Ms Patriot: Dark Crusade (Chapter 23) (Patreon)

Chapter 23

House of Joy, Wednesday, Two weeks into BDSM slavery…

Baby blues scanned the main parlor as her mistress led her in on a leash and collar. Ms Patriot gave the appreciative audience a sassy little strut which jiggled her high, firm tits enticingly. She was naked save for strappy black stilettos and black leather harness around her flaring, swinging hips. Matching bondage cuffs encircled her wrist and were locked close to her harness.

Hungry eyes watched her every move. She noticed everyone present was a member and had enjoyed her body at least once over the past couple of weeks. Large, muscular bouncers in all black tried to blend into the background all around the room. Then she noticed her former sidekick. Patriot Slut straddled Mr. Roberts’ lap, ball-gagged, wrists handcuffed, while she rode him reverse cowgirl. Her long blonde pigtails bounced sexily around her unmasked face.

The nipple clamp bells on Patriot Slut tinkled softly. All the teenage blonde wore were black patent thigh boots and a collar. Other slave girls gave members pleasure and joy around the parlor, as well in the adjacent bondage dungeon.

A female member, in head to toe black and pink latex, approached, eyes locked on the enslaved heroine.

“Good evening, Lady Davenport,” Mistress Tabitha purred. “You look especially fierce tonight.”

“Thank you,” the beautiful brunette said. The forty-something businesswoman was quite attractive, looking early-thirties in truth. She had a sweet, dancer’s body. Sleek and strong. “Coming from you, that is high praise.” Then her eyes dropped to Ms Patriot’s pierced nipples, small golden rings hanging from them. “And Grimme City’s former premier super heroine looks divine in her accepted bondage.”

Lady Davenport’s dark eyes lifted up to lock on the vanquished heroine’s full, glossy red lips. Seeing it, Ms Patriot slowly, sensuously parted her lips ever so slightly. She made them ten times more kissable. And Lady Davenport groaned softly.

“Do you… Do you mind if I greet your slavegirl?”

“Please, be my guest and enjoy her. I mean, greet her.”

The latex clad beauty moved up close and personal. She was a couple inches shorter, so bit her pink lip and cut her eyes up to gaze into the slavegirl’s baby blues. Their gaze intensified, Ms Patriot’s breath whooshing out. Her wet, pink tongue slid across her upper lip as her heart rate doubled.

Lipstick kisses are the best, she thought. Kiss me, Mistress. Please kiss me.

A latex sheathed finger came up to stroke Ms Patriot’s jawline, and then tap her across the lips. Lady Davenport’s lips parted, as she panted through her mouth. Darkest desire spread across her lovely face as she pressed closer still. And then her other hand came up to palm one of the heroine’s large, firm tits.

“Good evening, Ms Patriot,” Lady Davenport whispered, every syllable dripping with need and desire. “You are looking especially submissive and desirable tonight.”

Their heads tilted, lips so close they brushed when Ms Patriot replied.

“Thank you, Mistress. You are always so beautiful.”

Hand cupping Ms Patriot’s cheek, the beautiful member kissed her long and tenderly. Then she stepped back, a beatific look on her face. Ms Patriot noticed her right foot was shifted to the front. She cut a look over to Mistress Tabitha, who looked down, smiled, and nodded.

The raven-maned slavegirl slowly dropped to her knees. She struggled with her balance with her wrists locked to her hips, and lowered her lips to the toe of Lady Davenport’s foot. Kissing the toe, she lifted a smile up, and then began kissing, nuzzling, and licking that shiny patent boot from pointy toe to sky high stiletto heel. Once finished, Lady Davenport kindly replaced the right with the left, and Ms Patriot did it again.

Mistress Tabitha handed Ms Patriot’s leash to Lady Davenport. “Have fun. On the house.”

That surprised the slave. While her mistress gave the membership free access to her body those first few days, Mistress Tabitha was ultimate, even profoundly, a BDSM pimp. None of the House Slaves were free. Especially not Ms Patriot and Patriot Slut. Normally.

Lady Davenport thanked Mistress Tabitha profusely, before tugging on the leash. Ms Patriot rose sensuously to her stiletto-heeled feet. Her mistress of the moment hooked a finger through her right nipple ring, and led her across the parlor in a slow strut. Led her straight into the adjacent dungeon.

Every step found Ms Patriot’s twat a little hotter, a lot wetter. They were about to get down to business. BDSM business. While that was her first time with Lady Davenport, she knew the woman as a notorious paddler of pretty young women. And then it got kinkier with her.

The dungeon lighting was a little dimmer. Also the darkness of the purple-painted wall, with black lacquered wainscoting and trim, sucked up a lot of the light. Even the flooring was black marble. All of the playstations were black, as well, but with red, blue, or purple padded seats. Just a little pop of color for the bad boys and girls.

Ms Patriot was led straight to an empty playstation in the middle of the dungeon. It was all steel pipes and padded cuffs. Two steel pipes were bolted to the floor, rising up about five feet. The bar between them was adjustable. Lady Davenport locked her slavegirl’s ankles into the cuffs at the bottom of the side bars. The ex-heroine was then forced to bend over until her torso was parallel with the floor. The cross bar was lowered to keep her in that position, before Lady Davenport tied her elbows together behind her back, and finally pulled her wrists out to either side and locked them in cuffs attached to the cross bar.

Lady Davenport slowly paced around her several times, making her heels clack loudly, ominously. Then with a wicked little smile, she walked over to a side table and picked up a long, black-lacquered paddle. Ms Patriot’s eyes widened, and she swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

That’s going to hurt.

Their eyes locked when the kinky member returned. The sound of her heels echoed in Ms Patriot’s head, knowing what she brought. What was about to happen. Her life was pleasure and pain. But some members really leaned into the application of pain. Lady Davenport was one of them.

Tiny sounds of distress bubbled out of the bound beauty. She wiggled, tugging against her cuffs. There was no escaping her fate.

“Keep wiggling like that, slave,” Lady Davenport said, her voice coming out as a sex-drenched husky growl. “Perfect.”

She lifted the hapless beauty’s face, kissed her warm lips, and then moved to the side. Ms Patriot slanted a nervous look over her left shoulder, biting her lip as she watched the wicked kinkster wind up, and then swing.

THWACK!

The sound preceded the pain by several long seconds. Oh, she felt the impact immediately, but the fiery agony lagged a bit. But, damn, it hit her hard. Pure fire.

THWACK!

“Aaaiiee!”

Lady Davenport spent the next six days paddling the living hell out of Ms Patriot’s sweet round butt. Or at least that was what it felt like to the BDSM slavegirl. Probably lasted just a minute or so. Still, it felt like what it felt like. The wicked woman had the once proud super heroine balling like a baby.

A clattering of heels pulled her eyes over to the door. Patriot Slut was being led over to another bondage station by an old man and his wife. The St. Peters. They locked the pigtailed blonde’s wrist into a spreader bar hanging from the ceiling, and then hoisted her up to her very tiptoes. Ms Patriot watched as the husband pressed up to her former sidekick’s back, and slowly penetrated her anus, all while the wife knelt before the bound beauty and ate her out with relish.

That looks so nice.

“Oh, you like that scene,” Lady Davenport asked.

Ms Patriot wasn’t sure what answer her mistress expected. The wrong answer would get her punished, probably more paddling. Of course, the right answer might get her the same thing. So she was just honest.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You’d rather get fucked than paddled?”

She nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

“What’s your safe word?”

She hesitated. Was that a trick question?

“I’m a real slave, Mistress. I am not allowed safe words.”

“I know,” she said, smirking so evilly.

The mistress in black and pink returned the paddle to the table, and returned with lubricant and a butt plug. Ms Patriot groaned, eyes fluttering closed as she wiggled her butt. Yeah, her poop hole squeezed tighter, already tingling. Worse, it was the largest butt plug the House provided.

With lots of lubricant, and determination, Lady Davenport pressed that butt plug to the heroine’s tight ass. She pushed and twisted, practically force-screwing it deeper and deeper. The teardrop-shaped plug forced her anus open, forced it wider and wider. Forced it so wide Ms Patriot whimpered, expecting her butt hole to rip open.

And then it snapped up inside her in a flash.

“Oooooooooh.”

“Like that, did you?”

“Mmm, yes. Yes, Mistress. It’s very intense.”

“Good,” Lady Davenport said, stepping out before the heroine. She took her time spreading copious amounts of lubricant all over her right hand, halfway up her forearm. “It’s about to get real.”

All the poor slavegirl could do was whimper. She struggled within her bondage, but she was held firmly. She no longer possessed super strength, or any other super power. She was just a girl. A slavegirl. A BDSM fuck toy for hire.

Lady Davenport started out playing with, rubbing, exploring her exposed and easily assessable pussy. She stroked her slick, swollen folds, pinched and pulled her cunt lips. Just opened her sex up to any and all pleasures. Finally, she really started rubbing Ms Patriot’s swollen, uber sensitive clit. And she quickly rubbed one out.

“Aaaagggh! Oh Goddess, yes. Yes.”

The pretty brunette rubbed out one, two, five climaxes before she thrust her index finger up that hot, quivering twat. She finger fucked the oversexed, highly aroused heroine to two more climaxes. And then she added another finger. And a third.

“Ugggh!” Ms Patriot cried when that delicate, feminine hand slowly forced it’s way past her entrance, spreading her out so much she thought she was having a baby. “Oooooh. Mercy!”

“No mercy for heroines so stupid they got captured and enslaved!”

She’s right! This is my fault. I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t clever enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I deserve to be a fuck slave.

Ms Patriot’s body sang like never before. So intense. Hurt so fucking wonderfully. She bucked and wiggled, struggling against her bindings. Tiny animal sounds bubbled out, showing the world just how helpless and pathetic she truly was. Showing the world she deserved her fate.

“Fuck me!” she cried. “Oh Goddess, fuck me!”

Her insides erupted. “Aaaaaaagggggggghhh!”