SlavesofMistressDespoiler (2 page)

“Bend over,” she ordered upon her entry.

Taking the nozzle of the apparatus, she kept it elevated as she filled the open top of the bag. The rubber sac swelled with the contents. The water was steaming slightly, and this made him grateful that it was warm. The times she had opted for cold had cramped his insides terribly, and the times she had added a little wine had brought an instant and bizarre intoxication that hampered his physical ability to obey or perform tasks, which of course resulted in discipline.

Lifting his rear into the air, he placed his rubber-covered cheek to the ground. He felt her pull down the back of his briefs and expose his rear to the nozzle. The slight lowering of the plastic tip caused the pressure of the bag to send a stream speeding through the tube that in turn expelled the air. After a little spurt from the end, such as one might use to clear a syringe, she raised it again until it stopped. Bending the hose in her grip, she shut off the flow and returned the point to his proffered rear.

The plastic tip touched his sphincter and tunnelled in. It slithered to a halt and she let her other grip go. The steady jet began to pour into him. It washed through his insides and rolled along the twists and turns as an internal flash flood.

Shivering at the sensation, he closed his eyes as she stepped before him and placed a boot onto his head. Settling her sole onto his temple, she had the heel lay against his rubber-entombed scalp. Adding weight to this sculpted object of his worship, she pinned him firmly down. His fingers wrung upon themselves as the waters continued to swell within him.

The rattle of chain links sounded like merry bell chimes and the leash moved from his neck to snag the rope at his wrists. A haul from his owner lifted the extremities. Dragging them up, she made his shoulders swell with internal havoc.

Denied interference with the enema, his face was forced deeper into the ground by this drag at his arms. Mistress Despoiler kept her reign taut to maintain absolute control of her property.

The pressure within him started to rise to less easily acceptable levels. The force in his gut strained angrily at the ever-decreasing space and the walls of his innards fought to accommodate the bloating ocean.

Gurgles and groans started to slip from the mask. His legs quivered but could not assist him. His fingers trembled and screwed into fists. He tried to relax his belly but the rising discomfort and panic made it difficult, yet this was the only way to diminish the distress being inflicted on him. Every time he clenched, it simply caused the internal sea to punish him. Each squeeze made the waters churn and reveal their significant quantity through the play of his tracts.

“Okay, that’s enough for the first one,” she decided.

Mistress Despoiler always performed this ritual twice to ensure the best level of intimate cleanliness.

Having swallowed the contents of the bag, the foot was removed from his head and the tether to his shackles of rope lowered. The pipe was brashly tugged free to make him flick with a shot of movement.

“Now for some exercise,” came the next revelation as to his fate. The leash was used as a mordant encouragement for him to rise and it twisted his arms up his back and restored him to his feet.

His briefs were tugged up and a slap to the latex confirmed their placement. The chain links were then fixed to a clip that was set in the doorframe. The thick wood formed a most stable anchor that he could not haul free of.

The shortness of the lead kept him on tiptoes. His arms were contorted upward and the ropes plagued the flesh because of this position. However, this was to be the least of his concerns.

From the row of offered instruments, the wandering hand of the Mistress closed about the polished metal strut of a whip. The heavy, intimidating weapon flung forth a cascade of thick leather ribbons from its tip.

The numerous strips swayed with her step as she walked casually back to him and watched his struggles and his futile dance against inescapable bonds.

The weight of the water was already starting to descend. It was rolling down and pressing with greater force to his harried orifice. The dam was taking more strain with every moment, and the duty it had been bequeathed was more than it could handle.

The tentacles lashed out and slapped to his thigh. Her heavy-handed swing countered the lesser effects of this weapon, which stung and caused a battering shock as opposed to the searing concentrated mayhem of her canes and crops.

With harsh flicks and swipes, she struck at his torso and legs. Whipping him with speed, she made him dance and skip, to try to find shelter as he was compelled by instinct alone.

“Don’t let any of that escape, slave. Or you’ll be licking it up!” she warned.

The level of such a threat caused him to bolster his efforts to hold the waters in check. He did not know whether she would indeed go through with her promise, but he had no wish to call her bluff.

Croaking and desperate, the feel of the douche forcing itself against his innards was too much to bear. The agitating of it with his response to her whip made the task even more impossible, but the energetic instruction of the scourge was undeniable. A brief leak emerged and was contained within his briefs. The feel of the escaped waters made him clench with frantic fright.

Praying that she show mercy and permit him to expel the baleful enema, his wish was only granted after another few minutes of hideous endurance where he cavorted under the hot kiss of her flogger. When she ceased, he was panting and slouched to the wall, his skin alive with hot flashes.

The leash was set free and she drew him to the toilet. It was a brief passage across the landing, where four adjoining doors accessed the smaller rooms of their friend, the spare room, the bathroom, and his badly required destination. The banister protected from accidental passage onto the descending stairs that reached the kitchen, the front door, and the spacious living room.

The tiny box room served the facility with singular devotion. The inside was painted jet black so that it seemed to absorb the sparse light of the overhead bulb. In a sinister fashion, candles arose from malformed hillocks of wax across the back of the system and on the shelf that lay before the minute, frosted window.

He was dropped onto the seat after his owner had pulled the underwear down onto his thighs.

“Not yet, slave. Hold onto it,” she ordered.

The position he was in made it terribly difficult to deny the flow. She cupped his chin by grabbing the point with her jet fingers. Hoisting his gaze to meet hers, she loomed over him as a spectral angel of latex and erotic torment.

“Now slave, I will leave you to this and prepare the rest of my entertainment. I want it all ejected, and for you to clean yourself afterwards, understood?”

He nodded and she drew the back of her hand down his concealed cheek. The stroke elicited some squeaks of latex language and then she straightened the thong and fled.

The door closed and with a satisfied sigh, he let a forced jet of soiled waters thunder forth into the bowl. For long minutes he continued to expel the intestinal pool and when he was finally satisfied that all was gone, he started to clean his rear with awkwardness and flush away the douche.

With nothing else left to occupy his time, he sat upon the toilet. He was unable to easily access his groin and grant himself pleasure as he waited, but even if he could, to do so in his slightly deafened condition would prevent him hearing her approach. To be caught masturbating was a crime she was sure to punish most grievously.

The door opened without warning and he was thankful for having had willpower enough to deny the starved voice of his libido. The leash was caught upon his wrists and he was drawn out and back into the room where the steaming enema was already waiting.

Bent over again, the nozzle was threaded into him and the leash drew his arms up and out of reach of the intruding shaft. Her foot once more settled on his smothered head to subjugate him with her power as the flood poured into him. The water was extremely hot and caused added discomfort. With all major obstruction removed, it could flow further into him and reach new areas that it blighted with an uncomfortably warmth.

Croaking in his ordeal, he felt her apply more pressure to his head and the dense latex proved a feeble shelter.

“Keep quiet, slave,” she snapped, and the whip slammed to his wiggling rear to bring a throe of distress and shock.

Again it struck. Mistress Despoiler applied her punishment at random intervals, leaving longer gaps than usual as he fought to take the enema without complaint. The struggles and physical replies to the scourge caused the heel in his head to be an all the more painful companion, but one that he enjoyed too deeply to see depart.

The trial of the swelling pressure mounted. This time it was accentuated by her whip until, for a second time, the bag was fully drained.

Left with the hot reservoir burbling within him, he found it an uneasy presence that was far harder to abide than the first. This time however, when he was released, he was taken to the toilet and fastened to the porcelain.

His legs were parted and drawn back before being tied about the ‘U’ bend. Once he was splayed on the bowl, his briefs were drawn onto his thighs and the leash at his wrists was locked about the pipe to pull his arms down.

“Keep it in, slave,” she ordered firmly.

Forming a noose of rope, she fixed it about his throat and ensured that it was placed beneath the collar of his hood. She drew him down with the tether and tied it in place by his feet. This left him bent back and unable to straighten or move without squeezing his own throat.

Mistress Despoiler drew on a scented filter mask and stood before him. She was now protected from any noisome vapours by the perfumed cup across her nose and over her mouth and that meant she wanted to observe him.

“You will not allow any of it out until I say, or I will punish you most rigorously, slave,” she warned.

To be studied as he expelled the douche was more degrading than he would have assumed. It was harder to face the humiliating act than the holding back of the waters.

He should not have been so acutely embarrassed, after all, what shame was there in his slavery? Nevertheless, he
was
ashamed. His face burned under the hood, his eyes tried to avoid looking into hers, and instead they regarded her luscious body. The fight to hold the enema in was further increased by the wish not to perform so demeaning an act before her.

However, she was masked and intent on slashing his dignity with this deed, because it was what both of them wanted. She would revel in her personal destruction of his pride, and he in turn, despite his misgivings would come to relish this experience, putting the memory in a trophy case of debased acts.

Fighting to obey and to spare himself, the task grew ever more arduous. Small drips started to worm their way through his frantically clenched sphincter. The fall of every droplet echoed in the bowl and exposed his perfidy.

“I gave you an order, slave,” she growled with a subdued smirk.

She knew that he would fail. She was not going to grant him permission until he had.

Reaching to the shelf and its forest of gnarled waxen spires, she took up a set of pre-hidden clamps. A thin chain linked the pincers and their tips were sealed in small plastic hoods. The toys of suffering swiftly reached out and snagged his nipples.

He unleashed a deep croak as she tightened them by forcing up the small hoop that encircled their two arms. The Mistress then let them hang loose. The small metal chain was chill against his bare chest and gave delicate chimes with his shuddering answer to their companionship.

Again, she settled back and waited for him to fail her. He strained to hold on and wriggled on the bowl while his nipples throbbed. He found that any shuffle of his chest made the links sway and afflict the buds of trapped flesh with a little more havoc.

“I’ve warned you slave,” she reminded.

His chest rose and fell with his deep breaths while the clamps continued to extract new levels of discomfort. The pinch settled into more powerful tones and devolved an icy cramp to afflict the soft nuggets.

Another brief dribble defeated his barriers. As a penalty, an oval lead fishing weight was clipped to the connecting chain. Dragging down on the clamps, the burden accentuated their effects.

The added surge of pain caused another relapse. A squirt shot into the bowl and ripped at him with shame as he quivered under the strengthened bite of the clamps.

Retribution came in the form of gentle caresses. Her gloved hand stroked his shaft and encouraged it to leap up and stand proud. In the passing of pleasure came the application of a thin cord. The centre was fastened around the root of his genitals and after looping it around once, she then began to ferociously tighten it. The intimate cocoon made him squeak as the bonds were rolled around his scrotum, squeezing his balls, making the skin grow tight and erase every wrinkle with the collar she established at their base. A knot secured the web and the excess was flung over the lip of the toilet.

Another weight was added to drag over the edge and haul at the weave of cord. The strain on his loins made him shiver. The weighted clamps, the frustration of her touch, his bondage, and the fight to hold in the douche were too much. The chain bobbed and swung, and the genital weight clattered against the porcelain with a chaotic beat.