The time had arrived, a much anticipated night, a much talked about experience was about to begin. Roxy was taking me to a dungeon (see her side of the story here). My Sir was taking her newly collared boy to be stripped, beaten, used and loved, celebrated and showed off. I was still high on the emotions stirred up by the collaring ceremony and feeling a little larger than life. After the collaring, we’d spent some time enjoying what we’d done. Roxy took pictures of me in my collar, after raking my flesh with her hungry fingernails. She had me worship her, something I was eager to do, kissing her skin and meeting her needs was like leaving offerings at the alter of my goddess.
In planning for this evening, we’d talked a lot about expectations and fears. Roxy encouraged me to ask questions, bring up anything that I was concerned about. She wanted to have the chance to clear up any misunderstandings I might have. She also wanted to know if I had any fears, insecurities, anything that might interfere with having the best possible time. I gave this serious consideration, I mean, this was a big first for me: first time in a dungeon, first time playing in front of strangers, first time true dungeon equipment. She wanted to know how much nudity I’d be comfortable with and how far could she go in tormenting me sexually? Would I let her bring me to orgasm in the middle of a public space? More importantly, would I be ok with her teasing me, tormenting me, denying me orgasms until I begged shamelessly in front of strangers?
I had fears, certainly, and they had nothing to do with the pain she was going to inflict. I was only a little nervous about her stripping me down in public and I knew once she got me to the point where I was dying for an orgasm, my shamelessness would take over and get me through the experience. My fears were more along the lines of performance anxiety. I was worried that I wouldn’t be good enough, that I’d embarrass her in some way. I wanted to show her and everyone there how proud I was to be her boy, wanted to be the best submissive boy they’d ever seen. I wanted her to be proud of me and I wanted every other sub there to look at us and know.. I got the best one. I have the best Sir, the most wonderful, cunning, disarmingly gorgeous Top in the whole damned place.
She assured me that there was no question I’d make her proud, that no one there would hold a candle to me. She also reassured me that she would be with me the whole time, that she would make sure I didn’t feel abandoned. Because that was another of my fears, an oldie that came out in the weeks of conversations we had about this night. I had a fear of being rendered vulnerable and exposed and then abandoned. Intellectually, I knew that Roxy wouldn’t do that to me, but even a big, bad butch like me still has large remnants of the child I once was, and that child wanted to know s/he wouldn’t be left alone, uncovered, with a bunch of strangers around.
Before long it was time to get ourselves ready for serious playtime. She double checked her toy bag and got herself into sexy tall boots and a short skirt. I had the task of getting a lot of gear on under my briefs and jeans. Part of my uniform for the evening was a cock ring/butt plug harness (shout out to TabuToys). I had a smallish butt plug that wouldn’t stay in my ass with its base secured in the harness. Helpful Sir that she is, Roxy offered one from her bag. I gulped, remembering the last time she attempted to push that blue meanie into my ass. It hadn’t gone that time, but this time, well, she made sure it went in and stayed in. Plug in, I went through my cock selection, trying to find one that would fit securely in the cock ring (my Goodfella won that contest). The next challenge was to get my tighty whities over all that gear. I was successful, but the result was a ridiculously large bulge straining the limits of my briefs, not that she minded. On went my jeans, then my Belt of Doom (which she’d asked for specifically, wanting to use it on me later). I topped it all off with a white, v-necked tshirt with a plaid, short sleeved shirt over that to complete my boy look for the evening.
She was stunning, as always. Her sexy legs were demanding attention in her long, black boots. Her short skirt made me want to drop to my knees and lick her thighs. Her gorgeous cleavage threatened to rebel against the weak restraints of her top to lunge out at me.
In short, she was every bit the sexy Dom of my dreams, my Sir, my gorgeous, powerful, commanding Sir and I was ready to do anything she asked of me.
I was in a state of extreme anticipation by the time we arrived at Edges. I don’t remember the exact conversation we had on the way, but some of it was going over protocol and expectations. I don’t know if she could tell how nervous I was, not sure if the quivering inside translated to my voice, I think maybe I was quieter than usual.
One of my duties was to lug Sir’s heavy bag of toys. This woman doesn’t travel light, her arsenal of metal, leather, chains, cuffs, paddles, blunt objects, etc. is impressive and necessary. Plus there was a small bag of items I’d included, my ‘sub bag’. After doing the necessary paperwork, she asked me if I was ready. I told her I’d need to make a pit stop first. I really didn’t want my body betraying me in the midst of play, so I figured a quick purge was in order. In order to do that, I had to remove the aforementioned blue butt plug. Getting it out wasn’t too hard, but getting it back in required some work. I’d never put anything that big into my ass on my own before and when I came back out to my waiting Sir, I was perhaps inordinately proud of myself.
It was my job to carry the bag around the place and I was dumb enough to make a helpful suggestion as we began our tour of Edges.
“You know… I could get you a rolling bag for this stuff, it’d be a lot easier to get around.” She was a little ahead of me and stopped. I could tell before she turned to look at me what expression she had on her face, one of amusement with a dash of malice, “No, I don’t need a rolling bag.. that’s why I have a boy… riight?” Her expression and tone of voice straightened my spine and I hastily responded with “yes, Sir!” as she turned on her sexy heels and led me on a tour of the place. I’d seen some pictures, the shots you can see on the website, but it was something else to be there and see all the lovely implements of torture she was eager to use on me. There weren’t many people there, a few had staked out apparatus and were quietly beginning the evening’s activity.
We started at one of the crosses. She asked me to pull out the implements she needed and place them on a small table. I dug through the bag, pulling out paddles, the flogger, cuffs, arranging them on the table for her inspection. She came back, dug a few more items out and praised me for my work. She pulled my shirts off, exposing my back to the rest of the room, leaving my pants on for the time being.
She put cuffs on my wrists and wanted to clip me to the cross, but the eye hooks were too high, so she chained my cuffs together on the back side of the cross. Not being clipped to it, I hung on as best I could. Oh, and she had my nipples clamped, too. First one, then the other, linked by a cold, delicious chain. The left nipple was a bit rebellious, losing its grip on the clamp too quickly. I asked Sir to please fasten it back on for me. Oh Torment, your name is Roxy. She came in close, my hands above my head, gripping the cross, her lips inches from my ear as she pulled and tweaked my nipple until she deemed it ready to re-clamp. I was in a state of horny agitation when the initial stab of pain hit me and I gasped out loud, but that was nothing compared to what would come.
She pressed me against the cross, kicked my feet apart and picked up her flogger to begin warming me up. With my chest pressed against the unyielding wood of the cross, the clover clamps biting into my nipples. I love being flogged, love love love it.. and I love her flogger. It’s heavy suede and the way she uses it is divine. As she worked her way over my skin, I could feel a state of calm settle over me. The biting pain in my nipples became a constant, dull, reliable ache and the steady thud of the flogger was the baseline to my internal sound track.
She let me fall into that happy place before she started switching tempos and hitting me harder. She unfastened my belt and pulled my jeans down, and the feeling of her hands so close to my groin brought on a happy throbbing. She pulled out the hood I’d brought, a skin tight but breathable. I have issues with claustrophobia, which we’d discussed, but this hood doesn’t bring up those fears. Instead, by shutting down my vision, all other senses become that much more vivid. I focused on the sounds she was making, selecting her implement of pain, walking around me, no doubt deciding where she’d strike next. I could hear the other people in the room: whispers, thuds, yelps of pain. But my attention didn’t wander for long, I felt something I immediately recognized: the cold, unyielding metal of her paddle. She stroked me with it, legs, belly, breasts, arms… I shuddered and involuntarily pulled away. She chuckled darkly, “What’s the matter, boy? You don’t want this?” Of course, I told her that I wanted it, very much, please Sir, thank you Sir! She began to work over my ass, legs, shoulders and arms. I can only take so much of that paddle and she did an excellent job of extending that time span by giving me just the slightest recovery time in between. Not that she just left me hanging, she was constantly checking in, checking that my nipples were being tortured enough, making sure I was up for more. Even though I’m a pain slut, I can only take so much of the metal paddle, so she switched to a leather slapper, the one with stars I’d given her. She was determined to leave some stars on me and even though I was well into sub-space by then, a part of my mind was amused by the effort she put into that project.
At some point she had me turn around, keeping my arms up. She picked up the flogger again and working the front of me into a warm, pink glow. At some point she removed my hood. Maybe she missed seeing my facial expressions. At any rate, it was weird to come out of my isolation chamber and suddenly be aware of the people around us. Instead of feeling shy and nervous, I puffed up my chest and put on my best game face. A small smile at the corners of my mouth, trying not to look too impertinent, instead showing her that I was ready for more, ready for anything. My nipples were excruciatingly sensitive by then and she returned to them, over and over, changing my happy moans into yelps of pain and surprise. The paddles had another turn as well, striking the sensitive flesh on the backs of my arms, between my legs, then teasing and tormenting my breasts.
(part 2, soon…. next up, the swing)
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