Catching his breath, he started to get on with his duties before his tardiness caused offence.
Dropping the silvery heap of twisted and contorted bonds into the bath, he turned on the shower and washed it out with a token flush before stuffing the refuse into a black plastic bag. With the leftovers of his bondage handled, he slipped himself under the hot flow. A gasp of sensual pleasure rode upon his sigh as the warm flood pounded his skin and drooled down his flesh, washing away the heat and the stickiness of his imprisonment.
It was a wonderful sensation, almost like rising from his own body. The weight of his bondage had come free and now he was also being loosed from his own clinging excretions. The feeling of purging was powerful once more, of slipping bonds and grime, emerging fresh and clean, pliant to the will of the females who ruled him. With such dissolute notions hovering through his mind he took hold of his stiffening member. His penis was already rising to the call of lustful thoughts, answering the debauched bray of his libido.
Relaxing his body, he let his fist drift, spurned on by the tickling spatter of water across his skin he permitted himself this token delight.
The image of the domineering succubus that haunted him occupied the full canvas of his mind’s eye. The image of her taunting him, controlling him, the reigns of her power locked to every aspect of his being was one he could not shake.
With new and potent levels of algolagnic fervour, he dedicated his will and managed to deny himself orgasm. Washing his briefs he walked back to the bedroom, ready to fanatically serve Mistress Despoiler and her miscreant assistant.
Already he had been breaking her laws, simply to know that he could. But how many more times would he have such felonious strength before the level of ingraining vanquished it?
However, for now he had a role to fulfil. It was one of his more favoured, along with that of a pet. He particularly enjoyed serving as a maid. Freed of most encumbrances, it was satisfying to be reduced to pandering to the needs of his owner, receiving capricious strokes of a weapon upon command and completion.
The briefs were placed back onto him, controlling his genitals under stringent black folds and stopping up any hope of forcing out the plug. Sliding himself into latex leggings rather than fishnet hose, he hauled them tight against himself and straightened them. Trapping his body within the moulded sheath of the latex dress, he lifted the thick arms over his shoulders and dragged the skirt down onto his thighs.
With his collar arranged in proper place he tied his hair up into a high ponytail and grabbed his mask. Opening the lacing on the back of his Porcupine hood, he slid his face in. Dragging his hair through the highest point of the lacing he then tightened it closed. The fragrance of the material washed through his nose, intense and wonderful, tempting him into placing his clothes to his face so as to drink in a collective concentrated aroma before continuing.
With a plume of ragged hair exploding from the back of the hood, he ensured the eye sockets were aligned. He had to ensure that the entire hood was comfortable because he was sure to be wearing it for some time without any respite.
The lace-up ankle boots were slotted onto his feet. The patent stilettos he had long since become accustomed to by his many sessions of service as Mistress Despoiler’s maid.
The last act before heading down was to add latex opera gloves, leaving only a portion of his chest and upper arms free from the smothering embrace of rubber. It was a necessary ordeal. The fabric was uncomfortable and sweltering hot, a constant punishment visited upon him, one that he endured to better serve Mistress Despoiler.
With a few faltering steps he balanced himself. Focusing on walking in the heels prior to slinking downstairs, he wondered what was awaiting him there. Normally he could gain some insight or prediction into what might transpire. Service, with arbitrary punishment, maybe leading to bondage and more severe treatment, or masturbation, cunnilingus, perhaps even intercourse. What could he expect with the introduction of another Mistress to the scene?
Taking hold of the door handle, he sucked in a deep breath of courage. He held to it as he entered to acquire fortitude against the unknown events waiting for him on the other side.
Chapter Seven
After setting lose her partner, Mistress Despoiler straightened her cap and sidled downstairs. She was clad only in a gloss thong with matching bra and patent court shoes. A savagely spiked leather band enclosed each wrist and formed a wicked choker about her throat. She felt warm and refreshed after her bath. With the sweat of the session stripped from her, she felt revived. The eternal desire to subjugate her slaves and play them against each other as part of her greater scheme was rekindled.
In her hands she clasped her candy stripped crop. Upon entering the living room, she found Lynn ready for more education as to what it meant to be her slave.
The woman was stood before the mirror, clad only in ivory lingerie. White stockings were snagged by the slender arms of a suspender belt, a G string provided her with token modesty and a strapless bra pressed her breasts together to form a subtle cleavage. Fetters and shackles of black leather were padlocked to her, the riveted D rings between the paired buckled straps denying her any chance of getting free of the restraints. Her matching collar was in place and an identity disc proclaimed her as the property of Mistress Despoiler. The other side was marked with her name in deliberate lower case slave lynn.
Her long hair had been plaited and fixed with a white ribbon to leave it as a single stem down her back. Lynn was studying her rear in the mirror, examining the ten stern welts that ran in vertical streaks down the supple flesh. The pink hue of the spanking was still evident as the illustrations the cane had wrought darkened through shades towards their eventual purple.
“What are you doing, slave?” she asked, patting the lips of the crop into her bare palm.
Lynn turned around suddenly, her eyes rimmed with smudged dark shades from the tears that had spread her makeup. Caught by surprise, she dropped down and retrieved her bag of cosmetics. Quickly grabbing a sponge she began to tidy the corrupted and smudged lines.
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” she stated with worry.
“That isn’t what I asked, slave. Now answer me,” she purred and stepped forward.
“You told me to redo my makeup, Mistress.”
Lynn let out a yelp and clapped a hand to her flank when the crop jumped in to smack her in reprisal.
“Don’t speak to be with the back of your head, slave!” she growled.
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” she whimpered through clenched teeth, nursing the pulsating spot at her side. Pivoting on her knees, she shuffled around to face the Mistress before repeating herself.
“You told me to redo my makeup, Mistress.”
“You intend to put cosmetics on your rear?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Then you chose to ignore me, slave?”
“No, Mistress, I—”
“This is not a debate, slave. Either you did or you did not. What is your answer? Yes, or no?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. Now bend over and take your correction, slave,” she stated firmly.
Clearly resigned to more discipline, Lynn arose and leant over. Taking hold of her stocking-sheathed and bound ankles, her fingers clenched tightly in readiness of the first stroke. Her identity tag dangled before her eyes, turning slowly upon its chain and winking in the candlelight.
The leather tongues of the crop touched her thighs and gently swept gently across to brush the insides.
“Legs apart, slave,” she commanded, nudging the flesh with her weapon.
With a shuffle, Lynn opened them and exposed the inner regions in full. She was worried about gaining new strokes to her already well-punished rear, but now was even more concerned that this most tender area was being opened to attack.
The crop swished in and clapped to her inner thigh, rocking the flesh with a fresh riot of heat. Lynn gasped and set free a long mewl of dismay at how s
tern the effects had proven. Panting swiftly, she strained to ride through the pain.
The crop attacked the other side, slapping to the skin and making her rise onto tiptoes while crushing her own ankles with a fierce fist. Gasping for breath, she let the stabbing effects dwindle back down to a residual pound.
Again the other thigh was swatted and the blow repeated on other side a moment later.
“Mistress! Mercy! Please!” pled Lynn.
“Why are you being punished, slave?” asked the Mistress. Reaching in, she pinched the battered buttocks of the woman, making her voice high-pitched and swift in response.
“Because I disobeyed you, Mistress!”
“Then one more stroke and we will consider you punished in full, slave.”
“Yes, Mistress,” she replied dejectedly, and sighed as the pinch of flesh was released.
A short pause followed where Lynn braced herself for the stroke but had no idea where or when it would fall.
The Mistress waggled the weapon in the air, its head humming as she limbered up the implement for the final deed. Then the crop struck flat across her buttocks and held there, pressing to the flesh it had struck, the welt crossing the lines of the cane. Lynn wailed softly, swallowing a scream and turning it into mewls and gurgles of distress. Her legs shook beneath her and she swayed unsteadily for a few moments.
“There, now what do you say, slave?”
“Th…thank…thank you, Mistress,” she stammered.
“Good girl,” answered the dominatrix.
Lynn sunk down and placed a kiss to the presented tip of the item that had been responsible for her pains.
“Now, slave, get on with what I told you to do, before I whip you some more for tardiness,” she decreed. Slumping down into the couch she watched her adoring property as she started to cleanse and reapply her makeup.
Once she had finished, the Mistress called her over and snapped the leash to her collar. After capturing the slave on the reign she hauled her in so that she knelt before her.
“Turn around and get on all fours before me, slave,” she ordered.
Lynn instantly revolved and presented her rear to the Mistress. The feet of the dominatrix settled along her back, using her as a stool upon which to rest.
Lynn shivered as she felt the bare skin of her owner’s calves upon her own flesh. She found new satisfaction in her lowly position and was swiftly dreaming of running her hands along the legs that so casually rested on her.
A few minutes of lethargy passed before she felt the back of her thong being pulled down and once more exposing her rear.
“Such a hungry little mouth,” announced the Mistress, running a finger down the presented valley. “Would my slave like something to fill this hole?”
Patting it with a fingertip, Mistress Despoiler circled the opening in contemplation.
“Yes, Mistress,” petitioned Lynn. She was eager to feel the intrusion of another toy and feel the Mistress fill her with an implement and control her with it.
“Then let’s have you plugged up before we continue then, slave,” she stated.
Lynn felt the cool rounded tip of a lubricated toy replace the fingers of her owner.
The point pushed forwards, opening her wider, then wider still. Her sphincter started to hurt from the level of intrusion, the flared cone pushing her to her tolerances.
“Mistress! It…it’s too big!” she murmured. Her hands furled into tight fists, her rear feeling as if it would tear open if the Mistress pushed the plug any deeper.
“Nonsense,” stated the Mistress and shoved ruthlessly to instantly complete the task.
The sudden screaming blast of havoc that poured into her rear had Lynn collapsing onto her side, arching back and clasping at the butt plug. She aired peaks of shock and whimpered as she hooked fingers to the base and pulled. The pain was already dwindling and she realised that to pull it free she would have to voluntarily inflict the same ordeal as she had just been dragged through. A pull to the base stretched her again, cultivating a rise in discomfort. It made her let go and simply hold to herself, feeling the fulgent rawness of her rear slowly subside.
“There, now you are all nice and full, slave,” she remarked and pulled up the thong before patting Lynn’s rump with a sense of occasion and completion.
“Now, up you get, we have other matters to attend to,” she ordered and drifted back into the luxurious softness of the couch.
Lynn stiffly arose, her anus full of feeling. The presence of the plug within her was strangely stimulating. It made her feel more submissive, as though even her insides were no longer her own, and that with this mere insertion she had been further branded as property.
Clenching her buttocks she assured herself of its presence and waited as the Mistress arose and pulled an armchair out further from the wall to create a moat of space around it.
“Have a seat, slave. We are going to continue your education,” she stated, and indicated the leather cushions with a gentle wave of her hand.
Lynn wandered over and sat down. The seat was soft but still served to push the plug a little deeper into her.
“Now stay still and just relax, slave.”
Taking the rope the Mistress began to apply it, using the coils to capture her shackles and fix her to the chair. Her legs were splayed wide and the lengths were wound around her knees, above and below to keep her splayed lewdly under the eyes of the Mistress. Her arms were draped over the back and dragged down. The manacles were fixed there, stopping her from moving. Hoops about her upper thighs and waist were used as anchors to drag her down and into the chair. Able to pass between the cushions and sneak through the wooden frame they stopped her lifting up and pinned her irrevocably in this position.
Finally, her plait was captured and pulled back to lift her face to the ceiling. Fastened with a knot, the bond held her hair and prevented her from even looking down.
The Mistress arose behind her, extending into her enforced line of sight. A smirk of glee tickled her face as she looked down on Lynn—the slave languishing in bondage.
“Is my slave all nice and secure?”
“Yes, Mistress,” she replied, pulling slightly against her restraints to feel her helplessness and delight in it.
“Good.”
Lowering a little, the lips of the Mistress brushed Lynn’s cheek and she felt fingers reach under her bra and pinch a nipple. Lynn’s respiration started to accelerate, the compression getting stronger and making the discomfort steadily well.
“Oh! Oh! Oh, Mistress,” she whimpered. The woman was turning the captured teat, pulling at it and installing new and vigorous duress.
“Yes, slave? You like this? Perhaps you want some more?” she offered genially.
“Yes, Mistress. Yes, please, Mistress,” she panted, eager for more torment. Lynn yearned to be subjected to the whimsical sadism of the Mistress and to have her body used as a device for pleasuring her owner with its rope-contained writhing.
Another hand glided over the back of the chair and slid down her neck. Moving across her chest and into the other cup, the Mistress snagged the other nipple and treated it to a similar ordeal.
Lynn jiggled in her bonds. Her mouth was agape as she felt the soft breath of the Mistress on her neck, tickling the fine hairs.
“Look at you. Like a little worm in my fingers. Wriggling impotently. You’re such a promiscuous little thing, slave. All eager and ready for anything I want. Is that not so, slave?” she whispered softly into her ear as Lynn’s breasts were erotically tormented for her entertainment.
“Oh, yes Mistress. I’m yours. I’ll do anything for you.”
“Will you willingly be tortured for my pleasure? Will you surrender to pegs and wax, clamps and bondage? Just to amuse me,” she asked seductively. Drawing out the nipples she made Lynn’s chest rise and fall with great sobbing gasps.
“Yes, yes, anything, Mistress!”
“You think you can keep quiet. Or should I plug this h
ole too?” she offered, kissing the corner of her agape mouth.
“Gag me, Mistress. Please. I don’t want to fail you, Mistress,” she gasped, the potent need to curl her tongue against her owner’s flashing through her like libidinous wildfire.
No sooner had the words slipped free of her lips than a hand deserted her breast and began to force a set of tights into her maw. The hose of Mistress Despoiler was immediately crammed in, filling her mouth and squashing her tongue beneath the well-worn garments. Lynn surged against her bonds with piqued arousal at the sensation of being so meticulously tyrannised.
Once it was fully in, the rip of duct tape sounded and a strip was pressed across her sealed lips. Trapping the garment within her mouth the tape stopped her ejecting it and left her wheezing through her nostrils. Lynn watched as the Mistress lovingly stroked her cheek for a moment and then moved away. The click of heels told Lynn that she was now before her and settling between her parted legs. Suddenly she felt pangs of jeopardy rise as she blankly regarded the dark ceiling with breaths hissing through her nostrils.
Her bra was opened and removed. A cool wash of feeling reached across her breasts as they were left on open display, thrust out by the position in which she had been bound. Their was a little niggle of embarrassment, but she was rapidly becoming aware of her status as a slave to the Mistress and thus she should no longer be afraid of openly showing that which she did not even really own.
A hoop of cord was threaded around the base of her breast and the pert flesh was suddenly being strangled at the root by a tight bond. The act forced it to swell forward as it became engorged with harrowing dignity.
The other breast was similarly bound, the replacing bra of thin strands making Lynn grumble and twitch. A clatter of wood on wood reached her ears while she tasted the nylon in her mouth. The intimate garment of the Mistress was greatly prized for this reason and as she dreamed of tasting the source of the tang she awaited her next delicious ordeal.
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