SlavesofMistressDespoiler

by Bruce McLachlan

  “Yes, Mistress. I belong to you. But Mistress, will I be a slave completely?”

  “You want to continue ruling my other slave, don’t you.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Come on, say it, slave. I won’t be angry.”

  “Yes, Mistress, I do.”

  “And you shall. For you see, male slaves are forbidden in this organisation. But everyone keeps them on the sly. It’s like smoking when your parents have forbidden it. The male slave is for myself, and you to play with, and any others I deem trustworthy enough to enter the scenario. He will be kept in secret, hidden away as my exclusive property. You on the other hand are a more viable piece of merchandise, something I can offer and show off. Once you are fully trained of course. But you will always have access to the slave when you are mine.”

  “Will I always be yours, Mistress.”

  “It is likely. To buy a slave outright costs a great deal, far more than most are willing to spend. It is easier to rent them for a time. This is almost certain to happen to you, but you will always be coming back to me, slave. Does that quell your unease?”

  “Yes, Mistress, it does, thank you,” she whispered, smiling broadly, her heart settling, her gut unknotting from the prospect of losing her forever.

  “Take off your boots, slave,” she commanded, grabbing a small key from the shelf and offering it to Lynn.

  Taking it, she popped the locks and unlaced the tall footwear, setting herself free of the heels and then remaining humble before the naked Mistress.

  “Now come here,” she ordered, pulling Lynn over and once more fastening her hands high behind her back.

  “Turn off the light and come into the bed,” she added, throwing back the quilt on which Lynn had only just been penetrated on.

  Standing up, pulling at her bonds with weak jiggles, Lynn went to the light switch and flipped it with her nose. In the darkness she staggered back, negotiating her route by memory before sitting down and shuffling onto the soft covers. She laid herself down, and closed her eyes, the tiredness of the day welling quickly now that the opportunity for sleep had been offered.

  “Not yet, slave, you have other duties to perform first,” stated the Mistress, hooking a finger into her collar and steering Lynn’s face.

  Lynn followed the guidance, letting herself be pulled between the legs of the Mistress as she reclined. Curled into a ball at the foot of the bed, her mouth was driven into the loins of her owner, and with eager passion, Lynn began to play the sex of the Mistress. Her tongue was still raw and aching from the over energetic cunnilingus of Fire Opal, but this was her Mistress, the one she adored above all else, and her ailing organ found new life for the deed.

  The Mistress moaned softly in the dark, Lynn’s flitting attention bringing her to new levels of pleasure. She locked naked legs about the bound woman, holding her tight as she stiffened with each orgasm, drinking her full measure of Lynn’s devotion.

  Lynn ached to do the same, to let her hands play between her legs while she did this, but she guessed that was why she had been bound. Without the chastity belt to enforce her self-control just yet, she was untrustworthy and open to a temptation she could all to slyly indulge.

  “That will do, slave. Now curl at my feet and get some sleep. I’ll punish you before you go to work tomorrow,” she ordered, pushing Lynn away and laying back to drift into a warm and contented slumber.

  Burning with frustration, Lynn cuddled up to the legs of the Mistress, nuzzling her cheek to the soft skin while gradually sliding into her own semi-sleep, her thoughts and dreams tainted with the hunger for relief.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The night was a long and trying one, where he could only think on his fate, and what being her slave would bring. Would he end up a mindless dog, obeying orders without question, devoted to a Mistress who lived to see him suffer beneath her heels?

  Hunger and thirst lifted to join his ordeal, his belly growling like a beast, his throat dry as all he wanted was to drink deep of some cool water.

  The sound of an alarm going off roused him slightly from a dazed torpor, a half sleep that mixed dream and reality, filling his mind with perverse notions and corrupted dreams.

  The sound cut off, and he slithered back for the refuge of his somnolence, only to have it disturbed later on by the opening of the door.

  The Mistress switched off the alarm and lifted the covers, revealing the dozing form of her slave. Still clad in her lingerie, she had gained a fitful night’s sleep, and was now lodged deep in coma from such deprivation.

  “Wake up, slave,” she decreed, shaking her gently by the shoulder.

  Her bleary eyes opened and she pulled at her restraints, taking a moment to recall why she was bound and what her new situation was. For a moment she clearly thought it was all a dream, and then the truth spread back across her mind.

  “Is it morning already, Mistress?” she said with a dry and cracked voice.

  “Yes, slave. Time for you to get up. But first, your morning punishment, something to tide you over until you come home,” she announced.

  Rising from the bed, the Mistress walked over and took up her crop, settling it into her grasp for a comfortable fit.

  “Bend over,” she commanded, causing her slave to lift her rear, her face pressed into the mattress, her buttocks hanging in the air, the cheeks separated by the white strand of material of her underwear.

  “I think ten strokes will suffice for now, slave.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” she stated meekly, obviously settling for this sensation if she could not have the others she wished.

  It was likely that the slave would masturbate during the day while at work, thinking on her Mistress and her doom of slavery. But this only served the purpose of the Mistress all the more, for if she kept indulging, and kept getting used to it, when she was rendered chaste, it would make her all the more desperate to gain her relief, a relief she would have to earn, and thus her obedience would be total.

  The crop slashed in and painted a weal along her rear, making Lynn grimace and sob, her legs shaking as another was delivered. Each stroke brought her to a tensed pose, one that melted into a slack heap as the effects of the stroke dwindled to a less piercing peak.

  The Mistress licked her lips as the woman suffered under her hand, her tall body shuddering with travail from the torment of being so ruthlessly chastised. It was a glorious sight, and one that had the Mistress hungry for satisfaction again. But she would wait, take out her frustrations on her male servile.

  “Now, slave. You may go and get ready, and use my other slave as well to serve you, but you are to tell him nothing of what you know. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “I am not speaking with levity, here. I want him kept completely ignorant, slave,” she growled, making sure that Lynn knew there was to be no trifling with this law.

  “Yes, Mistress. I won’t say a thing,” she uttered, her eyes wet with tears from the heat throbbing in her punished rear.

  The Mistress removed the chains and unlocked the restraints about her extremities, setting her free in full.

  “Now change and go to work. I will see you when you come home, slave,” she announced, and presented her foot, lifting it up and putting it to the bed for Lynn to reach forward and place kisses on.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” she whimpered, and like a scolded dog, she cringed and left the room.

  The Mistress dropped back into her sheets, closing her eyes and dreaming of all the things she was planning, running them through in her mind, delving through the consequences, the obstacles, the hindrances that might arise and ways she could by-pass or overcome them.

  Mistress Lynn strode in, bleary eyed, clad only in a silken dressing gown, the black material embroidered with curling oriental dragon designs. As though performing any other morning chore, she set his manacles free and untied his ankles.

  “Get yourself free and come downstairs. I want a glass of orange juice,
a bowl of cornflakes, the television on, and a footrest,” she ordered, and shuffled away with a wide yawn, leaving him to the delicate task of removing himself from the rest of his confines.

  Reeling in the weight, he let his stretched length find a shade of sanctuary, and then bolstered the feeling of relief when he started to unwind the tight coils from around his flushed genitalia. It felt wonderful to get them free, and with tenderness he put the wilted sex back into his briefs. Sliding from the bed, his back gave several deep cracks as he straightened it.

  The inside of the hood was damp with his sweat, but he still could not get it off, it was a part of him now. Likewise the back of his neck was raw from rubbing upon the unforgiving walls of the collar, but again, it would be something that he would just have to accustom to.

  Removing the leash from the head of the bed, he let it dangle upon his back and walked downstairs, his bare feet cold against the tiled floor of the kitchen. Mistress Lynn sat in the living room, the grogginess of sleep lingering.

  First he stole water to quench his drought, the cold cascade pouring straight from the tap and down his throat. He gulped it down for long minutes, bloating his belly with an icy flood, ending with a gasp and a sigh of contentment. One advantage to the tyranny of these females was that even the most minor deed was becoming a great bliss to one denied and starved of it.

  He gathered her requested breakfast and walked in, switching on the television, handing her the tray and then forming onto all fours before her. Bare feet settled onto his back, and he gave a grimace as she reached into his briefs and shook the base of the plug, making it punish his bruised rear with some jostling.

  “Just checking that its still there, slave,” she uttered softly, and dropped a set of ordinary court shoes before his gaze.

  “Clean them,” she ordered, and went about eating while watching the various channels, the crunch of each mouthful followed by echoes that continually faded until she swallowed.

  Picking one up in a hand so he could keep his balance as a stool, he lifted it to his face and paused. Her naked heel lifted up and thumped into his back like a punch, playing a drum like tone and bending him to her will.

  “Remember rule forty, slave?” she growled softly.

  He paused, thinking, trying to remember it. It had to be something connected with obeying those Mistress Despoiler appointed over him, yet he could not recall it in full, just the vague premise of it.

  “That I am to obey those Mistress Despoiler appoints over me, Mistress Lynn,” he stated, recalling suddenly that he was not supposed to mumble either. It was a rule that she had probably committed to memory above all others, because it was her carte blanche to make him languish in woe beneath her.

  “No hesitation either, slave. Remember that,” she declared, and used her heel to thump him twice more for his insolence.

  His tongue fell forth and he lapped at the shoe, licking across its leather surfaces, cleaning it fully as the aroma of the often worn footwear permeated the smell of his hood, defeating the tang of latex, filling his nostrils.

  “Don’t forget the underside too,” she commented.

  The handling of the sole was a task he had never been commanded to do by Mistress Despoiler, but this woman was determined to demean him above all others. So with a sense of futility, knowing that to defy would only be chastised, he ran a tongue across the bases, recoiling at the thought that he was licking street shoes. With the bottoms attended, he shifted back to the more pleasing area of the leather itself.

  The same scent had been installed as an arousing perfume by his conducting of this chore so many times for Mistress Despoiler. He had been made to sit in the corner, masturbating as he cleaned her shoes, never being permitted to climax while he worked. It was a programming that left him helpless to resist it, and despite his wishes to show defiance to her, his length was straining against his briefs in no time. It was an act of disobedience she quickly noticed.

  “You foul pervert, look at this,” she scowled disdainfully, nudging the bulge with her toes in a revolted manner.

  “If you were mine, I’d keep you celibate for the rest of your life. Lock this up so you could never access it, only used to torture and burn, bind and beat,” she stated, making him feel sorry for any submissive who rashly lost himself to her slavery.

  Such a fate had to be a terrible nightmare, for to be aroused by captivity and forever denied, what a burden to endure, worse even than the most pernicious flogging.

  “You can now lick my plate clean, slave” she permitted, setting the bowl before him.

  Leaning down, he started to lap up the milk and few remaining soggy flakes, taking his sustenance as best he could. He had no idea if he would be fed today. The new regime had new rules, and he wasn’t aware of them. Would he have to earn his food with conformity?

  Finishing the dregs, he lifted back upright, on all fours, waiting for her next whim.

  Mistress Lynn stood up and settled into the armchair, letting her head drape back as she relocated.

  “Brush my hair, slave,” she ordered, relaxing as he returned to his feet and walked around behind it, occupying the gap between the back and the corner of the room. A brush was already at hand and taking it up, he settled onto his knees and started to brush through the long tresses, working gently, knowing that should he snag a knot or pull free so much as a hair, she would no doubt make him pay dearly for it.

  Once she was satisfied that the task had been handled adequately, she grabbed his leash and towed him upstairs, forcing him down on all fours before her dresser. The silken smoothness of her rear dropped onto his back, almost making him collapse as she utilised him as a stool so she might do her makeup. Struggling under the weight pressing straight into the centre of his spine, he fought to keep still, beads of sweat rising afresh under his mask. It took her forever to finally finish, her attention to detail making him serve a long sentence as a seat.

  Swinging her legs around, she drew him from her room and back to his chamber, tying him back into position. The pose looked as though it were to remain the same until the moment she was about to leave. Rather than afflict his member with the torturous cords, she snapped five pegs to each inner thigh, and another five along his biceps, leaving the pinches held tight in neat rows.

  “When I come home tonight, I’ll give you a damn good thrashing, slave. Work off my vocational frustrations on you, let that steam go. Would you like that?” she quizzed, making him close his eyes in dread of the event.

  The sight of this made her chuckle with amusement and pat his head. A brief flick to the pegs had him squirm and she fled, leaving him to isolation.

  The door shut and he realised that she intended to leave him like this, the pegs cutting off all feeling, growing more painful with each passing minute. He prayed that Mistress Despoiler hurry up and awake, to set him free of these accursed pegs, but it would be several hours yet. He was marooned to this torment.

  He wriggled and bucked his abdomen, trying to throw them off, but he was too securely stretched between his bonds to move enough, so he had no choice but to endure their companionship.

  Fate smiled when Mistress Lynn strode back in, dressed in her suit, her shoes sparkling clean from his tongue work upon them. She had merely departed to get dressed.

  “Would you like these removed, slave?” she whispered softly, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, flicking a peg to make him twitch in curt jolts.

  “Yes, Mistress Lynn, I would. Please, they hurt too much.”

  “What would you have instead?” she questioned idly, turning another of the pegs to make him stretch against his bonds and hiss a breath through clenched teeth.

  “Anything you want, Mistress Lynn,” he rashly agreed.

  “How about these tights? You want me to stuff you with them?” she questioned.

  “Y..yes, Mistress Lynn,” he replied with an unsteady quaver in his voice.

  To have another, larger set of underwear forced into hi
m as an alternative to the pegs would be easier to endure, but much harder to explain. But at least they were Mistress Despoiler’s.

  With speed, she started opening the pegs. He screamed in silent gasps as they were removed, each causing fierce strikes of agony to pour through each harried pinch. Rocking from side to side, the leash rattled softly on the bars with his wild throes until all were gone, letting him find a moment of fleeting rest.

  “You still want these?” she asked, trailing them over his face, the rustle of the delicate material drawing him from his coma.

  “Yes, Mistress Lynn, and thank you for removing the pegs, Mistress,” he uttered softly.

  “Yes, well I am the merciful one, aren’t I?” she stated with mocking.

  “You are indeed. Mistress Lynn,” he conceded, professing his affirmation to the lie.

  Taking down the back of his briefs, she wrenched out the plug and began to rudely stuff them in. The nylons chafed an entrance and she forced them through with rough motions, making him bounce in fits as they were relentlessly introduced.

  Choking back his wails, he kept his teeth set rigid, his neck tensed, tendons raised as he gasped and wheezed with the implementation of her deed.

  The last of the tights was crammed in, and like a ram for a cannon, the butt plug was reintroduced, plunging in and plugging him up before she pulled his briefs back into place. Lifting from the bed she slid her slender fingers into leather gloves, starting to wrap a scarf about her neck to protect against the bitter cold still without.

  “There. Now what do you say,” she added with menace, placing one of her shoes to his groin and forcing down, pressing into the flesh, making his genitals pound under her trampling foot.

  “Thank you, Mistress Lynn,” he strained, and sighed as she stepped off of him, letting him breath more easily.

  She did indeed make a striking sight in the sharp contours of her business suit, but enticing a vision though she was, it was a heartless, self serving beast beneath it, and he felt fear rather than lust towards her.