SlavesofMistressDespoiler (12 page)

“Granting this maggot his relief, Mistress Despoiler. I had a good mind to deny him for all his many faults, but he’ll be impossible to manage if I don’t.”

“You might want to bind him afterwards, slaves can be unruly in the afterglow of their little orgasms,” she offered.

“Yes Mistress Despoiler,” added Lynn.

“If you want help, just give me a call.”

With a soft sigh as though this were a mundane thing of no real consequence, she turned and wandered off. She had deserted him to this demeaning little ritual, and though he should have logically been furious, it couldn’t be so. Instead it merely made him pledge his devotion to her all the more fervently.

Ejaculation beckoned, his body swaying with the ecstasy as his hand darted in a blur of dynamic action.

“Mistress Lynn, may I finish,” he asked, holding the handkerchief in readiness.

“No,” came her blunt response, his hand continuing towards climax despite her refusal.

“I said STOP! Don’t make me go and get Mistress Despoiler,” she growled, the words bringing him to an abrupt halt.

His hands trembled with frustration. He knew that to disobey this appointed dominant would be looked on as disobeying his true owner, and that carried grave consequences.

With the source of his disobedience being a scene of enforced masturbation, denial for a prolonged period was likely. Such a fate was terrible when faced with how wondrous his owner was. To be held chaste in the slavery of such a goddess was the most hideous of fates. Right now he needed that. His predicament one that had left his mind raw and in need of the comfort that was her ownership.

Kneeling upon the stool, riven with pangs of tension as he fought to comply with her demands, he could only sit and pray that she permit him a chance for relief. The tide of his lust started to reluctantly withdraw, carrying his climax away on a slow and annoying tide.

“You may start again, slave,” she purred. Lynn studied him intensely as he commenced afresh, letting him bring himself wondrously near to an end.

“Please Mistress Lynn, please may I finish?” he asked hopefully. The humiliation was gone, swept away by the offer of a momentary and all too fleeting bliss.

“Let me see…” she pondered. Rubbing her chin in thought she gave him the hope of permission as he eagerly accelerated to exploit her deliberation.

“No,” she stated gravely, the words making his heart sink once more.

“Please, Mistress Lynn, please let me finish!” he begged.

“I said
no
, and I meant it. Don’t presume to question me, slave, and do as I say or I’ll deny you for good!”

With a whimper he held onto his pulsating shaft. The flesh was throbbing distinctly and was irked at this irrational end to his caress. He started to feel his incensed libido wither.

Once his climax had slipped through his fingers, she interlocked her gloved digits and rested her chin on the smooth cradle.

“Start, slave,” she idly permitted, having him commence with an air of futility hanging solidly about him.

Once more he felt his relief hover within a mere burst of risking thrusts.

“Please Mistress Lynn, pleeeease may I finish,” he whimpered.

“Very well,” she permitted with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

Issuing a soft sigh of gratitude, he thanked his fates and quickened. Spasms and jerks ruled him as he was crippled by the potent throes of orgasm. Spits of his seed flecked the handkerchief, the droplets raining down as he tried to contain himself. His body cavorted and his balance ailed as he milked himself of all he could gain and stole every morsel of pleasure he could. The torments she had performed rushed like a flood through his mind’s eye. The helplessness, the cruelty, the image of her tight plastic skin winking in the light, her callous glare, the sting of her cane and whip, all of it gripped him like a prurient vice. The blackmail, the unwavering demands she placed on him, all of it took his climax higher, his masochism being a beast that cared not for his sanity and found more intense delight the more real and damaging his servitude proved to be. His eyes locked to her thigh boots and he yearned to lap at them, to fawn at her heels in worship, to grovel in the fruitless hope of offsetting her next terrible punishment session.

He slowed to a halt and wiped the last residue from his tip, his head lowering as the teeth of shame returned in the aftermath to gnaw at his dignity. The obscuring veil of pent up pleasure had been lifted, revealing him in all his scandalous embarrassment to the light of another’s scrutiny. He felt like withering up into a ball and hiding from all eyes, especially with the traitorous thoughts that had been in his mind when he climaxed.

“Now what do you say?” she asked with glee, ensuring he could not avoid the knowledge that he was under examination.

“Thank you, Mistress Lynn,” he murmured.

“What was that? Speak up, slave?” she repeated, cupping a hand to her ear like a hearing trumpet, his words too soft for her wish to have him devalue himself.

“Thank you, Mistress Lynn,” he repeated with more volume, his throat choked with rage and sorrow.

“That’s better. Now I’ll get Mistress Despoiler. I want to see how she intends to confine you.”

With these words the harridan left the room, striding upon her skyscraper heels, her lithe form squirming within the tight folds of the gloss attire.

The need to be bound so as to ensure a revival of lust and a continuation of the session was an old precaution. With previous dominants, he had not had the will to submit in the haze of extracted orgasm. Such fuel took time to reacquire. It seemed as though his aptitude for servility dwelt in his semen, and its loss deprived him of his perversions until he had replenished his store. But with Mistress Despoiler it had been wonderfully different. No matter what occurred, he was ready and eager to continue, his expectancy for renewed slavery just as powerful and recklessly driving as always. Her preciousness to him overrode all.

But now he was subjected to the control of another woman. It was a new variant and the use of old and obsolete precautions were being employed. Was it to keep him humble? To dissuade from rebellion? The suggesting of it by his owner hinted that perhaps she wanted him out of the way for a short time. What was she planning? A discussion with Mistress Lynn perhaps? A debate to probe her actions, expectations, her results and comments on him? Had she purchased something she wanted to show off prior to its initial use on him?

Mistress Lynn returned with his beloved Mistress, several rolls of cling film held between them. The substance was an old comrade - a friend and nemesis to him.

“Sit on the stool slave,” demanded his owner, her voice silken and sultry, a sound he could contentedly die listening to.

Without pause he complied, eager to follow the commands of his true Mistress as she knelt down before one of his ankles.

“With the muscles slack, you can bind them considerably tighter than normal,” she narrated.

With his leg loose, she started with his ankles and began to work her way up. Pulling the translucent sheet to the point of breaking she ensured his flesh was squashed and that any attempt to tense would be met by the staunch resistance of the cling film wrap.

Layer upon layer was gathered and it rapidly rose to his thighs. Mistress Lynn copied the expert work of her fellow dominatrix like an apprentice in the abstruse arts of bondage.

With each leg fully mummified they attended his arms and chest, lifting them out so they might exploit the slack muscles and entomb him all the more thoroughly. The sheets continued to build up, hiding his skin tone as the quantity being placed upon him returned to its native silvery sheen. It soon appeared that some vast synthetic chrysalis was swallowing him up.

“Breathe out, slave,” growled Mistress Despoiler, making him expel every portion of breath as she circled his ribs. Every subsequent inhale now had to fight the sheath. His waist was sucked into a narrow hourglass and his shoulders were hopelessly sealed in.

Taking his forearms she held them behind him. He was told to grab each bicep so that the extremities flowed along each other. With successive layers she started to trap them and seal them together. After this bond, the wrap started to encircle his hands. Plastic flesh was grown across them, eradicating all features and devolving him towards a worm-like entity of denied senses.

Tight bonds pressed the fingers in and prevented him from even moving them within the abnormally large amount of wrap they acquired. Such density would stop him using his nails to cut a path out, and all hope of escape was further depleted as Mistress Despoiler began to wind it around his torso. With everything mummified, his arms were sealed to him as she used the same roll to descend after this task and started re-covering his waist. It was a delicious fate, in being devoured by this wily shell, the rolls and sheets eating his movement, leaving only the tactile banquet of being tightly compressed.

“Help me lift him would you, Mistress Lynn?”

The slender female took his other shoulder and hauled him to his feet. His muscles immediately ached from the task of trying to swell within an artificial skin that was now too taut and inflexible to accommodate them. It felt like his skin had shrunk upon him.

With his legs parted, his groin was fully compressed. The winding layers completed the suit before continuing down once more, this time sealing his legs together as Mistress Lynn helped hold him steady.

Fully cocooned, this was still not to be the end for his entrapment. A rigid pole was set along his back. Reaching from his crown to his ankles, the mounds of his bound arms bent him back against it. The pose was uncomfortable to keep but he was not required to hold it, the cling film was to enforce it regardless of his opinion.

The strut was set in place by another squeezing glove of cling film. With their subject rendered helpless, the two women laid him out on the floor, his form wriggling almost imperceptibly within the skin-tight cell.

“And now for the final touches,” pronounced Mistress Despoiler.

First, she took a Walkman with auto reverse and slotted in a short demo tape that she had converted to sing a far more fiendish tune. Putting the earphones into her slave, she drew the device down and used tape to seal it to his chest.

Using a blindfold mask, she moved the latex hood down over his face to hide all but the vents for nose and mouth. His maw was then filled with the inflatable gag. The straps were flung around his skull, over his head and under his chin and were then wrenched tight to force the rubber and leather plate firmly to his lips. The balloon began swelling under her rapid pumps, crushing his tongue into the base of his maw and brewing a severe ache in his strained jaws.

“Sweet dreams, my pet,” crooned Mistress Despoiler and then flicked the play switch.

While the soft hiss of the tape spooling around wafted to him, she informed as to her intent.

“These are going to be your rules from now on, slave. I compiled them personally and you will learn them thoroughly. I will not implement them fully just yet, I shall give you a little while to start to memorise them. But learn them you will and obey them you must, unless you wish to incur my displeasure,” she warned with gravity.

What manner of commandments was she readying to install? Would he be able to distinguish them when they re-entered the ordinary life they shared, or would this indoctrination encroach even into that?

He could not escape the commandments, they were being poured into his ears, branding his brain with their continuing erosion at his mental barriers. Like a sea against the cliffs they ate at his mind, seeping in, taking root, indoctrinating him to the way of Mistress Despoiler, the reworded repeats to the most pressing laws serving to ingrain them all the more indelibly.

“You will serve, obey, and please Mistress Despoiler. Above all else your desire is to please Mistress Despoiler. You worship the body of Mistress Despoiler. You worship the knowledge of Mistress Despoiler. The power of Mistress Despoiler fills you with awe. To receive pleasure, you must earn it. You worship the implements of correction of Mistress Despoiler. You trust Mistress Despoiler with your life and well being. You are nothing more than an object for the enjoyment of Mistress Despoiler, an instrument to be used.”

Lost in isolation, he swirled within the void of his own confinement, his mind drifting. Struggles against his bonds made them feel all the more oppressive, his muscles swelling against an immovable and pitiless shell.

“You will ask the permission of Mistress Despoiler to satisfy any need you may have. Your body and mind are the property of Mistress Despoiler. You must always immediately give thanks to Mistress Despoiler for all you are given. You will not hesitate when responding to the requests of Mistress Despoiler. You will thank Mistress Despoiler for the discipline and punishments she gives you. You have no will of your own except the will Mistress Despoiler has allowed you. You are always in submission to Mistress Despoiler, regardless of the situation. All of your choices are based upon whether they will please Mistress Despoiler.”

Perspiration started to well upon him, the heat of the captivity increasing. The slickness of the artificial skin made it slither upon him as though it were somehow alive.