SlavesofMistressDespoiler

by Bruce McLachlan

  She cupped his chin and lifted it to meet her gaze. Her latex torso rolled under his vision, her face emerging like a sunrise over the twin mounds of her breasts. Her eyes flicked with emotion and her rubber fingers were soft and warm against his jaw line. With utter adoration in his heart, he nodded.

  “Yes, Mistress Despoiler.”

  “I’ll be back later in the day, perhaps I’ll even bring back a gift with me, in case you are good, and something else for you if you are bad.”

  Staring into his eyes for a moment, she regarded him with intensity then released her hold. After patting his head, she left the room. She had probably removed her normal clothes from the wardrobe and would change downstairs before heading out, leaving him to the tender mercies of this fledgling dominant. Had this privacy been deliberately sought, so that Mistress Lynn could operate without the concern of scrutiny from one so much more experienced than she?

  Looking slowly around, he saw Mistress Lynn lounging against the wall, watching him, and wondering what she should do with this new toy.

  Chapter Three

  “I want you to lie on the floor. On your back. Spread yourself out for me, slave,” she demanded.

  With hesitant compliance, he did as instructed and let his arms and legs stretch forth. She closed in and began to thread rope through the eyelet’s that had been screwed into the floorboards. Placed along the walls, the sturdy devices were more than able to contain him. Mistress Despoiler had pushed them to their limits with her abusing of his frame whilst he dwelt within them. Waxing, candles, clamps, dildos, beatings, all had failed to break them.

  Lynn buckled a set of fetters in place and the thick bonds of hide were fastened to ropes. Threading the coil through the metal hoops of the anchors, she pulled back and drew in the slack before tying them off.

  Shackles of an identical style were applied and sealed to his wrists before being padlocked into position. Two long ropes were each tied around a distant anchor. The lengths reached down and passed through the D rings of his cuffs before going back through the awaiting eyelets. Taking a firm stance, Lynn used her body to help drag in the two coils from their wide anchors and rack him. His limbs strained out before she knotted the two ropes together. The only means of his release was now an eternal distance beyond his crown.

  Left stretched before her, he was a pale cross of flesh. He lay helpless and could see the obvious delight in her eyes. Worry was rising in his mind, the fright brought out by his ignorance of her intentions and of her capacity for torture.

  As though to feed his concern, the front door slammed shut. Mistress Despoiler had left the home.

  Assuring herself of her power, Mistress Lynn stepped up and put a boot onto his chest. Letting the heel forge a dimple upon his ribs, she leant a little more weight to it. For the first time in her life, she had another human being under her complete control. She could do anything she wished and he could not stop her or affect her wishes in any way.

  “How do you feel, slave?” she inquired.

  “Fine, Mistress,” he whispered softly.

  The cane thundered down, clipped his hip, and left a potent wash of suffering in its wake. He jolted in his prison and gurgled.

  “Do you still feel fine, slave?” she smiled, and added another slice with the bamboo strut. The infliction of pain was something she obviously enjoyed. Her darker side was being exposed by this incentive.

  Clenching his teeth to weather the storm of pain, he kept his eyes screwed shut and was unable to speak because of the fierce effects. The cane was the worst of the weapons, and yet he had been the one who had chosen to buy it. His masochistic nature would not tolerate happy mediums.

  Another strike made him release a soft bark and then strain against his bonds. He felt all the more reassured and impotent because of their presence. Had they been absent, he was sure his instincts would prompt him into scampering out of the door by now. He did not want to run, but sometimes his instincts defeated his wishes.

  “Keep silent, slave, or I’ll give you double,” she warned sternly.

  Another six harsh blows started to afflict his thighs. The slender strut whizzed down and met him with a dull thwack. He quivered and gave severe spasms as his body was rocked by a painful and lengthy tempest.

  Fighting to hold his silence, he hissed and panted instead of crying out. He endured for no other reason than because she wished it and to obey her was to obey his beloved.

  He knew that there could be monitoring neighbours who might well report such perversity if it became too obvious, but it was unlikely because people tended to mind their own business. So the image of this being a test of strength, to endure lest more disturbing harm be caused made it an even more succulent affair.

  The sight of her boot on his chest was another treasure to his eyes. The feel of being pinned beneath her was one he found exciting, despite the horror of the cane’s rapid kisses.

  When he was not engulfed in sorrow, he looked upon the polished stems that flowed up from heels and into the tightly shielded physique of his friend. When she chose to punish him, his head dropped back and he jerked in his rack. His mouth remained wide with a silent shriek, his eyes clenched shut as tears ran his cheeks and wove into his hair or ears.

  The torrent of strikes finally ceased and the tip of the weapon that had been responsible for his desired anguish extended to his shivering lips. Salty lines were streaming from his eyes and the pounding in his flesh still rolled on and seemed to echo into his belly.

  “Now what do you say?” she asked.

  “Th…Thank you, Mistress Lynn,” he uttered with uneven tones. Extending his head, he placed a single kiss of gratitude onto the bamboo.

  Elated, she stepped from his chest and knelt beside him. The murmur of the fabric tightening upon her body had him shudder with desire. Nevertheless, it was not a desire to actually have her, rather it was the lust from assured denial. Aroused though he was, he would not have broken the roles with anything as crude as sex, not while this fantasy dalliance was unfolding with such superlative precision.

  From beside her she removed the lost set of clover clamps. Opening the padded jaws, she reached across his chest and teased his nipples by drawing small circles upon the aureole. She tickled the tender buds and watched as they arose slightly. They were eager to accept her mordant adornments and despite the rawness from their recent affiliation with the toys, they listened to the charm of her touches and obeyed.

  He grimaced each time. The compression of the implements was severe in their intensity, especially because of their recent punishment. The jaws slowly forced out all feeling, rendering the flesh numb save for the dull heavy pound. The pain was like footsteps in the dark, getting closer and louder all the time, building up to the point of release where they would explode with new sensation.

  Lifting the chain, she drew up and stretched the flesh into inverted icicles. Her face was a mask of jovial wickedness It was the expression of sadistic delight, as a child might wear if they were alone, hidden away, and tormenting small creatures with cruel acts. Such deeds bore no remorse. The life in their hands could not resist and was deemed of a lower order, eligible for torture to amuse, to feed a gratuitous sense of superiority through the bullying of something else. However, he was a willing victim and despite the vehement rhetoric of feminist dogma, a male was still considered superior in society, making this rotation even more gratifying to both the torturess and her subject.

  Up ending a small plastic bag, she dumped a pile of wooden pegs across the carpet next to her. The gadgets had been dyed black for atmosphere and decorated with silver arcane patterns. Brushing her fingers through the store, the wooden clatter of them against each other echoed as a hymn of threat before she took one up.

  Pinching the back, she made the implement yawn and it suddenly bit into his inner thigh to make him grunt and screw his face up. It was the first of a blizzard that descended and gnawed upon his abdomen. Taking pinches of skin, she began her w
ork with a sudden nip of sharp discomfort that soon settled into a steadier beat.

  However, the more that she applied, the higher the total cumulative effects. Straining against his bonds, he felt her setting pegs across his thighs, into the splayed tender inner regions, and around his briefs. The most strikingly mordant proved to be just below his hips.

  She idly flicked them and watched them wobble as his abdomen wriggled and shook the sea of upright contraptions so that they chattered upon each other. Her slender hand reached out again and this time it took up a short red candle. She lit the wick and clapped her gloved hand to his face. Lynn squeezed her fingers into his cheeks and opened his mouth. He feared that she was going to pour wax in, but instead, she slotted the candle into the aperture.

  “Bite on it, slave. And if you let it fall, I’ll give you thirty-six strokes the cane, as hard as I can give them,” she whispered softly with her head craned back. She obviously savoured his plight as he closed his teeth to the solid wax. Keeping the candle upright, his eyes were wide with trepidation.

  Lynn let go and took up another candle leaving him holding the other one. He could guess what was going to happen. If she afflicted him with blistering drizzle, any wriggles would make the candle that was shoved in his mouth shake. The store of molten wax would then drool down onto his face. He dared not free himself of this curse because the option of spitting it out carried far graver ramifications.

  Holding the second candle, Lynn touched it to the flame hovering over his features and watched as the squat waxen rod gathered a pool of its own molten fluid. Staring at it with angst, he met her gaze. The two of them exchanged a glance where both were affirmed as finding pleasure in their roles.

  Lifting it over his chest, she smiled and continued to move it back and forth, denying him a chance to predict where the first droplets would fall. Several times, she began to tilt it and watched his respiration suddenly accelerate as his body quivered with flickers of tension. Then with spiteful mirth, she did not follow through.

  Shifting aside, she extended a leg and put the sole to his chin. Applying pressure to push his head back, she robbed him of the scope to watch her work. It also forced him to pucker his lips up to add their grip to the candle along with his teeth and tongue. Already several short dribbles had slipped the edge and had frozen halfway down. It stalled his breath with fright when he saw them descend. Any more escapes would surely reach his face, and he wanted to avoid that if he could because the notion of scorching wax across his cheeks and lips was a most unpleasant one.

  The feel of her boot into his jaw to control him so effectively was mesmerising, and he could feel his erection growing once more despite the throbbing of the many pegs. He was a helpless devotee of his vice. Any source could exploit this crevasse in his mind, but only one source could own him fully. All others were merely pandered to.

  Ethereal splashes of ghostly sensation fell onto his legs. They preceded a shock of burning heat that drilled into his flesh and made him moan and choke. His head fought her foot, but she kept the limb locked in position and defeated him with ease. The struggle caused the amassed wax above his maw to slip their perimeter and tumble in sparkling streams down the side. Fusible droplets slowly solidified as he snorted in alarm, his eyes fixed to the cascade and then shutting tight from their arrival onto his lips. Gurgling in pain, a line slipped down the hillock of his cheek and stopped before reaching his ear.

  He wrung his hands in dismay as more drops were applied. The winding trails of red wax were being steadily painted up and down his legs. Layer upon layer fell and the frozen splashes hardened swiftly as he suffered for her sport. More drool fell from the burning wick and coated his inner thighs, falling upon peg and flesh with indifference. These applications were the worst of all because the already sensitised skin responded bitterly to the molten flow.

  He was keeping his eyes closed firmly shut to protect them and so he was denied the chance to see her and where she might attack. His main goal was to keep the candle steady but as the wick meticulously ate at the wax, the thick pond could not be stopped from spilling. His snorting nostrils tried to cool it, but the globular clusters that formed onto the sides soon started to drip their issue straight onto his cheeks, nose, and chin. This made it even harder to stay still. Lines slipped over his lips, reached across his face and sweat-sodden features, and froze to indelibly mark their route.

  A peg was suddenly removed and it let a fierce shock of throbbing feeling rock one of the spots near to his hip. The same peg swung in the air during a moment of deliberation and then dropped back down into a fresh spot whereupon it snatched a new area.

  Writhing and gently fighting the restraints, he could do nothing save try to keep still and quiet as she continued to drip wax across his chest and belly, onto his arms, and cruelly into his armpits.

  The sounds of his muted cries and squawks of shock continued, even against the candle hat was so madly clutched by his mouth. Finally, the decibels were deemed too annoying to the ears of the Mistress.

  “I can see I will have to gag you,” she decided aloud.

  Lynn removed the candle with care and shoved her foot deeper into his jaw to prevent any movement. With spite, she tilted it over and dropped blistering spots across his mouth as he mewled and cried out. With a derisive tut, she blew out the object of his punishment and set it aside.

  Lynn looked across the ball gag and then surveyed an inflatable version, but she was not satisfied with either. Having seen Mistress Despoiler’s use of hosiery, she entered her adjoining room with a steady strut and retrieved underwear from her laundry bag.

  “Would you like these, slave?” she offered, knowing full well that such a humiliating trinket would be greatly welcomed simply for its acutely degrading effects.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he rasped, and the wax on his face cracked from the movement of his skin underneath it.

  He was unsure of whether he could stand such an attack. In average fantasy it was fine, but she was no fictional Mistress without identity, she was going to do it for real and humiliate by gagging him with her underwear. Would she do it, or was she bluffing? In many ways, he hoped she was.

  Stepping forward, her long legs folded and she settled beside him. Sinking her fingers into his reluctant cheeks, she forged an openingand then stuffed the soft thong of fabric in. He recoiled and fought to stop her as his tolerance snapped like overextended elastic.

  Keeping it in with hooked fingers, she squashed his tongue with the worn garment and then leant back to take up the ball gag. By forcing the sphere in, she broke whole regions of solid wax. The underwear became trapped on his palate and muffled his words as she buckled the ball into place with a haughty yank. The material started to absorb his spit and was rough against his tongue. The taste of it seeped out to bring cringes and savouring wriggles.

  “Now, where was I?” she wondered.

  The sound of stretching latex drew his awareness. It was the unmistakable signal of gossamer thin surgical gloves being slid into place. He had left the bag of pegs beneath a set of such gloves, so that Mistress Despoiler might be more inclined to use them when assailing intimate regions. His ploy had backfired massively.

  With a bright snap, they were set in place and she flexed her fingers. Lynn interlocked them and ensured that the sheaths were properly placed on her digits.

  Settling between his promiscuously splayed legs, he felt her pull down the front of his briefs. It was a relief to know that she was not being hindered in their encounter, but it also caused fear as to what she might be planning. Mistress Despoiler might be tempered by the intention to make use of his shaft for passionate coitus. Mistress Lynn had no such considerations for his well being.

  A harsh pinch grabbed at his scrotum and made him scowl. Another was delivered, and then another. Lynn took scalding grabs of his flesh and turned his testicles into a cluster of ebony pegs, his skin squeezed in a dozen mouths. Each application made him quake as they continued to s
teal away feeling and replace it with pulsating pain.

  The line between his anus and scrotum gathered a solid row. Each peg was to attention and squeezed the skin terribly. More were snagged onto the shaft of his penis, and others into his inner thighs where caused him to shiver and buck from their cumulative effects.

  “Oh dear, I seem to have run out. Well, I guess I’ll just have to recycle them, slave.”

  With the entire flock in position, she returned to the very first one she had installed before the wax. The first regiment of veterans was now pounding with a ferocious ache. The first removal had him jolt with the suffering wrought by its flight. The loosed peg was reapplied on his thigh and a new implement was selected. Again, the effects of its loss ravaged him and the peg was transferred to a new locale.

  “I could just do this all day,” she giggled.

  With steady, attentive amusement, she continued to pain him with this scenario, removing pegs to eat at him with woe. Denying mercy, she added each to a new spot and continued this long rota of calamity.

  When all of them were removed from his genitals, the flock migrated back. They punished the new locations with their departure as they returned to the old. Tears welled in his eyes as the line under his testicles were removed, this region being the most painful to endure so far.

  When it came to placing them back, Lynn had seen his responses and discovered the places that were most sensitive. These were the zones where he would go rigid and cry into his gag, strain at the bonds and gasp for breath while he rode the wash of suffering. She exploited this knowledge fully, showing no pity by choosing these locations first and concentrating on them.

  With his genitals once more struggling under a full load, the wooden devices clicked on each other as they were played like a glockenspiel by his quivering motions.

  Lynn stood up and leant over the slave. With hands on hips, she regarded him from above, letting the feel of her newfound control creep over her. He ached to reach up and just touch the gloss-painted contours of her frame, to let his hands feel the tight smoothness of her thigh boots and the dagger heels. Even to hold her hips, to place his grip to them and let his hands worship the aura of her dominance. It was all he wanted, was to touch, anything else would corrupt the image of a merciless Mistress. The role she held made her a porcelain figurine, delicate and wonderful, but to touch it was to break it, and worship from afar was a much better and rewarding scenario.