No Mercy
Mistress’s heart was black, she had been in love a long time ago. It was so long ago she hardly remembered what it was like.
love no longer gives her the rush of dopamine, or the arousal all over her body from the anticipation of seeing the object of her affection. She no longer has feelings for her male counterparts, the are just objects for her to use, designed solely to please her in every way possible.
Now she waits for her latest slave to finish cleaning her toilet as she smokes on a thin cigaret. The smoke slowly escaping from the corner of her mouth like a helpless victim trying to make a run for it, her slender fingers delicately making the journey back and forth to her lips and back to the ash tray, teasing the watcher with her sexual prowess.
Her long back hair is tied in a tight ponytail running beautifully down her back and her fringe is cut blunt, framing her doll like face. She was the image of female perfection, with an hour glass figure and huge full breasts that men dream of suckeling on like pathetic baby pigs screaming for milk. Her booty was round and big, underneath a perfectly crafted pussy, clean shaven and soft, pink and shinny with the gleem of her wetness just waiting to be worshiped by the slave of her choice.
Meanwhile her slave is kneeling naked on the floor, collared he scrubs quietly, quivering in anticipation of her next lot of instructions. She looks her slave up and down wondering what punishment she will enflicked today as she leans on the door frame looking into the bathroom. She towers over her slave in a skin tight back latex cat suit. Her finger nails red claws clicking on every surface she touches.
She calls out aggressively “are you finished yet slave? I need my toilet nice and clean.” The slave replies “almost mistress”. She towers over him as he is submissively crouched on the bathroom floor. Mistress spits on the floor and says “you missed a spot” and giggles. She turns and walks down the hall towards her dungeon “hurry up slave” she calls as she carefully makes her way to the back of the house in her 7 inch black LB heels and latex cat suit.
She moves across the floor slowly but with sexual energy that can only be discribed as that of a dancer - moving to a song only she can hear. She enters the dungeon, the smell of rubber and leather gently lingers in the air. Whips and canes hang on the walls. Mistress runs her fingers across her collection of torture instruments, her body runs cold with the urge to punish. She smiles to her self thinking of the many slaves that have been in her grasp, caged and at her mercy within these four walls. She turns and walks over to her work bench, she pulls down from the wall her dog lead and proceeds to head back to the bathroom where her victim patiently waits to recevive his fate at the hands of his beloved mistress.
