With arms still bound firmly behind his back and legs tied together, he could not escape or flee. The only path was to submit and pray for Mistress Despoiler to return and retake control of him, spare him the wild excesses of this fiend. Slithering with grim determination, the hope of his beloved owner returning to grant him a vision of her beauty was all he had to cling to and keep him going.
Nudging with jabs of her heel, she drove him like invertebrate cattle to the main room where a chair had been dragged out in readiness. He wept inwardly at the sight. The plain wooden furniture loomed over him as some deadly angel, ready to confine him and condemn him once more to her terrible abuses. He needed time to mull over her attack, to process the memory and turn it into a sweet and succulent engram. Another session of amercement was the last thing he needed, especially because his masochistic streak was thundering and wanted even more. In his current state he might end up damaging himself by goading her deliberately on into places his body was not able to follow.
“Please, Mistress Lynn, no more. I can’t take it,” he sobbed.
Stopping before the chair, he remained slack on the ground. He was unwilling even to meet the sight of this construct or the Mistress that had placed it here.
“Shut up, slave,” she snapped petulantly, and restored his energy with the brutal deliverance of the cane to his rear.
The connection was met with a yell and he struggled chaotically on the floor, unable to effectively nurse the weal she had granted him. The pain stoked the fires of his decadence, making them rise to new intensity.
Pausing, she stepped back, captivated by the unexpected spectacle she had crafted. The sight of his random dance within the cocoon brought a teasing grin to her lips. With an almost scientific sense of experimentation she checked the results again. A sobbing howl poured from his throat as he stiffened and broke into fits, each movement of his physique prematurely stopped by a winding rope. With enthralled frivolity she added another, striking with more potency to have him perform at her feet.
The rigors she applied drained his strength, plundering life and subduing his responses. The pain was in no way diminished, rather he simply lacked the energy to illustrate just how terrible it was. With her cultivated show brought to an early cancellation, she took a step back and bent the cane between fists.
“Get into that chair, slave,” she ordered, and then commenced a steady metronome beating of his legs and rear. The swipes were timed evenly every two seconds, leaving him to persevere to obey.
Dragging up his legs, he lifted his torso. Placing his chest to the front legs, another stroke caused him to momentarily delay when the stern effects of the cane crippled his attempts. With a fierce strain he kicked up and dropped himself to the seat with legs still bound and his arms trapped at his spine.
He flinched as she threw the cane up into the air, his form cowering before her. The sight made her smile stretch to broader degrees and reveal white lust-clenched teeth.
In his moments of quailing fright she stepped behind him, took his arms and lifted them over the back. A firm tug drew down and she used rope to affix them to the strut connecting the rear legs.
The same coil returned upwards, weaving around and through the spokes of the backrest. His arms were tied tightly to the structure to seal off every portion of movement.
When the laced bonds reached his shoulders they looped them and then ran a cross formation over his chest and around his waist. Putting her foot to the wooden back, the timbers creaked with complaint as she hauled with the rope, tightening her weave Squeezed to the furniture, each breath was made to strain against the firm bonds. The taut length reached under and with an impatient yank she pulled his shins between the front legs. Dragging them towards the back she flicked the rope through their rings. Snatching the slack, the limbs were craned up and held, his legs being imprisoned and elevated beneath him.
“Well. I trust my little lessons have taught you not to disobey me,” she stated. “I am the Mistress now. I am the one who owns you and controls you.”
Stepping out before him, she stood in a crooked posture. With one leg out she placed a hand on a hip and flaunted her freedom and vinyl skin. It was the lure that had trapped him so effectively and now attracted him like a flame to a cringing moth. No matter what she did, what wild acts of torment she unleashed, a mere tensed pose and view of her salacious vinyl-smothered curves was all he needed to reaffirm his desire to suffer for her amusement.
Brushing her hair back over her shoulders with a flick of her hand, she lowered her brow slightly. The furrows were an indication of import to her imminent demands.
“I want you to say something for me, slave. I want you to read aloud a brief text and I want it done believably,” she stated.
What could she be planning? His mind raced with a sudden catalogue of hastily projected possibilities. This had all begun so innocent of purpose before now. Whimsical brutality perpetrated on fleeting notions. Now he was in real danger. His fright was a gnawing aura about him chillier than the icy waters that had plagued his respiration. As always, the terror was devoured and used to fuel an illicit arousal. The fantasy of submission to a female tyrant cared not for danger or injury, in fact, the possibility only made it more real and thus forced him deeper into a pool of concupiscent masochism.
Lynn turned from the room and he stared at her departing form with consternation and desire. She swiftly retrieved a handheld tape recorder from her room, the pocket sized tape deck equipped with a microphone. She also bore a single sheet of paper.
“You will read your part into this,” she stated firmly, and then showed it to him.
Glancing across the text, his face went pale and his mind recoiled at the very notion.
“I’ll not read that, no fucking way, Lynn,” he spat, furious as to what she had revealed.
“Let me out, this is over. I want out,” he scowled, jerking in his bonds, making the chair sway.
A slap danced across his cheek, spinning his face away to the side and afflicting his cheek with heat. Conditioned by such acts to wilt immediately, his words of protest died on his tongue, his will to submit betraying him.
“Read it, slave!” she hissed, shoving the paper to his face.
He could only shake his head in derision, afraid of being slapped again because he could not defend himself and unwilling to inspire such an attack with profane retorts.
“Right!” she snapped, and stomped behind him, making him fear what she would do to try and gain his co-operation.
Before he could voice protests, a translucent sheet fell over his face. The clear plastic bag was slotted into place and yanked back, her grip pressing it to his face. He flew into spasms, the repeat of this suffocation so soon after his last encounter being a terrible reunion.
The room was a distorted plane, corrupted by condensation as his hissing breath seeped out and his desperate haul for air yielded no results save to make the plastic pull to his features. Clawing with his hands, wriggling against the rope, he could do nothing until she let her grip slacken and she dragged it off.
“Say it!” she growled, and the cane dropped and slammed to his thigh, making him yowl with the sudden fierce burst.
“No!” he snapped, and was dismayed to see the bag drop back down across his vision and leap back. Smothered, he flung his head from side to side, trying to throw it free, but her grip stayed with him, tracking his movements and defeating his fight.
On the verge of him passing out she dragged it off, leaving him wheezing and sobbing in despair. His face was aflame and stained with lines of water, a fervid brew of tears, dribble, condensation and sweat.
She was going to torture him into doing this. Could she be that cruel? That pitiless? Yes. Something had snapped within her delicate psyche and she was out of control as a consequence. All links to her strict morals had long since been cut.
“Will you read it?” she growled again. Showing him the poised bag she lifted it between her hands and
over his features, ready to be dropped back in a second should he dispute her regime.
“Y..yes,” he snivelled.
“Yes, what?” she added sternly.
“Yes, Mistress Lynn,” he corrected, the words burning his tongue with choler, fright and an even more powerful sense of adoring arousal than ever before.
The recorder appeared before him and she held the paper to his eyes. Closing them, he breathed in for courage so he could read this and hope he could convince Mistress Despoiler that he had been made to say them.
“Mistress Lynn, you know what I really crave?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“Say it with belief, slave!” she barked, and a slap caught his cheek and threw his head back.
Switching off the recorder, she started to rewind it back to the start. Walking out in front of him while the device rattled with soft motion, she flung the back of her hand into his face once more, flicking his gaze aside. The extreme depreciation of such abuse brought compliance.
“Now try again, slave.”
Looking to the paper, he steadied his tones as best he could.
“Mistress Lynn, you know what I really crave?”
“What is that, slave?” she added casually, as though there was nothing abnormal about her and that she was innocently answering his question.
“I would love for you to be my Mistress all the time.”
“Pardon?”
“Please, torment me. I worship you. I want to be yours forever,” he stated, and the recorder snapped off with an exasperated sigh from its bearer.
Setting the device aside, she flung the paper over her shoulder and before he could react, she had slapped him across the face. Snatching the bag, she slotted it back into place and glared into his smothered features.
“Read it with conviction! You want to be a slave! You want to spend the rest of your life under my heels, suffering, aching for the moment you can kiss my boots. So say it like you mean it!” she growled fiercely.
Straining for breath, fighting to gain air, his lungs sucked at an impenetrable wall. The barrier was left in place a little while longer and then yanked free, granting him use of cool air once more. While he recovered, she picked up the paper and reset the recorder.
“Now, from the beginning again and get it right!” she stated, throwing an arm back across her shoulder to have him quake beneath the threat. Declining the attack, she took the paper in hand and presented both script and microphone to him.
“Mistress Lynn, you know what I really crave?”
“What is that, slave?”
“I would love for you to me my Mistress all the time.”
“Pardon?”
“Please, torment me. I worship you. I want to be yours forever,”
“What about Mistress Despoiler?” she quizzed with mock concern.
“I..I..” he stammered. He was unable to voice this level of betrayal. He loved her, he would do anything for her, either as his partner or as his Mistress. He could not permit this treachery.
The Mistress switched of the recorder and looked down, breathing for perseverance. He was about to speak, to plead his case when the back of her hand brought him to compelled silence.
“Why can’t you just read this, slave?” she hissed, and smacked the device to his forehead thrice to daze him slightly.
“I’ll torture you until you do what I want, so why not just relent?” she announced with bemusement, taking the bag and slipping it onto him.
“So here’s your lesson, slave. I hope you learn it this time.”
His petitions for mercy were muted as the bag slammed back with her furious grip, squashing his face. Leaning in close as he croaked and fought to breathe, she put her mouth near his ear and whispered damning words to him.
“I’ll not tolerate disobedience. No one can deny me. If it makes it easier, think of yourself as a stepping-stone. I don’t want you, I want to gain experience, to figure myself out and move on, but until then I’ll be needing a guinea pig, and you will suffice. I’ll learn torture from you, and dominance from the expertise of Mistress Despoiler.”
Whipping the bag off, he gasped and panted, coughing as the world swam with giddiness around him.
“Now read it!” she growled, grabbing his chin and craning his head back with fingers that sunk into his jawbone. She held back a slap, intimidating him with relish before stopping and collecting the device and text once more.
“Mistress Lynn, you know what I really crave?”
“What is that, slave?”
“I would love for you to me my Mistress all the time.”
“Pardon?”
“Please, torment me. I worship you. I want to be yours forever.”
“What about Mistress Despoiler?”
“She doesn’t understand me, not like you,” he said stolidly. Tears were in his eyes and his throat burned with the damage of what he was saying.
“But how can I continue being your Mistress?”
“Convince her that you want to do this permanently. She trusts you. She’ll believe you. Then I can be yours,” he stated, his heart aflame.
He could not do this, but his instinct for self-preservation was stronger. He could try and explain to her, to deny it, to cover it up, but it could put a wedge between them. They were closer than friends. There was a bond between them, a link that he had never before experienced. He could not risk souring it or losing it.
“I’m not sure about this, slave.”
“Please, Mistress Lynn. Do it for me. I love you. I need you more than anything,” he added automatically. His mind was elsewhere. The revelation that Mistress Despoiler might desert him for this deception was terrifying. It had taken his whole life to meet someone like her. It was a superlative fortune that would certainly not repeat, in this lifetime or a hundred others. This was all he had ever wanted, and to lose it would utterly annihilate him. There was the old cliché of there being someone out there for everyone. He had found his destined partner, despite her being on the other side of the world. Such gratuitous good chance could never repeat and thus he could never risk losing her.
“But all the time?”
“Think of it, Mistress. I can be there for you to beat me when you come home. I can be there for you always. To sit on. To use as a footrest. To tidy up after you. To do your chores. Just let me serve you,” he continued, deciding that if he simply allowed this blackmail to unfold, that if he simply kept quiet and endured the abuse of this termagant, she would move on, leaving everything to return to normal.
“You are sure Mistress Despoiler will be okay with this?”
“Yes, of course,” he added, glaring at her with utter contempt.
Once this was over, he could reveal all. He would expose that she had blackmailed him, that she had tortured him terribly for his resistance. Lynn would be gone by then and the tape with her. His words would be far less damaging than the taped sound of him speaking them as though they were real. He could try and keep it secret, but that sat even less well with him. He could not live a lie, not keep this from her. It would be a real betrayal to cover up a fictitious one. He was too obsessed and in love with Mistress Despoiler for that to be a viable option.
The recorder snapped off and she set it aside.
“There. All we have to do now is dispose of a little evidence. Open wide, slave” she crooned, and forced open his lips. Tearing off a strip of the paper she folded it in.
“Chew your food,” she warned with a chuckle, sounding like some overbearing mother figure.
With fury in his soul, he swallowed the slip and was fed another. Mistress Lynn tore up the script and made him digest it.
“So, now that you have been a good boy…” she announced, patting his damp head as he recoiled slightly from her touch.
“I think you deserve a treat. First though, I will hide this, and you will not speak of this at all. If you do, I’ll let your precious Mistress listen to it, and tell her a tale about it. Whether s
he believes it or not, you can bet she’ll never forgive you,” she chuckled wickedly. With a wry laugh she sashayed from the room, slinking out to hide her conjured evidence and delighted with her own crimes.
Trapped on the chair, he used the time to recuperate from his tortures. His mind slowly cleared of the pained blur that affected his senses and which made his thoughts slow and dull.
When she returned she unfastened his bonds and set him fully free. His skin was chafed and raw from fighting the entwining coils. He spilled from the chair as though he lacked a skeleton and dropped onto the ground.
“Kneel upon the seat,” she demanded, pointing back to the central piece of furniture.
Reluctantly obeying, he rose up onto the soft cushioned top, his shins and feet hanging over the edge.
To his dismay, she started to unfasten his briefs and opened the front to let his member hang on open display. Handing him a handkerchief, she moved back and sat on the bed.
The sound of the front door slamming shut reached his ears and elation flooded his heart. She was back. At last.
“Start masturbating. When you’re about to finish, stop and you’ll ask permission, and pending my approval you’ll use the handkerchief to catch your foul issue, slave.”
Crossing her legs, she lounged back and watched him with an intrigued intensity. How could he be expected to do this with her observing him so?
Mistress Despoiler was back, but he was doomed to obey and keep quiet for now. It was frustrating and infuriating, leaving him only with this chore to distract from his mental maelstrom.
“Do as I command!” she hissedthe power in her tone causing his reluctance to melt.
Taking hold of his shaft, he closed his fingers upon it. Keeping his head low with shame, he commenced with a slow dilatory shuffle. Despite all his misgivings and anger, the denial of any caress and the scenario of acute and despicable levels of dominance had him rapidly swelling within his fist. His member had its own mind and agenda, requiring any touch to stir it, whether inspired by friend or despised enemy.
“Look at me as you do that, slave! You should be fantasising about the one allowing you this relief,” she growled, and it took a maximum effort to lift his gaze and meet hers. The mocking in her glare burned him like a pyre and his body shook with accentuated humiliation and this in turn focused his submissive delight. Despite the derogation he could feel the hot tide rising in his shaft, the pleasure of the masturbation bringing him to a badly sought after relief.
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