It was a strange sense of accomplishment, and a memorable view of the scenario almost made it pleasurable in retrospect, and now she had her reward to look forward to.
Already the Mistress was strapping on an artificial phallus, buckling the harness about her abdomen, the fake sex waggling as she lifted a tube.
Lynn’s eyes bulged in horror as she saw that it was not the lubricant, but was instead a tube of Deep Heat. Fighting her bonds, she clawed at the plastic, trying to get out, to ask for the Mistress not to do this to her, but she knew she had to face it.
Without meeting the imploring eyes of her slave, the Mistress walked around and aimed into Lynn’s loitering pussy her belly on full display thanks to the suspension bondage.
The rod kissed her lips and started to slither in. A few seconds later the effects struck home as though someone had placed a match to the cool gel, lighting it up with a sudden flash fire of sensation.
The embrocation cream made her shriek, her eyes screwed shut as the heat burned at her sex, making her cavort upon the dildo, plunging herself deeper onto it and by no design of her own, spreading more of it into her. She wriggled and squirmed, the effects subsiding a little, but still afflicting her with their baleful malediction.
The Mistress started to rock back and forth, diving deep into Lynn, testing her absolute depths, filling her entirely as she choked with delight, the molestation more than outweighing the gloom of the searing cream.
Hands reached under as she was thrust into, the fingers taking the clamps as she braced herself, trying to fight off what she knew would happen when the weighted curses to her breasts were removed. No sooner had the clamps departed than she was screeching at the top of her lungs, the air spilling around the gag as her teats snatched back their power of feeling and squealed at the compression they had been forced to endure, their voices previously kept silent by the crushing pinch of the clamps.
Thrown into delirium, she spasmed and wept, finally settling back into the pleasure of being strung up and taken by her owner, the Mistress continuing to bury her adopted manhood into the belly of her slave.
Without the pain of the clamps, and with the dwindling in effect of the cream, climax started to swiftly beckon, and locked within the tight prison of the Mistress, Lynn suddenly set free new soul-torn wails as the first orgasms bored into her, intense and delectable, sweetened by her containment in plastic, leather and rope.
Drawing out a few more bursts of ecstasy, the Mistress finally withdrew, leaving Lynn a stolid ruin in her bonds.
Lynn was barely aware of her surroundings as she was taken down and the trammels removed from her, the plastic cut off and she was left huddled on the floor in a weak ball.
“What do you say, slave?” she asked.
“Thank you, Mistress,” she wheezed softly, barely cognitive.
“Good, slave. You did well. Now, I’m going to take a bath, you will get changed and meet me downstairs. We have a slave to dominate,” she crooned, and patting Lynn’s head, she strolled from the room, leaving Lynn huddled in recovery.
Chapter Eighteen
For seemingly hours he waited. Night must have fallen, Mistress Lynn had to have returned. Would he spend the night in this cell? Would Mistress Lynn be sleeping just without? The prospect of having her with such access was worrying, for she was sure to open the door and apply her own cruel deeds and leave him in suffering all night. The depriving of even more sleep would add to his lethargy, and tomorrow it would promote punishment from Mistress Despoiler.
As though the mere thought of her conjured her into reality, the door opened and the slender countenance of Mistress Lynn appeared, the stronger light from without haloing her and dazzling his eyes. Once more she had changed her attire, this time into yet another new outfit. She had a penchant for regular, incessant changes of garments, and this trait obviously extended beyond mere club-wear.
Her braids had been removed, her hair now loose, hanging about her tapered features. A gloss leotard flowed down her body, its sculpted cups cradling a milk white cleavage, the thin straps rising over her shoulders. The high design of the thighs lodged by her hips, the front a burnished pane that flowed down and rose up behind, bisecting her pert rear with a garrotting thong. Across her buttocks he could see dark lines rushing along her skin in streaks, the welts angry and fresh.
Her thigh boots continued down her legs after the brazenly exposed zone of bare, pale thigh, and her arms were still submerged within the silken folds of her opera gloves. The fingers were fixed to the handle of a wiry crop. The pale riding implement had an ivory handle, tipped on each end with silver, the white leather hoop at the end flopping with her movements. It was a new addition, one she must have bought after work, purchased especially for her new role, equipping herself with her own arsenal.
“Are we finished, slave?” she asked as he squinted within his hood and tried to see her.
“Yes, Mistress Lynn.”
“Did you do it all as Mistress Despoiler said?”
“Yes, Mistress Lynn,” he replied, his dolour rising as she unscrewed the lid and regarded the milky interior.
“Liar,” she purred softly and puckered her lips.
“What are you doing?” he quizzed fearfully.
Her hand flicked out and stung his cheek with a backhand slap, restoring a more compliant nature.
“What did you say?” she asked firmly.
“I’m sorry Mistress Lynn,” he whimpered.
“That’s better wretch.”
Gathering spit, she drooled a line onto the collected sample before closing the lid once more. His heart sank.
“You little cheat. You didn’t do as you were told. Mistress Despoiler will hear of this, and the way you lied to cover it up.”
Her slender hand grabbed his chin and pushed his head further back into the wall, lifting his gaze to the ceiling with the stringency of her shove.
“And don’t you dare contradict me, slave, because the tape is waiting to be heard,” she smiled.
“Please, Mistress Lynn, don’t. Not this, I can’t take this. I’ve kept quiet, can’t you show mercy?” he implored.
“You mewling filth. Listen to you, you make me sick. You think I should show mercy to a pathetic little pervert like yourself? Why on Earth would I want to do that? No. It’s far more amusing to see you suffer.”
“Why? Why are you being like this, I thought we were friends!” he sobbed, torn by the prospect of this nightmare ordeal.
“You thought wrong. The moment I joined this scenario, you became nothing more than an annoying freak at my heels. I’ll torture you and enjoy every moment of it. I couldn’t give a shit for the friendship of a slave, all I want is its screams, its pain, and its obedience to me. Do you understand that, maggot?”
“Yes, Mistress Lynn,” he uttered morosely.
“And what’s this? You removed the butt plug too? My you are being bad. But you wanted mercy right? Well I’ll grant it and not reveal this particular crime.”
With a cramming jab the plug was shoved back into him, opening him suddenly, making him yelp with shock. Quaking in his restraints, he rolled with the avalanche of hot pain rolling out from his rear.
“Well if you can’t even thank me, than I’ll just have to show her the evidence,” she announced, and made him croak with pain as it was tugged out in a single tearing motion.
Flinching with the riots of harrowing in his anus, he gathered his words as quickly as he could.
“I’m sorry, Mistress Lynn. Thank you for showing mercy. Please put it in me, and I’ll be good,” he sniffled, still trying to come to terms with the mayhem in his sphincter.
The tip touched his opening and started to enter, stopping and retreating again, the Mistress pushing it back and forth, riding it into him, making him tense and grind his teeth with strain. The pain of it was almost too much to take, the hot spikes of torment flashing through the bruised tissues, her merciless hand controlling the cone, opening and closing him to hideous degrees while she spoke slowly, continuing the assault.
“I don’t know slave, you don’t sound very sincere,” she questioned.
“I am, oh please, Mistress Lynn, show me mercy,” he sobbed, humiliated beyond measure at having to acknowledge her generosity, despite the fact that she was betraying him to the wrath of Mistress Despoiler, deliberately delivering him to the most heinous of punishments.
“You’re sure?” she asked softly, continuing the play, studying his energetic dance under her thrusting attention.
“Yes, yes, Mistress Lynn. I swear it!” he strained, his head flopping from side to side with the fight to keep his screams under control.
“Very well. I’ll leave it in and not tell Mistress Despoiler about this little lapse, after all, you have enough problems to face,” she laughed, and shoved it in, ending the torment with a pinnacle of distress that had him cavorting against his bonds for long minutes.
“Thank you, Mistress Lynn,” he managed to say through chattering teeth.
“Good. Now I have to go and reveal this crime. And you can just sit here in the dark and think on how that cold semen is going to taste, sliding down your throat.”
With a soft mocking titter of a laugh, she strolled away, turning out the light of his cell and closing the door, leaving him in oblivion as she went to inform his owner as to his transgression.
He groped blindly for the pot, but found that she had taken it with her, denying him a chance to empty it in advance and avoid this fate. Slamming a fist to the ground he tried to vent his frustrated angst. Please let her not inflict her professed punishment, please let her see through her assistant’s deception.
Mistress Lynn appeared once more, opening the door, blinding him with the light that flooded in from without, his gaze having quickly grown comfortable with the deep depths of gloom.
Immediately she began to untie him, setting free ankles and collar. With a tow she moved him out and padlocked the wrist cuffs up his spine, connecting them to his collar with a short chain, confining his arms, leaving him more vulnerable.
“Mistress Lynn, I’m begging you, don’t do this to me,” he whimpered.
“Be quiet you maggot,” she spat, and slapped his cheek, jerking his head aside and filling it with heat, the mask doing little to absorb the ferocity. The stroke wilted his resolve and made him lower before her, terrified of her revenge should he continue to resist.
Grovelling on the floor before her, she snapped a leash to his throat and with a stern wrench hauled him aside, dropping him onto all fours. He released a pained yelp as the lithe weapon that was the crop quenched itself on his rear, the leather tip sinking into his buttocks. It passed its effects unhindered through the latex leggings, briefs and skirt, depositing a line of scorching heat that had him buck against the lead and then shrivel into a ball, cradling the welt.
“My new weapon has been christened. Did you like it?”
“Yes, Mistress Lynn,” he said through grated teeth, knowing that he was to be thankful for all, and to worship the weapons of those who ruled him.
A stifled croak jumped from his larynx and he shuddered, his jaw quivering as another bite of the tool ate into his rear, crossing the first, forming a rosy
X
beneath the opaque sheath.
“Thank you, Mistress Lynn,” he burbled, tears welling in his eyes from the effects of the scourging.
“Oh, that’s not it all, slave, that was a little warm up. I promised to thrash you when I got home, and thrash you I shall.”
Grabbing his ponytail, she yanked him upright and set aside her weapon, applying the inflatable gag to silence his impending screams. Fixing the straps, she had the bulb bloat in his mouth with a few pumps of the inflator, and screwed the dust cap on to prevent it from withering when his gnashing teeth assuredly began to chew on it. Wheezing through his nose and the underwear still fixed there, he was dropped back to the floor, supine before her.
Her gloved hands hoisted his skirt and drew down his leggings over his knees, the curled garments proving excellent fetters. The briefs were gathered and drawn into the crease of his buttocks, falling to the offending plug, opening more naked flesh to her spiteful ravages.
The patent heel of Mistress Lynn dropped to his shoulder, slipping under his twisted hands and forcing him down, pressing his chest to her carpet. The weight increased drastically as she stepped onto him in full, her other foot at the base of his spine, upon the rolls of skirt.
Leaning over, she placed a hand to the wall to steady herself so that his writhings would not topple her, and the crop hovered in her grasp with frightful peril in mind.
He fought for breath, her body weight crushing him intensely, the heels digging in, making his ribs fight to gather breath against the burden atop them.
“I’ve had a hard day, slave. And I’ve been looking forward to this,” she whispered softly, shifting her weight, punishing his body all the more before using her new implement to scorch him.
The crop fell with a swift rhythm, the blows rapid and severe, eating fiery welts into his buttocks, making his legs pump and kick, acquiring burns from their spasms against her carpet, his body and arms unable to do anything. The squeals of torment were locked behind the balloon of the gag, emerging only as pitiful squeaks that in no way competed with the dull thwack of the crop to his defenceless flesh.