SlavesofMistressDespoiler

by Bruce McLachlan

  The words were true and accurate but it was still pleasing to hear them, to have every shred of doubt slowly brushed aside by the endless repeat of the tape.

  “Privacy is a privilege that Mistress Despoiler will decide whether or not to issue to you. If Mistress Despoiler so requests, you will become a helper slave, assisting in the training of other slaves, during which you are never to forget that you are still mine.”

  The words startled him as it expressed a desire to introduce others into their relationship. Lynn was a dominant, and yet there was a reference to possible other slaves. Just what was his owner planning for the future, or was it merely a precaution?

  “You will be eager to perform sexually for Mistress Despoiler at any time I desire. You will never leave Mistress Despoiler. You are hers forever. You will suffer for Mistress Despoiler in ways that please me. You will NEVER be passive in serving Mistress Despoiler. You will serve me with respect and enthusiasm. If you are sent to another Mistress/Master, you will serve them well as it will reflect on Mistress Despoiler’s training of you and you will not disgrace me. You will learn all that Mistress Despoiler wishes to teach you. You are my property at all times.”

  The litany began to repeat, continuing over and over again on each side, perpetually playing to him as he lay in bondage. All the time the same commands rolled through his head, the words of Mistress Despoiler being integrated deep in his psyche.

  The need to urinate grew strong and plagued him with the thought of it. The pressure in his bladder continued to well, but he was dubious to simply give in and let go for it would mean condemning him to languishing in it.

  The feeling of being so effectively mummified was arousing. The complete lack of mobility, of being held captive by Mistress Despoiler and subjected to her commandments as she reformed his psyche with her words made him stiff with licentious appetites. But the frustration of it was terrible and eroded the pleasure he could take in it, making him fight back. Filling his mind with prurient thoughts, he sought to keep himself dedicated to enjoying this, in drowning his mind with lustful deeds to perform at the heels of his owner. As to what was transpiring outside of his senseless void of training he had no clue.

  Chapter Five

  Lighting the last of the candles in the living room, Mistress Despoiler turned off the lights and looked over the lithe nubile form of her assistant. Her gaze flowed upon the slick panes of her gloss attire. The amber glow of the flames spread their haloes throughout the room, filling the chamber with a soft, hesitant gloom that added to the intimidating ambience. Wandering past, she sank into the armchair and patted the newly purchased crop into her gloved palm. The two leather lips of the tip issued dull claps. The black and red candy striped shaft was about two feet in length and emerged from a rubber hilt.

  “Kneel before me,” she commanded.

  Lynn sidled over and folded herself down onto her knees. The PVC squeaked as it was stretched with her motions and caught sparkles from the glowing candles. Her eyes remained fixed downward, filling her view with the heeled feet of the Mistress and the folds of her long latex skirt.

  “Did you enjoy your domination?” she asked softly and extended a toe forward.

  Lynn accepted the footwear. Cradling it gently in both of her hands, her lycra gloved fingers slid easily upon the smooth fabric. Leaning in, she reverently kissed it. Her hair fell forward and helped hide her face while she adored the feet of Mistress Despoiler.

  “Yes, Mistress. I did,” she uttered softly, bathed in the new glow of submission.

  “Now you know it’s over. You recall our agreement, don’t you?” asked the dominatrix.

  “Yes, Mistress,” she panted in reply, taking licks of the toe and letting the taste of it swell upon her tongue.

  “Then say it aloud so I can be assured you recall it accurately.”

  “I am to be your slave. I have no authority save that which you give me,” she muttered with pride.

  “You are willing to be trained and become mine in full, to do whatever I ask and to suffer my discipline?” she quizzed.

  They had already discussed this in detailed fullness. The Mistress was running through it again to make sure Lynn was well aware of what she was surrendering herself to and was also giving her one last chance to squirm out of the deal.

  “Yes, Mistress. Without hesitation or regret,” Lynn answered truthfully.

  When they had first begun to talk of this, Lynn had only been expecting to gain a fleeting assistant status during the dominating of the male slave, not her own submission to Mistress Despoiler. When the matter had been brought forward it had caught her by surprise and immediately tickled her delectation. Lynn had not even thought of it before. Even though she had not contemplated it, the more she dwelt on it the more she began to crave it. Mistress Despoiler was gorgeous. Lynn had admired her body since they had met, and the concept of giving herself over totally to the domina’s skill was something that made tickling warmth fill her insides.

  Lynn had not considered submission before. She had even been repelled by it, by the uncertainty and the danger it presented. But that had all stemmed from male sources, men who would just want a woman to do as she was told and whom they could ravish in any way without her resistance. To be commanded by a woman, by someone who knew what she was doing had suddenly become a pressing fantasy.

  For days now Lynn had been dreaming of this moment. Ever since the Mistress had brought it up when they were alone at the pub one night, gossiping over pints.

  When the Mistress revealed that the cause of her partner’s absence was his being cocooned in cling film at home, awaiting her return, Lynn had been awe-struck. She had suspected them of performing such acts of fetish vice but not on such a scale. They talked about it more and the offer of her joining in had been extended. After they had considered this and debated what role she was to play, her own submission had been extended and planned.

  Lynn had squirmed in her bed that night, her libido piqued and fervid. Toying with her own sex she had drunk in the thought of what would be done to her and what she would do. She would have the best of both worlds. She would to be able to dominate and torment the male, and then wallow in servitude beneath the heels of the Mistress. In fact, her only worry was that the reality would not match up to the fantasies she was conjuring.

  “Good. Now stand up,” demanded the Mistress.

  Lynn arose, her head hung low as the woman also regained her feet. Straightening the draping curtain of her pencil skirt she walked past Lynn and let her fingers briefly brush across Lynn’s humbled shoulders.

  The Mistress recovered a bundle of rope from a hiding place behind a speaker. The slim coils were neatly woven and ready to encompass any servile that wished it.

  “Are you wearing underwear, slave?” she asked.

  Lynn was momentarily thrown by the question. She wondered whether she should confess and more importantly why she was being asked such a question.

  “Well?” stated the Mistress with an irritated firmness.

  “Yes, Mistress, but I didn’t, I mean, I—”

  “Take them off,” she ordered brusquely, interrupting Lynn’s attempt at explanation. Lynn wondered if she broken some rule she had not even known of. She had no experience, no real knowledge. Was this a binding law of such exchanges and she had transgressed through ignorance?

  “But, I—”

  “Now!” hissed the Mistress.

  Flinching at the severe tone in her voice, the authority within it was unable to be questioned. Her order was stated so sternly that Lynn felt herself obeying despite her reservations to the contrary.

  Reaching up under her short skirt, she grabbed the slim thong of black cotton and pulled it free. Dragging it down she tried to do so without lifting the hem and thus exposing her nudity.

  Drawing the underwear down her legs, she stepped from it and held the warm bundle in her hand. Lynn felt somewhat abashed, exposed and uneasy but also bizarrely titillated.


  “Drop it on the couch,” stated the Mistress.

  Lynn tossed the garment onto the long furniture and wondered if she were doing the right thing by agreeing to this relationship.

  “First, I’m going to bind you, slave,” she confirmed, warning Lynn in advance so as not to surprise or cause angst in her novice student.

  Opening the folds of rope, the Mistress located the centre and with a single knot she created a hoop that she placed over Lynn’s head. Letting it hang there, she slipped her fingers under Lynn’s long hair and flipped free the trapped mane. The servile woman shivered as the ends tickled her spine.

  “Don’t worry, I will be gentle with you, slave,” she said softly. Running her hands down Lynn’s bare shoulders she soothed her as she in turn tried to keep calm. Lynn had never been tied up before. To do so would leave her helpless, unable to back out, unable to do anything. She would be completely defenceless against the will of this woman, and suddenly she was questioning her unequivocal trust. She had exploited the bondage of the male to perform the most savage acts and Lynn was concerned about mimicking his fate.

  The hands of the Mistress slid down the slender limbs of Lynn and clasped about her wrists. Lifting them up she placed Lynn’s hands on her head.

  “Now hold still, slave,” she said reassuringly. Her warm breath touched Lynn’s ear, coaxing out a flush of goose bumps that crept down her spine. The arousal of such treatment was intense. It was the way the Mistress was taking such gentle yet uncompromising control of her.

  With expert skill, the Mistress started to place more knots down the rope as the rest of the doubled up length flopped down her front. Placed evenly until they reached her thighs, Lynn kept her gaze up, relishing the feeling of rope as it softly bumped her torso.

  Drawing the stem of woven coils between Lynn’s legs, the Mistress drew up and threaded it through the back of her neck loop. With a pull she hauled in the slack, dragging it in until the knotted length was pulled tight to Lynn’s front. The lowest knot pushed in her short skirt and pressed to her sex. The pressure caused Lynn to gasp and then release a sudden groan of pleasure. The tight clinch that had formed from neck to crotch seemed to melt her resolve to deny this, and she felt gloriously secure, safe and content in the care of the Mistress.

  The rope slid between the cheeks of her buttocks, fighting the gloss skirt, pressing it in and causing the vinyl to fall into the valley. Her skirt was now squeezed to her. She could feel two closely placed knots digging into her rear, the purpose of the two lumps unknown to her at present.

  A shiver of delight caused the hard nugget pressing into her to shift. It was a teasing tickle that had her wanting to writhe further and extract more sensation for herself. Fighting off such temptation she stood still and let her owner work.

  With both hands toiling simultaneously, the Mistress reached around with the separated twin lengths. She let each hook one of the ropes at her front and then pull back. Through this process, the rope down her front was drawn out into a descending pattern of diamonds. The lengths that pulled them open reached back around, wrapping upon each other to anchor themselves and then return to take hold of a lower area. Each time the rope between two knots was hauled open, the whole plexus tightened slightly upon her, making her pant with a serene sense of enclosure. The knot at her belly seductively tickled her. It was like a reward for enduring the process of bondage.

  Lynn’s fingers clasped upon each other and gripped into her hair as she strove to keep still. Her head felt light. Her thoughts were hazy and saturated to capacity with prurient matters.

  The knots by her breasts were closer than the others and caused the small diamond at her cleavage to set the ropes out above and below each breast, biting them between these rope jaws and pushing them out, the vinyl being pulled tight over each compressed mound. Against the burnished fabric the engorged summits that were her nipples stood out distinctly. Her excitement was obvious and slightly embarrassing to Lynn. When she saw the clues, she blushed, hoping that the diligence of the Mistress’ efforts would make her overlook such a sight.

  The last of the rope was drawn out and the Mistress drew Lynn’s arms down and backwards. Placing the forearms along each other they remained horizontal and loitered at the middle of her spine. The rope reached up and started to bind the wrists and elbows, sealing them together and holding her to this pose that removed their use.

  Lynn closed her eyes as the delight and the fear of the sensation tore up her thoughts and confused them.

  After the coils locked elbow to wrist they then spiralled along her joined forearms before reaching up and knotting to the initial hoop at her neck. They parted again and snagged her biceps, dragging them back slightly before the last of the rope vanished into knotting them there.

  “There, all done, slave,” stated the Mistress as she stepped back to examine her handiwork.

  Lynn flexed her arms and tried to move them but found that it was useless. She was effectively bound and had no chance of even moving let alone escaping such confinement. The pull of her attempts caused the crotch rope to shift and she swayed on her heels for a moment. The effects of the rope bondage were a tentative yet astounding delight to her.

  A leash appeared, the silver chain links chiming quietly to themselves. With a click the clip was snapped to her rear, capturing the rope stretched between the two knots that stopped the leash from slipping up or down.

  A tug to the lead made the knot at her sex shift more distinctly and she set free a croak of reply to its effects on her. Lynn staggered back a step, steadying herself. Her arms tried to break free to help restore her balance. It was an instinctive response that was completely curtailed by the bonds.

  Keeping hold of the lead, the Mistress sank into the couch. Setting the crop aside she gave another little pull that repeated the glorious influence on Lynn. It was a soft, barely substantial brush, one that promised much more than it delivered and which served to arouse and frustrate.

  “Come and lay across my knees,” she ordered, reeling Lynn in by this intimate mooring.

  Settling onto her booted knees before the Mistress, Lynn draped herself across the thighs of the woman. The gloss and latex exchanged conversation comprised of squeaks and creaks as they stuck lovingly to one another.

  The Mistress shifted her slave a little. Dragging Lynn forward so that she was draped fully over the bench of rubber-padded flesh, her stomach now rested on latex-smothered thighs.

  Lynn looked down into the boots of the Mistress, her rear in the air and obviously awaiting attention. She was aching for something more intense than the cursory tease of the knot. Her bondage, her submission, all of it conspired to have her praying for sensual input. Pain or pleasure, she didn’t care which. They were equal in her eyes now and she needed them more than she had ever thought possible. There had been an untouched and highly flammable pool in her mind, one she had not even noticed and which no other person had managed to ignite. But through her deeds of entrapment and dominance the Mistress had cast a lit match into this pool. Now the fires were raging bright and uncontrollable within her.

  The hand of the Mistress let the leash flop between Lynn’s legs. Lynn’s muscles flexed within her boots, causing the patent leather to ripple as the chain hung limp between her thighs.

  “Such a sweet little rear,” commented the Mistress. Stroking the rounded peaks of Lynn’s buttocks, she traced the skirt that was pulled taut over it, the cheeks bisected by the tight rope.

  Hooking a finger under the lip of each flap of skirt she pulled up and peeled it back. Lifting the hem of the dress as far as the crotch rope permitted, the material remained firmly anchored underneath it.

  Lynn swallowed as she was exposed. Her mind was racing. Another woman was keeping her bound and over her knee, and was now pulling back her dress to stroke her naked rear prior to some mode of chastisement. She could not credit this as being real, it seemed so unlikely and even more unlikely was her willingness to submit
to it.

  “Are you ready to receive a spanking, slave? To show how much you want to belong to me?” questioned Mistress Despoiler. Her latex fingertips lightly touched the soft pelt of Lynn’s rear, causing her to shudder and set free riots of gooseflesh.

  “Oh yes, Mistress, I am. I want to be yours,” she blurted. The scenario had overwhelmed Lynn. She was being totally ruled by her raging passion and hunger for new experience.

  No sooner had she acquiesced than the hand of the Mistress jumped back and jerked open. The solid palm swept back and onto the supple flesh.

  Lynn gave a choked cry, throwing her head back, her hair whipping her bound back as the hot flash rolled through the skin. It was not a response of pain but rather a mixture of elation and shock. It was a completely new and alien sensation that she had no idea of how to correctly respond to.

  The Mistress paused and let the searing flush subside, filling her time by gathering up Lynn’s long hair and fastening it with a tight hair-band. Taking hold of the root of this ponytail she used it as a reign, holding Lynn’s head up. Her jaws were agape, her eyes half closed as she readied to receive the full measure of the spanking that she herself had requested.

  The hand of the Mistress returned again, applying itself and gaining stinging applause. Lynn choked and gurgled, her neck throbbing from being craned back so forcefully but it only made her feel more helpless to resist and thus more able to revel in the punishment.

  The claps of latex to flesh resounded through the room, mingling with Lynn’s sobs and panting breath. Her rear grew hotter with each smack to a buttock, the flesh mustering an intense internal fire as it became more sensitive. But even as her skin was rendered more susceptible to the distress of the spanking, so to did the flow of endorphins increase. The torrents raged through her, making it easier to bear, making it more of a pleasure that she left herself willingly exposed to.

  Occasionally the Mistress paused. Snatching the leash she gave a few rhythmic pulls upon it during the brief break. The attention dragged the knot against Lynn’s sex, the vinyl being a negligible protection from the results it imbued. After a few tickles that had Lynn aching for more, the smacks continued.