Slut Boy Mega Collection Volume 1

Chapter Sixteen-7

And with that Mistress Melissa finally rises from the bed – my appallingly limited new home – and moves back to access her fiendishly capacious trunk.

“It’s time to get you really tied up, Slut-boy!” she cries. “It seems like I’ve been waiting forever for this,” she unnecessarily adds. “I know that I’ve told you this at least a half-dozen times already, but it bears repeating: bondage in itself is going to be a never-ending torment for you, just as you so ardently wished. But first we have a couple preliminaries, starting with this wicked thing...”

Mistress returns with a large, conical rubber device trailing an attached tube and a small inflation bulb.

“I promised I’d get you good and stretched out, Slut-boy – loose enough to take my fist is the way I believe I put it. And I always keep my promises. So from now on, whenever I’m not currently butt f*****g you, and until I can easily fist-f**k you, and perhaps even forever after that, you’re going to live with this inflatable rubber stretcher plug stuffed up your ass.”

Once again she greases up my aching anus. Then, ignoring my frightened whimpers, and then my agonized squeals, she forces that huge foreign object deep into my already stretched out rectum.

Immediately I’m sobbing at the pain of this monstrous invasion, utterly appalled that one person could do such a heartless thing to another, particularly someone they’ve repeatedly purported to love. But neither my inner or outer reaction stops my beautiful new owner from briskly pumping the bulb in her fist, pitilessly inflating that thing to over three times its original size.

“Ahhh, Goddess!” I cry out loud at the intolerable pain, utterly unable to help myself and careless of the consequences. Inexcusably stupid of me, of course. And how truly terrible those consequences truly are...

“What’s that, Slut-boy?” Mistress Melissa asks sweetly of me.

“Were you about to beg me for mercy? Because I can pump it up much bigger than it already is you know. See?” Half a dozen more times she squeezes the bulb, giggling at my instant scream.

“No Goddess! Anything you choose to do to me is wonderfully appropriate and absolutely acceptable!”

“Good. In that case I’ll only pump it four, maybe five more times.”

Just for good measure she gives it another six, and great, glassy cramps wrack my outrageously expanded insides. Now my poor ass is stuffed so full and stretched so ridiculously far out that it’s a wonder my sphincter doesn’t just rip right apart. This is a nightmare terror I’d never bargained for in any foolish fantasy! But I know damn well that any sound I might make might just induce my pitiless Mistress to inflate that horrible plug even further. So despite the extreme excruciation in my already brutalized ass I manage to stifle my sobs, and wait quietly for Mistress Melissa to take whatever next steps she feels are appropriate in my training as her new lifelong lover and bondage, pain, and butt slave. For the moment she seems content to just question me.

“How does that permanent new butt plug feel, Slut-boy?” Her hand caresses my oh-so bloated, black and blue and up-thrust ass.

“It’s the worst agony imaginable, Mistress,” I sob.

“Oh, I don’t know about that!” she immediately demurs.

“Just wait until I finally fist-f**k you! Imagine my clenched right hand and big strong arm punching its way unstoppably up inside of you! I bet that will hurt a whole lot worse. And I can’t wait to ride your big hard c**k tonight, with that big fat balloon so hugely inflated inside of you. That should lift your genitals up by a couple inches at least, vastly improving my vaginal penetration. It should also provide a beautiful bit of bounce for me, as I pogo up and down on your spasming body and hopelessly impotent erection. Ah, god, how I can’t wait for that! But despite my incredible ecstasy I’m sure it will be amazingly painful for you, Slut-boy. Or how about when I beat you tomorrow? Imagine the agony of me slapping my strap across your stuffed-up ass! In fact, don’t imagine it, experience it instead...”

Suddenly that long leather strap slashes across my ass, once, twice, three times.

The searing pain causes my butt muscles to clench up around their immense occupier, and the inner and outer agonies magnify each other alarmingly. Now I can’t help but bawl like a baby, and Goddess giggles again in diabolical satisfaction. But then she drops her strap and becomes immediately matter-of-fact.

“All right then. One more delightful interlude and then it’s time to finish tying you up. The afternoon’s a-wasting, and I’ve got plans for it.”

She pauses to turn off the three bedroom cameras, and to program the computer to save the recordings she’s made. Then she goes to the closet, and returns carrying a small make-up kit, white high-heeled shoes, matching fishnet stockings and garters and a reinforced pink corset decorated with an intricate pattern of purple and white flowers and trailing four long laces. “First we’ve got to hide that disgusting belly-gut of yours...”

She climbs back on the bed, and drops her stuff next to me.

“Deflation time,” she says, and I feel a brief, ludicrous flash of hope. But when Mistress opens a valve it’s the pillow elevating my waist that deflates, and not the enormous plug stretching out my rectum. Then, once I’m flat on my belly on the bed again, she begins working that corset underneath me. A little rolling back and forth, then a little clever manipulation manages to get this under my midsection, and even under the bottom of my elaborate rope harness. Then Mistress Melissa wraps it about me and begins lacing it up tight. Placing a knee on my back for leverage, she hauls on those laces remorselessly, tightening that corset about my middle until my breath comes short and my belly is squeezed into as small a space as is possible. Next she pulls those tight white stockings up my legs.

“This is going to look a little silly, with that leg-hair of yours tufting through the weave everywhere. But I just can’t wait until you’re shaved to start cross-dressing you. You’re a sissy little slut now, and you’re going to damn well look the part!”

Those hideously uncomfortable shoes are forced onto my feet then, and after that Mistress hooks the garters to the corset. Finally she wraps a white silk choker with a pink and purple lace flower decorating the front about my throat, braids my slightly longer than shoulder-length hair into pigtails, ties them off with little white bows and sets about making up my face. Since she wants the damage to my puffy bruised cheek to remain on display, she contents herself with applying ridiculous heavy eye-shadow, eyeliner, mascara, and hot pink lipstick to match my cruelly tight corset.

This is a novel experience for me to say the least, but despite the extreme humiliation and discomfort involved I somehow find myself aroused by it. Perhaps being constantly cross-dressed will have its own perverse attraction after all...

Finally Mistress is ready to complete my first day’s bondage. She grabs two more ropes from her trunk, climbs back onto the bed and really gets down to business. First she ties one end of a quarter inch-thick cord all about my balls, separating and compacting my testicles before casting the rest of the rope up my back.

Mistress bends my spread, stockinged legs back at the knees, crosses them at the ankles, and lashes them thus securely together. Then she runs the rope from my ankles up my back to the harness encasing my torso and arms. She slips it through this, and then pulls it back so tightly that my high white heels meet my overstuffed butt and my head and chest are lifted well off the bed. Then she yanks it even tighter, until my crippled body is bowed almost into a semicircle before she firmly secures it.

Not content with just this cruelly tight hogtying however, she then presses a button, and at once the winch above the bed purrs into life. Another stout rope descends from this, which Mistress Melissa slips through the torso harness, and then down between my bound, pinched feet before tying it back onto itself, creating a rope triangle precisely designed to achieve a required effect. What this is becomes quickly apparent. Again the winch whirrs, and I’m hauled helplessly up into the air. Within seconds I’m hanging head-down at a forty-five degree angle, with my feet and butt about four feet off the bed, and my immediately flushing face at only about half that.

Blood begins to pound in my dangling head, and gravity pulls my already painful hogtying mercilessly tighter. Strong thin ropes bite cruelly into me everywhere, and the strain on my bowed-up back is magnified alarmingly. The half-full urine collection bag dangles from my p***s, stretching my attempted erection painfully down and bending it back against its natural curve, adding to the torment it now must habitually endure. And yet still my Mistress isn’t satisfied. Next she takes the rope bound all about my balls, runs it down my back and nooses it about my neck just under the jaw. Then she pulls it shorter and shorter, tipping my head up and back as far as it will go.

Any attempt to ease the strain in my neck then yanks on my captive nuts, sending a crippling wave of pain and nausea through me, as well as tightening the noose about my throat. Luckily this pulls mostly on just my jaw. But still it constricts me enough to make my already difficult breathing significantly harder.

Mistress learned this trick from one of my more twisted stories, and right away I’m cursing the day that I ever sat at a keyboard. Then she acts on another of my inadvertent suggestions by producing a bag of clothespins, and applying them nearly everywhere to my helplessly bound and suspended body.

First she places one on the tip of each of my fingers and toes, then seven apiece all around the lobe and rim of each of my ears. A full dozen are clamped onto every inch and side of my stretched-out p***s, and with that ultimate agony there are only four left in her brand new bag of fifty. Mistress pinches these onto the already stretched thin skin of my tender scrotum, two apiece over each bulging testicle. This exhausts her supply, leaving my man-t**s curiously free.

Surely she has other plans for this most sensitive erogenous zone. And these become apparent next, when she produces two cylindrical contraptions that I recognize from all my bondage videos as n****e stretchers.

The open end of the hollow metal cylinder, perhaps two inches in diameter, is placed over my left breast. Within it is a clamp attached to a screw. Mistress affixes this painfully tight clamp to my n****e, and then begins to turn the screw.

The rubber covered cylinder digs into my chest, and the clamp pulls at my n****e, drawing it out until it’s stretched perhaps an inch from my body. This is exquisitely painful of course, but then she flicks a little switch, and the last two turns of the screw twist my n****e as well, until it’s so stretched and twisted that it feels like it is being ripped right off.

Naturally the other n****e gets the same evilly inventive treatment. Then, grinning deliciously at my uncontrollable squirming and whimpering, Mistress hangs first a pair heavy lead weights from each cylinder, pulling at my n*****s even more, and then after this a little silver bell.

As I continue to shudder and squirm and sway in the air these right away begin to jingle merrily, and Mistress Melissa giggles with delight and even claps her hands at the incongruously cheerful sound.

“There, Slut-boy! Now you’re going to make beautiful music for me all day long. No matter where I am, inside or outside, no matter what I’m doing, whenever I hear those bells a-ring-ting-tingling, I’ll know that you’re shuddering and struggling and suffering exquisitely for me, and thus that you love me so much that you allow me to do anything at all I want to you.”