Table of Contents
Title Page
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Slaves of Mistress Despoiler
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
“Good, slave. You did well. Now, I’m going to take a bath, you will get changed and meet me downstairs. We have a slave to dominate,” she crooned, and patting Lynn’s head, she strolled from the room, leaving Lynn huddled in recovery.
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
A loving couple indulge a predilection for S&M, fetishism, and bondage. Suddenly, the Mistress introduces their mutual friend into the scenario and their illicit pastime becomes a permanent reality.
The man-hating female is submissive to his wife, but dominant over him. She torments the slave relentlessly while she in turn is subjected to the humiliations of the Mistress who keeps her firmly in her place. Plot and counter plot run rampant as each person tries to gain what he or she seeks, and all of it is carefully manipulated and steered by the sublime Mistress of the household. Finally, the truth emerges and they realise that the woman they call Mistress is far from the person they thought her to be.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Slaves of Mistress Despoiler
Copyright © 2013 Bruce McLachlan
ISBN: 978-1-77111-388-5
Cover art by Carmen Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
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www.eXtasybooks.com
Slaves of Mistress Despoiler
By
Bruce McLachlan
Chapter One
He shivered upon the floor, but it was from anticipation of his Mistress’ arrival rather than from cold. Even though the full ferocity of winter was raging outside, the bitterness of the elements was banished by ample heating within their home.
The two-storey maisonette was lifted far from the ground in a fifteen-storey block. It was a veritable fortress in the clouds and it overlooked the squat suburban lands arrayed far below them. Its elevation also served well in providing ample privacy. No one could simply pass their windows and spy what was occurring in the sanctity of their home.
Since they had moved here they had never even seen their neighbours, and thus the strange noises of punishment and suffering that might spill through the walls went unchallenged. Should they ever mix or speak with such people, sly innuendo or sniggers might ensue. However, paranoia and isolationism was rife in the area and so it seemed that the home was the only inhabited one in the entire concrete bastion.
Kneeling on the floor, he was clad only in latex briefs. His hands were tied behind his back, with the wrists and elbows entangled in a mesh of woven rope. A leash had been anchored to a fitting in the wall and this kept him restricted to a small area of movement as it stretched silver links to his collar.
The stout leather band was firmly closed about his throat and it had been padlocked shut to irrevocably prop his head up on its rigid walls. A hoop of delicate chain links at the front held an identity tag of the type one might find on a pet. One side of the etched metallic disc read Property of Mistress Despoiler, while the other simply stated Porcupine. The reason for this christening was immediately apparent because of his new latex countenance.
The rubber hood that was such a regular part of his attire smothered both his head and much of his neck. The heavy, thick sheath was armed with short stubby spines across the whole outer surface. It offered him a small mouth slit, and meagre punctures at his nostrils and eyes to access the outside world.
The Mistress had further impeded the senses of her Porcupine by forcing a bright pink ball gag into his maw before the donning of the mask. Gagged by the orb, he was thus left wheezing softly through the vents under his nose. Underwear had of course preceded the gag. The intimate garment had been wrapped upon the ball and was now sodden with his saliva. Another divine cruelty had been the placing of another set around the hood. The spines helped keep the thong in place and held the crotch over his nose to make him drink of the aroma with every restricted breath.
What was transpiring outside the hood was virtually unknown to him because the sheathtended to muffle sound. This trait caused added punishment on occasion when he misheard or failed to detect her commands during the intensity of their sessions.
He had been serving her for some time now, exploiting the times when they were alone. The problem was that they shared their domain with a friend and did not wish to reveal their diversions to her. Lynn had expressed an intention to save for a home of her own and his partner had invited her to stay after broaching the topic with him and gaining his acceptance. So while their friend worked during the day, or spent weekends away with others, they converted much of their home to suit their secret lifestyle.
Mistress Despoiler had become a consummate dominatrix and had enslaved him totally. Her genuine relish in her role was a thing that filled his heart with joy.
Regarding the room around him, he felt the change of atmosphere that the new additions had cultivated with their emergence.
Windows spanned one deep blue wall and the curtains were open. Their double bed lay against the opposite wall and was neatly made with black quilts covering it. It had been pushed into the right hand corner, away from the door that occupied the left. A black wardrobe and long cabinet followed the right wall, while opposite them, rows of hooks had been introduced in neat waves. These supported clothes on average days, but when their sessions were being conducted, rows of weapons and implements dangled from them. A shelf on either side helped hold items such as dildos and other esoteric implements, all of them ready for use with a mere snatch.
It was easy to recall the source of every instrument and object. He could freely tell where they had bought it, or made it, what history it had with them, and the things she had done to him with the toys, weapons, and devices that had been amassed. Such a sense of record made the arsenal an even more personal cache. Each piece was a segment of memorabilia rather than just a disposable and replaceable trinket.
This was not an indulgence of domination fantasy for them. They lived it as their reality to
gain a wondrous sense of fulfilment and purpose from this dark aspect of their relationship. He could not believe his fortune in finding a mate who would so readily take on such a duty.
Others they knew in the cities alternative scene often joked and played with the imagery, pretending to have leanings into such an art while bragging and crassly making rude displays of their supposed fetishes. When they heard or saw such things, the two of them always simply kept quiet and smiled privately to themselves, smug in the secret knowledge that they had travelled further into perversity than any of the novices and pretenders about them. Together they had gone deeper into decadent hedonism than any they knew. While not extremists in acts, the full adoption of their parts more than paled the brutish excesses of the hard-core dabblers.
The soft grey ambience of the winter’s day drooled in through the windows and granted a dull light to a bedroom that had been swiftly converted into a dungeon. It felt a little like the lair of a comic book hero, because at the touch of a metaphorical button, everything revolved and revealed a covert existence.
There came the soft signal of stiletto heels and the door opened to reveal his latex-clad goddess.
She was adorned in her most familiar attire, these being the first garments they had bought for this purpose. His heart wilted to see her again. His eyes could never tire of her glorious visage.
The torso of Mistress Despoiler was compressed within the powerful hold of a sleeveless halter-top. The zipped front was enforced with the allegiance of a line of rings that set laces over the zip. They tightened the top and accentuated her glorious curves and mouth-watering breasts. The latex was like armour that teased him and protected her, offering him what he had to suffer to even touch.
From the hem of the top rolled a zip fronted pencil skirt that followed the curves of her legs. It finally ended at her ankles and exposed the bottom of her knee high boots. The patent leather was laced closed and obediently lifted her upon rapier heels that shone like obsidian daggers.
The skin of her arms was anonymous because of the embrace of latex opera gloves. Each finger was rounded and phallic, like jet serpents, ones that had probed and punished him without mercy. The short tresses of her black hair were lost under a peaked military style cap that had been purchased in the States from a store that dealt to the police. The short sides and back to her hair were hinted at through furtive exposure, revealing that her entire head followed this cropped and savage style. Without embellishment or adornment to its black surfaces, the plain hat gave her a wicked glower as she regarded him from the shadows it cast upon her glare. He wilted slightly at the sight.
He wondered how many times had he been suffocated under her latex smoothed rear, or suckled on the fingers that had on occasion forged an entry into him, or whipped him, or bound him. How many times had he been fawning on the floor, lapping at her heels with complete adoration? There were too many to name yet each was distinct and powerful in his mind, the occasions wreathed in a dream-like haze that he clung to and treasured.
Without word, she paced around him, her heels clicking upon the bare timbers. This predatory circling of her prey made him shrivel even more as he was intimidated by an aura of almost tangible dominance.
“Does my slave feel obedient today?” she asked sternly.
The words were slightly marked by the accent of her native California and were soaked with the authority that she wielded with expert precision.
He nodded softly. The mane of black hair at the back of the hood flopped over his shoulders with the motion. Already his erection was starting to strain against the tight latex underwear and his lithe and shaven form trembled distinctly. He suckled upon the gag, chewing at the cotton and the inflexible sphere while he drew of the scent of the underwear. It was a wonderful humiliation, and it was a debased infliction that he revelled in because it was such a form of derogation. It was a strange concept, but his slavery was replete with such paradoxes.
“I have a new diversion for you today, slave. One that I will certainly enjoy, even if you do not,” she stated, making his eyes widen as they regarded the floor.
His dissolute thoughts suddenly ran through possibilities, seeking an answer to the presented mystery. He could feel her grinning at the sight of his concern.
“But first, let’s clean you out,” she decreed.
She began to untangle the hose from the enema bag. The device was hooked high onto the wall in readiness and a brief trip outside was followed by the sound of thundering water as it filled a large jug. Mistress Despoiler gathered the necessary store to purge him and returned at a leisurely stroll.
“Bend over,” she ordered upon her entry.
Taking the nozzle of the apparatus, she kept it elevated as she filled the open top of the bag. The rubber sac swelled with the contents. The water was steaming slightly, and this made him grateful that it was warm. The times she had opted for cold had cramped his insides terribly, and the times she had added a little wine had brought an instant and bizarre intoxication that hampered his physical ability to obey or perform tasks, which of course resulted in discipline.
Lifting his rear into the air, he placed his rubber-covered cheek to the ground. He felt her pull down the back of his briefs and expose his rear to the nozzle. The slight lowering of the plastic tip caused the pressure of the bag to send a stream speeding through the tube that in turn expelled the air. After a little spurt from the end, such as one might use to clear a syringe, she raised it again until it stopped. Bending the hose in her grip, she shut off the flow and returned the point to his proffered rear.
The plastic tip touched his sphincter and tunnelled in. It slithered to a halt and she let her other grip go. The steady jet began to pour into him. It washed through his insides and rolled along the twists and turns as an internal flash flood.
Shivering at the sensation, he closed his eyes as she stepped before him and placed a boot onto his head. Settling her sole onto his temple, she had the heel lay against his rubber-entombed scalp. Adding weight to this sculpted object of his worship, she pinned him firmly down. His fingers wrung upon themselves as the waters continued to swell within him.
The rattle of chain links sounded like merry bell chimes and the leash moved from his neck to snag the rope at his wrists. A haul from his owner lifted the extremities. Dragging them up, she made his shoulders swell with internal havoc.
Denied interference with the enema, his face was forced deeper into the ground by this drag at his arms. Mistress Despoiler kept her reign taut to maintain absolute control of her property.
The pressure within him started to rise to less easily acceptable levels. The force in his gut strained angrily at the ever-decreasing space and the walls of his innards fought to accommodate the bloating ocean.
Gurgles and groans started to slip from the mask. His legs quivered but could not assist him. His fingers trembled and screwed into fists. He tried to relax his belly but the rising discomfort and panic made it difficult, yet this was the only way to diminish the distress being inflicted on him. Every time he clenched, it simply caused the internal sea to punish him. Each squeeze made the waters churn and reveal their significant quantity through the play of his tracts.
“Okay, that’s enough for the first one,” she decided.
Mistress Despoiler always performed this ritual twice to ensure the best level of intimate cleanliness.
Having swallowed the contents of the bag, the foot was removed from his head and the tether to his shackles of rope lowered. The pipe was brashly tugged free to make him flick with a shot of movement.
“Now for some exercise,” came the next revelation as to his fate. The leash was used as a mordant encouragement for him to rise and it twisted his arms up his back and restored him to his feet.
His briefs were tugged up and a slap to the latex confirmed their placement. The chain links were then fixed to a clip that was set in the doorframe. The thick wood formed a most stable anchor that he could not haul free
of.
The shortness of the lead kept him on tiptoes. His arms were contorted upward and the ropes plagued the flesh because of this position. However, this was to be the least of his concerns.
From the row of offered instruments, the wandering hand of the Mistress closed about the polished metal strut of a whip. The heavy, intimidating weapon flung forth a cascade of thick leather ribbons from its tip.
The numerous strips swayed with her step as she walked casually back to him and watched his struggles and his futile dance against inescapable bonds.
The weight of the water was already starting to descend. It was rolling down and pressing with greater force to his harried orifice. The dam was taking more strain with every moment, and the duty it had been bequeathed was more than it could handle.
The tentacles lashed out and slapped to his thigh. Her heavy-handed swing countered the lesser effects of this weapon, which stung and caused a battering shock as opposed to the searing concentrated mayhem of her canes and crops.
With harsh flicks and swipes, she struck at his torso and legs. Whipping him with speed, she made him dance and skip, to try to find shelter as he was compelled by instinct alone.
“Don’t let any of that escape, slave. Or you’ll be licking it up!” she warned.
The level of such a threat caused him to bolster his efforts to hold the waters in check. He did not know whether she would indeed go through with her promise, but he had no wish to call her bluff.
Croaking and desperate, the feel of the douche forcing itself against his innards was too much to bear. The agitating of it with his response to her whip made the task even more impossible, but the energetic instruction of the scourge was undeniable. A brief leak emerged and was contained within his briefs. The feel of the escaped waters made him clench with frantic fright.
Praying that she show mercy and permit him to expel the baleful enema, his wish was only granted after another few minutes of hideous endurance where he cavorted under the hot kiss of her flogger. When she ceased, he was panting and slouched to the wall, his skin alive with hot flashes.
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