The Mistress' Mistress

She had to stretch her lips to get more than the very tip in her mouth, squeezing the head to make it fit as his scent made her head swim and he started to moan and quiver, a response her fogged mind barely recognised as another embedded command. She managed to get the swollen edges of the helmet past her lips and over her tongue, but gave up the unequal effort and pulled back, gasping for air and dizzy with lust. She looked up at his steady gaze, still locked on her breasts, and regained some measure of composure.

She climbed to her feet, backing away until she felt the bed behind her knees, and then threw herself back onto it, her pussy wide open towards him.

"Come here," she said huskily and then, when he obediently walked towards her, the saliva-slick head of his cock bobbing before him, added "Do to me what my breasts make you want to do."

He moved onto the bed with a suddenly breathtaking fluidity, his body suddenly over hers and his mouth descending to her throat. One hand kept him hovering above her while the other moved to her nearly flat breast, fingertips brushing its surface and skimming past her nipple as her breathing quickened. His lips were replaced briefly by his teeth, making her gasp just as his fingertips captured her nipple and squeezed it. She arched up against him, feeling the heat of his penis sear into her belly right through to her womb. His hand, covering her entire breast and more, pressed her firmly back down onto the bed as his lips and his teeth moved down from her neck to the hollow between throat and shoulder, and down her chest to the first soft tissue of her breasts.

She moaned from the enforced restraint as much as from the sensations, gasping "You really are... quite good... she trained... oh God!" His head, moving inexorably down towards his hand, had swung sideways and his perfectly formed teeth had captured her nipple and tugged it sharply, shooting lightning right through her and twisting her body in an uncontrollable spasm. The pressure of his hand was suddenly gone from her breast, but she hadn't time to draw breath before it was replaced with the pressure of his teeth, her body arching up towards him and a wail of lust ripped from her throat.

The echoes had barely begun before, without ceremony, two of his thick, muscular fingers slammed into her already lubed-slick cunt, burying themselves to the hilt. His fingers between them were as thick as a good cock, and suddenly she was desperate for more, clutching at the bedspread, impaled on his fingers and trapped by her burning nipples. His thumb found her clit and began massaging it in even circles, a steady pace that threatened a remorseless orgasm more effectively than desperate speed would do.

His mouth, lips, tongue and teeth all alternated from breast to breast as his two fingers fucked her until, with astonishing speed, a huge orgasm was ripped from her tiny body.

He withdrew when she came, her liquids splashing around his fingers and leaving them shimmering wet. She gasped her way to self-control, then grabbed his hand and greedily sucked her juices from it. She unsteadily moved back away from him, then twisted around and rolled over onto hands and knees, staring back at him.

"Fuck me," she said. "Do not cum until I give you permission, is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress," he replied as he moved on his knees towards her.

"And be gentle when you put it in! Unnngh!"

She shut her eyes hard and bit her lip as the head of his cock pressed against her still sensitive cunt, and took one huge, shuddering breath into her lungs as he slowly and smoothly pushed inside her, splitting her lips wide with his fleshy head, then the iron-like hardness of his shaft holding her open. Her depths were split wider than she had ever felt before, from lips to womb, and the sensation nearly made her black out. Lying on her face, head turned to one side, breasts and shoulders pressed into the mattress and hands clenched hard about the iron bars at the bedhead, she nearly sobbed when he began to withdraw, then groaned again as he pushed back in, still slowly.

She squeezed her eyes shut as he slowly grew faster, pistoning in and nearly all the way out, every thrust pushing his incredible girth inside her, a girth she had been afraid she would not be able to take, her knuckles clenching hard around the iron of the bed frame, her body not yet shaking from his thrusts but silently begging him to accelerate until she did.

Then she felt two metal loops encircle her wrists, and barely heard two clicks as they shut.

"What the fuck?"

Her eyes flew open even as he drove into her once more, and she stared in disbelief at the figure standing behind the bedhead, standing where she should not be, where the wall should be instead. She caught a brief glimpse behind the figure of a dark opening, but the figure itself commanded her attention.

She was tall, a good six feet at least, dressed in loose boots that went halfway up her perfectly toned, pale thighs, a leather G-string with clip-on access panel and a leather corset that revealed flesh between its laced together panels and support and lifted, with clip-on cups, a pair of the most magnificent breasts that the suddenly trapped Mistress had ever seen that close. Her face was nordic, with high cheekbones and ice-blue eyes, exotic features stamped with authority and power, white-blond hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back.

"How do you like my husband, Angelina?" The apparition said from between blood-red lips.

A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm Angelina and she struggled wildly, but the handcuffs went around the bed rails and attempting to move against the husband's grip on her hips as he continued steadily pistoning in and out of her was an exercise in futility for the small, slim girl.

"He's good, isn't he?" The wife continued in a conversational tone. "He's also mine. You'd do well to remember that. Did you think your little efforts would go unnoticed? They were amateurish, girl, and so are you. You didn't even realise that your barmaid, pet, is my pet barmaid. I've been holding little parties here since before you fingered yourself in the school toilets. Faster, dog."

As he began to hump into her more vigorously, beginning to shake her body, she grit her teeth against the abuse and a plummeting sensation deep inside her as she realised that she had made the biggest mistake of her life and was going to be made to pay for it with all the ingenuity that this accomplished dominatrix could contrive.

As the pounding continued, she felt with a sense of dullness that her arousal was slowly climbing because of it, and wondered how that could be when she was so desperately looking for a way out. Then she screamed as lines of fire were drawn across her back, a whip lashing hard down upon her.

"I asked you a question, bitch. How do you like my husband?"

The whip landed again, making her scream again, whimper against her own common sense, "Please stop!"

The whip landed again, before a voice hissed in her ear, "You forced my husband to break his marriage vows. You forced him to have sex with your scrawny little ass, did you give him a choice?"

The whip landed again, suddenly, making her scream even harder. "Now I asked you a question, bitch. How do you like my husband?"

Somehow, against all the odds, his pumping was making her cunt burn and beg for release, but as she started to sob with the frustration of futility into the pillow, she grit her teeth against admitting that.

The whip landed again on her back. "I could have sworn I felt my lips move. How do you like my husband?"

His fucking reached the limit of her self-control and her cry of pain turned into a wail of lust "Oh, fuck!"

"Yes, he is. How do you like him?"

Suddenly she was screaming, crying, begging for release.

"That wasn't the question I asked, bitch. Do I whip you again? How do you like my husband?"

She could barely believe her own ears as she heard herself scream "He's really fucking intense! Oh god, please, let him cum!"

"That's better, bitch." The whip landed again, making her scream in surprise and fear as well as pain. "Cum, dog."

With a grunt, he came, deep inside her, the shock of it pushing her over her own edge, into a surprised, twisted orgasm that let her feeling confused and dirty but even so made her cry out. He didn't stop, he didn't even slow down, and the feeling of him pumping into her cum-filled cunt, squeezing it out, made her feel more humiliated than the whipping had done.

"He can keep that up all night, you know," the wife said in a conversational tone of voice. "But I have better plans for you, little slut. Dog, stop deep."

He rammed deep inside her and stopped, for the first time letting her relax around him and realise just how painfully large he was. The wife moved back to the head of the bed and with a practised movement released the whole top of the frame, swinging it off as Angelina watched in disbelief, unresisting as the wife grabbed her hand, pulled them up and lifted the handcuffs chain over the top. On an unspoken signal the husband grabbed her flanks, lifted her up and pinned him to her chest, one arm wrapped around her, his cock still deep within her cunt.

He lifted her, standing on the bed then stepping onto the floor, as she hung weakly against his chest, a dull throbbing from her back against him, feeling every step as a jolt from his cock against her now sore flesh.

She was carried through the door she had briefly glimpsed before, down a steep flight of steps, their heads perilously close to the ceiling, and into a cavern carved out underneath the bar. Her heart, already sunk within her, sank even further. There was very little light, merely a piercingly bright cone shining from a shaded bulb in the ceiling and excluding everything outside its edges, but nonetheless she could see that they were in a dungeon, with machinery lurking in the shadows to either side.

The wife stopped in front of them, turned, and spread her arms wide. "Welcome to my lair!" She dropped her arms, and walked forwards until she was face to face with Angelina. "And from now on, you will call me 'Mistress'. Is that clear, slut?"

Angelina looked at her uncomprehending for a moment, then a slap across the face brought her back to the present and to her anger. "Fuck you!" she gasped out.

"Oh dear. It would be so much easier on you if you just gave in. Over here."

He walked her over to a spot that seemed the same as any other until the Mistress grabbed the chain between her wrists again, pulled it up and connected it to a hook above her head. When the husband released her and bent at the knees he slid right out and left her hanging there, toes just scraping the ground, gasping a little from the sudden emptiness inside her and her shoulders, unused to stress, already beginning to hurt. Then her feet were pulled apart and two more padded cuffs were latched around her ankles, holding her legs spread wide apart and all her weight taken by her arms.

The Mistress had stepped back into the shadows, but returned carrying a long multi-stranded whip. Angelina impulsively jerked against the chain, but all she accomplished was to swing helplessly back and forth.

"Now, the first lesson you have to learn is: Don't sleep with my husband. I'll repeat that." The statuesque blonde's arm drew back, the smoothly outlined curves of her flesh tightening into sharply delineated muscle. "Don't!" The arm swung forward violently, drawing the whip hard across Angelina's back, the ends whipping around to her flanks and one sharp tip nicking her breast, making her scream and jerk forwards away from it, only to swing back and into the next lash which came with the next word "Sleep!" Each word was punctuated by the sharp slap of whip on flesh, "With!" Angelina screamed with each landing, but her shrill voice failed to drown out the Mistress' authoritative tones. "My!" The Mistress timed each lash perfectly as Angelina swung backwards into it. "Husband!"

If Angelina had desperately hoped that one repetition would be enough, she was sorely mistaken. There was not even a pause. "Don't! Sleep! With! My! Husband!"

Angelina's flanks and back were beginning to bleed, blood pooling in the welts raised by the soft leather, when the Mistress slowly walked around behind her and, unseen, switched hands.

When the whip next landed, over the same stretch of back but whipping around to strike the other flank and breast, Angelina twisted even harder, crying out in despair as well as pain. "Don't! Sleep! With! My! Husband!"

The Mistress spared her a second rendition from that side, stopping to absent-mindedly run the whip through her hands and very mindedly admiring the way that the blood raised from the side of Angelina's tiny breasts ran down her few curves, providing a necessary outline by contrast of her tiny body. She bent forward and slid her tongue up the girl's smooth flank from the bottom of the blood-drops trail to the wound from which it trickled. The girl tried to twist away again, and this time the Mistress only smiled.

The Mistress moved away into the shadows, leaving Angelina hanging and gasping for breath, trying to tear her mind away from the pain in her back. When the next sensation upon Angelina's back was a cool spray she jerked in surprise and near panic before realising that it wasn't the whip landing again. The spray stung her welts, but quickly numbed them. She heard the Mistress moving away once more into the shadows, but the amazonian woman was gifted with the ability to move quietly even in those high-heeled boots and even on this naked rock floor.

Suddenly she felt her head grabbed from behind, and pulled backwards. She barely had time to gasp before a tall leather collar was pulled around her neck, a sharp snap against her spine telling her that it wasn't about to come off. When her hair was released, her neck couldn't move and her head was locked staring at the ceiling.

"This is called a posture collar. As you have no self-discipline, we must impose it. And this is called the Black Magic."

She felt something cold and slimy bump against her pussy, and jerked upwards with no more success than she had escaped the whip.

"It's a simple adjustable electric motor driving a dildo through a linkage arm. To show you my compassionate side, I've lubricated it. To show you that I'm serious, I'm not going to turn it on slowly or let it run at anything more than maximum speed." The Mistress finished adjusting it so that as Angelina hung from exhausted shoulders the tip of the dildo was an inch inside her. "This is to ensure that it doesn't pop out," the Mistress said solicitously in her ear as the cold slimy head of the dildo made her sense of humiliation, of vulnerability, complete. She bit back a sob, and nearly bit through her lip when she felt two ribbed metal jaws bite into her nipples, half-erect from the cold, and squeeze them hard.

As she desperately blinked back the tears, her eyes cleared to see the Mistress standing in front of her holding a handful of small, shiny, pieces of metal in front of her face. "And these are called clover clamps. They're Japanese. Very ingenious. They're spring loaded, as you can feel, but the harder you pull on them the tighter they clamp. There's a chain between them, dangling in front of your skinny little belly. And I'm going to hang these weights off them," simultaneously, Angelina felt a very small drag downwards on her nipples, and the pressure very slightly increase, "Until I'm satisfied."

The last vestiges of hope disappeared from Angelina's mind. The Mistress began to hum tunelessly and, every few seconds, the drag on her nipples increased, and so did the pressure, as the pain from her aching shoulders was first matched and then began to fade. Tears of pain were squirting from her eyes before the Mistress said "There! That should be about right." Angelina didn't even feel a sense of relief - her nipples, pinched and stretched, were in too much pain.

She struggled to blink back the tears, to focus, and then her eyes opened wide and she found the strength to scream as the dildo jerked into life and slammed deep inside her, yanked back and slammed in again almost before she had time to register the first assault. Suddenly what felt like a ball covered with soft leather was jammed into her mouth, and an elastic strap snapped over the back of her head. "I don't think we need to listen to that noise. Undisciplined pets are so tiresome."

Angelina almost gagged as the ball was jammed into her mouth and, with the posture collar holding her head upright, nearly choked on saliva running down her throat. When she worked out how to prevent that from happening, the attention she hadn't paid to the dildo pounding in and out of her had left her body screaming and what was left of her willpower in tatters.

The relentless, high-speed pounding, ripping into her all the way to the entrance to her womb, had nearly done its work while she was trying to keep breathing. Coming so soon after a real fucking, and while her body was aching for any sensation but pain and her will was at its very lowest, the Black Magic had stripped what was left of her resistance, her willpower and her fear and replaced them all with screaming lust. Even the Mistress was impressed by how fast the pale, waif-like body of Angelina had broken and succumbed to the stimulation.

As soon as she could think about what was being done to her, she knew that she had lost. There was no way that she could fight, and no way now that she could resist the effects. She started to cry in earnest as she tried to beg for release.

She was soon jerking, desperately, tears cascading down her cheeks while her body shook with its need for release, barely even noticing the bouncing of the weights on her nipples. Before she really realised it she was cumming, screaming even through the gag, body shaking as the orgasm shredded her sense of time, of space, of what was happening to her, the tireless and dumb machine not slowing down, not deviating, not ceasing its stimulation of her as her orgasm, as soon as it had peaked, was replaced by another, tired and forced but still real, shredding this time her sense of self.

When the machine stopped, it withdrew completely from her and she was left gasping and lost, flailing to pin down where she was, who she was, what was happening to her...

"You are listening only to me. Only my voice exists."

The sound gave her something to concentrate on, some sort of focus to rebuild the tattered shreds of her mind.

"You are my slut, my slave. You exist only to serve me. That is why you are alive. That is who you are."

Yes, it made her feel less panicked, less confused and disoriented.

"You will do everyone I say, and believe everything I tell you."

Of course!

"You will lose all will, and listen only to me, when you hear me say "How do you hold your licker?" "

Yes...

#

She lay with her elbows and her wrists tightly bound behind her back, taking all her weight on her small tender breasts, her ankles strapped to her wrists and her knees held wide spread. Her mouth was wide open, her tongue working the entire length of her Mistress' slit. With every second her Master slammed deep inside her, and the motion drove her forward. She tried to use it to drive her tongue deeper inside her Mistress, because that was what she was for.