SlavesofMistressDespoiler (6 page)

He was keeping his eyes closed firmly shut to protect them and so he was denied the chance to see her and where she might attack. His main goal was to keep the candle steady but as the wick meticulously ate at the wax, the thick pond could not be stopped from spilling. His snorting nostrils tried to cool it, but the globular clusters that formed onto the sides soon started to drip their issue straight onto his cheeks, nose, and chin. This made it even harder to stay still. Lines slipped over his lips, reached across his face and sweat-sodden features, and froze to indelibly mark their route.

A peg was suddenly removed and it let a fierce shock of throbbing feeling rock one of the spots near to his hip. The same peg swung in the air during a moment of deliberation and then dropped back down into a fresh spot whereupon it snatched a new area.

Writhing and gently fighting the restraints, he could do nothing save try to keep still and quiet as she continued to drip wax across his chest and belly, onto his arms, and cruelly into his armpits.

The sounds of his muted cries and squawks of shock continued, even against the candle hat was so madly clutched by his mouth. Finally, the decibels were deemed too annoying to the ears of the Mistress.

“I can see I will have to gag you,” she decided aloud.

Lynn removed the candle with care and shoved her foot deeper into his jaw to prevent any movement. With spite, she tilted it over and dropped blistering spots across his mouth as he mewled and cried out. With a derisive tut, she blew out the object of his punishment and set it aside.

Lynn looked across the ball gag and then surveyed an inflatable version, but she was not satisfied with either. Having seen Mistress Despoiler’s use of hosiery, she entered her adjoining room with a steady strut and retrieved underwear from her laundry bag.

“Would you like these, slave?” she offered, knowing full well that such a humiliating trinket would be greatly welcomed simply for its acutely degrading effects.

“Yes, Mistress,” he rasped, and the wax on his face cracked from the movement of his skin underneath it.

He was unsure of whether he could stand such an attack. In average fantasy it was fine, but she was no fictional Mistress without identity, she was going to do it for real and humiliate by gagging him with her underwear. Would she do it, or was she bluffing? In many ways, he hoped she was.

Stepping forward, her long legs folded and she settled beside him. Sinking her fingers into his reluctant cheeks, she forged an openingand then stuffed the soft thong of fabric in. He recoiled and fought to stop her as his tolerance snapped like overextended elastic.

Keeping it in with hooked fingers, she squashed his tongue with the worn garment and then leant back to take up the ball gag. By forcing the sphere in, she broke whole regions of solid wax. The underwear became trapped on his palate and muffled his words as she buckled the ball into place with a haughty yank. The material started to absorb his spit and was rough against his tongue. The taste of it seeped out to bring cringes and savouring wriggles.

“Now, where was I?” she wondered.

The sound of stretching latex drew his awareness. It was the unmistakable signal of gossamer thin surgical gloves being slid into place. He had left the bag of pegs beneath a set of such gloves, so that Mistress Despoiler might be more inclined to use them when assailing intimate regions. His ploy had backfired massively.

With a bright snap, they were set in place and she flexed her fingers. Lynn interlocked them and ensured that the sheaths were properly placed on her digits.

Settling between his promiscuously splayed legs, he felt her pull down the front of his briefs. It was a relief to know that she was not being hindered in their encounter, but it also caused fear as to what she might be planning. Mistress Despoiler might be tempered by the intention to make use of his shaft for passionate coitus. Mistress Lynn had no such considerations for his well being.

A harsh pinch grabbed at his scrotum and made him scowl. Another was delivered, and then another. Lynn took scalding grabs of his flesh and turned his testicles into a cluster of ebony pegs, his skin squeezed in a dozen mouths. Each application made him quake as they continued to steal away feeling and replace it with pulsating pain.

The line between his anus and scrotum gathered a solid row. Each peg was to attention and squeezed the skin terribly. More were snagged onto the shaft of his penis, and others into his inner thighs where caused him to shiver and buck from their cumulative effects.

“Oh dear, I seem to have run out. Well, I guess I’ll just have to recycle them, slave.”

With the entire flock in position, she returned to the very first one she had installed before the wax. The first regiment of veterans was now pounding with a ferocious ache. The first removal had him jolt with the suffering wrought by its flight. The loosed peg was reapplied on his thigh and a new implement was selected. Again, the effects of its loss ravaged him and the peg was transferred to a new locale.

“I could just do this all day,” she giggled.

With steady, attentive amusement, she continued to pain him with this scenario, removing pegs to eat at him with woe. Denying mercy, she added each to a new spot and continued this long rota of calamity.

When all of them were removed from his genitals, the flock migrated back. They punished the new locations with their departure as they returned to the old. Tears welled in his eyes as the line under his testicles were removed, this region being the most painful to endure so far.

When it came to placing them back, Lynn had seen his responses and discovered the places that were most sensitive. These were the zones where he would go rigid and cry into his gag, strain at the bonds and gasp for breath while he rode the wash of suffering. She exploited this knowledge fully, showing no pity by choosing these locations first and concentrating on them.

With his genitals once more struggling under a full load, the wooden devices clicked on each other as they were played like a glockenspiel by his quivering motions.

Lynn stood up and leant over the slave. With hands on hips, she regarded him from above, letting the feel of her newfound control creep over her. He ached to reach up and just touch the gloss-painted contours of her frame, to let his hands feel the tight smoothness of her thigh boots and the dagger heels. Even to hold her hips, to place his grip to them and let his hands worship the aura of her dominance. It was all he wanted, was to touch, anything else would corrupt the image of a merciless Mistress. The role she held made her a porcelain figurine, delicate and wonderful, but to touch it was to break it, and worship from afar was a much better and rewarding scenario.

Acting capriciously, a booted foot lifted up and settled onto his chest. The sole and heel pressed in to crack waxen fields underfoot. With a sadistic lethargy, she turned the heel and made him squirm as it dragged at his skin like a rotating pinch.

Stepping back, she used her pointed toe to flick and rustle the pegs. The captured pinches were revived with new levels of wrath at being disturbed.

“Enjoying the taste of that underwear, slave?” she asked wickedly, and continued her hassling nudges and sweeps.

While he winced and choked, she drank in his dirge and then began to remove the baleful instruments. Their lengthy companionship caused them to be all the more vicious in response to their flight.

Setting the pegs back in the bag, she started unfastening the restraints and then nudged him in the flank with a pointed toe of jet fabric.

“Turn over and put this under your belly,” she ordered and dropped a pillow beside him.

He struggled and managed to roll over. His body was weak from its confinement and torment. Lying down on the thick cushion, he put his stomach to it and remained silent upon the floor.

Pain filled his hand as she stepped onto it. The platform sole pressed down with increasing weight with his fingers trapped beneath. It was a capricious act of sadism. The Mistress was letting herself succumb to wanton acts of brutality as she explored this new realm of devilish delights.

“Mmmm, I could just crush this right now, couldn’t I, slave?” she asked.

“Y…yes, Mistress,” he said, the gag making the words near incomprehensible.

“I can do anything I want to you,” she said, speaking more for her own benefit than his.

“Yes, Mistress,” he repeated.

He winced and shuddered, trying to keep still, her increasing force making his face shrivel while she studied his travail. Whimpering into the gag, trying to form words to betray his concerns, he thought that his bones would snap from such mistreatment.

“What did you say?” she quizzed gruffly.

He whined and burbled incoherent and muted pleas. He was sorely tempted to try to get her off. He was not restrained and had such an option available to him, but he was held in check by his desire to submit.

“You are trying to tell me what to do? You are trying to give me orders, slave?” she growled.

Lynn applied a jolt of extra pressure that made him gasp aloud from the ferocity.

“Am I not the Mistress here? You are my slave to do with as I want! Do you question that authority?”

He shook his head virulently from side to side. Lines of saliva swung from his lips as he tried to deny the accusation for fear of its consequences. His other hand scratched upon the timbers of the floor and then the free hand darted to help the other. He stopped short and then jumped back when she added new weight. His free extremity was baffled as to how to act.

“So despite me telling you to be quiet, you disobeyed,” she spat.

Lynn stepped from the punished extremity. She left him to flounder and nurse the injured digits as his free hand at last found a task to perform.

“I can see I shall have to be more firm with you, teach you to respect me as you do Mistress Despoiler,” she announced, and a slight kick caught him in the bicep.

“Put your arms along your sides…
slave
,” she ordered.

Lynn moved to the selections of implements so she might make choices to amuse herself and torment her entrusted possession. Her heels dropped on either side of his arms and she squatted down, facing his rear. The feel of her gloss-sheathed behind settling into his upper back and compressing his chest was a sublime one.

It was hard to breathe. Her weight upon him had his chest fight the burden. Crushed into the pillow, it elevated his rear a little, suspiciously opening him to attention there. Her legs folded back and the heels dug in near his armpits. The patent leather leaned heavily to his arms, trapping him beneath her thighs so that he was again powerless to defy her.

With his face against the ground, he wheezed through his nostrils and felt her shift her weight slightly as she fetched some anonymous device. The vinyl layer dragged at his skin, making him yearn to adore it.

There was a hum of displaced air and one of the straps fell onto his rear. It sent a ripple through the soft tissues and then a peg snatched a pinch of skin in the warm rectangle it had implanted. The bruised flesh reviled this addition to him.

“What do you say?” she asked firmly.

Swallowing for strength, he formed the words. The reply hissed out because of her weight upon him and was distorted by the gag so that it was muffled and almost unintelligible. If the text were not already known, it would have been incoherent.

“Thank you, Mistress Lynn.”

“Do you want another?”

“Yes, Mistress Lynn,” he replied with muted tones, knowing that to deny was to inspire retribution.

“Then say it. And say it each time, slave” she added, her words flecked with excitement and happiness.

“Thank you, Mistress Lynn. May I have another, Mistress Lynn,” he grizzled.

The strap fell into his thigh with a stern swat. The applause rang in his ears as he set lose a minor yowl.

“Be polite, slave!” she corrected.

“Thank you, Mistress Lynn, may I
please
have another, Mistress Lynn,” he announced over the gag, hoping that this would be enough to sate her wish to crush him under her will.

In immediate response, another stroke was applied and a peg followed it. His tongue rubbed against the material of her underwear. He shuffled his legs, his toes wringing upon each other as the kiss of the strap faded.

“Thank you Mistress Lynn, may I please have another, Mistress Lynn,” he groaned.

As requested, the strap fell with a severe clap before the peg was snapped into its targeted spot and sowed pinches in the fertile and raw region. After his obligatory gratitude and petition for more, another came. The Mistress made the skin sore with a heavy-handed swat of the strap and then added a peg to the tenderised spot.

Snapping a full selection about his buttocks, she moved onto his inner thighs. These afflictions caused him to splay his legs all the wider, despite the promise of opening more of himself to attack. Any movement made the wooden tools wiggle and increase their effects. Grunting and whimpering under her, his legs slithered and wriggled against the floor as the woman rode atop him and continued to brutalise him with elation.

Each little wooden maw contributed to the grander symphony of his travail, and he was gurgling with frustration and distress once she had installed them all. His entire lower region reverberated with the combined potency of the devices.