SlavesofMistressDespoiler (30 page)

“Get into your uniform and get to it, slave,” she stated, and folded her legs, the softest whisper as a fishnet smothered leg brushed against its twin making him close his eyes with sudden appetite.

Rising up, she paused him before he left.

“Kneel before me a moment, I almost forgot something,” she stated, and as he lowered humbly before her, she drew underwear back down over his hood, restoring the garment he had been wearing prior to Mistress Lynn’s inclusion in their lives. Straightening it so that the scented crotch hung over the vents for his nose, she smiled with glee.

“Off you go now,” she dismissed, and he scampered upstairs with light steps, taking advantage of the fact that he could move so freely before the restriction and heels of the uniform hampered him.

Entering the room, he found his uniform dry. Applying talc, he slid into it and polished the surfaces to a sheen of mirrored ebony before setting about his domesticated toil.

The cleaning up of the house was a tedious duty that he only found bearable because of its servitude to her. Ordinarily he despised it, and avoided such mundane routines whenever possible, but when acting within the bounds of a session, it took on a different edge. Would it remain like this now that this position was permanent, or would he tire of it?

With enthusiasm and indolent limbs he handled the sweeping and hoovering, cleaning the bath and sink, polishing, collecting rubbish, dirty cutlery, dishes and glasses from the interior of the house, and then starting the washing up.

Working with a steady rhythm he meditated on his fate, on how this new relationship would progress. Would she tire of him? Would she seek other slaves and find superior ones to him? Would he become obsolete to her, replaced by serviles with more capacity to sate her needs as a sublime Mistress?

He heard a brief hint of footsteps behind him, a noise concealed by the muffling material of the hood. Caught unawares, he jumped with shock as a hand clamped over his mouth, dragging his face back as he felt another set of gloved digits yank up his skirt and pull down his leggings.

The momentary questioning as to what was occurring was scrambled when the plug was crudely tugged out in a single move, installing a riot of harsh pain in his sphincter. His rear had grown used to its new, slightly open state, and a sudden flaring wrench of widening was met with a cry of discomfort.

The reasons for this were answered when a lubricated length drilled into him, stabbing through the cheeks of his buttocks and finding his rear, tearing it open and boring deep. His mouth jerked open and he cried out in pain from the sudden shredding violation, Mistress Despoiler having attacked without warning, employing the strap-on to ravish.

Thrusting deep, he dropped the dish and the cloth and clutched to the taps, holding to them for support. Grinding his teeth, he closed his eyes against the sight of the net curtains across the window, enduring the flare of pain the rending entry had caused. It was a trying feat to let it subside, for she jolted back and forth, making his sphincter churn with new heat from the violation she wrought. His heels wobbled unsteadily beneath him, his arms being the crutches that kept him upright.

Keeping one hand clamped across his mouth in imitation of a classic rape scenario, her other hand joined the plotline. Taking control of his right wrist, she twisted his latex coated arm up his back, pinning him against the edge of the sink as she thrust deeper into him. Drawing the phallus from his scorched rear she started to plunge from root to tip.

The full length was shoved to the very limits of his rear, punching the flesh before she slowly released the weapon from its living scabbard and repeated the motion. Each time she stabbed, he gasped, and each time she slid it free with the plastic dragging at his tender membranes, he moaned softly.

After a few minutes of this defilement, he started to grow used to it, the level of discomfort dwindling and letting him gain a shade of pleasure in the feel of being so monstrously ravished. The feel of Mistress Despoiler pinning him down, overpowering him as she raped him with gusto, it was wonderful.

He began to reply to the artificial sodomy with more verve, grunting softly and tensing with her grinding intrusions, delighting in the sensation of being penetrated and having his tracts choked by a trespassing length.

Using the shaft as a means to steer him, she turned him around with the hands that held his mouth and arm, forcing him down onto his knees. Letting go of his lips, she pushed with her arm lock, doubling him over, folding him at his middle. Trapped on his knees, his rear still pierced by her harnessed manhood, his masked cheek touched the ground and she kept him in this supplicant pose.

The arm lock rose higher, squeaking as latex slid against latex, forcing his face into the tiled floor. She continued to rock her hips, churning the device within him, moving it in beating circles to stretch and punish his sphincter all the more severely. His other hand pawed at the ground before him, his face grimacing with the strain of accommodating her sadistic motions of ravishment.

“You like this, slave?” she asked, her breath sibilant from how much joy she was taking in this act.

“Yes, Mistress Despoiler, I do,” he replied under tight respiration, each breath held to as he endured the chastisement she wrought with her temporary sex.

In answer to his words, she stepped up the savagery of her plunges, driving deep, jabbing from the side, stretching him terribly and swivelling as she drew out, causing him to spasm and groan aloud from the defilement.

“How about now?”

“Please, Mistress Despoiler…it hurts,” he whimpered softly, each word wobbling as she inflicted new levels of havoc into his tracts.

“You want me to stop?” she questioned, sheathing her dagger deep into its living scabbard, the toy a weapon for her evil intent.

“Yes, Mistress Despoiler, please.”

“Very well,” came the curt response and she jumped free, making him flick with a tensed jerk at the violent flight, his free hand clawing sealed fingers to the tiles.

Baffled by her acceptance of his wishes, he remained where he was when she let go, his rear aflame, his body shaking.

The softest creak of latex sounded and she arose to her heeled feet, dragging up his leggings and tugging down his skirt, affirming that his brutalised rear was indeed to find mercy. Stepping before her slave, the patent leather appeared to his humbled bleary gaze.

A hand clamped about the base of his pony tail and used it as a lever to bring him upright onto his knees, the soiled length of the dildo wobbling before his eyes, jutting from her tightly encased latex abdomen.

The same hand trailed down in winding sweeps across the fields of spiked black rubber and lowered to the nape of his neck. Cupping the collar, she pulling inward, seeking to guide him onto the loitering shaft.

He resisted a little, somewhat scared to accept such a deed, but she merely overrode his second thoughts and forced it into his mouth.

His lips closed around the plastic rod as the tip grazed the back of his throat, making him gag and splutter. The hand at his neck closed tightly to the ponytail and used it as the means to manoeuvre his head in violent jolts, a piston of motion to the sculpted artificial manhood.

This punishing misuse of the cascade of hair made his roots growl in fury, yet she kept her rate while forcing him to serve the object of his debasement. He could not breathe through his mouth, instead he had to suck in his panting lungfuls through the underwear over his face, the smell on them filling his world.

“That’s it, slave. Suck it. Clean it well for your Mistress,” she purred, her words descending to his ears as the sight of her abdomen zoomed in and out directly before him—bound in alluring rubber, the pane of fishnet crossing her hips and running down her thighs, the harness spitting out the cruel dagger of plastic that been thrust into him. The sight of it had his own member straining against the walls of his leggings, aching to receive attention.

His free hands reached around and cupped her ankles, the leather of the boots stiff under his grasp. While attending the dildo, he risked letting his gloved fingers wander further, and gently he held the taut calves of his oppressor, the mere touch easing his defiance to this deed. It was the feel of her flesh, sealed under this tantalising net, her legs made firm, the muscles flicked to a rigid pose with her stance, like a boxer, crafty and seasoned, ready to attack in the flicker of an adoring eye.

Once she had properly educated him into what she required, she released the guidance, letting him continue as she had taught. He performed the required fellatio with enthusiasm, hauling at the harness with the suction of his mouth, cleaning it fully for Mistress Despoiler, performing the chore as though it were his most crucial crusade.

And all the while his hands gathered new pleasure in the mere hesitant groping of her calves.

“Are you enjoying that?” she uttered, the words bringing nods from his latex bound head.

“Perhaps I’ll bring in a male slave, and have you do this to him. Such practice on my dildos will come in handy when you’re attending another of my slaves.”

Could she be telling the truth? Or merely threatening him? Was she intending to bring new slaves into this scenario, to have him placed amidst a stable of such devotees?

“There, that’s better,” she muttered to herself, placing her hands on her hips, the smooth silken material of the opera gloves clutching the join of fishnet and rubber.

Towering over him with her aloof glare dropping onto him like the kiss of the sun, her rigid stance, her expert method of subjugation, it had him wilting like a candle in a flame. He sucked at the dildo as though it were truly a part of her, as though his attention were giving her the bliss he desired to extract by his own hand. The fervour of his drag rocked her hips in the gentlest motion, the straps softly whispering their creaks as they held to her, his face dragging at the perpetually erect staff. Such minutiae only added to his awe.

Pulling free of his maw, she stepped back and stood with a crooked pose, one leg to the side, hands on her hips, the artificial manhood glistening with his saliva.

“Now, pleasure yourself while you worship me,” she ordered, her tone revealing that this was a favour of no small magnitude.

With haste he removed his tumescent length from within its crypt of latex and grabbed it with an all too eager fist.

“But you are not to finish, is that understood, slave?” she ordered.

“Yes, Mistress Despoiler.”

He did not care that this would frustrate him dreadfully, he needed to feel the pleasure, to attend his most burning need, heedless of the consequences and how it would compound his suffering.

With a frenzy of movement he began to masturbate, staring across her gorgeous form, totally entranced by it. The stimulation of her presence to worship in the flesh accelerated his lust, and he felt the warmth spreading through his genitals, rising up the shaft and readying to explode forth.

Fighting to stop, he wriggled with the burden of denying himself. Holding still, his shaft throbbed in his hands as though it had its own heart within.

The fires of his libido ebbed enough to permit him to continue and he commenced with greater sloth, drawing out the joy, extending it. The sight of her was divine, inspiring his passion, his eyes fixed to her form as though it were the most exquisite masterpiece.

The heady cloud of his passion was swatted back, his teeth clenching as he felt the flames rise and near the point of eruption once more, forcing him to stop.

The frustration was terrible, and though he knew he should not draw himself so close to orgasm, the temptation to exact such felicity was too alluring, and he could not stop himself from continuing again.

Time and time again he almost ejaculated, compelling himself to end at the last moment, depriving himself when a mere shuffle of his hand would gain him the final reward she dangled before him but never delivered.

“That will do, slave,” she decreed, and he sighed with disappointment and a measure of relief, knowing that he would not have been strong enough to resist temptation much longer should she have let the encounter continue.

“You may pay homage to my legs and recommence your masturbation, slave,” she added, and turned around, presenting the rounded cheeks of her rear to him, the flesh coated with the diamond pattern of the fishnet, separated by the tight band of the rubber thong.

Scampering forward, he kissed and ran his lips to her calves, his gloved hand once more clenched tight to his penis, slowly dragging back and forth, his delight filling his mind with exquisite sensation.

The image of the fishnet landscape passing beneath his close scrutiny, the smell of it even over the underwear, the feel of her legs, it was all almost too much to cope with at once.

“Now my rear, slave” she crooned softly, letting her head loll back as she felt his attention rise upward.

With lips trembling, he reached her thighs and crossed the border onto the smooth mounds of her buttocks, his limbs shaking as he slavishly paid his devotions. Stealing a lick of the latex strap that bisected her buttocks, the taste scorched his tongue. Instantly he almost succumbed to climax, his hand shaking as though suffering a grandmal seizure as he tried to prevent himself from finishing.