Oubliette & Slave to Cabal

Oubliette & Slave to Cabal
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ISBN:  9781780800912
Author:  Bruce McLachlan
Word Count:  143,528
Format:  eBook

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Moonspawn & MoonslaveMoonspawn & Moonslave
Shadows of Torment I & IIShadows of Torment I & II

Two Bruce McLachlan BDSM stories brought together in one fantastic erotic story collection.

Oubliette

A remote and highly secret prison facility draws the attention of Claire Malenko, an ambitious young investigator intent on exposing the inconsistencies she has found in its records to further her own career. When she arrives there she finds herself processed and incarcerated in an automated hi-tech prison, where the warden and his staff have created a world of bondage and submission to suit their desires.

To prevent her bringing ruin to their secret realm of perversity, the warden must drag out the security code she uses to communicate her findings. Thus begins a struggle during which they heap endless punishment and humiliation on the hapless prisoner, trying to gain her secret as slowly she begins to find arousal in succumbing to their erotic torments.

Seduced by one of the latex-clad trustees that serve the warden, Claire finds herself trained as the sultry woman's pet and becomes part of the covert empire of domination she sought to bring down.

Slave to Cabal

An innocent tourist visiting San Francisco, Kaitlyn discovers a secret world of slavery and dominance hiding behind the city.

Seduced into their ranks, she becomes property of a mysterious sect known only as Cabal. Here, the noble members scheme and trade the slaves they accumulate, and any fantasy or whim is instantly recreated.

Exploring her submissive nature, Kaitlyn draws the admiration and envy of the slaves, masters and mistresses who come her way, making her a treasured possession whom others fight to acquire and use.

Oubliette

‘Please, place your hands on the grips for analysis and scanning,’ announced a computer-generated voice, the words emanating from no clear source.
   Setting her luggage down she approached the bar and looked over its structure to find two grips. Each was moulded to hold individual fingers, and although it was a little out of the ordinary to conduct a scan of fingerprints in such a manner she could see nothing overtly wrong with it. Grabbing hold of the bar as requested she waited for the scan to begin. Instead, two metal bands suddenly flashed out from within the bar and locked about her wrists. The interiors suddenly billowed with stern pressurised force, the rubber pillows squashing her flesh and preventing any hope of wriggling free of the shackles.
   With a yell of shock she hauled at the bar, trying to break free of the restraints. Her panic caused her to remain oblivious to the panels opening in the floor and another pair of cuffs emerged on articulated arms, their metallic maws stretched wide with hunger.
   The two clicks of hardened Plasteel preceded a sudden hiss as the latex interiors filled and compressed her ankles to establish a perfect and unbreakable fit. Claire screamed and hauled at the attacking devices, a chill sweat creeping down her spine.
   ‘What the hell is going on?’ she roared, yanking in frenzy as she fought to break free. ‘I’m a level two Finance officer for the Company! Let me go! I demand that you let me go!’
   The bar retreated upwards into the ceiling, moving slowly to deliberately let her angst blossom. She could see it would lift her from the floor and stretch her into the air to leave her horribly vulnerable.
   ‘No!’ she yelled, afraid that the automated system would mindlessly process her as a prisoner unless she drew the attention of a human operative. ‘No, stop! What are you doing?’
   Her toes left the floor and she was drawn up. The fetters followed her and the hydraulic might of the bonds started to rack her. The strain in her arms and legs continued to grow worse, the awful swell of pain in joints and ligaments becoming horrendous as the machine threatened to pull her asunder.
   ‘Aaaaah, noooo!’ she wailed, as she was stretched into a rigid spread-eagle, her fingers clawing madly at the metal and rubber responsible for containing them. ‘You’re going to kill me! Stop, pleeease!’
   As though in answer to her screams the devices stopped their dreadful work, leaving her hanging immobile. Claire was now unable to move in the slightest because of the potency with which she was suspended.
   ‘I’m a Company officer and I’m here to do an inspection!’ she yelled. ‘Let me go or I’ll have you all fired! I’ll have you here as inmates!’ She was trying to sound forceful and conceal the far more appropriate fact that she was terrified.
   Deep, resonant notes drifted from the door in front of her as it unlocked, and the dense vault opened to expose a slim stretch of corridor with another set of wall-spanning doors at the other end.
   The two sets of cuffs clicked as the supports were transferred to a set of rails in floor and ceiling, and suddenly she was being carried forward with a steady motion.
   Flashing her eyes around in jeopardy, tears trickled down her cheeks as the mystery surrounding her fate continued to eat at her. Again and again she murmured her defence that she was a legal officer of the Company, using this assignation as a mantra for protection and courage.
   The door behind slid shut and barred itself to have silence descend. Claire listened to her own startled breathing and glared around to see what was going to happen next.
   Sounds of movement came from the walls, the sudden flurry of activity making her shriek in startled shock. Panels opened in the walls and floor, allowing robotic arms to emerge and reach out towards her. Each arm culminated in a small tripod claw with a laser orb set in the centre. The devices flexed and then began to move their cyclopean eye over her prone body.
   Slender beams of dazzling blue light spilled from the lenses to slice deftly through her attire. The lasers brought nothing more than soft warmth to the skin they touched, and as each portion of cloth was carved free the trio of digits reached in and grabbed it. Claire bellowed her rage and dismay as the machines worked relentlessly, peeling off her clothes with blind precision and dropping the tattered shreds into an open hole in the floor.
   Closing her eyes she felt her underwear and tights being cut from her and the last vestige of her dignity was dropped into the hole, which then promptly sealed over. Naked and held open to attention, Claire wept tears of frustration as the next set of doors opened.
   The arms retreated back into their hidey-holes and sealed over before the rails carried her bare body forward into another identical chamber. From the floor and ceiling emerged several more sets of robotic arms, each with a strange humming device at their head. The mechanisms whirred and moved in, laying their tips to her legs and armpits.
   Claire filled the air with a piercing scream as a fulgent jolt of anguish lanced deep into her skin. The arms continued their work, methodically moving across her body, blasting her with vicious electrolysis to slay her follicles at the source. Each moment was a hell of suffering and she wondered if this was deliberate a torture. Was it a further consideration to degrade and soften new prisoners to Oubliette’s regime? Or was it just to ward against lice or some parasite or danger she was not yet aware of?
   Claire started to accustom to the horrific ordeal, the adrenaline and endorphins set free by the steady cosmetic work letting her calm herself a little. But then the mechanical arms started to carry their baleful tools into her pubic hair. Every one of Claire’s muscles rippled with strain as she squealed and struggled to break free or evade the thrumming tips while they attacked her loins and rear. Her voice grew hoarse from overuse and her body dripped with sweat as her lungs fought to feed her wails.
   Finally the devices stopped and Claire went completely slack, hanging limp in her bondage as the machines drifted back into their homes and vanished. Wheezing softly, she shivered as the glaze of evaporating sweat carried away the heat of her pain. Saliva and tears dripped from her chin, her hair was damp and her ears were ringing with the aftermath of her own vehement hollering.
   Once more the door opened and she peered through bleary eyes to see yet another chamber ahead, proving they were not finished with her just yet. Claire privately swore that those responsible would pay for this. When she was free she would ruin every one of them.
   A new set of panels opened and a series of hose nozzles emerged and trained on her body from every direction. Claire yelped as hot soapy streams spewed from the tips and slammed against her. The power of the jets pummelled her form as she yelled and fought to evade them. She was being treated as an inanimate creature, something to be processed and prepared. The dehumanising ordeal was proving more than she could bear but she was helpless to affect it in any way.
   The jets attacked her face, making her throw her features around, her eyes tightly closed to protect them as she fought to find air. When they finally cut off she was left coughing and spluttering, having breathed in some droplets during the struggle.
   Her body was dripping with suds as the jets clicked to a new setting and pounded her with clean streams of lukewarm water. Again she was forced to hold her breath and wait as they cleansed her face after attending her body. Once the soap was flushed from her the machines retreated back into the walls. Small apertures in the floor opened to allow the waters to drain away and her sodden body was ferried forward into a new room.
   ‘How much more?’ she shouted in fury, unable to tolerate any continuance of this diabolic process. What else could they possibly do to her? She had been stripped, disfigured and nearly drowned. What else could they possibly want from her?
   The door behind her closed and locked itself as new metal limbs unfurled from the walls and presented glowing red bars to her form. The buzzing devices were held horizontally to her and started to pan up and down her anatomy.
   The medical scan was completed and an osmotic syringe appeared at the end of a robotic appendage. The head pressed to her arm and with a whistling hiss a hefty shot of the unknown contents entered her system. The cylinders within the device whirled and exchanged the empty container with another that was used to sting her and steal a blood sample.
   For a moment Claire thought the syringe was about to be used on her again as it closed in on her navel. Then she saw the actual syringe vanishing into the floor with her blood and she realised this was an entirely new device.
   ‘No!’ she cried, as she noticed it was a laser tattooing needle. But the computer-controlled process was ignorant of her dismay and continued blithely. ‘Oh no, not this!’
   With swift sweeps a barcode was etched above her bellybutton. The small square of identification was painlessly applied, but the effects on Claire’s psyche were devastating. It was repulsive to her to be branded like this, to be identified as a prisoner, a captive, to have her identity summed up in a string of digits.
   Preoccupied with the tattoo she failed to hear something descending behind her until there was whinny of motion and a Plasteel band was clamped about her throat. The flat band pressed to her skin with a snug but forceful pressure and she immediately started to fling her head around to slough off the accursed item.
   The machine finished its toil and retreated back into the floor as the doors opened to reveal a small box room with a smaller exit on the other side, one that would be insufficient to let her be carried through again.
   Claire wondered if this was to be her final destination. She had to hope there would be a human presence at some point because she dared not consider being incarcerated. If she were, how would she convince the guards of her identity? Even if she tried, why would they listen to a mere inmate who would be willing to say anything to try and gain a chance at escape?
   Drawn forward into the room, the door closed and locked behind her as the fetters deflated and released her ankles. The bonds slithered back into the floor via another subdued trapdoor and vanished. Claire then heard them starting to travel back to the start of the divided passage, there to await the next hapless soul entrusted to their duty.
   Hanging in the air, Claire reached down for the floor and found that her toes could barely graze it. Left aloft she tried a couple more times and suddenly the manacles opened. Falling to the floor Claire collapsed into a tangled sprawl, her body too weak to support her.
   Glaring up with rancour she watched the ceiling open and accept the bar back into itself before sealing again, leaving her utterly naked in a completely barren room.
   Claire looked at her barcode and tears filled her eyes as she sobbed and traced the foul marking. It could be erased, but the stigma of having been tattooed like this would forever haunt her career. She came to this place to further her prospects. Now she had suffered a setback and there was the distinct possibility that she would really be incarnated unless she stopped this downward spiral of events.
   Reaching to her collar she tried to get a finger under the tight band, but found it impossible. The scan had ensured the gaining of a perfect fit. Tracing the surfaces, Claire found that the smooth Plasteel had a slightly raised disc at the front, a fixture she could not discern by touch alone.
   A panel opened on the wall to her left to briefly expose a chute. A set of shoes and a garment tumbled out onto the floor and the hatch quickly closed again.
   ‘Please, put on the articles,’ stated the computer voice.
   ‘Fuck you, I want to speak to someone,’ she bellowed, rising to her feet and trying to tug at the collar as she addressed the anonymous source. ‘I want this crap off me, now!’
   ‘Please, put on the articles or you will be reprimanded,’ stated the toneless voice...

Slave to Cabal

Pushing the trolley before her, Kaitlyn made her way through the various obstacles the army of officials had set for entrants into this country.
   The airport was considerably larger than the one she had left. The interior was embellished with added space, and decorated with irrelevant items such as random miniatures of the entire complex, each akin to model railway settings in their absurd intricacies.
   Entering a cue for non-residents, her only suitcase was placed on a fresh belt and fed once more through an x-ray scanner, its interior exposed to the penetrating gaze.
   The officer began asking the standard questions as he looked through the forms she had hastily filled out on the plane. Despite the impatient attitude of the official she tried to look as innocent and law-abiding as possible, unable to recall the expression that would serve to get her through customs without incident.
   The checking of her passport lingered for longer than usual, the officer momentarily suspicious about her picture. The passport was nearing the end of its ten-year life expectancy, and consequently she had changed a great deal from the innocent sixteen-year-old presented within.
   The short bleached-blonde hair she bore upon the picture had been grown out, the fad having ebbed with her teen years. Her locks had been restored to a lush chestnut cascade, the silken mane falling past her shoulders with a perfected fringe. The plumpness of youth had similarly faded to reveal delicate features.
   With her answers begrudgingly deemed satisfactory, she stepped through the metal detector and took up her only case.
   Slotting it back onto the trolley Kaitlyn continued down the wide aisle, trying to maintain her serenity whilst braving the gauntlet of sour-faced customs officers.
   The stark uniformed personnel lined the walls, each hesitating behind their desks, ready to descend on any sign of unrest or suspicious activity. How should she look? What expression seemed the most free of guilt? Should she walk close to the tables to show she had nothing to hide, or straight down the centre for a speedy passage?
   The image of them as ravenous raptors was further enforced at the sight she imagined she presented – a timid creature scuttling for cover as the predators watched, ready to pick off the weak and vulnerable. Praying that she not be selected for a search, she fixed her gaze forward and started to walk with as steady a rhythm as she could.
   With an inward sigh of relief she cleared the line, glad that fate had dealt her this meagre favour. Although she was not ashamed of her fetish, she would prefer not to have it hauled out and opened for examination and questioning in a room full of tourists and officials. Besides, she was not completely certain that it was a legal publication. The laws against obscenity were vague and archaic, open to myriad interpretation, and she could be landed in serious trouble should her chosen material irk those responsible for permitting access to the States.
   A stark uniformed man stepped out as she was preparing to accelerate and leave this place far behind. The figure was young, lagging perhaps a few years behind her, his short black hair held beneath his cap, his features angular and sharpened to grant a feral, almost wicked countenance.
   ‘Excuse me, miss, would you mind coming this way?’ he announced with polite severity.
   Her stomach knotted. ‘W-why, is there a problem?’ she stammered.
   ‘Just come this way, miss,’ he repeated politely, indicating with his hand.
   Praying that it was a mere clerical anomaly, she followed in his wake, her hands damp with sweat. Her heart stamped against her ribs, playing her fright in a frenzied drum roll. Her most fervent wish was that they were just going to glance through her belongings, that they would not seek a full examination.
   Opening a plain door the officer held it back and indicated for her to enter, and with a funereal sense of dread she complied. Steering into the centre she froze, the overwhelming sense of angst stopping her in her tracks as she surveyed the barren interior. Turning stolidly about she saw the man still occupying the doorway.
   ‘Wait here, miss. Someone will be along shortly.’ He closed the portal, locking it behind him, sealing her in this surgical cell to ponder her fate.
   Isolated, she assessed her surroundings. The small room was almost clinical in its appearance. The white walls were complemented by sparse furnishings such as the table, the cupboard, and twin chairs sculpted from polished metal frames.
   There was one other door that piqued her interest with the hiding of what lay beyond, and concealing her intent with some aimless circling she finally passed this goal. Opening it, she found nothing more secretive than a toilet. With such a boring discovery she returned to her pointless wandering, thinking on whether to remove the magazine she had concealed and perhaps try and dispose of it down the lavatory. But what if they should enter during her attempted disposal of such possibly incriminating evidence? Would that not make her look all the more guilty and perhaps indicate that she had disposed of something far more incriminating beforehand? Also, the toilet was sure to have a means to capture any material lost down it for scrutiny, and they would easily catch the fragments and use them as leverage to prove unwarranted guilt.
   What the hell was wrong with her? She was overreacting. It was a magazine, nothing more, and her paranoia was in overdrive simply because she had been stopped.
   Viewing the walls with a fresh intensity, she tried to locate any hidden cameras. Were they watching her to see what she might do, the isolation prompting her into exposing her secrets and saving them the bother of having to look? The walls seemed plain. But concealment was an art they were no doubt skilled at, and thus she could not discount the existence of monitoring eyes, peering out from hidden nooks and crannies, watching her, studying her.
   Pacing, riven with concerns and dreads, trying to keep calm, her head pounded from the maelstrom of horrendous conjecture she was subjecting herself to. Scenarios of strip search and examination, embarrassing questioning, humiliating inquiry, all rolled through her brain, their passage churning her stomach all the more distinctly.
   After what seemed like an eternity of waiting the door opened and the man entered. Closing the door behind him, his face was a mask that revealed nothing.
   ‘Unfortunately, there are no female attendants on duty at present,’ he said. ‘If you wish to wait for a woman official you will have to remain here for at least five hours. Alternatively, if you have no objection, I shall process you immediately.’
   Five hours! Such a duration was outrageous. And to wait for a woman to conduct this demeaning ritual seemed preposterous. It would be easier just to get this over with quickly and get out of there. Besides, there was a small voice hiding in the depths of her mind, one that was tracing this encounter into fantasy, linking her desires to this scenario.
   She relished the concept of helplessness, the feeling of being under another’s control, lost to their authority. Kaitlyn had dreamed and dwelt on such lusts for most of her life, yet had never had the courage to indulge. The possibility to yield to her passions was tempting, but it was beyond her grasp. She lacked the courage, and feared the consequences of having her penchant for submissiveness unveiled to those around her. The ridicule and derision she would receive from workmates and friends. The excommunication from her staunchly puritan family. The small library of illicit material she had secretly amassed testified to her devotion and lack of experience, hidden away like the most illegal of caches.
   ‘I’d just like to get this over with,’ she muttered softly, her lips trembling with resentment and fright.
   Turning away from her, Louis smiled to himself, the plan having gone flawlessly thus far. There were plenty of officers to conduct the search, but the lie had served its purpose and coerced the woman into asking him to process her. Once he had conducted the demeaning rites she would be too ashamed to voice any protest. He could then eject her without fear of being exposed.
   Stepping back to the door, Louis double-locked it before adopting a more formal façade and returning to his subject. The cringing tourist had apparently remained unaware that her perverse desires had already been discovered and were the very basis for this encounter. Was she knowledgeable in such things, or was she a novice, inexperienced and vulnerable, aching for education? Depending on her responses he might contact Samuel, and forewarn him of this tender youth’s arrival at his store.
   Moving around behind the table Louis drew out some latex gloves and slid them over his hands. Snapping the rubber into position with a bright crack, the sound tore the silence and made her visibly flinch. After seeing her response he applied the other with similar extravagance, this time paying more attention to her shudder.
   ‘Remove your jacket please,’ he demanded, watching with veiled enthralment as she unzipped the front and slipped free of the garment.
   Holding out his hand in petition, she gave him the light coat and watched as he fished through the pockets. Louis took his time, letting her worry blossom in full as he examined every portion of it and then called for her shirt.
   Kaitlyn reached up to the top button with a slow motion, and holding the two flaps, she paused. Having seen his subdued relish in this task, she was too afflicted by doubt to immediately comply, a delay that was a felony against his patience.
   ‘Come on, come on, I haven’t got all day,’ he complained with a morose air.
   The sharpness in his voice was like a razor, and caused her to fumble and unbutton the loose top, opening it and then slowly easing herself from its confines. Leaving herself in her bra, she passed him the shirt and folded her arms before her, trying to maintain a degree of modesty as he started to go through it. The search was going to be thorough, and this was no doubt far from the last piece of attire he would be calling for.
   Once this item was scrutinised in full he asked for her court shoes, and once he had checked them, he demanded her skirt.
   Cold flickers ran through her spine as she reached behind and released the button before slowly drawing down the zip. He seemed occupied with added scrutiny of her shoes, but even though it appeared he was devoting his attention to her footwear, she was sure he was studying her from his periphery vision.
   Perhaps she should change her mind and wait for a female attendant, but that would be even worse. To be so intimately scrutinised by her own gender would be more humiliating than she could stand.
   Hooking her thumbs into the waist she eased the fabric sheath over her hips. Letting it drop, the cotton issued the most subtle and teasing murmur against the nylon on her legs.
   Stepping from the halo of crumpled material she left herself presented in black bra, panties and dark hold up stockings. Reaching down, she took up the pencil skirt and cast it onto the table, watching as he panned a licentious gaze up and down her presented curves.
   It felt somehow satisfying to be found so attractive, for she had spent most of her youth a mediocre, banal face in the multitudes, indistinguishable and lost from any true attention. The change in her visage and form had blossomed late. It had come at an age where she was unprepared and unable to easily cope with it, still riddled with the self-doubt and pitiful self-esteem of her early years.
   Looking up to the ceiling she closed her eyes against the white glow and tried to resolve the inner turmoil of her emotions. Unable to ease the contradictory whirlwind within her, the storms each fought for supremacy over her true and apparent disposition and demeanour.
   Louis set aside the attire with a concealed smile and called for the last remnants. With a sloth that was a mixture of teasing display and fearful hesitation his deceived subject complied.
   Reaching behind, she slipped the clasps of her bra and shuffled it down her extended arms. Setting it aside, she dragged down her stockings one by one, and then lodged her thumbs into the hips of her underwear. Inhaling and holding the breath to maintain a store of courage, she stepped free and handed them over, moving away and trying to keep herself concealed as best she could. Her jaw quavered with humiliation at being exposed thus, yet she was strangely aroused by such wanton display.
   Brushing aside the pile of searched clothing, he indicated the table. ‘If you would lay face down,’ he decreed. Moving to the cupboard, he continued to try and maintain the pretence that this was standard practice and thus not worthy of resistance.
   Kaitlyn hesitated as the officer opened the doors.
   ‘The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can be on your way. Now get on the table.’
   The authority in the voice had its desired effect and brought acquiescence. The table creaked as she settled across it, expecting and readying for the forthcoming ordeal. But despite her efforts at prediction, it was to be a most unexpected one...

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