SlavesofMistressDespoiler Read Online Free
soft slap connected with his rump and she wandered away.
The enema always served to purge not only his insides, but his resistance as well. It somehow flushed out rebellion, just as the hood and eternal plug served as constant reminders of his meek station.
Catching his impaired breath through the gag, he straightened up. Rising onto his knees, he was disappointed that he had grown accustomed to the scent of the thong and could no longer detect its aroma.
Mistress Despoiler gathered another short rope and closed in on his back. The groan of stretching latex as she settled behind him made his eyes roll back in rapture. It was a delightful melody, a banquet for his gluttonous senses.
His biceps were treated roughly and drawn tighter together. This forced his chest out as she applied her bondage with her usual severity. The forcefulness dissuaded any hint of resistance and encouraged his submission.
The use of rope was nothing new to him. Mistress Despoiler was an innovative creature of power that preferred the imaginative creativity of rope work to the simplicity of mere cuffs and shackles. It further strengthened her credentials as a superior. Her willingness to expend time and effort was a trait that was lacking in so many others that purported the same doctrine of feminine rule.
The sound of the leash being unfastened from the wall was joined by the all too familiar noise of the cane as it took premature slices at the air. The Mistress carved several trilling lines of preparation and then flexed the strut.
The slender bamboo weapon had been a bane throughout his willing slavery. Its signal was distinct and dreadful to his ears and he instantly cowered.
“Now, stay still, slave. You have to take your daily punishment,” she reported.
After catching his wrists with the leash, she drew in the slack of the chain and his arms were lifted up. Held together at elbow and wrist, she kept them elevated by her powerful hold. The pose denied interference to shield his rear, or to touch her as she ground a boot into the middle of his back and forced him down beneath her weight. His legs were folded beneath him and were trapped. The heel kept him anchored under her, denying an escape should his resolve falter, for to fight might well have the dagger puncture him.
Lifting the mordant stalk of stern reparation, the Mistress paused to let his concerns swell. With a sudden hack, she applied a searing line to his rear.
The latex briefs were a pathetically weak defence from the savagery of the weapon. He gave a jolt of response and a gurgling croak rushed into the gag, he broke into quivers, and the storm of pain rolled through his rear. It dissipated very slowly, as the distress lingered and make him shudder under her control.
The Mistress paused to let the effects fade completely so he might fully explore the entire chapter of her first stroke. It struck, again and burned into him, marking him with weals that would last for days. However, this was not the worst she could inflict upon him. This was mere daily chastisement that was designed to keep him in his place, reminding him of her power every time he sat down or bent over and irked the bruises.
He fought to endure, to obey, and to keep still while tears of suffering welled in his eyes and he pulled weakly against the tether on his wrists.
The Mistress took the root of the chain and held it to her knee for new strength and extra weight to her coercing heel. His hands grazed warm latex as his arms were stretched, and coupled with the penetrating stiletto it fed the beast of his perversion.
The other ten strokes were imparted steadily and each one made him squeal and squawk like an animal under her threatening shadow and stabbing heel. Each stroke was a hell of infernal sorrow and each time she let his struggles fully subside before continuing. She never let the lessons of pain intermingle and this ensured that each one was taught separately to his rear.
“There, my
The enema always served to purge not only his insides, but his resistance as well. It somehow flushed out rebellion, just as the hood and eternal plug served as constant reminders of his meek station.
Catching his impaired breath through the gag, he straightened up. Rising onto his knees, he was disappointed that he had grown accustomed to the scent of the thong and could no longer detect its aroma.
Mistress Despoiler gathered another short rope and closed in on his back. The groan of stretching latex as she settled behind him made his eyes roll back in rapture. It was a delightful melody, a banquet for his gluttonous senses.
His biceps were treated roughly and drawn tighter together. This forced his chest out as she applied her bondage with her usual severity. The forcefulness dissuaded any hint of resistance and encouraged his submission.
The use of rope was nothing new to him. Mistress Despoiler was an innovative creature of power that preferred the imaginative creativity of rope work to the simplicity of mere cuffs and shackles. It further strengthened her credentials as a superior. Her willingness to expend time and effort was a trait that was lacking in so many others that purported the same doctrine of feminine rule.
The sound of the leash being unfastened from the wall was joined by the all too familiar noise of the cane as it took premature slices at the air. The Mistress carved several trilling lines of preparation and then flexed the strut.
The slender bamboo weapon had been a bane throughout his willing slavery. Its signal was distinct and dreadful to his ears and he instantly cowered.
“Now, stay still, slave. You have to take your daily punishment,” she reported.
After catching his wrists with the leash, she drew in the slack of the chain and his arms were lifted up. Held together at elbow and wrist, she kept them elevated by her powerful hold. The pose denied interference to shield his rear, or to touch her as she ground a boot into the middle of his back and forced him down beneath her weight. His legs were folded beneath him and were trapped. The heel kept him anchored under her, denying an escape should his resolve falter, for to fight might well have the dagger puncture him.
Lifting the mordant stalk of stern reparation, the Mistress paused to let his concerns swell. With a sudden hack, she applied a searing line to his rear.
The latex briefs were a pathetically weak defence from the savagery of the weapon. He gave a jolt of response and a gurgling croak rushed into the gag, he broke into quivers, and the storm of pain rolled through his rear. It dissipated very slowly, as the distress lingered and make him shudder under her control.
The Mistress paused to let the effects fade completely so he might fully explore the entire chapter of her first stroke. It struck, again and burned into him, marking him with weals that would last for days. However, this was not the worst she could inflict upon him. This was mere daily chastisement that was designed to keep him in his place, reminding him of her power every time he sat down or bent over and irked the bruises.
He fought to endure, to obey, and to keep still while tears of suffering welled in his eyes and he pulled weakly against the tether on his wrists.
The Mistress took the root of the chain and held it to her knee for new strength and extra weight to her coercing heel. His hands grazed warm latex as his arms were stretched, and coupled with the penetrating stiletto it fed the beast of his perversion.
The other ten strokes were imparted steadily and each one made him squeal and squawk like an animal under her threatening shadow and stabbing heel. Each stroke was a hell of infernal sorrow and each time she let his struggles fully subside before continuing. She never let the lessons of pain intermingle and this ensured that each one was taught separately to his rear.
“There, my
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