Tales From Moonrise Manor
Mistress Katie, young yet terrifyingly experienced in her craft, exudes a cold and calculated dominance that belies her tender age of twenty-one. The evening at Moonrise Manor has taken on a cruel turn, as David, the young slave, finds himself at the mercy of both his owner, Lady Moonrise, and this chilling guest. Katie, a skilled veterinary surgeon, has made her name in the most brutal corners of society; especially for her expertise in “putting down” those who have outlived their usefulness. Yet, in her work with both animals and men, it is not simply life and death that fascinates her; it is control, the delicate line between suffering and submission.
From the moment David spills the glass of wine onto Mistress Katie’s lap, the evening teeters on the edge of brutality. Her dress, a finely crafted piece of work, is soaked, and the ruined garment becomes the catalyst for what is to follow. “My dress,” she murmurs, her voice deceptively calm, “It’s… ruined.” The tension in the room thickens as Lady Moonrise, ever predatory, circles the table like a panther surveying its prey. Her eyes flick to the shattered glass at Mistress Katie’s feet, then to the trembling David.
The order comes with a sharp crack of authority: “Knees.”
David complies, his body shaking as he lowers himself before Lady Moonrise. Her leather-clad form moves with feline grace, her boots sliding up her thighs in preparation for what he knows is coming. The kick is swift and punishing, sending him sprawling across the room. Yet, this is just the beginning. The real punishment, the real test of power, is yet to come. Lady Moonrise helps Mistress Katie out of her ruined dress, the two women exchanging a silent understanding; tonight, David’s fate will be sealed, and it will be brutal.
Seated once more, Mistress Katie reveals herself in nothing but a revealing pvc dress, fishnet stockings and suspenders that trace the length of her pale, flawless legs. Beautiful shiny PVC Gibson-styled shoes with sharp six-inch stiletto heels adorn her precious feet. The replacement slave serves their meal, and despite the violence that has just transpired, the two women speak of the morning’s work gelding a string of unbroken horses. The conversation, cold and matter-of-fact, reflects the darker undercurrent of Mistress Katie’s passions.
“It’s a great feeling,” she says, her eyes glinting with malice, “to hold a rampant stallion in your hands and transform him into something… obedient.” Her words drip with satisfaction, the thrill of reducing such powerful creatures to docility evident in her voice. Lady Moonrise nods, listening with amusement, but as David groans from his place near the hearth, Mistress Katie’s attention is diverted.
Her gaze sharpens. “It’s an operation that should be more frequently performed on other species,” she says, her voice lowering, clearly referring to the men who serve under them. The suggestion is not subtle.
Lady Moonrise, ever the keen sadist, smiles knowingly. “I quite agree,” she replies, her eyes flicking to David, who now stands beside the table, weak and dazed. “But if you’d like to perform it on him, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. He’s already been done.” The tone is light, but the message is clear: even before he was put into service, David’s manhood was taken from him, his role reduced to nothing but servitude and submission.
Mistress Katie’s laugh is dark, her eyes appraising the slave’s form, lingering on the leather thong that cages his loins. “I see,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement as she takes in the sight. “Well, at least he’s been prepared properly.”
The conversation shifts, and the meal continues, but the air between the women is charged with unspoken cruelty. Finally, as the last of the plates is cleared and the second slave has departed, Lady Moonrise gives her final order to David: bring the rest of the crystal glasses. His trembling hands place the tray of delicate glassware on the table, and as the last of the set is laid out before them, Lady Moonrise’s lips curl into a malicious smile.
“Now,” she says, standing and motioning to the floor, “lie down on your back, with your arms by your sides.” David, well-trained in the ways of punishment, knows better than to resist. He lies down, his body rigid with fear, his eyes darting between the two women. He knows what is coming.
The first glass is placed with care on his stomach, its base resting against the waistband of his leather thong. Lady Moonrise turns to Mistress Katie, a glint of sadistic pleasure in her eyes. “Would you like to go first?”
Mistress Katie rises, her stiletto heels clicking against the floor as she approaches David. She stands over him, towering and cold, her eyes never leaving his. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her left foot, the sharp point of her heel hovering above the glass. The tension is palpable, and David’s breath catches in his throat. With a sudden, violent motion, Mistress Katie stomps down, shattering the glass into a million shards, sending pain ricocheting through David’s body as the fragments pierce his skin. His scream echoes around the room, but it only serves to deepen Mistress Katie’s satisfaction.
The power surges through her. In this moment, she feels the full weight of her dominance; not just over animals, but over men. The ability to control, to inflict pain, to strip away the last vestiges of male power; it exhilarates her. David’s hands fly up in desperation, grabbing at her ankles, but Mistress Katie is quick to yank herself free, sneering at his audacity to touch her without permission. “He can’t seem to keep his hands to himself,” she says, her voice laced with disgust.
Lady Moonrise watches with amusement, before stepping forward with the second glass. She places it across David’s chest, along his sternum, and repeats the process. This time, when her boot slams down, the glass shatters with a vicious crunch, and again David screams, his body convulsing with pain. His hands, once more, instinctively reach for her ankles, and Lady Moonrise kicks him back, shaking her head in mock disappointment.
“He still hasn’t learned,” she muses. “Perhaps we should teach him more thoroughly.”
With that, the third and fourth glasses are placed under his hands, and this time, the two women stamp down together, each grinding the shards into his flesh with the soles of their boots. The crystal shatters, the sound mingling with David’s cries as his hands are crushed beneath the weight of their cruelty.
Finally, there is only one glass left. Mistress Katie takes it from the table and hands it to Lady Moonrise, who positions it on David’s thighs, right at the waistband of his thong. The order is clear: “Keep your legs together, and clench tightly, because every shard that falls between them will end up on your supper plate tonight.”
David’s terror is palpable, but he dares not disobey. Mistress Katie delivers the final blow, stomping down on the glass with a triumphant smile, as the shards dig into his skin and the leather of his thong is shredded to ribbons. Lady Moonrise takes over, grinding the pieces into his thighs until David’s screams fade into unconsciousness.
The sudden silence is deafening. Mistress Katie kneels beside him, checking for a pulse, her fingers cold against his throat.
“Is he still alive?” Lady Moonrise asks, her voice calm and detached.
“Yes,” Katie replies, her voice filled with a twisted excitement. “But I can put him down if you’d like.”
Lady Moonrise’s smile is sharp, cruel. “No,” she says, her voice a silken whip. “I want him to live. Death would be too kind; too easy. I want him to suffer.”
Katie looks down at the broken figure at her feet, her mind racing with possibilities. “It won’t be easy,” she admits, her lips curling into a dark smile. “But I’ll try.”
For Mistress Katie, this is the ultimate challenge. To keep a man alive, to deny him the release of death, while ensuring his every moment is filled with pain and suffering; this is power. True power. And it excites her more than anything she’s done before.