SlavesofMistressDespoiler
A loving couple indulge a predilection for S&M, fetishism, and bondage. Suddenly, the Mistress introduces their mutual friend into the scenario and their illicit pastime becomes a permanent reality.
The man-hating female is submissive to his wife, but dominant over him. She torments the slave relentlessly while she in turn is subjected to the humiliations of the Mistress who keeps her firmly in her place. Plot and counter plot run rampant as each person tries to gain what he or she seeks, and all of it is carefully manipulated and steered by the sublime Mistress of the household. Finally, the truth emerges and they realise that the woman they call Mistress is far from the person they thought her to be.
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Slaves of Mistress Despoiler
Copyright © 2013
Bruce McLachlan
ISBN: 978-1-77111-388-5
Cover art by Carmen Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
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Slaves of Mistress Despoiler
By
Bruce McLachlan
Chapter One
He shivered upon the floor, but it was from anticipation of his Mistress’ arrival rather than from cold. Even though the full ferocity of winter was raging outside, the bitterness of the elements was banished by ample heating within their home.
The two-storey maisonette was lifted far from the ground in a fifteen-storey block. It was a veritable fortress in the clouds and it overlooked the squat suburban lands arrayed far below them. Its elevation also served well in providing ample privacy. No one could simply pass their windows and spy what was occurring in the sanctity of their home.
Since they had moved here they had never even seen their neighbours, and thus the strange noises of punishment and suffering that might spill through the walls went unchallenged. Should they ever mix or speak with such people, sly innuendo or sniggers might ensue. However, paranoia and isolationism was rife in the area and so it seemed that the home was the only inhabited one in the entire concrete bastion.
Kneeling on the floor, he was clad only in latex briefs. His hands were tied behind his back, with the wrists and elbows entangled in a mesh of woven rope. A leash had been anchored to a fitting in the wall and this kept him restricted to a small area of movement as it stretched silver links to his collar.
The stout leather band was firmly closed about his throat and it had been padlocked shut to irrevocably prop his head up on its rigid walls. A hoop of delicate chain links at the front held an identity tag of the type one might find on a pet. One side of the etched metallic disc read
Property of Mistress Despoiler
, while the other simply stated
Porcupine
. The reason for this christening was immediately apparent because of his new latex countenance.
The rubber hood that was such a regular part of his attire smothered both his head and much of his neck. The heavy, thick sheath was armed with short stubby spines across the whole outer surface. It offered him a small mouth slit, and meagre punctures at his nostrils and eyes to access the outside world.
The Mistress had further impeded the senses of her Porcupine by forcing a bright pink ball gag into his maw before the donning of the mask. Gagged by the orb, he was thus left wheezing softly through the vents under his nose. Underwear had of course preceded the gag. The intimate garment had been wrapped upon the ball and was now sodden with his saliva. Another divine cruelty had been the placing of another set around the hood. The spines helped keep the thong in place and held the crotch over his nose to make him drink of the aroma with every restricted breath.
What was transpiring outside the hood was virtually unknown to him because the sheathtended to muffle sound. This trait caused added punishment on occasion when he misheard or failed to detect her commands during the intensity of their sessions.
He had been serving her for some time now, exploiting the times when they were alone. The problem was that they shared their domain with a friend and did not wish to reveal their diversions to her. Lynn had expressed an intention to save for a home of her own and his partner had invited her to stay after broaching the topic with him and gaining his acceptance. So while their friend worked during the day, or spent weekends away with others, they converted much of their home to suit their secret lifestyle.
Mistress Despoiler had become a consummate dominatrix and had enslaved him totally. Her genuine relish in her role was a thing that filled his heart with joy.
Regarding the room around him, he felt the change of atmosphere that the new additions had cultivated with their emergence.
Windows spanned one deep blue wall and the curtains were open. Their double bed lay against the opposite wall and was neatly made with black quilts covering it. It had been pushed into the right hand corner, away from the door that occupied the left. A black wardrobe and long cabinet followed the right wall, while opposite them, rows of hooks had been introduced in neat waves. These supported clothes on average days, but when their sessions were being conducted, rows of weapons and implements dangled from them. A shelf on either side helped hold items such as dildos and other esoteric implements, all of them ready for use with a mere snatch.
It was easy to recall the source of every instrument and object. He could freely tell where they had bought it, or made it, what history it had with them, and the things she had done to him with the toys, weapons, and devices that had been amassed. Such a sense of record made the arsenal an even more personal cache. Each piece was a segment of memorabilia rather than just a disposable and replaceable trinket.
This was not an indulgence of domination fantasy for them. They lived it as their reality to gain a wondrous sense of fulfilment and purpose from this dark aspect of their relationship. He could not believe his fortune in finding a mate who would so readily take on such a duty.
Others they knew in the cities alternative scene often joked and played with the imagery, pretending to have leanings into such an art while bragging and crassly making rude displays of their supposed fetishes. When they heard or saw such things, the two of them always simply kept quiet and smiled privately to themselves, smug in the secret knowledge that they had travelled further into perversity than any of the novices and pretenders about them. Together they had gone deeper into decadent hedonism than any they knew. While not extremists in acts, the full adoption of their parts more than paled the brutish excesses of the hard-core dabblers.
The soft grey ambience of the winter’s day drooled in through the windows and granted a dull light to a bedroom that had been swiftly converted into a dungeon. It felt a little like the lair of a comic book hero, because at the touch of a metaphorical button, everything revolved and revealed a covert existence.
There came the soft signal of stiletto heels and the door opened to reveal his latex-clad goddess.
She was adorned in her most familiar attire, these being the first garments they had bought for this purpose. His heart wilted to see her again. His eyes could never tire of her glorious visage.
The torso of Mistress Despoiler was compressed within the powerful hold of a sleeveless halter-top. The zipped front was enforced with the allegiance of a line of rings that set laces over the zip. They tightened the top and accentuated her glorious curves and mouth-watering breasts. The latex was like armour that teased him and protected her, offering him what he had to suffer to even touch.
From the hem of the top rolled a zip fronted pencil skirt that followed the curves of her legs. It finally ended at her ankles and exposed the bottom of her knee high boots. The patent leather was laced closed and obediently lifted her upon rapier heels that shone like obsidian daggers.
The skin of her arms was anonymous because of the embrace of latex opera gloves. Each finger was rounded and phallic, like jet serpents, ones that had probed and punished him without mercy. The short tresses of her black hair were lost under a peaked military style cap that had been purchased in the States from a store that dealt to the police. The short sides and back to her hair were hinted at through furtive exposure, revealing that her entire head followed this cropped and savage style. Without embellishment or adornment to its black surfaces, the plain hat gave her a wicked glower as she regarded him from the shadows it cast upon her glare. He wilted slightly at the sight.
He wondered how many times had he been suffocated under her latex smoothed rear, or suckled on the fingers that had on occasion forged an entry into him, or whipped him, or bound him. How many times had he been fawning on the floor, lapping at her heels with complete adoration? There were too many to name yet each was distinct and powerful in his mind, the occasions wreathed in a dream-like haze that he clung to and treasured.
Without word, she paced around him, her heels clicking upon the bare timbers. This predatory circling of her prey made him shrivel even more as he was intimidated by an aura of almost tangible dominance.
“Does my slave feel obedient today?” she asked sternly.
The words were slightly marked by the accent of her native California and were soaked with the authority that she wielded with expert precision.
He nodded softly. The mane of black hair at the back of the hood flopped over his shoulders with the motion. Already his erection was starting to strain against the tight latex underwear and his lithe and shaven form trembled distinctly. He suckled upon the gag, chewing at the cotton and the inflexible sphere while he drew of the scent of the underwear. It was a wonderful humiliation, and it was a debased infliction that he revelled in because it
was
such a form of derogation. It was a strange concept, but his slavery was replete with such paradoxes.
“I have a new diversion for you today, slave. One that I will certainly enjoy, even if you do not,” she stated, making his eyes widen as they regarded the floor.
His dissolute thoughts suddenly ran through possibilities, seeking an answer to the presented mystery. He could feel her grinning at the sight of his concern.
“But first, let’s clean you out,” she decreed.
She began to untangle the hose from the enema bag. The device was hooked high onto the wall in readiness and a brief trip outside was followed by the sound of thundering water as it filled a large jug. Mistress Despoiler gathered the necessary store to purge him and returned at a leisurely stroll.