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Wanda dipped his cock and balls into the brew and it was as if she had delivered an electric shock, the Captive stiffened, every sinew taut, head stretching upwards and his bowels emptying. Wanda observed the excrement hitting the floor with horrified fascination. The Servant looked on blankly; he’d seen it all before.
"Well," said Wanda, "This is all getting rather distasteful. If only Marge was here, she would….elaborate. Scat is certainly not my bag. Never mind dear, what’s past is prologue. We begin again."
Wanda kissed the Captive absently on the cheek and turned to the Servant, "Milton, you need to muck out the stable later."
The Servant assented with a bow.
"Wipe the creature down and stick him in the pillory," Madame Wanda was at the table, rummaging in a cosmetics bag. She dug out a lipstick and compact mirror.
"If he gets uppity yank his tit chain," offered Madame.
The Servant undid the Captive’s restraints and he flopped to the floor like a puppet whose strings have been snipped.
"Crawl to the pillory, dog. On all fours like the bitch you are."
She stuck the toe of a boot up his arse crack to guide him on the way. The Servant picked him up easily and secured his head and wrists in the pillory.
"Face down, ass up. What a sorry fucking spectacle you present. "
Mistress Wanda inspected him contemptuously with narrowed eyes.
"Milton, be a darling and give his arse a wipe, there’s some wet wipes on the table, just get the shit off and dab a bit of blood on," said Wanda.
The Servant began his task.
"Leave them on the tray I know someone on craigslist who’ll buy them. You’ll be off to the post office with the old jiffy bags again."
For a second Milton’s loyally sombre demeanour seemed to waver, offering a glimmer of a puzzled reaction shot, but he quickly knuckled down and cleaned the Captive to Madame’s satisfaction.
"Milton, go and wait outside the door. We are at the beginning of the end."
The Servant nodded and ascended the stairs, crunching the door shut behind him.
"I do wish he wouldn’t bloody slam it," said Madame Wanda irritably.
"Just I and you again, how the mighty fall, here I am, reduced to working with a recycled turd like your good self."
Wanda lazily drew the word ‘bitch’ on his forehead in pink lipstick and loosed freezing laughter that resonated within the chamber.
"Look at you. Not quite the big man now are we."
She showed the Captive his reflection in the mirror. He seemed oddly pleased by it, which irked Wanda and provoked a casual cruelty. Wanda held his nose between thumb and forefinger and watched his face go blue and felt her pussy moisten at the terror in his eyes that seemed eager to slide down his checks like so much melting wax. She released his nose and the Captive snorted air greedily. Wanda delivered a crisply executed slap across his face, startling the Captive and making him piss again, the blow hard enough to mark his left cheek. She turned her attention to his other end, lipsticking ‘SL’ on one arse cheek and ‘UT’ on the other.
"If only your mother could see you now," mused Wanda. "I’m sure she’d be overwhelmed with pride.’ She picked up a spanking paddle and delivered a ferocious blow to his buttocks, then followed it with four more in swift succession. Wanda stepped back to admire the results of the thrashing, "Your arse is red raw, dear boy."
Wanda sensed the Captive was near the cosmic connection extreme ritualistic pain and controlled humiliation compelled, spent physically his mind was lost to the stars, time to gently guide him home, to engineer a conclusion. She lubed his anus and slid a butt pug in, playfully wiggling. No real rough stuff now. His cock was rock hard, mind annihilated. Wanda put on her vampire gloves; black leather with metal tacks set into the fingertips, and dragged them slowly down his backs.
"Giving you goosebumps, baby," breathed Wanda into his ear. She stood behind the Captive and reached around, wanking his prick with her right hand and massaging his balls with her left. Wanda knew silence was what he needed now, to fully process the pleasure after all the pain, to reconnect with the self through orgasm. Wanda felt his balls tighten and gripped his cock hard, masturbating it faster. The Captive was mewling softly and thrusting his cock and then it was all over, three hot spurts as he convulsed. Wanda clocked the decent wad of semen on the concrete floor and thought of another potential craigslist post.
"Milton," screamed Madame Wanda.
Madame Wanda stepped out of the shower feeling cleansed and half human again. After towelling her hair dry, she slipped into a thigh length cream robe and flopped on the bed. Wanda was always drained after a session but the ridiculous midnight start time the Client had stipulated meant she could barely keep her eyes open as the clock edged towards two in the morning. He must have a gothic streak or it possessed something psychologically symbolic for him concluded Wanda. The Client had paid extra and handsomely for the late commencement of activities and in full up front, a stipulation of Wanda’s to avoid any awkwardness when the act was consummated. He had expressed immense satisfaction with the experience, telling her, once Milton had removed the ball gag, that it had been a mind blowing, transcendent experience and she was the greatest dominatrix he had known, and he had met many. Wanda had accepted the compliment with customary grace and self-deprecation. She had stuck to the bullet pointed notes he had emailed her beforehand scrupulously, with only a few minor deviations, necessary to instil genuine fear and gratitude for mercy, the main one dunking his nuts and balls in a cup of char. Wanda flopped on the bed. The Client was tucked up snugly in one of the guest bedrooms. She knew nothing about him, aside from he was high up in the oil industry and he was loaded. They had to be, you needed serious coin to secure Wanda’s bespoke services. Wanda needed them to be as anonymous as possible so she could treat them in the abstract, like the corporeal commodities they were. Milton had patched the Client’s wounds up, run him a hot bath, got him settled. The Client had declined the offer of beer and sandwiches, instead necking a large brandy and quickly drifting into a deep sleep. In the morning Wanda would breakfast with the Client, no doubt he would be urbane and charming, they usually always were, and after he had finished his buttered kippers and grapefruit Milton would drive the client to the train station in the silver Rolls Royce Phantom VI her father bequeathed to her. All part of the bullshit experience. Wanda yawned and turned off the bedside lamp, forsaking her usual nightcap of large gin and tonic and a cigarette through sheer tiredness and lay staring into the darkness, trying not to think about how genuine fear in the eyes of her Captives really made her wet, how one day she might just…Wanda pushed the thoughts away, ***********ing something lighter to ruminate on till the blackness swallowed her. One thing that had sincerely perplexed and amused her earlier was the first words the Client had uttered when Milton removed his ball gag. After gulping air, the Captive had asked, ‘Who is Marge?"
"Marge," Wanda had replied, torching a cigarette, "Is a very dirty girl."
Smiling to oneself, Wanda allowed the night to soak her up, and she enjoyed the sweetest of dreams, her heels clicking in phantom recesses.
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