SlavesofMistressDespoiler

by Bruce McLachlan

  “I want you with me tonight,” she said without any further addition, the bluntness her words frightening him as to what she intended.

  Using the searing leashes, she drew him to his feet and showed him to the dungeon/bedroom, Mistress Despoiler sleeping amongst her implements of torment.

  “Tomorrow, we will begin moving the bedroom into the next room. This will be our dungeon,” she declared.

  The room in which he had been confined was about the same size as Mistress Lynn’s, and it seemed that his owner was ready to forego the size of the main bedroom to gain a comprehensive and fully pledged dungeon for herself.

  The main bedroom was large, and would allow them to completely display their tools and weapons. Such an array was not particularly big at present, and would seem almost lost upon the walls, but he knew they would be expanding it with this new level of commitment to the lifestyle.

  When he had first moved into this place, his belongings that had crowded his bedsit to capacity had left the new dwelling feeling barren. He had filled it over time, and the same situation would apply to their algolagnic wares.

  Standing upright, she removed the clamps one at a time, holding him upright with the remainder as he winced and sobbed with the distress. With the full flock of baleful mouths removed, he cradled the flesh, the keen bite still dawdling within the tissues.

  A whiplash cast of her arm grabbed slender rope to bind him, her penchant for rope bondage about to be indulged and keep him in torment for the night.

  His arms were exploited and sealed together, the forearms running parallel, connected to his spine by a plexus that enclosed his chest, the cross formation tight against his skin.

  Rather than replace the hood, she forced a set of tights over his head, and stuffed another set into his mouth. The hood of nylon was stretched in with the intrusion before she used a belt to fix it in place, so he could neither swallow nor spit out the gag of fabric. The leather strip slotted neatly through the rictus of his maw and was tightened into place, digging into the corners of his mouth.

  The tights had been worn by her, for he could smell the scent, the smell making the chastity belt a more annoying companion as it stifled his swelling response.

  The centre of the rope was placed about the back of his neck, the long coils draping down his front. With steady precision, she started to set knots down the front, five of them spaced equally from collar bone to just over the base of his penis.

  Keys rattled with merry chimes and the chastity belt was opened, letting him fall free before he was compelled to don his latex underwear. The smooth fabric let his erection strain against it, promising use if he could just access it, a use he was certain to be denied by her bondage. She was going to offer him relief but never let him gain it, a cruelty he loved her for.

  The knot at his groin let the twin ropes part and ride around his genitals, catching them in a scissors grip and ferreting into his buttocks, pushing at the plug and reaching up his spine. The pieces slipped over the strand across the back of his neck and started to stretch out around and under his arms. Taking the space between the knots on his front, each rope grabbed a single portion and stretched them out into diamond shapes before extending around the trunk of his body, over the spine long component and back to his chest again. The process rolled down his body, sealing him relentlessly into a formidable rope dress.

  The last two knots at his navel and groin had their links pulled out, pressing them to his skin, and the excess launched back to his collar. Rolling over the initial part and letting it function as an anchor, his arms were bent up his spine, the twisted limbs having the wrists caught together by a conjoined effort. The ropes parted again, each coiling upon his bicep in two areas, making the entrapment of his arms more formidable. Knotting them there, the long remainder was left idle.

  Fresh lengths were knotted upon his ankles, the bonds reaching into his instep to increase their reign upon the extremities.

  With a forceful hand, she had him lie on his front, and after bending his legs back, she slipped the twin strands over the corresponding rope issuing just after the knot of his collar. Using this bond as a winch, she hauled his legs back, bringing them up, doubling him over, his thighs leaving the floor as he whimpered from the pain of the position. She only stopped when his heel was almost to his shoulders, the extreme pose a terrible one to endure. Whimpering into his gag, he could do nothing, her bondage as inescapable as it was harrowing to his frame.

  Knotting the tethers back to his ankles, the fixtures were placed an endless distance away. He lacked the mobility to sway himself onto his side, collapse, or in any way ease his lot.

  The leftovers from his arms lanced up, snagging his knees, the joints the zenith of his ghastly pose as they were condemned with lofty placed knots.

  The rules were placed before him, and she slipped earphones in, threading them under tights and belt, playing him the doctrine softly enough so that she could not hear it, but loudly enough to burn them constantly into his mind.

  “Now, keep quiet, slave, or I’ll make this even more painful,” she threatened, and slid into the sheets, leaving him to his ordeal, his body twisted beside the bed so she could reach out and feel his travail whenever she wished.

  The sound of her slipping into sleep reached his ears, sifting over the beat of his panicked heart.

  His spine started to flow with prickly washes of pain, his chest pounding with intensity from supporting his entire frame, bent cruelly over and onto unforgiving knots. His breathing grew sporadic as he continued to weigh up whether or not to air his sorrow and seek reprieve. Holding on to his silence, he sought to get through the night, to endure without complaint, not because his rebellion would inspire harsher abuse, but because he wanted to obey.

  The hours trickled by like lethargic days, each moment drawn to new duration’s by his strain. The harrowing position seemed to evolve constantly, growing new areas of pain in his body as more of his flesh started to succumb to the spreading cancer of its influence.

  He couldn’t take it any more, his face was damp, his limbs numb to external feeling while filled to bursting with terrible internal sensation.

  For a lengthy time he worked at the gag, slowly using his tongue to push out the second set of tights. It was a valuable diversion, letting him dedicate himself to something other than the mayhem transmitting itself through his frame.

  Finally, the sodden ball was skipped over the walls of the belt, and dropped to the floor with a moist squelch. With his mouth finally free, he licked his lips, and let his aching tongue recover from long exertions.

  “Mistress,” he muttered, the soft words strained, seeking to become a shout, but kept subdued.

  There was no answer, only her soft, gradual breath.

  “Mistress Despoiler,” he repeated with greater volume.

  “What is it slave?” she muttered with lazy lips.

  “Please, the pain, I can’t take it anymore. Please, show mercy, Mistress Despoiler,” he whimpered, tears starting to trickle from his eyes, soaking into the fabric of the hose.

  “I warned you to keep quiet did I not?”

  “Yes, Mistress Despoiler, but please, it’s agony, I can’t take anymore, I’ve lost feeling in my limbs, I’m scared,” he spluttered, for though he knew she was an expert at her bondage, he was fearful that his own wriggles or physique might have betrayed him, letting valuable veins or nerves be compressed.

  A hand reached out and lay upon his hovering shin, the touch almost unfelt.

  “The skin is a little cold,” she certified, and leant upright.

  The yellow glow of the city seeped in through the open windows, providing ample illumination. The winter landscape and its ferocious temperatures were still being banished by the toiling radiators throughout the abode, the wind whipping against the glass, howling for entry. Outside it was freezing, but within, the heat was near tropical, allowing him to have been left so bare and not feel the cold of atmosphere, only
of tight bondage.

  The knots were quickly unpicked, and his legs dropped to the floor with a thud, lifeless and inert.

  The belt was opened and removed from around his head, letting his jaws close easier. In its place, the spined latex hood was drawn down, sliding easily with his head already cocooned in intimate nylon. Dragging the laces in, she tied them with a bow, and added the already waiting padlock.

  “Now come up onto the mattress my Porcupine,” she whispered, reaching down and removing the chest plexus.

  With his limbs free, he forced himself upright and slithered onto the soft sheets. Curling into a ball at the foot of the bed, his feeling returning as stampedes of unbearable pins and needles.

  Massaging his feet and hands, fighting the most intense zones of this corrupting feeling, he saw Mistress Despoiler put a leash by the end. Threading the clip through its own handle after winding around a wooden strut, she captured his collar and padlocked it in place. Confined to the end of the bed by this and lead to the personal stereo, he looked up and found her stroking his dark skull, letting her fingers brush across the stubby spines.

  “Goodnight my pet,” she smiled, and leaned leisurely back with a flowing elegance.

  Feet nuzzled into his stomach, boring through the bunched collection of his limbs to find the radiant nest within. He cuddled the feet lovingly, adoring his owner, feeling wonderfully blessed for such clemency and for this treat.

  He had been confined thus at the end of the bed many times before. Sometimes it had been a troublesome event, for though they thought themselves in privacy, sometimes, something went wrong. Such a time was when Lynn had knocked upon their door, rousing them from contented slumber. Having lost her travel pass, she was seeking to borrow money for the day’s fares. He smiled at the memory of them as they fumbled for the keys. Ordinarily she could just walk into their room, save this time there were harried shouts of just a minute, sounds of metallic rattling and general panic. She had been given her money through a near closed door, for he was using his body to cover sight of the copious instruments and devices left on display after the day’s activity, hoping she did not see his fresh weals.

  Such need for paranoia and cover up was not necessary any more, it was open and indulged. This room would become his den of captivity. He would suffer here for their pleasure. He would serve Mistress Despoiler, he would be hers. This chamber would be her church, with her glorious form as his seraphic altar. Latex was the substance of her vestments. The composed Commandments her Bible. Her Confessional was conducted with whip and restraint, her Communion offered only to the humbled, degraded and obedient.

  The sound of an alarm stirred him slightly from his deep and contented sleep, and Mistress Lynn arose to get ready for work. He did not envy her having to enter the bitter weather without, but smiled with relief at having been spared her rule this morning because he needed the rest. If he had a day of construction to get through, he would require all his energy, and if he lagged, the whip of Mistress Despoiler would be waiting for him, to bestow vibrant life to his weary limbs.

  Sliding back into sleep, still cuddling the feet of his beloved tyrant, he disappeared once more into the depths of slumber.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marching through the office, Lynn opened the door to the toilet and shut a cubicle behind her. Everyone else had headed out for lunch, but she had stayed behind.

  All morning her frustration had been growing like a virus within her, gnawing at her, making it difficult to work, hard to concentrate on anything other than the next time she could be worshipping her Mistress.

  Sitting on the seat, she reached into her pocket and drew out the pilfered objects. The clover clamps and a set of the Mistress’ underwear were her trophies, taken covertly and stashed away for this very reason.

  Unbuttoning her blouse, she pulled down her bra cups and teased her nipples, making them stand up under her caress, her head flopping back against the wall as she kept her moans hidden.

  Opening the clamps, she enclosed each about a teat and let go, grimacing and fighting to resist the urge to remove them. Gasping, she pressed the panties to her face, drawing them down so that the crotch hung over her nose.

  Drinking in the smell, she pulled at the chain between the clamps as her other hand dove recklessly between her legs, rubbing her tights and her own underwear, teasing her loins.

  Dreaming of filling her world with the sex of her Mistress, of being able to perform at her feet again, to share her bed, bound and helpless, she continued with gusto.

  Her breasts ached terribly, her body swelling with pleasure as she snorted in deep breaths and finally broke into rigorous jolts when climax struck.

  Drawing out numerous orgasms, all the while she pulled more and more tightly to the chain, punishing herself, fantasising that it was the Mistress hauling at the silver links.

  Croaking in envy of the male slave, she removed the clamps at the very peak of her pleasure, the shock of their flight taking her even higher, the pain now an intense pleasure to her.

  Settling down from the rabid heat of her exertion, she removed the underwear of the Mistress and sat on the toilet seat, thinking on what was occurring back at the house.

  How she wanted to be there instead of at this ridiculous office job. She had seen the chastity belt that the Grand Duke had brought. Was a similar one being made for her, or would it be different? The thought of such sexual incarceration was erotic to her, to be kept a prisoner thus, made even more the slave of the Mistress.

  This could well be one of the last times she could steal this illicit vice for herself. Masturbation would be impossible once that engineered construct was locked firmly in place.

  It riled her that the slave was with the Mistress. The dominatrix deserved better than a man, she deserved Lynn and Lynn alone. It was envy, pure and simple. She liked to torture him, sure, but while she was away she hated him for being able to stay there and serve her all day.

  But that would change. She knew things that he did not. She knew that they were heading to a new world, a world where they would both be slaves, used by those the Mistress appointed.

  It was an astounding notion to know that the Mistress had played her part so effectively, how she had been a noble in some debauched secret Sect. She had wealth, influence, peers of standing similar to her own, they had estates and city dwellings, veritable palaces of decadence. All three of them would be heading out there once they were finished here, and then she would be free of this life of pointless toil, free to submerge totally in her licentious passion, to be the full time slave of pleasure she now ached to be.

  Chapter Twenty

  When the diffused rays of the sun were once more in the sky, struggling against a blanket of grey, the two of them stirred and stretched.

  “Good morning, Mistress Despoiler, did you sleep well?” he asked politely, putting his cheek to the silky smoothness of her leg.

  “Yes, slave. Are you ready to start our day?”

  “I am, Mistress Despoiler,” he replied, feeling charged and eager, thanks to his sleep. His limbs were a little stiff, but otherwise he was fine.

  Removing the tether, she unplugged the headphones and rolled them up, sealing the coils to the back of his hood. With the means to indoctrinate ready to be played at any time, she dispatched him to prepare breakfast. Scuttling downstairs, he flicked on the kettle and began his chores, looking out into the day, the bleak severity of it, cold and dismal.

  A cascade of mail spilled through the letterbox, making him jump with the sudden disruption to the quiet serenity. He gathered that which was addressed to his owner, and bounded upstairs with them on the tray.

  Kneeling by the bed, he offered his burden to her and let her start to nourish herself while he watched her from within his hood, adoring eyes looking through the translucent pane of nylon hose.

  After near finishing her own, she finally placed his bowls of tea and food to the floor. Lifting up his face, she used
a painted nail to pierce the nylon, creating a mouth hole he might exploit, his nose and eyes still lodged beneath the veil. The aperture let him begin to devour, hands spread wide for balance, lapping and guzzling with alacrity.

  While he fed himself, she availed herself of the opportunity to open her mail in private, a trait that was not lost on him. One of the envelopes contained a number of others, each sealed, each being opened and the letter within read. What did that mean? What sort of company, or service sent letters within letters? It had to be a contact magazine, a personals section, or something akin to such a service. She had placed an advert, seeking something, and these were her replies. She must have been planning this descent into full slavery for some time, for the publication of such magazines was sporadic and infrequent at best. To be getting replies now meant she had to have organised her advert anything up to a month ago.

  Despite his concern, it was comforting to know that she was working so well in advance, her plans set. She was not ambling along with her dominant role, making whimsical choices, she had set goals, made schemes, and all was unfolding as she intended.

  With a great grin of glee, she slapped the mail into her palm and emerged from the sheets.

  “Right, slave. I want you to set up my bedroom next door, and I want a dungeon readied for me. Can you manage that?”

  “Yes, Mistress Despoiler,” he replied, for though it would take time, he was capable of the task.

  “First though, out of that underwear, after all I can’t trust you to do this alone and not play with my property,” she announced, and with dreary effort he complied, sliding the damp pants down and letting her lock the belt back into place.

  The Walkman was taken up and placed to his back, and a fully encompassing strand of tape was wound around his naked skin, fixing it in place.

  “Excellent. Now get to it slave,” she demanded, turned up the volume and left the room.