SlavesofMistressDespoiler (22 page)

The Mistress started to rise, dragging Lynn up with her, elevating her by these points of mordant shock. And once they were both upright, she elevated them still higher to bring Lynn to tiptoe. Her breasts were strained upward, her arms flapping at her side, trying not to intervene.

The Mistress regarded Lynn’s contorted mask of endurance. Her eyes were watering as she tried to process her distress.

“Now, slave. Are you enjoying your new life?” she asked casually.

“Yes, Mistress,” she whimpered with her head flopped back and mouth agape.

“You are sure?”

“Yes, Mistress, I am. I love being your slave,” she uttered quickly.

“And you like dominating my partner?”

“I do, Mistress. I love both my roles, but I especially love being your slave, to do with as you will, Mistress,” she burbled. Her hands clenched into fists as the Mistress rolled the captured morsels between her fingers.

“So you would like to continue doing this on occasion?” wondered the Mistress. There was a definite subversive agenda lurking in the words, waiting to see what Lynn would say to determine whether or not it would let itself become known.

Lynn paused, she wanted to ask for more. She wanted to be part of this scenario for good, to drop into her role as a submissive and stay there. When she was like this, she was free of all entanglement by life. Even work would be easy because whatever stresses and strains faced her, whatever petty bigotry and subterfuge tried to hassle her, none of it would work. Office politics could be forgotten as she sat there and thought solely of her return to the Mistress. The only thing she needed to consider was pleasing and being there for her owner. What else mattered compared to that? She could face anything with blasé indifference because it was all trivial when weighed against such a vaulted devotion.

But how could she ask this? Would it be presumptuous? Would it be thought of as merely her lust talking? Would the Mistress consider them no more than rash words in the heat of the session, the squeezing of her nipples spilling this lie from her lips?

“Well, slave? You want to be part of this or not?” she repeated.

“Yes, Mistress. I do, but…”

“But…?”

“I..I..”

“Out with it, slave!” she growled, and crushed the teats with ferocity. Turning them and lifting higher she made Lynn sob and blub her words, her confession forcibly extracted by the additional harrowing that in turn fanned her depraved libido.

“I want to be yours for good. I want to be your full time slave, Mistress.”

“Really? You think you can handle that? Slave and dominatrix, all the time, never stopping and giving up your life totally?”

“Yes, Mistress, yes I can. I’d do it without hesitation,” she spat, all to willing to slough off the tedium of her existence.

Without second thought she would throw away the simpering males that clung at her like leeches. They wanted her pity and solace, all the while with ulterior motives. Namely to thrust their organs into her and violate her, debase her for no other reason than to add new notches to their belt or make her a pretty ornament to place on their arm and show off to others. The Mistress wanted to own her too, but it was for real. The Mistress wanted to care for her and look after her. It sounded the same but the difference could not have been starker, nor could her love of one variety and her loathing of the other.

“And what if I were to head back to my homelands? What if I wanted you to come with me? Be mine in a new country, take you away from this place forever and never let you return? You would never see your family again. Never see friends or people you know. You would effectively vanish. You would cease to exist here and become someone new in a different country, a place I shall dictate and you will be powerless to question or escape from it.”

“Oh, Mistress, I’d go. I’d go instantly,” she beamed. The notion of being shipped abroad to serve in a foreign realm, to be free of everything that weighed her down, to escape without word and never be heard of again so she could dwell in this fantasy for the rest of her days. How delightful that would be.

“We shall see how devoted you are to this cause. I want to make this a permanent situation here first. We shall go into character, all three of us, and we will not leave again. I shall be testing you both, and those who meet my requirements will come back with me. There you will be educated as to what it really means to be my slave. I have secrets waiting for you both, things neither of you know and if you show me you are worthy, you will learn what they are.”

The sound of footsteps on the stair reached their ears and the Mistress released her hold. Lynn sagged, holding her aching breasts. Gently placing the cups back over the contused tips she slipped back into her seat. Her mind was beset by confusion, the words the Mistress had said were rolling through her mind like a dust storm. What had she meant? What was she planning? What had she not told either of them?

Chapter Eleven

A quick shower removed the sweat of his servitude and he slid into the required briefs and hood. Mulling over his salacious slavery he marched back to them, his bare feet light as feathers now that the heels had been shed.

Mistress Despoiler was stood before her assistant, the bullwhip stored threateningly in one slender hand with a pair of padlocks in the other along with a thin leather collar. The collar was smaller than the one he wore, designed so it was less cumbersome but just as effective at restraint. Its riveted surfaces held D rings to ensnare and the suede interior would perch his head upright and to attention with pride rather than on compulsory fences of unforgiving hide.

“Kneel before me, slave,” she commanded.

Without hesitation he obeyed, his eyes fixed to her legs. As he stared at them, the latex pants had to suddenly strive to keep his suddenly growing member buried under a rubber shroud.

“We have been discussing it, slave,” declared Mistress Despoiler. “And we have agreed that we much prefer things like this. Thus, from now on, you will be a permanent slave to us. You still belong to me, but I shall allow Mistress Lynn to make use of your services as she sees fit.”

His eyes widened with shock and a deluge of contradictory emotions ran through him like a rapid river. Could he truly survive a life of genuine enslavement? Would the permanent enactment of the fantasy destroy them? Would it be possible to go back? Or would it prove so intense that they would delightfully revel in it forever? What would such a situation lead to?

She reached over and grabbed his chin, the physical emphasis to her words making them sink into his mind.

“You are no longer free. You are my slave, for good,” she decreed. The verdict found a receptive ear in his libido and although he was daunted by such a prospect, he was also intensely aroused by it.

What would this future hold? Could he endure it? So many unanswered questions filled his thoughts, and no certain answers met them.

Opening his thick collar, she removed it and transferred the identity tag to the thin leather affair. Closing it about his neck, she set the buckles and applied the padlock to seal it. The second padlock was snapped to the lowest ringlets on his hood, stopping him from opening it unless she chose to grant him freedom.

“There. You will wear these always unless I give you temporary relief,” she revealed. “Do you recall the rules that I played to you, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress Despoiler,” he replied humbly, the words still echoing in his subconscious, awaiting reinforcement before they really began to set roots into his mind.

Mistress Despoiler sauntered over to the small cabinet that bore the telephone and produced a plastic sleeve. Printed neatly on a sheet of paper within the protective sheath were the rules, next to a picture of her. She was stood provocatively in her latex attire, the pencil skirt flowing down her curves, her torso captured and armoured with the latex halter-neck top, the laces drawn tight, her eyes shadowed by the fierce hat, her arms rolled into opera gloves. It was a vision of divine fetishistic power, showing him the almighty authority that had set these rules for him to obey and live by.

It was a hard copy of her sixty-three commandments, a bible of perversity to which he would have to become a zealot of faith and if he slacked in his devotion, harsh penance awaited.

“Each day you will read these rules,” she decreed. Walking to the corner she used tape to set her law at waist height.

“You will kneel in the corner before these rules. You will put your hands on your knees and sit erect and to attention and you will read through them. Do you understand, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress Despoiler. I understand.”

“Good. Now sit before them and read them for five minutes, and masturbate as you do so. But do not dare climax, slave.”

With a somewhat worried shuffle he skipped over to the corner and adopted the required position - kneeling as though in prayer to the image of his deity.

As he did as he was ordered, she talked and discussed with one of her seraphim. Lynn was the arch-angel of cruelty that served her wrath, little knowing that it was more likely that she was a Lucifer, waiting to betray and corrupt, to bring chaos and disorder to heaven.

With his back to the pair, he lifted his already eager length from the confines of the briefs and began to comply. His eyes were instantly fixed to her picture, besotted and unable to move away. Keeping his rhythm slow so as to prolong his pleasure, he started to read through the list of rules. His libido flashed with new intensity as he read them, knowing that this would be his life from now on, that he was truly hers and she was enforcing her regnant upon him.

When he felt the tide of his orgasm manifesting, rising up and seeking release, egging him on, demanding that he succumb to perfidy and finish, he forced himself to stop. Not only did he deny himself because of his commands, but to be compelled to ejaculate with Mistress Lynn in the room, to have a veritable stranger observe him perform this was terribly demeaning. Lynn had already humiliated him greatly with one enforced session of masturbation and he could not bear to have it done again. Especially with Mistress Despoiler present as well.

Lynn watched him in the corner, his psyche riven with despair at being humbled so acutely before their eyes. It made her swell with glee to see it happening, to allocate his sorrow as a judgement on every male who had torn at her mind and shoved himself into her body.

The Mistress arose and walked towards her and to Lynn’s surprise she stepped astride her legs, kneeling across her lap and then sitting down on her knees. The radiant torso of the Mistress rose above her, breasts bobbing before her eyes, the cleavage beckoning her forth, tempting her to touch or bury her face in the mesh-sheltered valley of her buxom. Slowly Lynn looked up and met the glittering eyes of her owner, the candlelight throwing iniquitous tricks of the light across her face to make the already sublime Mistress seem even more than human.

“Mistress?” she whispered quietly, wondering what the dominatrix was planning. Were they going to return to the identities of slave and Mistress, or was this going to be an affair between dominas?

A hand reached up and captured the back of her hair, pulling back and making Lynn reveal her throat. The Mistress drifted down and started to kiss and lick the pale skin, running her tongue along it as Lynn shuddered and gasped with delight.

Wandering her attentions upwards, she reached Lynn’s mouth and pressed her lips to those of her slave. Lynn pulled at the hold, just to feel her scalp protest at being pinned down. The other hand of the Mistress entered the arena, grabbing a breast and kneading it roughly, causing Lynn to shiver with discomfort and melt from the rough treatment she so revelled in.

The rhapsody such deliberately coarse usage brought out in her made their kiss erupt into a lascivious pyre. The two of them flashed their tongues against each other, probing the maw of their partner, lapping at their lips and deeply tasting of them.

Lynn let her hands drift around. Gripping the perfect buttocks of the Mistress as they perched on her knees she found that the latex was drawn into a smooth featureless sheet across each mound. The feel of such powerful and divine flesh almost had her swoon with ecstasy.

Reverently handling the rear of the Mistress, Lynn continued to kiss her. The soft sound of the slave masturbating was a rhythmic accompaniment to their passion, a metronome timing it for them.

Chapter Twelve

The slave listened to the sounds of lust. There was the squeak of latex and vinyl, the shuffle of bodies, the slippery slap and squirm of mouths and tongues.

His eyes were wide, his mind frozen. What was going on? He wanted to look, to see what was happening, but he dared not disobey.

Had Mistress Lynn seduced his partner? Had she been so predatory that she had started this affair to further take control of the situation? Fear was in his heart, for if Mistress Lynn took command of them both his life would become hell. He knew that Lynn was planning to leave, and to have his beloved seduced, used and then deserted would be a tragic result. To see the one he cared for above all else, exploited, rejected and then deserted would break his heart as well as hers. And then what would occur? Would she even still want him? Or would she pine for her lost lesbian lover?