Holding My Slave to Account:

Jun 25, 2013

Never let it be said that I let the boring jobs pass by without adding a bit of fun and frivolity. I wonder how many people can say that they have been able to enforce the mundane job of data entry on a wretch of a slave, whilst hooking him up to a wanking machine and simultaneously frustrating him with porn. Well that was indeed the picture today in Hanwell Towers. Anyone who runs their own business knows the behind-the-scenes paperwork that is required to keep the operation running smoothly. Just as with any other busy person, your Mistress needs to keep on top of all these small, duller jobs with great regularity.

I had selected a poor specimen of a slave to assist with this task. Like many slaves he appears to suffer from an over active imagination and an even higher level or that pesky male hormone that some might say makes the male brain drop to below his waist. I like to compare this to ‘letting the man’s small head think for his big head.’ Lust does leave the more malleable of every man’s two heads wide open to suggestion and coercion, I naturally use this to my advantage ensuring that my slave works his way through my Excel computer account sheets whilst I simply dictate and check his work. He knows the dreadful penalties in store if the smallest typos were ever to be made. He worked for me for hours with his member encased within my ever-pumping, Venus wanking machine.

To make his life – and perhaps his cock – a little harder, this wretch of a slave was also sat within sight of a secondary computer upon which I had decided to play some highly-inappropriate BDSM porn designed to send any sane male mad with frustration and lust. Watching this slave struggle with the numbers, trying his best NOT to get distracted with the sexual grunts and groans on the other screen, I mused to myself that perhaps a bit of pain might help his concentration levels. Rapidly fitting him with an electric butt plug of epic proportions – and upping the power beyond the midway point - certainly had an effect, although I can’t necessarily report that his concentration levels were affected in a positive way. He seemed to lose all ability to enter a number, add up the total of the accounts’ columns or ensure that he had the decimal point in the correct place. In fact, were it not for me looming over him to check his work, the results could have been staggeringly bad (for him naturally).

The film was reaching a climatic end, but there was still work to be done on my accounts front. I felt that a plastic bag gripped tightly around his head would certainly help motivate him by adding an element of ‘fear’, as well as discomfort. I was pleased that he carried on working even though the plastic did start to mist over from his breath condensing within it. He must have recognised that I was not going to let him use a little problem like his growing suffocation and a misty bag be any sort of excuse for delayed completion. Now there is, of course, no way that I would ever let any of my slaves know that I was pleased with their performance, but I was secretly impressed that the wretch managed to finish my accounts entries despite the distractions of both his own pain and the filmed suffering of a slavegirl on the other screen. But what was to be his reward?

Since this slave is so well trained that only increasing discomfort, pain and servitude now excite him, I was kind enough to supply all of these games as a little thank-you for all his secretarial assistance. I used strong cling-film to bind his arms immovably to his office chair, pumped up the electrics to make his rear twitch uncontrollably and then got out my magic wand vibrator to toy with his nether regions. I was gratified to see that even before my gloved-hands touched him, his cock was leaking a steady stream of clear, pre-cum. The wanking machine and the kinky films whilst he worked had clearly done their job of upping his frustration levels to bubbling-over, boiling point. It was but the work of a moment to touch the vibrator to his shaft, stand clear of the imminent eruption and then watch him cum all over himself. As his orgasmic cries were just starting to subside, I wiped most of his spunk over his face, inside the plastic bag, so that it could dry on his skin as a longer-term reminder that good work for his Mistress will sometimes bring a reward. There was still work to be done however. Someone had to clean up all the mess in my office… and it certainly wasn’t going to be me.

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