A banging hangover

Miss Hybrid got back last night, and I had slipped off to watch the football in the pub, the Manor not having any television. When I eventually got back from celebrating a German win (now that doesn’t happen very often), she was none too pleased with me.

“I’ll deal with you in the morning”, she promised, “There’s no point now while you are pissed, I’ll catch you when you’re hung over to teach you a lesson. 8:30am sharp, in the dungeon shower room”

“Yes Miss”, I slur and then skulk off to my bed to sleep off the beer.

My alarm rudely awakens me at 6:30 and I do my usual roll over and hit the sleep button. I must have missed and hit the wrong button, because when I wake up again, the clock reads 8:10. My mouth is dry and tastes like something nasty has been living in it. My teeth feel as if they could do with a shave, and my head is pounding. Something at the back of my mind is trying to alert me to something. I have a feeling that I need to be somewhere at 8:30, but I can’t quite get my mind in gear. The timpani in my skull is not helping me focus. I drag myself out of my pit and head for the bathroom. Bladder and bowels first, quick face wash to try and get in gear, brush teeth, shower, shave (face and bits). I glance at the clock, wracking my brains trying to think where I need to be at 8:30. The clock flicks to 8.25, when it strikes me.

“Shit, dungeon, fuck”.

I quickly pull on a pair of boxers, jeans and a t-shirt and make haste.

I hear the grandfather clock in the hall just starting to strike the half hour as rush out over to the old hay loft, and take the stairs 3 at a time.

Miss H is standing at the top. Black latex skirt and bodice, thigh length boots, stockings and a wicked looking crop in her hand which she is slowly slapping into her latex gloved palm.

“Just in time”, she growls, but lashes out with the crop anyway to catch me just below my left buttock.

I wince, but say nothing. My head feels fit to burst after that dash across the courtyard and sprint up the stairs and I am gasping for breath.

“Are we a touch hung over, Felix?”, she asks as she runs the end of the crop up my neck raising my chin and looks into my eyes.

“Yes Mistress”, I answer, panting, “just a touch”

“Good. That should make this all the more punishing for you. Right, let’s get started shall we? Changing room first”, she says and pushes me over towards the changing room door.

The changing rooms have a vast array of costumes at one end – rubber, latex, leather, lace, chains, and at the other end a good sized shower area.

“Strip”, she orders.

I quickly divest myself of my clothing and stand naked in front of her. For once, my prick is limp. A mixture of fear of what is about to happen and the hangover have taken their toll.

“Well, you’re not going to be much use to me like that, now are you, Felix?”, she says.

“No, Mistress”, I reply, “shall I wank myself for you Mistress?”, I ask hopefully.

“No, no, first things first. Go to the showers”

“I have just had a shower, Mistress”, I say. Not wise, I realise. Should have kept trap shut.

“I DON’T FUCKING GIVE A SHIT IF YOU SPENT THE LAST 2 HOURS SOAKING YOUR MISERABLE LITTLE FUCKING WORM BODY, GO TO THE SHOWERS – NOW!”

I don’t think my head could have hurt more if she had used a megaphone.

“Yes Mistress, sorry Mistress”, I respond. It is only as I turn around that I notice the rubber hot water bottle with pipe and nozzle that suggest that someone is about to have an enema. As there is no one else about and Miss H is not really dressed for it, I can only assume that it is me.

“MOVE IT”, she says as she whips my bare arse to encourage me to move a little faster.

“Down on all fours”, is the instruction as we reach the showers.

I get down onto my hands and knees. Miss H squirts some lube onto her latex gloves and rubs some into my arsehole, pushing a single finger inside. I little more lube is applied to the business end of the enema kit and the nozzle is inserted.

Continued in Miss Hybrids Members area