SlavesofMistressDespoiler (33 page)

Even if he pleaded with her, begged her to go back to how things were, could it be done? Would she even consider it? No, she had all she wanted, as she wanted, and his words would only have him punished and indoctrinated further to erase these misgivings.

The next attempt was even harder, his penis actually hurting now, the final orgasm a minute thing that was far eclipsed by the sore state of his flesh. He was still perhaps three more times short, and he could not continue, he had to rest, leaving himself in the bondage, listening to the tape, excogitating on his fate.

In vexed irritation he extracted the butt plug, setting it aside and letting his rear recover, hoping that he not be investigated before he had finished and reinserted the toy.

It was like the old punishment of forcing a child caught smoking to sit in a cupboard and finish boxes of them. His crime had been the using of that which no longer belonged to him, and the vengeance applied was to use it until he was in self-inflicted agony.

Resting himself, he lingered on his fate, making sure he kept himself dedicated to his goal, thinking prurient thoughts of his latex Empress, keeping himself fixed lest he start to resent his confinement and make it all the harder on himself.

Grabbing the half-hearted erection once more, he continued, working himself to an uncomfortable climax and adding another meagre measure to the pot. Deciding to wait longer this time, he read the rules to pass the time, mumbling along to them and reading them with the voice of his goddess. It was like a prayer, a list of her psalms that he had to memorise to pledge his faith to her eldritch religion.

For a time he examined and fumbled upon the locks and bonds, finding that though he had access, they were not to be defeated without the keys. The anchors were set deep, the screws too tight to extract without a tool.

One final time he closed his aching fingers to his burning shaft and with a wince started to coax forth an erection before working himself to painful satiety. The last spurt of his issue filled the small pot almost to capacity, and with a satisfied grin of no small relief he closed the lid tight. Drawing up briefs and leggings, he put away his chafed length, burying it beneath cool latex and drew the skirt back into place. Slouching in his bonds, relaxing, he awaited her return, his lesson learned through numerous grating lessons.

Looking into the dead vacant eyes of the teddy bear, she turned it around and ran a finger down its back. The slight trace of parted stitching gave her clue to alteration, and the unruffled, pristine nature of the toy proved that such a seam was not a result of wear and tear. Squeezing it, she felt a hint of something solid within.

Lynn had the skills of a seamstress, so it was logical to conclude that any hiding place might well be one sewn shut.

Her slave probably thought her ignorant as to Lynn’s excesses, but such was not the case. When she revealed the truth, she would probably have to punish him for having so little faith in her. She could still hear him, in the cupboard, tutoring himself as to the errors of his ways, in the doom that would befall him for defying her rule.

Opening the seam, she extracted the tape and returned to the other room, slipping on headphones as she listened to the contents. A smile crept across her face, tickling her cheeks with a beaming amusement at such a scheme.

It was a cunning ploy, one that her little slave would easily fall for, but which she had been expecting and had actually orchestrated prior to permitting it to unfold.

To have gained such awareness and perception of her surroundings, it made her feel all the more powerful. Her position as a Goddess was unquestioned, she felt omnipotent, this house was her universe where she was absolute ruler, and nothing could escape her attention, or her influence. All that had transpired had done so to her design.

Satisfied, she replaced the useless blackmail chip and used the same thread to restore the seam, hiding her discovery, letting Lynn believe she could taint or corrupt as she wished. But she was serving a purpose, and would continue to do so until the all-knowing entity of Mistress Despoiler decided otherwise.

Chapter Seventeen

Lynn stood before the front door, took a deep breath of courage and slipped her key into the lock. Opening it wide, she stepped through, clutching the shopping bag in which she had gathered several new purchases to assist her new role.

No sooner had the door closed than the voice of the Mistress reached out to control her.

“Come here, slave,” she stated, revealing instantly as to what caste she was first to dwell in.

Following the sound into the living room, she found the Mistress laying in the soft arms of the couch. She was clad in tight folds of burnished jet, the latex second skin hugging to her legs, rolling beneath stiletto ankle boots.

A short skirt of the same impermeable fabric clutched around her abdomen, and a gloss corset arose to haul at her sides and submerge half of her breasts beneath its cups. The crosses formed by the lacing down front and back were like kisses, each drawn tight, making her delicious curves all the more appetising to Lynn’s ravenous eyes.

She still wore her peaked cap, and the spiked collar and bracelets once more adorned her with their dissuading vicious appearance.

“How was work, slave?” she asked, pointing down to the area directly before her, causing Lynn to wilt and set aside the bag, its contents scheduled and intended for her dominant persona.

“It was fine, Mistress,” she replied humbly, eyes down, kneeling in penance before her owner.

“Did you relieve yourself?” her owner asked bluntly.

Lynn was momentarily taken aback by the question, the invasion of such a private fact making her stammer a few syllables, trying to find a way to answer that did not expose the embarrassing truth.

“Answer me, slave!” she hissed, and skimmed a light swat across the top of Lynn’s head, flicking over a few tufts of hair.

The sudden enforcement of her regnant melted the free will Lynn had recovered through the day and she withered under the ferocious tone and stinging smack.

“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry, but I did, I couldn’t help it,” she confessed, recalling the sneaking trip she had made into the toilets in the morning. Taking advantage of isolated solitude she had extracted her relief while dreaming of being back in this house and at the feet of the pitiless dominatrix.

“You disobeyed. You used my property without consulting me first,” accused the Mistress, closing a fist into the back of Lynn’s hair, pulling down to lift her features so that the slave might face the close and angered visage of her judge.

“I couldn’t Mistress, you weren’t there.”

“You could have called.”

“Called?” she questioned with shock, the prospect of sitting amidst her work mates and conducting such a request in front of them was unthinkable. Even though she did not possess a mobile, there were occasional precious moments where no one was around. She could feasibly do it, but it would be dangerous. The concept of being caught added a spice to the notion, one that had her almost eager to be back at work and soliciting the permission to masturbate from her Mistress.

“Yes! The phone, slave. You can dial can you not?” she stated with a vituperative hiss, pulling more forcefully on the follicles she had snatched.

“Yes, but, the office, I…”

“I do not care. Next time, if you want to make use of my possessions, you will call and ask. If I say no, you will not. If I say yes, you may pleasure yourself. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And don’t even think you an disobey, because I
will
know, slave.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Lynn answered with the sneaking suspicion that she would indeed know, the eyes of the Mistress ferreting out the confession from her slave’s eyes, seeing past what her mouth offered as an explanation.

“Now go and take off all your clothes, put your hair up, and meet me in the bedroom, slave,” she stated, releasing her with a fling so that she crumbled onto her side, her scalp aching.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Lynn arose, grabbed her bag and skipped meekly upstairs. Once within her room, she started to peel off her attire, stepping out of underwear and putting it all away ready for the next day. Gathering up her hair, she brushed out the knots and formed it into a rigorous ponytail, working with speed, her anticipation making her nervous and jittery.

Once completely nude, she proceeded next door, where she found the Mistress already waiting, her collar stretched between her cruel fingers.

The Mistress beckoned her forth and buckled the device in place, adding a padlock and then giving the D ring a tug to ensure all was firmly in place.

“Put these on,” announced the Mistress, handing her a black latex garment.

Accepting the cool rubber, she found that it was a set of briefs. But facing inward were two stocky dildos, each of which spewed a wire out from the other side, the cables leading to a small control box that the Mistress held. A tube of gel was handed over, the lubricant presented to assist Lynn in donning the intimate panties.

The vibrators would be controlled and operated by the Mistress, used to pleasure and tease her while she was mounted atop them. With haste she started to thread her legs in, and after smearing a generous measure of gel atop the two points, she worked their lengths into her. Groaning and shaking as they glided deep into her tracts, Lynn pulled up the briefs and straightened them, cupping her hands to the bases that pushed out as her muscles chewed upon the trespassers.

Suddenly they erupted with humming life, thrashing within her rear and sex, causing her to stiffen upright and squeak with shock at how vigorous their attention was.

The momentary flare of activity was stopped and Lynn sagged a little, panting from the sharp sensation that had been poured into her.

“Stand up, slave,” ordered the Mistress, and as she arose, a short pole was placed horizontally at the small of her back.

“Fold your arms over it and lace your fingers against your belly, slave.”

Lynn tried to do as she was told, but found that her fingers could only touch each other’s tips, the pole digging into the crease of her arm and stopping her from doing fully as she had been bade.

The Mistress had known the limitations and merely continued regardless. Rope was taken up and the thin coils began to encompass Lynn’s thin body.

A hoop again dropped about her neck and ran down her front, pausing to knot and then throw itself out, encasing her wrists, binding them before continuing its descent. The two ropes ran beneath her, and were pulled up tightly against her sex, slipping through her buttocks and to her rear, driving the dildos deeper into her, pushing her onto tiptoe. The rope snagged the back of the neck hoops and started to reach out once more with its woven tendrils.

A cross formation about her chest tightened through degrees, and then snagged her biceps. From here, loops ran in a figure of eight across her chest, each hoop snaring a breast and wringing it, making Lynn gasp as her assets welled with discomfort.

Locked within the intricate plexus of loops and knots, each breath fought the compression, the rope grating against her skin.

The Mistress released the long lines of excess, leaving them as a forsaken leash that spilled onto the floor. Instead, she stepped before her property and looked across her strangled breasts. Lynn winced slightly as her nipples were tweaked, the Mistress choosing to grope and fondle the bound breasts prior to continuing with other deeds.

A set of clover clamps appeared and Lynn groaned inwardly at the sight of them. Opening their padded jaws in twin grips, the two implements closed in towards her erect teats. Releasing them, they settled their fierce bite into place as Lynn inhaled deeply with shock, the chain links that connected them rattling as she shuddered in her restraints.

The dull pound of their influence was stronger now because of the breast bondage, accentuating their effects as they hung from her, the chain chilly against her skin.

“Now, slave. Lick my boots, and do a good job. You are already going to be punished for having masturbated without permission, don’t compound your errors by treating my boots with anything other than total respect.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she whispered, and sank down, moving awkwardly because of the pole against her back and the loss of her arms to serve as balances.

Grovelling at the feet of the Mistress, Lynn started to lap at the dark boots, slobbering on them and attending their polishing with a flashing tongue, the organ still a little raw from all the oral sex she had performed the previous night.

The dildos sprung into life, the Mistress spinning the dial that sent them into a frenzy of thrumming motion. The rods thrashed against her tracts, tickling her clitoris and making her fawn on the boots with all the more adoration. The dildos slowed their rate, dropping to a slower shuffle, maintaining her hedonistic haze.

There was a whistle of air and a thwack sounded against her raised and proffered buttocks. An instant later the compressed nerves erupted with a new wave of extra pain, the cane a methodical and crafty enemy.

Lynn unleashed a pained squeak and paused in her task, slithering through the peak of suffering. The dildos stepped up their speed, helping banish the clouds of duress and restoring her to her lowly duty.