SlavesofMistressDespoiler (29 page)

“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 him 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.

The feel of the hose within him was distinct, and he wondered how much more would be entered into him. Was he destined to become some sort of organic underwear drawer for her?

Chapter Sixteen

The sound of the front door shutting resounded softly through the house. Ordinarily it did not wake her, but since Lynn had left the room, she had not returned to sleep and had arisen to listen in. Poised behind her door, she monitored as her slave was worked by the pitiless comrade in dominance.

The abuse had her savouring the noises of his distress, mulling over each croaking whimper, but also ready to intervene should the excesses of her unbound assistant prove too distasteful or extreme.

All was going perfectly. Her slave was being subjected to the most disdainful treatment, a regime that would soften and mould him, make him pledge himself to her rule more fervently than ever before, and for where she was intending to take him, he would need all of that zeal.

With a smile, she turned and returned to bed, to nap awhile longer before choosing to go and relieve her slave of his havoc.

The ease in his confinement allowed a greater shade of sleep, and this, coupled with his exhaustion had him languishing on the borders of slumber. Dithering, unable to fully cross into recovery, the deprivation made the world seem all the more strange and unreal around him.

Almost as a spectral presence, Mistress Despoiler appeared before him, rising up as he was stirred from lethargy. Like some angel of latex she manifested an avatar to control him, towering over him, filling his deprived eyes with her countenance to make him weep with gladness to see her.

She was once more adorned with the cap, the single steady constant in her attire. A sheath of latex clutched around her torso, riding under her bust and reaching down to her hang just over her hips. The shimmering fabric left her pert breasts on brazen display, the nipple rings winking in the soft light of the dawn.

The corset like bond threw a triangular pane over her loins, the garment moulding into a thin strap that rose up between the cheeks of her rear. Fishnet tights rolled down her legs, following the exquisite contours before entering ankle boots, the patent stilettos laced down the front. Opera gloves rolled along her arm, the polished metal shaft in her hands spewing forth the leather thongs of the cat

He had never seen the attire before, and it filled his mind with an intense desire for her, this new image one that pleased him greatly.

“How is my slave, this morning?” she asked, her voice a powerful sound, no trace of doubt or weakness within it.

“I am fine, Mistress Despoiler,” he responded.

“What happened to my bonds?” she asked, cupping his groin and squeezing gently, promising greater pains if he did not answer truthfully.

“Mistress Lynn had me serve her this morning, and she did not put them back, Mistress Despoiler,” he answered, his breath quick from the imminent crushing of his genitals by her.

“I see.”

The hand came away and she started to remove the ankle bonds and shackles, setting him fully free and lifting him up by the leash.

“Kiss,” she said with warning, letting her hand lower so he might wilt and place a single peck upon each ankle of her boots.

“Good. Now, let’s sort out breakfast,” she decreed, and towed her possession back downstairs, his head a little groggy from the pathetic night of sleep he had managed to gather.

Setting herself in the armchair, she stared into the already running television, drawing her possession down at her side, compelling him to squat as her faithful hound.

“Fetch breakfast,” she ordered, and released him from the leash, the restraints coming loose, his arms flopping at his sides as he pushed himself back onto his feet.

Clad in hood, collar, briefs, and shackles, he sprung into a race to obey. Scurrying off, he began to work, his limbs taking a few minutes to gather enough steadiness to be of service and not a hindrance to his toil.

Gathering two bowls of cereal, and a dish and a mug both filled with tea, he returned. Handing his owner her food, he set his own down so he might dine of the same fare as her, but in a significantly more humble manner.

The leash snagged his collar and he languished on his knees, lapping up his lowly servings, cleaning the bowl and revelling in his depreciated pose beside her.

Once more he was set free to dump the plates in the sink and return to kneel by her, her hand resting on the polished dome of his hood, stroking her fingers to it as she watched the morning programs with detached intensity.

“Go and study the rules, slave,” she decreed, sending him into the corner like a schoolboy, to read and reflect on his lessons, learn his place and hope to gain teacher’s favour.

Kneeling in the corner with the rigid pose of a faithful devotee, he read through the lines, gazing lasciviously at her picture, his penis hard in his briefs. His hands sought only to ferret out the entombed length and grant himself physical pleasure as he indoctrinated himself to her will, but he had to fight back such urges.

After a good half an hour of receptive meditation, she called him back to her side.

“What shall we do today eh my little Porcupine?” she wondered, looking upon the featureless orb of his skull, running her hand around the stubby spines.

It was not a question he was supposed to answer. She was merely pondering aloud, making him aware that she was weighing up her abuses, ready to explore and experiment in the role of permanent enslavement.

“First, I think I’ll let you get your chores done, then we’ll decide,” she announced, and set free the leash.