Trained to Obey 2

by Bruce McLachlan

  The plainly furnished room was undoubtedly the personal retreat of the Mistress. The tantalizing prospect of her owner’s intentions had her stomach knotting upon itself with excitement.

  The Mistress turned and sat herself on the side of the bed, leaning back and propping herself up on her elbows, holding the chain to keep Kirsten on the floor and visibly controlled.

  “Are you happy with my rule, slave?” she asked softly, looking down upon the humbled mutant at her feet.

  “Yes, Mistress. Very much so,” Kirsten instantly replied and was suddenly astonished that she had said such words so truthfully.

  “Would you like to earn the chance to show your gratitude?” she continued.

  “Of course, Mistress. Anything you want,” stammered Kirsten.

  “You’ll have to earn it, slave. You’ll have to pay for it in pain,’“she warned.

  “What do you want me to do, Mistress?” she instantly replied, ready to subject herself to any fate if she could simply gain the chance to please her tyrant.

  The woman smiled and drew Kirsten closer, unfastening the lead and then wandering from the bed.

  “First I’m going to tie up those breasts of yours,” she revealed, and from a concealed cabinet she produced two ratcheted steel hoops that she immediately began to apply to Kirsten’s assets. The hoops were rubber lined and had a secure ring welded into their outer surface that Kirsten assumed would be a means to anchor a leash.

  Operating the metal circles the dominatrix tightened them again and again, cinching the roots of Kirsten’s breasts until she was gasping with anguish from enduring the awful bite into them. It felt as though they were going to be snipped off by the process, but Kirsten bit her tongue and kept her cries reduced to sobbing murmurs as she twitched and bravely abided the application of the heinous bonds.

  Only once they were formed into tight black swollen orbs of heat did the Mistress stop and continue with her other deeds.

  Next came a set of dense metal shackles that were clamped just above her elbows, the closeness of the pair bending her arms behind her back, making her force her breasts out into the garroting hoops and causing her shoulders to pulse with an aching beat.

  Panting with perseverance, wobbling on her knees, Kirsten was aghast as a panel in the ceiling opened and let a chain lower into view. The strand broke into two at a single ring, the two chains culminating in heavy snap fastening clips, their destination obvious.

  “Oh no! Mistress! Please!” she whimpered, seeing now what horrors were in store for her.

  “Ssssh, slave. You requested this. You want to please me? You want to earn that right don’t you?” she inquired softly, letting her gloved hands run up and down Kirsten’s contorted arms, tickling her artificial skin.

  “Yes, Mistress, of course, but—”

  “Then it’s settled. Endure this for me, slave, and I’ll reward you afterwards,” she interrupted, bringing Kirsten to tentative silence as she considered the merits of resistance and acquiescence.

  The chains were snapped to her breast rings and the hoisting strand began to retreat back into the ceiling, quickly bringing Kirsten back onto her feet. Her jaw trembled and she whimpered with fright as she was brought to tiptoe, the hoops dragging at her assets, almost carrying her aloft by the venomous steel ribbons. But then the machine stopped, leaving her with the balls of feet brushing the ground, her stretched breasts swirling with baleful feeling.

  A set of heavy fetters were taken from some hidden location and buckled to her ankles. One was drawn up and a hook upon it acted as a clasp, snapping into the fabric at her rear. The hook sank into the root that wove into her innards and fed the organic skintight cell in which she was condemned.

  Standing on one leg, shaking with fear, she felt the other ankle being snatched by the Mistress. The urgent call to beg for mercy thundered up her throat and made her lips tremble as she started to form the words, afraid to speak, but equally afraid of what would happen if she did not at least try.

  With a cry of shock her leg was taken from under her and lifted up to catch the penetrating engineered growth with another hook. The rending mayhem in her assets felt ready to tear them from her as she dangled in the air, hanging by the infernal bondage to her breasts.

  Sobbing and wailing in pain, any kick of her folded legs only made things worse as they dragged at the insidious root, the multitude of wriggling cilia that anchored to her rectum cultivating a mordant flare each time she pulled at the well-lodged internal trespasser.

  The Mistress stepped back and admired her handiwork as Kirsten grizzled in abject alarm. Settling back on the bed she let her hands drift upon her own latex-smothered frame, her arousal at seeing Kirsten in such straits titillating her sadistic cravings. The crafty murmurs of latex on latex were a sultry backdrop to Kirsten’s whining litanies for mercy.

  “Pl..p..pl…please! Oh, uh, Mist…Mistress…th…th…the pain!” Kirsten begged.

  “No talking, slave. Unless you want to be hanging there for a few days, you’ll just dangle and watch, moan, and whimper to amuse me,” ordered the woman, stroking her nipples and the front of her skirt.

  Kirsten clenched her teeth, her body coursing with utmost dolor as tears flowed from her eyes, her mind aflame with the need to seek some form of clemency.

  The Mistress began to shed her latex attire, striping herself free of the clinging opaque layers as she walked to the wall and opened another camouflaged portal. Entering the private shower room she vanished from view, leaving Kirsten suspended and puling steadily as she shuddered and wept, trying to come to terms with the horrendous affliction to her body. But the longer she remained aloft the worse the pain became until she thought she was going to pass out or just expire. She prayed that she would because either of those results might at least give her sanctuary from this terrible pose. However, her body refused such an easy escape and left her to the nightmare, her legs swinging beneath her, her innards racked by the root, her breasts stretched by the hoops.

  How could another woman be so horrendously spiteful? How could someone enjoy doing this to another human being? But Kirsten knew that the Mistress was doing what was needed, and despite her hatred for this bondage she could not help but be satisfied that she was again pleasing her owner.

  The signal of running water reached Kirsten’s ears, the sound of her own heartbeat and racing breath almost overriding all other auditory input. All she could feel were breasts and anus, the rest of her body was nothing more than an aching distant runner-up to these two most overwhelming sensations. She eased her lot a little by imagining the sultry curves of her owner running with glistening streams as she treated herself to carnal caresses, the image of Kirsten’s distress ruling her fantasies as she masturbated.

  Eventually the water stopped and time continued to dawdle past as the Mistress dressed herself once more. When she emerged, Kirsten almost forgot her woes as she beheld a salacious new outfit on her owner, all resentment and hatred of her Mistress evaporating on a sudden heated and dissolute lust.

  The woman strode from the curling swirls of steam as the door slithered shut behind her. She sauntered on patent court shoes, striding effortlessly on the skyscraper heels. Her long luscious legs were clad in seamed stockings and her body was ensnared within the shimmering folds of a vinyl basque. The hem of the sultry lingerie bore two buckles that grabbed the front of a triangular patent thong, the fabric slipping between her legs and rising as a delicate string between her pert cheeks before connecting to the back of the basque with another buckle. Gloss opera gloves poured up her arms and her expression was given authority by a peaked military cap that was a vinyl version of her more conventional millinery.

  Dropping the malevolent control box on the bed she began walking around the hanging form, letting her smoothed digits run upon the hot black frame of her suffering possession, her own breath deep and pounding with libidinous appetite.

  Lounging out on the bed she solicitously observed Kirsten
’s rigors and let a hand wander down against the thong. Massaging herself she panted and purred, finding erotic delight in seeing Kirsten’s misery.

  Kirsten was in complete purgatory for not only was she being horribly tortured but the sight of her owner, spread upon the bed, tantalizing and gorgeous, pleasuring herself with open abandon was making her burn with prurient need.

  “Oh slave, you look so delightful all trussed up like that. That contorted expression on your face is a vision of pulchritude. Maybe I should leave you like it,” she moaned, arching her back against the bed, the basque turning into a smooth stretched black mirror against her curved chest as she pleasured herself before Kirsten’s helpless and flooded eyes.

  Kirsten whimpered and cavorted with fear at the very notion. The response of her slave only excited the officer all the more, so much so that she continued to issue her threats to increase the appalled reaction.

  “Yes, that’s it! I’ll leave you like a Christmas decoration at the bottom of my bed. Every night you can watch me perform like this. Watch me extract the pleasures you are denied. You can watch me but can never touch me. Won’t that be fun?” she hissed, increasing the speed of her masturbation, her eyes half closed as she savored Kirsten’s dejected song of despair.

  Kirsten’s eyes were snared to the image on the bed as the officer’s stockinged legs slid against each other. Her body rippled and flexed against the vinyl, her physique coursing with self-induced rapture.

  “Do you want to pleasure me, slave?” she asked, slowing her rhythm lest she prematurely slip into climax.

  She clearly had other plans and did not want to soothe her thundering libido, just fan the sensual coals to new levels of heat so she might enjoy her play even more.

  “Oh yes, Mistress! More than anything!” Kirsten exclaimed, beads of sweat winding down from her brow as the stress of maintaining a silent and unmoving state weighed heavily on her dwindling reserves of fortitude.

  “First, I want you to just look and think on what it will be like when I finally let you down and permit you this honor,” the dominatrix said, spreading herself upon the bed, her splayed legs offering a view of the underwear and her succulent thighs.

  Kirsten wriggled in her bonds, staring at the sight, dreaming of being brought over and allowed to nuzzle between the powerful legs of her owner.

  After long minutes of agonized fantasy the Mistress arose from the bed and stepped beside Kirsten, the sedate creak of the vinyl upon her and the rustle of stockings brushing against one another like a vaulted angelic chorus to Kirsten’s trained ears.

  “I think you’re ready, don’t you, slave?” offered the Mistress, letting her fingers drift into the cleft of Kirsten’s crotch. With delicate skill she began to massage the smooth rubber-like fabric.

  Kirsten issued a wanton groan and shuddered, the strength of her pain easing as it was tainted with delight. The woman continued to manipulate her, the slow rhythmic stroking bringing intense waves of bliss to soothe the tormented captive. Dozens of tiny fingers were lodged in her pores and pulled gently from within as the skin was moved, creating a sensation like nothing she had encountered before.

  “Yes, Mistress. Oh, yes I do, Mistress,” she panted, reveling in the touch of her owner.

  It was a sly and traitorous rhapsody, for the pleasure was mixing with the pain, creating the cocktail Kirsten was becoming so hopelessly addicted to. It was yet another slice of training in the endless regime of her complete subjugation.

  Staring wildly at the Mistress, absorbing the detailed curves and arenas of burnished vinyl, Kirsten drank in the subtle scent of the woman and temporarily rejoiced in her stringent bondage.

  The Mistress brought her closer and closer to climax, working idly, untroubled by haste, letting Kirsten taste deeply from the depraved source she was being offered by such teasing.

  The climax that started to well was powerful and succulent, a release she yearned to acquire more than ever. But the Mistress had other plans. As Kirsten started to gasp and tense, every fiber taut as she braced for the cataclysm, the officer stopped and stepped back.

  “Not yet, slave,” she crooned, grinning broadly as Kirsten shimmied and whimpered, feeling her peak of ecstasy dribble away and sink behind the stern barricade of her suffering.

  The buckles to the fetters were drawn open and her feet slapped to the ground. Instantly she forced herself up, taking the monstrous strain off of her breasts. Tottering on the balls of her feet she felt the hooks being extracted from her uniform and then the clasps came free of the strangled bands on her breasts. Immediately Kirsten began to sag, her legs wilting beneath her, too beset by physical tragedy to offer any support.

  “Not yet, slave. Up we come,” corrected the Mistress, hooking a gloss-covered finger through one of the rings to draw her towards the bed, declining to remove the steel fittings that controlled her arms and pained her assets.

  The officer once more reclined into the luxurious sheets and propped herself up against the headboard. Her fingers operated the twin buckles and the underwear portion of her attire was dropped to expose her shaven sex.

  “Come on then, slave. Don’t keep me waiting all day,” she beamed, catching the look of utter astonishment and expectation on Kirsten’s face, the denial of orgasm having piqued an already virulent libido.

  Clambering unsteadily onto the mattress, Kirsten formed into a ball and lowered her mouth gently to the warm inviting lips, allowing her maw to brush the damp orifice before she let her tongue sneak forth and pour into the succulent tracts. The Mistress gave a long drawn moan and lowered herself back into the bed, her arms reaching out to sink her fingers into the covers.

  “Oh that’s it, slave,” she commented, respiring softly, her hands occasionally coming around to wander against her body, escalating her rapture by etching swirls upon her nipples or in just tracing her plastic-encased form.

  Kirsten was in heaven as her vision was filled with the body of her owner while she methodically and carefully lashed the woman’s clit with a diligent tongue. Drinking in the taste and sight of her oppressor, the pain in her breasts and twisted arms was a wonderful aphrodisiac, making her efforts all the more dedicated as they reminded her of her position, informing her without fail that she was utterly possessed by this woman.

  Stocking-encased thighs closed in and gripped the sides of her head, squeezing in bursts as she drowned in the act of cunnilingus upon the woman she worshipped so zealously.

  “Wait!” the officer snapped, drawing herself from under Kirsten’s oral attentions.

  Kirsten’s heart seemed to drop in her chest as she thought their brief liaison was over, an affair that had begun when this woman posed as an innocent prostitute and seduced her so effectively that she would never ever even contemplate leaving her service.

  Her fears were allayed when the Mistress rolled over and lifted herself up, presenting her rear. Acting one handed she released the buckle at the back and tossed the thong aside, her upper body laid into the mattress, her thighs elevating her hindquarters for Kirsten’s delectation.

  “Go ahead, slave. Worship me in full,” she purred, her silken voice a debauched siren’s song that Kirsten could not hope to defy.

  Shuffling forward she nestled between the pert buttocks and laid her lips to the bared orifice. Pressing her tongue to the deliberately clenched opening she pushed her way in, using her tongue in imitation of a pliant phallus, driving into her owner’s anus, feasting on the humble act.

  “Mmmm, that’s a good slave. Keep it up,” she groaned, holding her own breasts and rubbing them, the vinyl squeaking softly to itself as glove and basque cup clung to each other.

  Kirsten’s tongue became a frenzied serpent, thrashing against the tight portal into her Mistress’ body. Feeling gloriously degraded by this deed she continued to devour the Mistress’ anus with glee.

  The dominatrix lifted herself up and reached behind her, grabbing Kirsten’s head and pulling it more forcefully into t
he valley of her rear, smothering her within it. Unable to breathe, Kirsten’s efforts became more energetic, the suffocation spicing her attentions. Periodically the officer allowed her a brief gasp of air and then muffled Kirsten within her rear once more, prolonging the deed.

  Kirsten’s loins were burning with ravenous thirst. She could feel the moisture of her raging libido against the second skin of the suit, the organic hide unable to drink up the excess as quickly as she was producing it.

  Once more the officer extracted herself from her pet’s toil and turned around. Towering over her quaking possession as she knelt upright on the bed and held Kirsten’s face in her gloved hands, their eyes met and fixed to one another for a moment. Kirsten marveled at the power and authority dripping from her owner’s stare while Jessica savored the look of complete submissive devotion and lingering discomfort ruling the countenance of her slave.

  With a flipping haul she threw Kirsten onto her back and swiftly straddled her face, locking her shins to Kirsten’s sides, her slave staring up across her owner’s body and into the stern expression of the tyrant.

  “Keep going, slave,” she warned, grabbing the control box and holding it so that Kirsten could see a poised finger upon the activation tab.

  Kirsten launched her tongue into activity, hoping to placate her owner and avoid a taste of the implants. The image of the officer riding her face was a glorious treat as Kirsten’s body was controlled beneath the radiant frame of the woman. Her arms were already beginning to ache from being pressed beneath her torso but the threat of the implants kept her locked to her task.

  The flavor of the officer’s sex was flooding Kirsten’s senses, the scent of both her and the vinyl seeping through her nostrils as she snorted against the smooth skin of the dominatrix. A slight shuffle forward ended this access, depriving her and making her jerk and wriggle beneath the woman as she fought for breath. The Mistress merely delighted in seeing Kirsten suffer for a short time and then moved back, letting her gulp down new lungfuls through the restricted vents of her nose.