulled me deeply into the situation.

Harvey called for the Council to meet, and delivered a girl that he claimed to be a threat to Club security that was being protected by Max against Club rules. Normally the girl would have been eliminated and Max brought in for ‘questioning’, but owing to Max’s long and fruitful history with the Club, Harvey’s questionable motivations, and my own influence as the current Chair of the Council, I was able to spare the girl immediate death, but that meant subjecting her to the often lethal interview techniques of the Club Inquisitor. It was the best that I could do directly, so I had to act quickly behind the scenes to discover the truth of the matter and to find a way to effect a rescue of the poor girl if she was indeed as important to Max as I guessed, all without my involvement being discovered. As luck would have it, it only took one call, as Jack was already quite up to date on the situation with Max and the girl, and was more than fond enough of her to use fabrication and a little abuse of his own position to save her in the nick of time, though not before her heart had sustained incredible amounts of damage.

Unfortunately, Harvey turned out to be a much more dangerous quarry for our agents than we had first thought, and he was able to lure the seriously ill Elizabeth into a trap using another of her sisters, a girl named Vicky, who had herself been lured by the promise of a high paying photo shoot. To make a long story short, Elizabeth managed to turn the tables on her captors, lethally castrated Harvey, and saved her sister’s life, but in the process her heart collapsed.

Max and Jack arrived in time to sustain Elizabeth’s life while they flew her to the Eyre, and her personal slave that had been slain by Harvey was a good donor match for her, so they were able give her a new heart, but it has been a month already and she has yet to wake up, with the doctors unable to guess if she ever will. This whole time, Max and Vicky have been maintaining a constant vigil over Elizabeth, completely unaware of the precariousness of their position.

A debate has been raging for the last month over what to do with the large number of loose ends arising from all of these events, one complicated by the fact that it now involves two Clubs that have few ties between them, and it has taken every diplomatic tool in my possession, and every trick that Jack could come up with, to keep those loose ends from being swiftly and brutally eliminated. Elizabeth was the hardest and the easiest to take care of, as my Club’s Council was not pleased when they received the Eyre’s bill for her operation and continuing care, while the Council of the Eyre was easily convinced to wait for her awakening to make any decisions about her thanks to Max’s many contributions to their medical center over the years. In the end, it was concluded that as long as she marries Max soon after she awakens and her family is brought under a carrot and stick team, Elizabeth will be safe.

The fastest decision as far as the loose ends went was the close friend of the Thompson girls, a very intelligent young man named Brad, who had some useful connections and experience that enabled us to get him a staff position under the tutelage of Jack, though he still has to make it through his initiation.

Vicky nearly fell through the cracks to become a casualty of Club convenience, but Jack managed to gain her temporary Membership thanks to her tenuous relation to Max, though that means that she too must go through an initiation if her safety is to continue.

The most unexpected loose end, however, was Melody, Jack’s remaining daughter, my goddaughter, and the only thing keeping me on the straight and narrow. After what happened with Amber, it was decided by the council that the only way to guarantee the security of the information passing through Jack’s hands was for all members of his household to be initiated, meaning Melody of course, since Amber is dead, Patricia is long gone, and Ginny, already a Member anyway, moved in with the Moores several years ago. This has me more than a little worried, as Melody truly is a sweet girl, who reminds me far too much of Ellen for my comfort. I have thus stayed at the Club, leaving the running of the Stables in the hands of my head slave meg while I await my Melody’s initiation, which I fully intend to Judge, with my husband as my second, something that he insisted upon to my great surprise – I haven’t really seen him very often since I killed Ophelia, and I expected him to avoid my presence still, but apparently he actually takes his status as Melody’s god-father seriously.

Thus it is that I’ve been at the Club constantly for the past month, worrying over Max and Melody, trying to avoid my husband, and resisting the temptation to introduce Alicia Moore and her protégé Ginny to the sharp end of a spit – in the five weeks that I have been here, the bitches have offed four staff girls and two fledgling Members through their clever little loopholes in the Club rules. At any rate, I will most definitely inform you of the results of all of these situations once there are resolutions to report on…

[center]Journal Five – Entry Two[/center]

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Oh God, I think that I’m falling in love again. This can’t be happening, or should I say, I can’t allow it to, not this time, and certainly not with these girls. I can’t bear to think of my curse striking at them, of losing them the way I did Kat, Rosaline and Ellen…and yet I can’t stop thinking of them, or imagining what it might be like to invite the pair of them to my bed…

Perhaps I should stop confusing you and use a straight narrative to show you just what the problem is.

It all began in the anteroom to the Club’s initiation chamber, when my husband and I met with Jack’s daughter Melody, his protégé Brad, and the sister of Max’s comatose fiancée, Vicky. Brad I had met with several times in the preceding month, so there were no surprises there. On the other hand Vicky was an unknown quantity to me, and so I took my time studying her as Jack and Benedick discussed the specifics of the unusual triple testing that was about to take place. What I saw was a young woman who seemed disturbingly reminiscent of myself just before my forced immersion into the underground; smart, determined, capable of making hard choices and very likable with a balance of slight shyness and sweet naiveté.

What suddenly turned my world upside down however was Melody. I hadn’t seen my goddaughter in years, a long enough period that I doubt she recognized me and that I had still been thinking of her as a child. Well, despite her tiny frame and ‘naughty schoolgirl’ look, she is most definitely a young woman, no child indeed, and she is the most amazingly adorable young woman I have ever laid eyes on. She is just as adorable in her spirit and actions, energetic yet somehow not a bit annoying. She reminded me of my Kat to a painful degree, and I immediately became obsessed with her.

It took all of my strength of will to maintain the expected emotional distance as I gave the trinity their instructions and left for the observation lounge, particularly since all of the initiates had qualities that made me worry over whether they would be able to kill a friend or lover, but Jack reassured me that they would do just fine, and they did, playing with and slaughtering their victims spectacularly enough to instigate the first sexual encounter that I’ve had with my husband in years.

Things became even more complicated the next day, when the trio, along with Max and Jack of course, showed up for their welcoming banquet, Harvey’s now enslaved sisters in tow. I had just received word from meg that there were problems with a new shipment of slaves, which required my presence at the Stables, and so I had been depressed that I would miss seeing Melody and Vicky again, but they arrived early so I rushed to see them before I had to leave. Imagine my horror as I entered the banquet hall and saw Alicia Moore and her lackey Ginny hovering over Melody, the predatory looks on their faces making it clear that they were attempting to relieve yet another inexperienced Member of her head, and then just try to picture my relief as Vicky backed the bitches off! The confrontation of course ended as Alicia finally noticed my approach and the murderous glare that I was giving her, and then I had to carefully rearrange my face for what I was about to do.

I knew that it was imperative that this sweet pair of girls understand the precarious position they were in, and in addition I didn’t want to give myself a chance to get too close to them, so I openly evaluated them as if they were slaves that I was inspecting for purchase, and I even pretended to have offered to do just that! The girls were of course horrified at my behavior, which satisfied my logical self but broke my heart a bit, for not only was my infatuation with Melody stronger than ever, but I was also finding myself increasingly attracted to Vicky, especially when I observed them from a distance after taking my leave of them and noticed that looks of fresh, passionate love that the pair were exchanging. It so reminded me of myself and Kat that I almost returned to the group to confess my duplicity and beg them to come to the Stables with me as my lovers, but I held to my resolve and left them thinking of me as some heartless witch.

Now I find myself stuck at the Stables, training Vicky’s personal slave michelle, who was the only survivor of Harvey’s three sisters, and trying to use my daily routines to distract myself from thoughts of those sweet girls. It hasn’t helped any that Brad, who is close to the both of them, has been showing up for lessons from me; he’s more than willing to spill his guts about them, and I just can’t resist encouraging his confessions, though I do have to say that I don’t like how obsessed with Melody he is (I know, pot and the kettle) or how that is developing into an undeserved jealousy of Vicky. I’ve even taken up stealing pictures and film of the girls from Brad’s laptop and the Club’s security cameras. This is so unhealthy.

Thanks to Elizabeth’s continued coma, Vicky is spending far more time at the Eyre than I am comfortable with, and Melody has been doing some fetish modeling with some of Brad’s clients and contacts, and both situations are making me nervous, as these are environments that put my girls at far more risk than they know…I’m seriously considering finding a way to get them both under my care before anything happens to them, but it will be impossible to do so without getting Jack and Max under my thumb, so I’m really not sure what to do; all I know is that I am restless, and that is a dangerous thing…

[center]Journal Five – Entry Three[/center]

Sunday, January 3, 2010

I hate the Clubs. I always have, no matter how I’ve taken a twisted joy in making use of their unique services, but now they have taken my Melody from me, and I’ve had enough. I am going to destroy this organization if it kills me, which is more than likely. This is going to take some time to set up, but I’ve been preparing for this eventuality for a long time now, and soon I will make them all pay…

It seems that Vicky had been planning to use Irene’s collar to bind herself to Elizabeth – apparently she has long harbored more than sisterly feelings for her – and in order to stay with her lover, Melody wanted to do the same, and decided to prove herself at the Eyre’s new year’s eve party by playing in the games. In one of those odd bits of timing that life seems to enjoy taunting us with, Elizabeth had awoken that very day, and so the newly enslaved Vicky and Melody hung together at the stroke of midnight. Neither of them lost, but Melody’s body gave in just seconds after the last loser died, and despite Max’s valiant efforts, there was nothing that could be done to bring the poor girl back.

I can just imagine what Vicky is going through - after all, I’ve been in her shoes – and Jack must be devastated to have completely lost his once perfect family, but it was Brad who seemed to have been most deeply affected. He called me just moments after it was confirmed that Melody was gone, and he was totally broken. His news left me numb and nearly speechless, but I managed to instruct him to keep an eye on things until such time as I could get him to the Stables – I will be in need of his services, as well as those of the slave michelle, if I am to bring to safety those that I still care about whilst my plots against the Clubs come to fruition.

Even now I am making contact with the restless, more ruthless elements within the organization, fermenting a rebellion that will shake the Clubs’ foundations to the bedrock. I don’t particularly care for these individuals or their goals, but that does not matter to me as much as being able to use them to finally taste my revenge. I’ve instructed them to prepare and await my signal, and in the meantime I am working out my own sub-plots to bring Vicky, Max and Jack to the Stables in such a manner that after the dust settles they will be safe and held blameless by whichever side should come out triumphant. I can only hope that after all is said and done that they will understand why I have done all of this, and that I shall be allowed to choose the means of my death if I am defeated – I would so dearly love to go like my Rosaline did, and if not, then my Ellen’s final fate would not be unwelcome to me.

Regardless of the outcome, I am fully prepared to give free reign to my father’s doppelganger in these endeavors, and I’m actually somewhat giddy with excitement at the thought of what that aspect of my personality will do; I have no qualms about giving away my soul like this, since I am truly convinced that I achieved a state of damnation long ago.

Once again I will ask you to wish me luck, not in terms of my own well being or even survival, but with regards to my being able to avoid losing any more of those that I care for…

[center]Journal Five – Entry Four[/center]

Friday, February 5, 2010

If you do monstrous things for the best of reasons, does that still make you a monster? That is the question that I have been asking myself over and over again over the past few weeks, though I have avoided drawing any conclusions as I am afraid of what the answer might be, particularly considering the amount of enjoyment I have had as I have committed such horrid deeds…

I think it would be best if I laid things out for you in a linear fashion. A week after that fateful new year’s eve party, Brad was sent to be my full time student thanks to his illogical anger towards Vicky, because he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the poor slave girl, and she had been left in the care of Jack whilst her sister/Mistress and her new husband Max enjoyed their honeymoon together. Under the theory that there might be some problems in the relationship between the sisters, I started to make aggressive offers to buy Vicky, at unheard of prices even, but I was politely but firmly turned down each time.

Putting the girl out of my mind for the moment, I carefully subverted my husband’s security arrangements, a task that was made quite effortless by the fact that his veneer of civility had pretty much vanished since Ophelia’s death – I think he really did love her, much more than he ever did me. I also put the finishing touches on the finale of my decades long quest to destroy the Moore family fortunes. In the third week of January, everything was readied, and so I started things off by luring Benedick to my bed with the promise of being able to snuff some sweet young Japanese twins, you know the type, of age enough to be good at using their bodies, but looking far too young and innocent to be doing such things. Having pre-arranged for his security team to not interfere, I waited for him to become distracted with an attempt to strangle both girls with the same length of wire, and then I pulled my torture gun, a tiny little thing with very small rounds, jumped on his back with my free arm locked around his neck, placed the muzzle to his eye and pulled the trigger. His head jerked back violently, smacking into my face and knocking me to the floor, and then he swayed for a moment before falling over on the poor girls that he had just finished murdering. He never made a sound; I hope that means that the bullet ended his awareness before he felt any pain – certainly that was my intent, otherwise I would have chosen a less risky method of dispatch.

Signaling for the Stable’s primary physician, who has been under my thumb from the moment I chose him for that position, I had my late husband’s remains taken away and destroyed, while a medical report and death certificate were drafted indicating that he had died of natural causes, an acute myocardial infarction, to be specific. This allowed me to take complete control of all of the family interests, and kept the Club from realizing that anything was afoot just long enough for me to have my way with the next two primary targets of my vendetta.

The next day I flew to the Club, arriving just in time to catch Alicia Moore and Ginny red-handed, as they were securing the lunettes of the competition guillotines over the necks of their specially trained pain-slut slaves and the Club’s newest members, the twin daughters of the late Council Member Master Abrams. It was no surprise that those girls had fallen into the Moore bitch’s trap, as they have far too naïve and simplistic of mindsets to have realized that these seeming pillars of Club society were not to be trusted. Regardless, this was an even better opportunity than I had been hoping for; I knew that I would catch them at this type of activity, but for them to have had the temerity to go after these particular girls was just too delicious, for it meant that no one would question me administering an on the spot punishment for it, at least not until after I had made a swift exit.

Taking command of all nearby security staff and several male slaves as well, I ordered Alicia and Ginny seized and the twins released, and then I surprised everyone by ordering that four slave collars be brought to me. While I waited, I released the blades over the heads of Moore’s slaves, finally treating them to the fates of so many of their victims. As soon as the collars were in my hands, I placed the first two about the necks of the struggling, glaring Alicia and Ginny, declaring that they were to be punished with indefinite demo-slave duties; both women went white as ghosts and started to whimper at that point, as they realized that this time their punishment would be final and all too painful. Next I collared the mystified but not overly upset twins, telling them that I was going to take them into my custody, since they were too sweet and trusting to survive as Members without guidance and protection and had no parents to provide those services. That was a spur of the moment decision, and one that gave me quite a few benefits in the weeks since, as the gorgeous girls are amazing in bed and terribly beautiful when in pain.

I stayed long enough to see to the fates of my fallen enemies, first forcing Alicia to watch as I had Ginny used to test a new fireproof baste. She stared in horror as her goop covered protégé and BFF was tied to a stake and the wood piled beneath her was lit. Ginny screamed, wept and begged me for forgiveness, repenting all of her deeds and even promising to snuff Alicia herself, but I hardened my heart and watched silently as the heat of the flames tore agonized screeches from that girl who I had once loved as a sister, until she finally fell silent and still, most likely killed by the smoke and lack of oxygen. We stayed long enough to sample her fast cooked flesh; I was delighted to find that the test was a success and that Ginny tasted delicious, while Alicia was horrified when I forced her to eat her murdered friend.

For Alicia Moore I had a slower, more intricate death in mind, as I had her strung up in the lobby by her neck and ankles, with her hands freed so that she was able to hold the rope to take the pressure from her neck, but only as long as her strength lasted. It would have been kinder to tie her hands and just let her slowly strangle, but I was in no mood to show her any mercy. From the expression on her face as time went on, her arms, shoulders and chest must have really been hurting her, but she somehow managed to last a good half an hour before her arms would no longer support her weight; I suppose that it didn’t help that she was facing the floor and thus had to reach back behind her head to grasp the rope. Inevitably her arms fell, and she started to kick and thrash, her face slowly darkening, her exhausted hands scrabbling at the rope about her neck, and her eyes filled with pain and confusion as she stared at me and silently begged me for help. I responded to her pleas by doing something incredibly mean spirited and crude; I had a step ladder brought to me, climbed to a height that brought my crotch to the level of her face, and then after savoring her look of hope for a moment I raised my skirt, pulled my knickers aside and pissed in her face. It was the last thing she felt, as she expired in the middle of my foul act.

As soon as the Abrams twins were packed up and ready to go, I boarded my jet with them and left, calling my allies and giving them the go ahead even as the wheels were still in the process of leaving the ground. Within hours, prominent members of Clubs and other parts of the organization the world over were being abducted, to be enslaved if they refused to turn over their Club holdings and portions of their legitimate interests to my allies. I regret that my vendetta has cost so much for certain individuals that I had once called friends, but this is the only way for me to bring down the structure of the underworld that has taken so much from me.

Jack was of course smart enough to realize that something was wrong the moment I ordered those four collars, and so he was able to make arrangements to keep himself, and more importantly Vicky, safe from my out of control partners. I let them lie in hiding while I made arrangements with Brad to bring Vicky to me, only telling him that I wished to take her as my slave, as his hatred for the girl is such that I could not afford to tell him the true reasons for my need to have her near.

Two weeks after my unofficial declaration of war Brad returned to me with Vicky, but also with Jack, an unexpected but not unwelcome change of plans. I had already been planning to capture Jack and Max at a later date, so this merely put me a step ahead, and allowed for me to begin taming him that much sooner – I can’t very well give him any independence until I am completely certain that he is of no threat to me of course.

The really big surprise, however, was when I interviewed Jack, and the first thing he did was to beg me to take it easy on Vicky, promising to be my sex slave if I would just take care that she did not lose his child. His CHILD! How wonderful the jolt I got when he dropped that bomb. Suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about replacing my lost children with those of these two individuals who are among the only people I care about any longer. I took his vow of service to me, and gave my own guaranteeing Vicky’s safety, and then I left him to be trained by meg in his duties (suitably restrained at all times of course).

I took a long time to study the still drugged Vicky before rousing her, making up my mind as to what I was to do with her now that I finally had her in my clutches. Brad would be very likely to do something unfortunate to her unless I marked her in some obvious and distressing fashion, and I couldn’t afford to do away with him, so I opted to give the poor girl a variation on the treatment that poor, long lost tiff had endured. Vicky’s back was tattooed with my family crest, now the symbol of my chaotic rebellion, her nails were permanently removed for my own safety, though I left her teeth, uvula and pallet alone; I also left her genitalia intact other than to have her clitoral hood removed, a procedure that has the opposite effect of what was done to tiff, but I did give Vicky even more permanent peircings, and branded her around her naval. That last was touched up with ink to clearly read ‘poison slave’, a suggestion of Brad’s that I took as it reminds me of my own accursed state, and makes me feel closer to the poor girl.

I wanted to break Vicky before Brad could get involved, so I used the mirror set-up that had worked so well with tiff, and it was a great relief to me when she did indeed submit totally to me just a day after her initial capture. Ever since, she has been my constant companion other than when I am spending time with Jack; it is too dangerous to put the two of them together just yet. Both of them have been training up beautifully, giving me great pride, but also hurting me, as I can see in their eyes what this is costing them. Such is my weakness that my greatest desire is to take them both as true lovers, equals in every way, but I cannot afford to have their stay here seem anything other than captivity, even to them, because I can tell already that my allies will fail me in the end, and eventually the organization, or what is left of it, will track me down and execute me, along with any that can be construed to be working with me.

Regardless of my future fate, my allies and I are doing quite well right now, and so I am starting to make plans to capture Max, and his wife as well if I can, so that I can force them onto the sidelines as well. I have already delivered a coded message to Vicky’s personal slave michelle, who is currently serving Elizabeth, threatening her little nieces if she does not work to entrap Max at the least; I have no intention of doing anything to those little girls, but my reputation is far nastier than I am, and I am not afraid to use that to my advantage…

[center]Journal Five – Entry Five[/center]

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

I have found peace in my life again! After eight months of perfect but lifeless slave behavior, my poison slave vicky’s true self returned, hopefully for good, just in time to give birth to an absolutely gorgeous little girl, who she named Melody. It’s an appropriate name I think, for Jack’s genes came through and gave us a child who’s face, eyes and hair are virtually identical to her namesake’s, which I’m sure you’ll understand is a delight to me. In the months since little Melody was delivered, I’ve been hard pressed to hold back from trying to spend every waking moment with her. She has swiftly become the most important thing in my life other than her mother, who has slowly taken a position in my life and heart similar to Kat’s when she wore that same exact collar.

My poison-slave has taken to motherhood like a duck to water, and it truly is a wonderful thing to be able to watch her at it when she thinks that she is unobserved. She has also done very well in her training to replace meg as my head slave; poor meg getting a bit long in the tooth to be living as a slave, and so I plan to reward her for her many years of service by granting her freedom, though for now she will have to stay as part of my household, a state of affairs that I suspect that she prefers.

After having trained the Abrams twins, which turned out to be an easy task as they are naturally submissive, I gave them to poison-slave as a reward for her progress, and to allow her to serve me without worrying about strange slaves acting as nannies to her precious daughter; the four of them are getting along famously, especially since just the sight of little Melody makes those girls go all gooey without fail. They also are good enough slaves that despite their growing friendship with poison-slave, they have kept secret from her that when she has been training with meg, I have been spending that time with little Melody; I’ve come to love that child like I did my Cassie, and if I should live long enough I will see to her safety in a similar manner.

Outside of this sheltered microcosm, things are not going so well. Max and Elizabeth have become a double pronged thorn in the side of my allies’ operations, having separated to spearhead a pair of interwoven strategies designed to isolate and then crush the primary instigators of my little rebellion, taking over and making good use of the lines of supply and such for their own purposes in the process. Elizabeth in particular has been incredibly dangerous, having masterminded the downfalls of several of my most key allies while sustaining very few losses.

This is not to say that the organization is not hurting, no indeed; for in the initial stages of the rebellion we decimated the ranks of the most elite and blatantly dangerous Members and staff (thus how such a fresh and seemingly resource less Member as Elizabeth has achieved command), and they are still reeling from those losses, especially since many of those Members have been turned into unwilling weapons against their own friends. Periodically another Member or such is taken out, but there are no longer any grab jobs, and the frequency of such attempts succeeding has been decreasing drastically.

There is a noose forming around my own operations that is slowly drawing tighter, and by my estimates I have only another two years at most to find a way to remove myself from here if I wish to avoid having my head decorate someone’s den. Oh well, so much for my hopes of being wrong for once; realism wins again.

It is because of that doomsday clock in the back of my mind that I am training poison-slave; in the end I plan for her not to become my head slave, but for her to take over for me as Mistress of my Stables, so that I may go into hiding and attempt to find my Juliet and Cassie without having to worry about this place that I have put so much of my soul into. Two decades ago, if you had told me that the Stables would become beloved to me, I would have declared you mad, but this place and its slaves really have become a part of my identity, and I will not see them abused or wasted by an inferior Master or Mistress, and I just know that when she becomes Mistress Vicky, she will be the kind that I always wished that I had the freedom to be; kind, understanding and gentle, without losing the discipline and resolve needed to keep this operation at the pinnacle of success and respectability within the larger slaving community.

Well, as long as nothing unexpectedly horrid happens to me, you will hear from me again as things develop towards some form of inevitable conclusion; it only remains to be seen what form the termination of my one sided correspondence with you will take. Either way, I have instructed meg that in the event that I cannot make a final entry here, for whatever reason, she will do so on my behalf, making certain that my fate is known to you before she places them in my private chambers to be discovered at some later date, hopefully by someone who is literate and not holding some grudge against me, so that I can live again through these words and the images that they will place in the minds of you, my faceless audience…

[center][color=blue:3g4h49ts]Concluded below…[/color:3g4h49ts][/center]

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[center]Journal Five – Entry Six[/center]

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

I do believe that I just might make it! Despite having had all of my supply lines and contacts cut off, I have been able to make all of the necessary arrangements to have myself smuggled out of here and safely hidden away, and best of all, I have made contact with Juliet and Cassie! Their messages to me were filled with excitement and love, despite the sad news of Patricia’s recent passing due to breast cancer, and I’m over brimming with a joy and breathless anticipation that I haven’t known the likes of since Kat agreed to see the world with me so long ago. I truly feel as if the weight of the world has been removed from my shoulders, and unlike most ultra-successful women, I don’t think that I will have any difficulty relaxing into a quiet life focused around the remnants of my family.

My dear meg, always concerned with my welfare, has been chomping at the bit, begging me to jump ship right this moment, before my luck takes hold and something horrid occurs to snatch this triumph from my fingers, but there are a few arrangements for the disposition of the Stables that I have yet to finish, and there is also the matter of several vows that must be fulfilled before I may walk away from all of this.

In order to understand what holds me in place for the moment, you need to know of the changes since my last entry. First off, our sweet little Melody is now a year old and even more of a focus of our collective affections than ever; I really have to fight the temptation to steal the little angel and her mother when I take my leave of this place as I have become so attached to the two of them. My poison-slave is once again pregnant, with twins no less, is now fully trained and capable of running the Stables without me, and has been my lover many a night in these past few months rather than just another slave. Despite her distaste for the snuffs that I have ordered her to carry out for my entertainment and the resentment at having been stolen from her life with her sister that she hides so well, we have bonded on a very deep level, and I suspect that whether she wants to or not, she loves me as I do her.

Our relationship has become strained however, first by my having captured Max and my ordering that my poison-slave attempt to breed with him and Jack as well, and then a month ago I captured her Elizabeth, and things became very complicated. Having a transplanted organ, Elizabeth needs to have a steady supply of drugs to prevent rejection, along with constant monitoring and testing by specialists, and those things are not available here. If I had captured her a month before hand, I would have been easily able to provide for her needs, but by the time she had been delivered to me, we had been cut off from the outside world; even my jet is gone, blown to Hades on some Eastern European airstrip in a silly attempt to kill me (I of course have not left this place since the day that I snuffed out Ginny and Alicia, but I can’t blame them for trying), and all that remains is my escape plan, which is not adaptable.

Strangely enough, Elizabeth took the news quite well when I effectively delivered her death sentence to her, though it probably helped that she had blown off a great deal of steam on her delivery to me by beating the living daylights out of the poor slave michelle, and that the two of us have been getting along amazingly well – I truly regret not having cultivated that girl’s friendship before now. My poison slave of course was devastated, particularly when we told her that it was Elizabeth’s wish, seconded by me, that she personally spit and roast her sister and former Mistress rather than allowing her to die in agony from her body betraying her. Now you may be wondering why Elizabeth would actually ask to die in that way, rather than with a quick beheading or some such, but the reason is actually quite simple: she had seen a girl spit-roasted with all of my treatments, and was understandably fascinated with it, just as I am, and she had decided long ago that she wanted to go that way, a wish that I am more than happy to grant this woman who has so surprisingly changed from a rival to a dear friend.

Luckily for poison-slave’s sanity, Elizabeth was carrying a good month’s supply of her drugs with her, and so she has been able to have that time to make her long goodbyes to her sister, her husband and her good friend Jack, as well as getting to know her niece. She also is the only person other than meg that knows of my love for her sister, a secret that she wanted to share with her, but agreed to keep secret once I explained the need for her and her two men to be able to sustain interrogation and still come across as having been my captives this whole time and nothing more, especially once it is discovered that she personally dispatched the de-facto leader of the organization and ate her.

Speaking of that crucial event, Elizabeth has declared that tomorrow is the day, and is currently spending her final night with her family. I feel a great sense of loneliness when I think of how much love and tenderness must be flowing through that suite right now, and I have a nearly overwhelming urge to spy on them, or even barge in and attempt to make myself a part of that close knit group, but I vowed a month ago to respect that family’s privacy, and I have done so though it makes my father’s doppelganger climb the walls to see me neglect my security in this way. I’m not worried, for tomorrow, after all is said and done, I shall take my leave of them all, and a scant few hours after that I shall be out of range of any danger to myself.

Meg has been directed to record tomorrow’s events here, and then to deliver it into my chosen hiding place before officially declaring poison-slave to be Mistress of the Stables. Hopefully she will never have any reason to make another entry in these journals after tomorrow, and I will disappear into obscurity so that I may finally discover what it is to truly have a family. Either way, this is the last time you will hear from me, so one final time I will say: wish me luck!

[center]Journal Five – Entry Seven[/center]

Saturday, October 29, 2011

My poor Mistress! Why didn’t She listen to me? I warned Her, time and again, but who really listens to the whining of a slave, especially when she’s going on about stuff like curses? Well, this is one of those times in life where I really don’t want to say I told you so, not that my Mistress is in any condition to understand me if I said it anyway.

I really don’t understand how things could have gotten so out of hand, so quickly. One moment poison-slave, or Mother Vicky as she’s calling herself now, and her Max were watching her sister turning over the coals while my Mistress observed from Her outdoor throne and that creepy Brad fellow said his goodbyes to the roaster, and then all of a sudden Brad was writhing on the ground with his throat opened up from ear to ear, Max was fighting the guards to a standstill, and poison-slave was running at Mistress using her slave michelle as a meat shield. I was watching from nearby, and called for help, but those twin slaves had used their bodies to poison most of the staff and Masters!

I was helpless to do anything, and had to watch as my Mistress was brought to the ground and subdued with a scalpel at Her throat, despite having killed off that treacherous michelle girl. I didn’t understand why they were giving Mistress a shot at first, and then I recognized the way that Her volition disappeared, and realized that they weren’t going to make this quick or easy for Her – they used the mind control drugs on Her! For the sake of their souls I hope that Mother Vicky and Max didn’t understand the cruelty of what they had done, or what they did later, for my dear Mistress had one quality that She allowed Herself to be proud of, and that was Her powerful mind and will.

Oh sweet Goddess, what they did to Her after they had finished roasting and eating that poor Elizabeth girl! I was there for the whole thing; I insisted on it, and they were too shorthanded to refuse me. First came the purely physical changes – removal of Her toes and fingers, creation of a sort of purr box, and finally the removal of Her voice other than cat sounds. Oh how it hurts to think that Mistress will never delight anyone with Her musical voice again!

What really horrified me was the final step – they used chemicals to lobotomize Mistress! I hoped that they might not be successful, but when I saw Her after She had awoken, She was like an animal! I tried to talk to Her, to make Her understand how sorry I was, and what I was going to do next, but all Mistress did was purr and rub against me, trying to get me to caress Her, which I did. I then ran from that place and came here to write this. I shall not see Her again before I leave. I can’t bear to see Her this way, and I’m going to do my best to always remember Her the way She was before; so confident, intelligent and fascinating to listen to.

The new Mother of the Stables has decided to keep Mistress as her pet. It makes me want to puke, and if I could snuff the poor thing without hurting my plans I would, but they have Her under constant supervision, just in case someone like me gets ideas. It hurts me really badly that I can’t help Mistress, that I have to abandon Her, but Her children need to know…

I’m going soon. Mistress’s escape plan is going to take me to her Juliet and Cassie, and I am going to tell them everything, and then I will serve them until I die. Those poor girls; they were so close to having their mother figure to themselves for the first time, to actually having a family, and now…

If you are reading this at a time when Mother Vicky and Max are still around, I want you to hurt them, like they’ve hurt my Mistress and Her girls, and when they ask you why, I want you to throw this book in their faces, and tell them how horrible they are to have done this to a wonderful woman who loved them so much…

[center]Final Act

Scene One[/center]

With shaking hands, Vicky turned the page and through her tears of guilt and sadness saw one final entry, undated but obviously recent, and in uneven, jagged and childish lettering:

[i:3azlqzar]FORGIVEN[/i:3azlqzar]

With her silent daughter-slave she stared at that single, loaded word for many long minutes, and then a fake paw covering a mutilated human hand covered the page. She looked up from the journal and straight into Miranda’s eyes, which were bright and dancing with an awareness and energy that they hadn’t held in two decades. Vicky was frozen with astonishment and wonder as her grinning former Mistress tapped the word in the book then her chest, followed by another tap and a soft, long kiss filled with affection. Realizing that by some miracle her greatest mistake and regret had miraculously been at least partially erased, Vicky returned the kiss with passion, overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment.

Surrendering to her former Mistress’s fierce sexual power and allowing herself to be enveloped in the experience, Vicky might very well have spent the entire night in sensual reunion with Miranda if her daughter-slave hadn’t been there. As it was melody was unsure of protocols and allowed things to proceed quite far before she finally resolved herself and interceded. “Mother, it is nearly time for Michelle’s game; I really think we should go now…”

Miranda pulled back sharply, guilt written on her face, and swiftly as she could the half crippled cat-girl slid off of the bed and started to crawl towards the door. Vicky was lost in euphoria for several long moments before she finally shook her head and stood, filled with a sense of purpose that she hadn’t felt for ages. “Thank you child. Now run ahead of us and try to give your sister a pep talk; I’m going to have to go talk to the Council Members that are here tonight. Hopefully if Michelle makes it through her game I can get her to safety. Now go, hurry!” Vicky didn’t tell her daughter-slave the other reason for her to see the Council; as she had read meg’s final paragraph, she had been thinking of those poor girls that she had unwittingly hurt so bad, picturing them in her mind based on the photographs from Miranda’s albums, and it had suddenly clicked that they had an incredible resemblance to a pair of women who had passed their initiations a few years back, and who were on the invitation list tonight. Two women who had probably been nursing a powerful grudge for two decades were in her territory with the power to kill, and she had a bad feeling that they weren’t going to let the opportunity to hurt her slip from their fingers.

By the time Vicky reached the private viewing box built specifically for the Council, she had long since lost track of Miranda, but she was far too distracted to worry about it as she paused at the door to collect herself. As soon as she felt that she looked calm, the Mother of the Stables entered the room to battle for the safety of her family.

[center]Scene Two[/center]

Melody ran into her room and started rummaging frantically through her clothes, fretting over the delay but knowing full well that if she showed up in the gaming area with her collar visible it would negate the efforts of her sister and Mother in an instant. She cursed the warm climate of her home as she rejected item after item, throwing them about the room haphazardly. Finally she found a tight turtleneck that she had worn several years before on a trip to Scotland; it was a bit small on her, but that made it sexy and thus made it seem a little less strange for her to be wearing it. After tossing on a pair of skintight jeans and some tall boots to complete the look, Melody raced from her room and tore through the corridors, pleading silently that she wouldn’t be too late.

She made it to her sister’s side with minutes to spare before the randomly selected men would find their partners. Michelle’s face broke into one of those huge grins that Melody loved so much as they pulled each other in for a tight hug. “It worked, you’re safe! Now I can do this without worrying about you. Don’t worry about advice, I already got daddy’s second-hand, and one of the other slaves told me that it really just comes down to who you’re partnered with, so we’ll just have to wait and see…oh, are you going to stay close while this happens?”

Michelle’s words were coming so fast that they were blurring together, and her body was shaking; Melody could tell that the girl was wired from all of the adrenaline pumping through her body, and she knew that it could mean disaster. “Michelle…MICHELLE! Calm down, now! Listen to me, if you keep going like this you won’t last!” Michelle closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and then let out a long, shaky breath before she opened her eyes again and nodded. “Okay, that’s a bit better, but not enough. Now, you remember those meditation exercises that we hated so much when we were kids?”

Michelle frowned. “How could I forget, I sucked so bad at it mom tanned my ass for not trying hard enough…oh shit, you mean I’ve got to try to do that now, here, with all sorts of crap buzzing through my mind like, oh, I dunno, am I gonna die, does it hurt to drown, stuff like that…you’re nuts sis, I can’t do it!”

Melody did her best to soothe her sister as she heard the hysteria that was starting to creep into Michelle’s voice. “Hey, listen to me. I know you can do this, I believe in you, okay? Now, just close your eyes and listen to my voice, let it carry you into that calm place that they told you about…”

For the next several minutes, Melody ran through the meditation exercises with her sister, and she was pretty sure that she could feel Michelle starting to relax, but before they could get too far Melody was gently moved away by a staff member as the men started to take their places.

Michelle didn’t seem to notice her partner until he took her into his arms, and then her eyes popped open and she was looking up into her father Jack’s face. He tried to smile reassuringly, but the sadness in his eyes was unmistakable, and both of the sisters knew why, and Michelle actually put their thoughts into words. “Oh god daddy, you’re going to snuff me like that punk girl after Max’s test, aren’t you?”

Jack of course looked very confused for a moment, and then he looked shocked. “Baby-doll, after this is done you’re going to have to tell me where you learned about that, but for now I’m just going to tell you that this is totally different, really. I’ve got a full load all ready to go, not like that time were I was pretty much drained dry, and more important, I wanted to snuff her, she wanted me to snuff her, and she was pretty worn out anyway. I don’t want you to die, and I’m going to try my hardest to make sure that doesn’t happen, okay princess?”

Michelle was looking up at him with huge, tearful eyes. “Daddy, I’m really scared, but I’m glad that you’re the one, that I’ll get to be with you if…”

Before Jack could reassure his daughter, the signal to start the fluffing stage of the contest went off, and after a second’s hesitation, Michelle started to work on his cock and balls with her lips and darting tongue. All thought fled him as he groaned and closed his eyes, enjoying the wonderful sensations she was creating for him and trying to get hard as fast as possible so that she would have plenty of time to work on him. Unfortunately, Jack wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he was distracted by his fears for his daughter, so he ended up being the last man to get fully hard.

Melody watched this from nearby, clenching her fists in frustration as her sister finally started to engulf their father’s thick penis in her mouth, half of her ‘fluffer’ time used up already. She could see that several of the slaves in the line had already drawn their men to the brink and were holding them there, ready to take them over the edge as soon as they went under. It was hard to tell how most of the rest of the guys were doing, except for one that was looking quite dissatisfied with the job that a young bookish looking volunteer was doing, but she really didn’t care, since this was not a competitive event.

Before she knew it, Melody was startled by the second signal, and she found herself emitting a little squeak as her father sat, drawing Michelle’s head under the water. As she went under, the poor girl gave Melody a look that was filled with terror, and she was nearly overwhelmed with despair.

Melody could hear several men immediately groaning, followed by the sounds of girls rising from the water, but her attention was riveted to where her father was sitting with his hands holding his daughter’s bobbing head under the water, his eyes closed as he concentrated on what she was doing to his cock. Several minutes and some more men groaning as they came followed, but Jack’s expression was unchanged, and there was a sense of desperation to the movements of the girl between his legs.

Tears started to spill down Melody’s cheeks as she saw the water start to churn with Michelle’s thrashing as she neared her limits, blurring her vision so that she didn’t notice her father’s expression change to one of satisfaction. She didn’t even hear him groaning, as there was quite a bit of noise from other girls nearing death, and so when Michelle came to the surface with a giant splash right in front of her, she was so shocked that she fell right on her ass.

She swiftly crawled to her sister and they started to sob and hug as their father laughed in delight and enveloped them in his arms. His laughter was infectious, and soon all three of them were in stitches, letting go of all of their stress in a moment of senseless levity.

That moment didn’t last long, as suddenly an unfamiliar female voice came from very close by. “Harrison cheated! That’s his daughter he’s partnered with, and there’s no way a young thing like that could get him off in time; his stamina’s legendary.” As one, father and daughters turned to look behind them and saw a pair of eerily familiar women scowling at them from the sides of an event judge. The one on the left, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jack and especially Melody, continued to speak, her voice filled with a bitter anger. “I’m challenging the results, and if it is found that things were not above board, I demand that he be made to put down this slave immediately, and this other girl too since she should have been in the audience in the first place…”

Melody shared a look of horror with her sister and father. If the substitution should be discovered…

[center]Scene Three[/center]

Cassandra Coulter allowed herself a small smile of triumph as she drank in the panic and near terror of the girls before her, and the pathetic attempts by their father to offer them comfort. She would have preferred entrapping her real targets, Max Rutherford and Vicky Thompson-Harrison, but as Council Members with decades of experience with Club politics, they were virtually untouchable, and so she was forced to hurt them through those that they loved. She kept getting twinges of guilt, especially when she saw how sweet and nice the girls seemed when she had observed their brief celebration, but her hate and bitterness over the cruel loss of the woman that she saw as her mother had been festering for far too long for her to give in to her conscience now.

Knowing that her case against Jack Harrison and his girls was flimsy at best, Cassandra took charge of things and started to order that the suspected cheaters be bound and in the case of the elder girl stripped, hoping to get things as far along as possible before any of the Council Members could interrupt. Servants were reluctantly approaching the wide-eyed trio, when a voice suddenly rang out from behind her. “Cassie dear, I don’t think that you really want to be doing this.”

Startled that someone besides her cousin Juliet knew her real name, Cassandra jumped and then turned to see that the speaker was none other than the primary target of her Vendetta, Vicky. The woman had a mysterious smile on her face that filled Cassandra with apprehension, but Juliet seemed unaffected, which was unsurprising considering that she had taken the loss of her mother far harder than her cousin. “Cass, don’t pay any attention to this overdressed slave. You know we have to do this for mother.”

Vicky favored Juliet with a very insulting smirk, and then turned her attention back to Cassandra. “Cassie, you really don’t know what’s going on here; you see, you’re trying to get your sisters snuffed…”

Cassandra took a step back in shock – did this mean that what Patricia had told her years before was true? No, it couldn’t be. “I- I don’t have any sisters, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Mother of the Stables walked over to her eldest daughter and used a finger under the girl’s chin to lift her face. “Look at this face, really look at her, and tell me that the resemblance isn’t all the proof that you need. You can’t, can you?” Against her will, Cassandra did as she was told, and it was as if she was looking into a mirror that took her back to her twentieth birthday.

Suddenly Cassandra couldn’t deny that she had been told the truth all those years before. “Jack…are you really?” Her voice was tiny, and her lower lip started to tremble as she waited for his response.

At first Jack was confused, and then she saw him looking at her more closely, and his eyes lit up with joyful comprehension. “Cassie? My god, is that really you? I thought you’d disappeared forever. This is wonderful!” He held out one of his hands to her and smiled winningly. “Yes; if you’re asking if I’m your father, the answer is yes. I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you when you were young, but Mr. Coulter…well, I’m sure you remember how dangerous he was…”

Jack had to catch her as her knees gave out. She looked up at him in a daze and could only speak in mumbles. “Dad? Really? I have a family?”

Juliet snorted derisively. “Shit, what the hell are they to you? Blood or not, you don’t know them, and they don’t give a shit about you, Cass. I’m your family, mother is your family, and you’re about to betray us both. Now if you can’t do this, I will.” Suddenly Juliet was holding a small handgun and was casually pointing it at the little group.

Cassandra gasped in shock; she hadn’t known that her cousin was ready to commit virtual suicide like this just to get her revenge. “Jules, you’d better put the safety on that thing, before you do something you’ll regret…”

[center]Scene Four[/center]

Keeping eye contact with Juliet, Vicky slowly moved away from her family, drawing the woman’s aim with her. Keeping her hands in plain sight and a calm expression on her face, she racked her brain for options and only found one. “Juliet, Jack and my girls had nothing to do with what happened to your mother. I’m the one you want, so if you’re going to use that thing, use it on me, please. Don’t get the blood of the innocent on your hands…”

Juliet seemed to ponder that as her aim wavered. “Gee, I don’t know. Since you seem to be willing to give your life for them, it might be more fitting for you to know what it was like for me to lose my mother like that…” She started to turn her aim back towards the terrified girls, and Vicky prepared to hurl herself into the path of fire, and then Juliet’s eyes widened in shock and she suddenly dropped to her knees. “Momma?”

The woman’s whispered question was answered by a loud purr as Miranda crawled to her and enveloped her in a tight hug. Juliet was still for a moment, and then she returned the hug and started to sob. “M-momma, I missed y-you s-so much!” Miranda responded by nuzzling in closer to her distraught, long lost daughter.

Vicky exhaled slowly, and started to relax, and then Cassie caught her eye and shook her head, her expression full of anxiety. “Jules, honey, please put the safety on that gun, and then we can sort this all out before someone gets hurt…please cousin…”

Juliet looked up at Vicky, anger and relief warring on her face. “L-look what you’ve done to my beautiful mother!”

Vicky became fully alert once more as she saw the tension in Juliet’s body. “I know this won’t help any, but you need to understand, we didn’t know what she was planning! If she’d only told us…don’t think that a day has gone by that I haven’t regretted what we did to your mother, but it’s okay now, she has her mind back, and we can have the surgeons give her voice back…you can be with each other, finally, but you have to put that gun away!”

Juliet stared at the weapon, and slowly moved her thumb to the safety, and then everything went pear shaped.

Max suddenly barreled through the crowd, stopping very close to Juliet and looking ready to tear the place apart if necessary, and the woman reacted instantly, unthinkingly, by standing and placing the muzzle of her weapon inches from his left eye before spasmodically pulling the trigger. The echo from the shot hadn’t even come back yet when Max’s large body crumpled to the floor; he didn’t make a single sound.

Vicky stared at him numbly, thinking ‘get up Max, come on, you need to get back up and take the gun away’, but an emotionless part of her mind calmly noted the red hole where one of his wonderful brown eyes used to be, the way the other eye stared sightlessly at the ceiling, and how a small caliber round like that would have bounced around inside his skull and destroyed his mind before the pain of its entry was even able to register. ‘He’s dead, you can’t help him’ said that part of her brain, even as the rest of her just stood by helplessly watching Juliet turn the gun on her. She couldn’t move, the sudden turn of events was just too much for her to take in.

Juliet paused a moment, obviously relishing the tears that Vicky could feel pouring down from her eyes, and then she started to squeeze the trigger. Vicky saw a dark shape hurtle towards her, and then there was a loud bang, and the shape crashed into her, knocking her onto her back.

Everything was shaky and surreal as Vicky sat up and cradled the shuddering body of Miranda, who was trying to use her useless hands to stem the flow of blood from where the bullet had torn through her throat. Vicky could feel a line of agony running through her left breast, and it was hard for her to breathe, and she realized that if Miranda hadn’t deflected and slowed the projectile it probably would have pierced her heart.

As four agonized voices cried out “Mother!” simultaneously, Vicky stroked Miranda’s hair and whispered in her ear. “Shhh, don’t fight it love, you can go see Kat and Rosaline and Ellen and Melody now…even Ophelia…just let go love, and I’ll be along eventually…” Miranda stopped trying to hold her throat together, and softly tapped at Vicky’s face with her paws, and then she fell limp with a slight smile on her lips.

Vicky looked up into Juliet’s horrified face. “Momma? Oh god momma, what have I done?” She turned to look at her cousin. “Oh Cass, why don’t I ever listen to you? I’m so sorry…they’ll have to be your family now.” Cassandra reached out, her eyes filled with sad comprehension, and Juliet calmly placed the gun into her mouth and pulled the trigger a final time.

Vicky closed her eyes as she heard the sharp report of the weapon, followed by the thuds of Juliet’s body hitting the floor, and then she gave a silent prayer that mother and daughter would finally be united.

Vicky sat for a moment, taking everything in, and then she felt something inside her snap. Opening her eyes, she glared at the Council Members gathered nearby, and stood up, covered in blood and looking like an avenging angel. She looked down at Miranda and then over to her poor, luckless, beloved Max, and decided that her former Mistress had the right idea all those years ago – this world that she lived in was built to supply her with only heartbreak, and she needed to shed it like a cocoon if she was ever to truly be free. Looking around at the helpless, cowed Council, she smiled like the devil come for their souls. “Get everybody the fuck out of here, this party’s over, hell, the Stables are over. I’m sending my slaves to their homes, and then I’m going to go Von Trapp with my family – don’t try to stop me, don’t try to harm my family or my slaves, because I’ll be watching, and you don’t want me to go all Miranda Coulter on you, do you?” She waited for a response, but they just stared at her all bug eyed. “Go on then, bugger off!” She took a menacing step towards them, and they scattered.

Vicky bent and kissed Max goodbye, whispering for him to give his love to her sisters, and then she turned to her husband, daughters and new stepdaughter. “I’ll need all of you to help me shut all of this down fast, we don’t have long until Christmas Eve, and we have a dinner to attend that night…”

[center]Scene Five[/center]

Sarah Thompson stared at the three final place settings that she was placing on her parents’ table and sighed as she thought of spending a twentieth Christmas Eve pretending that those chairs weren’t empty, that her long dead sisters were sitting in them, grown older of course, maybe married, perhaps with kids ready to start college. She knew why her parents insisted on carrying on with this tradition, but that didn’t make it any less of a torture for her, especially when she thought of how she had dismissed the concerns of Betts when she tried to tell her that something was wrong with Kate, or how even after this long they still didn’t know what had happened to Vicky.

Hearing several vehicles pull up in front of the house, Sarah went to the front window to see if it was her remaining sisters and their families, and then she stared in puzzlement as she watched a very large, unfamiliar family pile out of the very expensive cars and start to head towards the house. “Hey dad, are we expecting anyone new this year?”

Her father paused in his stocking-filling duties and looked just as puzzled as she felt. “Nope…what do they look like?”

Sarah put on her glasses and looked at the group more carefully. “Well, there’s lots of kids, and an older guy, and two women about my age…one’s blonde, the other…” She trailed off as she realized that there was something about the other woman that was making her heart race.

Rushing to the door, Sarah opened it just as the first knock came. There in front of her, recognizable despite the intervening years, was a face that had haunted her dreams for two decades. The woman was grinning from ear to ear as she pulled Sarah in for a warm hug. “Sorry I’m so late sis, you wouldn’t believe how complicated it can be just getting from Kansas to here…”

The world started spinning, and the last thing Sarah heard before she passed out was her beloved Vick speaking with joy in her voice. “Kids, wish your Auntie Sarah a Merry Christmas!”

[center][i:3azlqzar]”Now go we in content To liberty, and not to banishment.”

Celia in As You Like It (I, iii, 139-14)[/i:3azlqzar] [color=blue:3azlqzar]Finis[/color:3azlqzar][/center]