SlavesofMistressDespoiler (24 page)

The sound of the events that had unfolded behind him had contradicted his earlier thoughts. Mistress Lynn was also the slave of Mistress Despoiler, and from the sheer besotted intensity in Lynn’s voice as she thanked her, she was not playing at her role. She truly devoted. He could understand such worship because he too was just as entranced, but now he faced the possibility of someone who might want her all to themselves. Would Lynn try and force him out of the picture, or did she like abusing him enough that she would wish to keep him included in their affairs? Only time would tell. How long had she been a slave anyway? Had this been a recent event, or had it been occurring for some time? Would Mistress Despoiler tire of him now that she had a lover of her own sex? So many unknowns hounded him and he had no answers, only fears.

Turning around with an abashed and hidden visage, he crawled back over to them. Mistress Lynn had restored her former status, her face now flushed with colour.

Mistress Despoiler stepped before him, smiling broadly and turning to the reclining form of Mistress Lynn as she stared intently at the contours of the one who had just so erotically tormented her.

“Hand me those cuffs and leash would you, Mistress Lynn,” she asked. Her tones were aloof, deliberately placed above him and to a fellow lofty equal.

“Certainly, Mistress Despoiler,” she lightly responded, and the rattle of chain and buckles followed.

He felt the stern leather cuffs close about his wrists before they were pulled behind him. After tightening to a snug fit, they were connected by a hefty padlock that also captured the end link of the lead. A haul at the tether lifted his arms, twisting them up, forcing him deeper into the boots of Mistress Despoiler. His shoulders churned with a swell of distress, his ligaments being pulled taut.

“Lick them, slave,” she stated, and held tight as he slobbered lovingly upon the footwear, his member fighting the constriction of the briefs.

To be her permanent slave was one of his most tempting obsessions, but one he dared not try and instigate because it would give him no retreat from slavery. They had sometimes played for a week at a time, maybe two, their sessions always coming to an end to let their normal roles emerge and restore them to a shade of normality. But what was going to occur now? There was to be no more escape back to mundane life. He was hers, with whatever consequences that brought.

The leash lifted him back up and was ran through a ring on the rear of his collar so that it folded his arms up his back, contorting them before she used another padlock to transfix the links just after the ring. The rest of the lead spewed forth to still keep a reign on him, but the padlock stopped him lowering his limbs. He was unable to squeeze the chain through the hole because of the obstructing padlock. Of course it could still be dragged out even further like a choke chain, meaning that any sharp tug allowed them to twist his arms with a shock of pain.

“I want to test my new toy on you, slave. Mistress Lynn, if you would keep hold of him for some target practice?”

“Certainly,” she replied with cheer, accepting the lead and drawing him on his knees away from Mistress Despoiler.

With a swing of her arm she set her weapon free. The scourge spilled upon the floor, kissing the carpet, ready to fly and attack, as was its singular purpose.

Mistress Lynn tightened her hold, winding the chain about her hand before bending him over. Making him squat, she captured his head between her knees, her thighs squeezing his skull to keep his gaze fixed down her boots. Held in this pose, he was denied the feel of her fishnet stretched skin by the thickness of the hood and could do nothing save await the first lash of the weapon with trembling breath.

Mistress Despoiler lowered his briefs and a light cord was encircled about his ankles. Each length reached out to encircle the base of his genitals. It formed a tight bond that would stop him from rising or kicking his legs out. The prospect of injury or heinous self-castration efficiently ordered him to keep very still.

The whip arced out with softest hum upon the air and with a thunderclap sunk its claws into his lower back. With a jerk against the confining frame of Mistress Lynn he let out a cry and was taken by surprise at the intensity of the stroke. A spasm of his abdomen punished his groin and made him give up trying to get away. Would this be the level of treatment he would come to live with under this new regime of female superiority?

Again the whip lashed out, etching fire into him, making him struggle to get free. With a yank Mistress Lynn tormented his arms, subduing his struggles as he sobbed softly beneath her.

After she withdrew the whip, the eager tongue lapped at him again, tearing into him with passion, making his back scream in distress and his cry to spill out and echo in the room.

Mistress Despoiler stepped forward and took hold of the root of his ponytail. Yanking his head out from under her assistant she craned his hidden face back.

“Maybe this will help keep you silent, slave,” she stated with severity and revealed a set of her dark tights as well as a torn thong that sparkled with moisture.

Immediately she stuffed them through the vent at his mouth. Forcing both sets of underwear within his opened maw she filled it entirely before she treated him to a smile and moved him back into the vice of Mistress Lynn’s legs. The tang of a woman’s pudenda and saliva were overwhelming on the thong, and he guessed that they were the ones he had detected as a source of contention between the Mistress and Lynn while she served as a slave.

“You will learn to keep quiet slave, or perhaps for the first three months of your captivity you will be kept permanently gagged,” she warned, threatening him with the complete loss of speech should he continue to abuse this privilege.

Biting to the ball of her tights and underwear, he savoured the feel of being gagged with such an intimate trophy and waited as she readied her aim. The whip sang upon the air, exacting a tune of gurgles and stifled howls from his lips. Lines of drool rode over the sodden gag as his tears flowed freely, her whip making him suffer terribly as it burned its scorching welts into his back.

The flogging continued for a steady dozen and then stopped, granting final respite while he drooped. As he recovered only the feminine leg scissors that held to his head and the tether to his arms supported him.

“That will do for now,” she announced, and gathered up her new weapon. It was easily the most feared in her arsenal after this illustration of how savage its effects on him were.

The bonds at his ankles were set free and he flopped when Mistress Lynn’s legs parted, dropping him onto his side where he shivered in acute shock. She disdainfully nudged his face with her toes, making him stare deep into the boots, his reflection distorted in the patent view.

“I want you back in your white lingerie by the time I get back, slave. Make sure you have shoes on and your cuffs and collar as well,” she commanded of Lynn.

“Yes, Mistress,” she saiddelighted that she would be again dominated this night once the male slave had been forcibly put to bed.

Taking the leash, Mistress Despoiler led him up onto the stairs and into the spare room, his legs wobbling under his battered physique. The box room was bare, holding only a wardrobe, some shelves and a bed without blanket or pillows.

“This will be your room tonight, slave,” she decreed, and led him over to the mattress. Sitting him down and against the head of the bed, the leash was wound around and locked to the metal strut, keeping him in this enforced pose. Spreading his legs wide into a lewd split she used the cord to tie his ankles to the sides and keep him trapped in this position for the night.

Her fingers reached into his mouth and drew out the wet tights and ruined thong. Laying them on the bed to dry she freed him from the bloated but savoury presence in his maw.

The last portion of his entombment was the list of rules. The identical copy was set before him, propped up on a slanted book that she kept upright and angled with a pillow. All he had now was the image of his owner and the rules to occupy his sight. The alluring image of her frustrated him greatly, stoking a passion he had no way to ease.

“Goodnight, slave,” she said fondly, patting his latex-sheathed head before throwing a light blanket over his lower half. It was a strange act of consideration to complement his distressing bondage.

“Goodnight, Mistress Despoiler,” he uttered softly, and she strode from the room, closing the door and turning off the light.

Left in semi-darkness, the moonlight slipped through the windows behind him, revealing his naked skin and making it glow with an incandescent quality in the pale light.

Held in the awkward position, he strained his arms and found them unable to get free of the bonds she had installed. Likewise his legs were trapped and he could do nothing save sit in the reclining pose. Tiredness offered sleep, but the position denied it.

He could not spit out the plug, nor find anyway to sate the hungry cravings of his erect penis. He was enslaved, and this was an intense aphrodisiac, but he was being held chaste and though it frustrated this in itself proved a form of arousal, compounding all attempts to give him rest.

He thought on what the Mistress was doing to Lynn, what she was being forced to do while he was gone. He would never have guessed that such a facet existed in the woman, and now both of them were the unquestioning adoring wretches who served and worshipped Mistress Despoiler.

The exhaustion of his entrapment continued to gather, letting him slither into a hesitant half sleep. The words of the rules reverberated through his mind and the image of the Mistress tantalised his every thought as he tiptoed deftly into a vague facade of slumber.

Chapter Thirteen

The sound of the door opening stirred him slightly in his sleep, and the feel of someone kneeling onto his mattress brought him to full awareness. Opening heavy eyes, he saw Mistress Despoiler, creeping across the sheets towards him with predatorial design.

He opened his mouth to speak and her hand clapped across it, cutting off his words. She drew aside the blanket and sat astride his legs, moving the rules and its makeshift lectern aside while she made use of him.

She was clad in her gloss bra, the garment pressing her breasts together to create a deep and succulent cleavage that he yearned to bury his face in. Matching opera gloves rolled up her arms, and fishnet stockings encased her legs, leaving her loins free.

As he sat rigid with excitement and no small amount of concern, he watched as she started to play with the latex briefs. Already his shaft was straining against its bonds, a restless zombie under a grave of tight latex. His owner removed the final obstacles and opened the front, and with a vivacious spring he arose to full and proud attention.

Her hands opened the buckles of his shackles, letting his arms flop to his sides, weak and enfeebled by the prolonged entrapment, barely able to move.

Shuffling forward, she lowered herself onto him, guiding him with one hand as she returned the other to his mouth, keeping her control of him plain as she let herself swallow the length.

Clenching her teeth, she started to ride herself upon the tumescent shaft, closing her eyes and running her nails upon his chest.

Lost in his own rapture, he reached up to paw at her delicious form, to feel her as she molested him at this midnight hour.

“Don’t touch me, slave,” she hissed and shrugged off his hands before slapping him harshly across the face, stinging his cheek.

Dropping herself down, she used her own sex as a means to punish him, her grip and sudden jerk forward twisting his erection and making him snort with pain.

“Now just lie there and don’t move. And if you dare climax without my permission, I shall make you suffer.”

She recommenced her motions without delay, making him struggle to retain immobility, the fierce riots of bliss calling for him to respond more aptly, yet he knew he would be tormented hideously for daring to disobey. He could feel the warm tide of orgasm rising, and there was no indication that she was going to permit an end any time soon. Clenching his teeth he tried to repel himself with thoughts of acts and sights that defied arousal. Desperately he conjured sights of revulsion to banish desire - horrendously fat, old women, syringes, insects on his face.

There was no way he could resist any longer, she had to give him permission. Straining, seeking to hold back by sheer force of will he tried to obey. It was a vain effort, and surrendering himself to the inevitable he fell into a potent orgasm, shaking as she continued without any deceleration. She was exacting more pleasure than he could take, almost bringing him to pleading for her to stop, so overwhelming was the influx of delight.

Feeling his disobedience within her, she rose up to make them both cavort in spasms of rapture, and she moved from the bed with an intensity ruling her features. Her hand grabbed about his face, vinyl fingers squeezing into his cheeks to keep his eyes fixed to hers.

“You’ll pay for that, slave,” she promised with a sibilant hiss.

Lying there, dejected and yet strangely satisfied for his meagre rebellion, she released his face and instead grabbed his offending shaft in a rigid fist.

“Put your hands on your head,” she whispered, and shot him a dark glance that had him instantly complying.