In the Dungeon.. part 2

This is second half of the story about my night at the Dungeon with Roxy and part 5 of the story of my January visit.  If you missed the beginning.. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (Dungeon part 1)

She’d been working me over on the St. Andrew’s Cross with the flogger and various paddles, which served as a great warm-up, and then it was time to move on to the next station.  She’d been eyeing the swing, told me that’s where we were going next, as soon as I cleaned up the cross.   Spray, wipe, spray, wipe.  Attention to detail, care taken to being thorough, I didn’t want to have any hesitation if she asked me if I’d done my best work.  It was a small, menial task, but I was doing it for Her, so it got my utmost, diligent attention.  I finished up and she came to check my work.

“OK, very nice, boy, now follow me, it’s time for the swing” and she turned on her sexy heels and clicked across the floor away from me.

“Um, Sir?” She turned, eyebrow raised expectantly, “Sir, may I pull up my pants?”

She looked me up and down, very slowly, licking her lips, eyes lingering on my nipples, still clipped and chained and very red.  “No, I like you this way, now, come along, boy, don’t make me wait for you.”

Ahh.. she liked me hobbled and chained.   I shuffled across the floor, pants around my ankles, cuffs on my wrists, chain dangling between my crying nipples.  I tried to carry the bag waist high but it was heavy and I kept bumping my tit clamps.  Nevertheless, I was determined to maintain a certain posture and attitude, I wanted to radiate pride, pride in myself, pride in my Sir.  I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin and shuffled my pink, whooped ass over to where she was waiting for me, watching me with an amused expression on her face.

Soon I was in the leather swing, cuffs clipped above my head again, wearin nothing but my skivvies.   I love, love, loved the leather.. the smell, the suppleness, the way it creaked softly when I moved.. and let me tell you, it creaked a lot.   She started with the flogger again, and ohmygod, I love the feeling of that flogger.  Inner thighs, lower legs, between my legs across my belly, both arms and back to my completely tortured nipples.   I was pushing for more, thrusting my hips up, trying to catch more flogger in my cock and inner thighs.  I was wild with desire for her and wanted to encourage her to give me more.   The paddles came back, flicking, popping, slapping.  Sensitive areas became an inflamed, painful red that didn’t fade away any more.

She paused occasionally, stroking me, testing my red bits to see how much more I could take.  She praised me, told me how proud she was, how much she adored me. I felt amazing, my whole body felt alive, on fire.  I felt simultaneously like I was made of slow moving, warm molasses and mentally alert and charged up.  As the moments stretched out, pain built up again.  I tried to hold off, mute the pain, stay defiant but, eventually, my groans became cries of pain, and my rebellious growls became howls.

Once she’d gotten her fill of beating me suspended in the swing, she unclipped my cuffs  and told me to clean up while she scouted ahead.  She left me for a few minutes, my head buzzing with happiness.  I almost hummed while I sprayed and wiped down the equipment.  As with the cross, little by little I became aware that we weren’t alone.  There was a threesome on the other St. Andrew’s Cross, and elaborate scene involving an elevated bench and some rope, and a couple off to the side, she getting a long and varied beating from him.

I remember now how, prior to coming to the dungeon, I feared being left alone, exposed, something Roxy and I talked about well ahead of time.  Contrary to that fear, even naked and hobbled by my pants, left alone for a few moments, I felt no weirdness about the exposure, no lack of security or confidence.  I couldn’t have articulated it at the time, I was in the middle of sub-space and high as a kite on that feeling.

She came back and told me to follow her.  I began my shuffling, bag encumbered walk and she turned suddenly to look at me.  It felt distinctly like I was a project, maybe a bizarre work of art, and she was appraising her progress.  She came in closely and I’m sure I shuddered with pleasure and anticipation.  She touched one tortured nipple with her fingertip watching my face closely.

“Time to take these off” she said reaching for the clover clamps, “We can’t leave them on too long, they’ll do damage” she accompanied that with a dark chuckle as she pulled them off one by one, relishing the way I gasped and struggled to control myself.  Sensation rushed back into my nipples like electric shock followed by acid.  She stared into my eyes, challenging me.  I stared back, answering the challenge.  She reached for the right nipple, the one in the most pain, I believe I’d given that away earlier, fool that I am for her.  She pinched it tightly, watching as my eyes squinted slightly but my mouth remained closed and my breathing controlled.  A small sadistic smile twitched the corners of her mouth upward, “Oh, is that how it is, boy?”  She spoke so softly, but it might as well have been a shout, I was so focused on her and so unaware of anything or anyone else in the room.  She didn’t say anything else, that I remember, I only remember the look in her eyes as we stared each other down.  She rolled my nipple between her fingertips, I steadied my breathing and focused away from the pain.  She twisted it, watching closely.  My reactions, if any, were minimal.  I remember that my face felt relaxed, my jaw loose, my breathing relaxed.  It was like being in the middle of a difficult yoga asana.  You make promises to yourself, deals.  If I can just breathe through this, I’ll be ok.  I can last another 5 count, another 10 count.  I harnessed that experience and distanced myself from the pain as she twisted one way and then the next, pinching and pulling my nipples away from my chest.  I swayed a little as she changed my balance point, but my gaze was unwavering.  I remember the distinct feeling of taking that pain in hand, of forcing it down, away from my awareness, down into a box somewhere inside me.  I’m not sure that I risked a smile at that moment, but I felt it in my mouth.  I felt giddy with power.

After a few moments of this, she was satisfied, maybe even proud of how I handled her sadism.  It was time for the next challenge.  We walked into one of the small rooms containing different apparatus in each corner.  On one side, a couple was doing a very complex and painful scene with sharps.  In another corner, a large dog-sized cage stood empty, with an arm chair and a spanking bench close by.

She had me move the spanking bench into position, then had me move it again.  I moved the arm chair at her bidding, then adjusted the bench again, until she was satisfied with everything.

“Get in the cage, boy” there’s a certain quality to her voice, a combination of the sound that hits my ears and a tone that plucks my body like a tuned guitar string.  Thinking about it, even now, so far removed from that moment, I feel a tremor in my body, my back arches and a long, satisfied sigh rolls out of my chest.  This woman, my Sir, she knows me so well, she doesn’t need to say much to say exactly the right thing.

I got down on my still shackled hands and knees and crawled through the doorway and, with some difficulty, turned around so I could look out at her.  My head was reeling with possibilities, so many scenes dreamed of or read about.  Would she have me back up to the bars so she could torment and fuck me through them?  Would she create some predicament with chains and clamps?  She would torment me, oh yes, but not in any way I’d think up with in those few feverish moments.

She sat down in the armchair, at first leaning back and sighing happily, like someone coming home from a long day at work.  Apparently she liked what she saw: me, naked and collared, looking like an eager and curious pet.  She spread her legs, showing me what I so wanted to touch and taste.  She knew that, of course, knew how turned on I was at that point.

“I have a treat for you, boy”  Lord, how my ears perked up at that.  I’m sure she saw the eagerness in my eyes and then the shadow of suspicion, when I reminded myself that no reward was going to come easily.

She scooted the chair a little closer.  I pushed my face between two bars and sniffed the air, noisily, eagerly, like a dog smelling a bitch in heat.

“You want to touch me, don’t you boy?”  Oh, god, did I.

“Yes, Sir.. please.. let me touch You, Sir.”

“Mmmmmm, yes… ” My incautious heart leaped again.  “If you can reach me, you may touch me.”

Inwardly I groaned, it was hopeless, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.  And, of course, she knew this, knew I’d try my hardest against all odds.  I am reminded of all the times she’s told me that it’s my struggle to follow her orders that fascinates and excites her.  I pushed my face against the bars, trying to turn my shoulders so that I could get my still cuffed wrists between them, reaching, straining for another inch, a centimeter.  She chuckled mercilessly, and scooted a little closer.   Groaning loudly and beginning to growl, I changed my position and gained maybe another inch by grinding the bars into the side of my face and pushing more of my body through.  I felt a bit rabid in my need to get to her.

I was still several inches shy of my target.  She pulled a little closer and I renewed my struggle, pulling back and trying different approaches, still without any hope of actually touching her.  Satisfied with my performance, she pushed the chair back and praised me for my efforts.  I’d like to think it really turned her on to see me try so hard for the chance to just touch her and that she couldn’t stand to have the bars between us anymore.  At any rate, she instructed me to come out of the cage.  Standing up fully, I stretched my shoulders back and flexed my legs.

Good thing I took advantage of that moment, because next thing I knew I was curled over a spanking bench, ass in the air, wrists cuffed and chained around the front legs.  I’d been looking forward to this, after the St. Andrew’s Cross, this was something I’d anticipated the most.   And I was so high, so very high in subspace.  I’d been well used, but not nearly finished off.. yet.

I’m gonna apologize right here for the lack of narrative in this next section.  As I said, I was deep in subspace, living very much in the moment, and what I remember are flashes of the experience rather than a moment by moment timeline.

As I was positioning myself over the bench, she made a comment about my briefs being in the way of her view, or something like that, and pulled them down to join my pants around my ankles. (Dom note:  if you don’t have ankle cuffs, or don’t want to take the time to tie a hobble around your subs ankles, leaving shoes on with pants down works pretty well. )

I groaned out loud as my very sensitive nipples pressed against the bench.  I remember trying to press into the bench, thinking that if I caused the pain, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad… yeah, it sorta worked, but didn’t take much of the pain away.

She worked me with her flogger first, reacquainting my flesh with her rhythm and talking to me.   Throughout it all, she told me what a beautiful boy I was, how proud she was of me.

Then the lovely thud of her flogger was replaced by the slap and heavy impact of her paddles.  The leather-clad ones first and, oh, how I squirmed and moaned then.  She worked my inner thighs, upper arms, under arms, sides, places not accustomed to that kind of impact.  Mentally, I was slipping, losing my grip.  The guy who’d held his Sir’s gaze while she tortured his nipples was gone, replaced by a boy hanging on for dear life.  My body squeaked and cried out and protested.  I dug in deeper, taking every pause in the action to dig my mental self in deeper, breathing the pain out.  Then she came in with the metal paddle, my nemesis.  That paddle just flat-out hurts.  I can’t take much of it, she knows this and moves it around a lot, giving each victimized section of flesh a chance to recover.  At this point, I was crying out, loudly, desperately, eyes screwed shut, hands grasping the front of the bench, jerking around like a fish flopping around in the bottom of a boat.  At least, that’s what it felt like.. maybe I didn’t move much at all.  The mind’s reality vs. objective reality takes on a funny relationship when you’re more than an hour into a prolonged beating.

Somewhere in there she pulled out her truncheon, a lovely, heavy, rubber-clad club.  Though it was the heaviest thing she hit me with that night, it felt good compared to the sting and pop of the paddles, almost like being massaged.  At least at first and then, even it was too much.

At various points during this beating, she would come up in front of me, crouching down, caressing my head, talking to me in a calm, reassuring voice.  I found out later she was doing this to discourage an audience of one, a guy who kept hovering too close.  She didn’t like his energy and was hoping that if she stopped the action, he’d get disinterested and move on.  It worked, and when he came back, she’d do it again, with the same result.   And there were others.  Besides the Hovering-Too-Close-Guy, two women were sitting nearby in the room with us, watching and fondling each other.  The couple doing sharps play watched intermittently from their corner.

Somewhere midway or so into this session, she started having me do math problems for her.  She doesn’t do this just because she’s a math teacher and can’t help herself, she does it to assess her sub’s mental capability.  She wanted to see  how far gone I was, so she had me count by 7’s.  I did OK the first time, and maybe the second, but at some point, it became obvious that my usual set of IQ points had taken a leave of absence.

“uh.. 7.. *giggle*.. 14 … mmmm *deeply furrowed brow* … 21!  *triumphant look of a young child getting a hard question right*  .. 28 .. *certainty in my voice* .. ummm.. *furrowing again, then a giggle and a broad grin* 35! *looking up into her expectant face* .. *completely losing my train of thought gazing into her eyes * .. umm… hmmmm *pained expression*  .. mmmmmm *uncertainty, frustration, huge amounts of brow furrowing* .. mmm *squinting upward hopefully*  .. 52???”

The look on her face made me collapse in giggles and then beat my forehead against the bench in frustration.  I knew that wasn’t right but damned if I could make my brain work at all.  I felt high, drunk on the experience.  I knew that normally my brain worked, but right then there was no way I was going to get much more out of it.

And that’s when she knew it was time for the final torment.   She plugged in her Hitachi and then realized the bench wasn’t close enough to the outlet.  She had me stand up enough to pull the bench back toward the wall, then back down I went, to fresh protests from my nipples.  I heard the Hitachi buzz to life and felt it’s sweet, flirtatious come-on between my legs. Oh god.. after all that pain and mental torment, that was almost the best thing I’d ever felt.  I moaned, loudly, and pushed against the vibrating bulb.

“Kyle?  Don’t come.  Do you understand?”  her voice, a menacing purr, startled me.  Funny how you can forget where you are in moments like that.

“Yes, Sir!”  I said it emphatically, hoping I could convince myself as well.

Oh. My. Gawwwwd.  The Hitachi is my best masturbation friend and my absolute nemesis when it comes to this kind of challenge.  She pushed the bulb up against my clit and turned it on, low.  My whole body jolted, I was so ready to come that I almost lost it in those first moments.  Then I took a deep breath and started resisting the seductive pull of Mr. Hitachi.  She was talking to me, taunting me a bit, doubting that I could resist but following the taunts with encouragement.  She’s so good at getting me all twisted around mentally, until I’m gibbering incoherently and unhinged to the point that I don’t know how to answer any question.  Should I say ‘yes’ or ‘no’?  I didn’t have a clue, I just knew that I wanted to come and she wouldn’t let me.

I banged my head against the padded bench, trying to distract myself from the vibration between my legs, the siren song of my orgasm building, becoming all I could hear.  She shut it off, I’d held off long enough to earn a respite.   She may have struck me with a paddle, maybe played with my butt plug, probably came up to my head to stroke me and tell me how proud she was.  I’m speculating because at this point all my finely tuned mental processes had gone off the rails.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t speaking in complete sentences.

Then she was behind me again, pushing the head of that dreaded and beloved instrument up against my clit and GODDAMNFUCKSHIT!! it was on and pulling me in and the blood left my brain (not that much had made it back during the break).  Again, I marshaled my resources, thrashed and pulled the front of the bench off the floor, smacked my forehead against it and resisted my orgasm.  Again, she turned it off, rubbed me in all kinds of delicious and enticing ways, asking me if I’d had enough, could I handle more, or was it all too much for me.  Oh that kind of thing makes me growl and I did, loudly, and responded through my teeth that I could take much more than that, that I was strong enough to take whatever she gave me.

At the time we had a small audience of 4-5 at this point but I didn’t care who was watching or listening, this was all about the struggle between her and I.  When I get this deep, all I care about is doing an outstanding job at whatever challenge she’s given me, to please her, to make her proud.  I know I can give everything in that moment because she’ll be there to pick up the pieces and put me back together.  So I let it all go, I’m all in, every last chip.  For a third time, she turned on the vibe and brought it close, this time not touching me.

“boy, would you like to come?”  oh, that purr, the sweet, thick, molasses-like quality in her voice carrying along the menacing undertone.  That voice has command over me, I can only resist it for so long, and that time was coming to an end.  “Kyle, I know you want to come, tell me, boy, tell me how much you want it.”

It came out in a flood, like a dam breaking, washing away all resistance, the last remaining particles of pride I’d been clinging to, “Sirrrr, please!! Please let me come, Sir, I want, Sir, please, please please.”

She resisted, she loves hearing me beg, loves knowing she’s pushed me to that point, the point beyond pride, the point where I can’t control myself anymore.  I begged, shamelessly, with a wordless audience watching intently, wiggling my ass, pushing it up to expose my throbbing pussy, my swollen clit.  I became a shameless, drooling mass of want, tears pooling in my eyes.

BAM! I came the moment she touched me with the vibrator.  Hard and long, wailing and howling, my toes digging into the floor, trying to find traction and leverage, pushing down on the bulb, thrusting, groaning, growling, panting.  I don’t know how many times I came, but it was several, one after another until I was a breathless, sweating, crying, hot mess sprawled limply over the bench.

The next thing I was aware of was her hands, her wonderful, warm, loving hands, caressing me, removing the cuffs, petting my head.  She kissed me, murmured praise and moved me to the arm chair, which she’d covered with a comfy, fleece blanket.  She covered me and kissed me some more, telling me how proud she was of me, how much she loved me, what a wonderful, strong, beautiful boy I was.  I was as relaxed as I have ever been in my life.  My muscles loose and warm, my mind clear and calm.   She cleaned up this time, it was my turn to rest and I couldn’t have gotten up and done anything but fall down at that point anyway.

She scouted ahead, first making sure I knew she’d be back soon, not wanting to trigger my abandonment issues.  I was so high at that moment, it would have taken me a long time to figure out I was alone, but I adored her for checking in with me.  She moved our things first, then came back for me, wrapping me in the blanket and walking me slowly out of the room, around the corner and into another room.

I was stretched out, blanket over me and she was searching for an outlet for the Hitachi.  Not finding one, she came up on the bed with me and I felt her hand between my legs.

“Yes, please, yesssssss”  My back arched and she reached inside me and found more orgasms.  Hot kisses, slippery fingers, her love poured over me like warm, soothing honey.  At some point, when she’d worked her way all around the hot insides of me, she declared me ‘done’.  Now it was time to bring me down from my high, to guide me back down from the ethers.  Looking back on it, I’m thinking, “Wow, what a challenge” because I was so high, so out of it, so so gone.

She had me dress, no easy feat with wobbly legs and a brain that couldn’t seem to coordinate any of my limbs.  We came out to the seating area and she deposited me in the corner of a couch.  I just sat there with what was, I’m sure, a goofy, happy look on my face.  She foraged for something to feed me, I’m always famished after sex and play.  The chocolate was especially good and I remember thinking about how chocolate is recommended after a dementor encounter in the Harry Potter books (not that Roxy is anything like a dementor, just that my brain was making free-form associations at that point, cut loose from its tethers).

She told me this later, “You were so beautifully quiet…  just amazingly calm.”  And I was.  I was in a blissed out state, feeling exactly as I should at that moment in time.  Kind of like being in the zone, the way I sometimes get in the goal during my soccer games.  There is only each moment, each moment to be fully lived, experienced, loved, breathed in and out.  No worries about tomorrow, or later that night.  No concern for anything really because she was taking such good care of me, meeting my every need before I knew I needed anything.  I felt completely secure, cared for and loved.

I also started to feel sub drop.  I pulled the blanket more tightly around me, and leaned into her, a sudden chill coming over me.  She wrapped me in her arms, pulling me close, talking softly too me, telling me over and over again how proud she was of me, how wonderful I was, loving me up so well.  There were a few others there, recovering from their play and talking quietly.   I felt sleepy, chilled and hungry.  Roxy prepped us for departure.   At some point, she pointed out the display case of floggers, causing me to croon and drool a little.  God, I love floggers.

By the time we left, I was feeling much more steady and was able to carry the big bag o’ toys out for her.    Roxy drove to a nearby Jack n’ The Crack to feed her hungry boy.  I still had my collar and leash on and the guy at the drive through window gave us a speculative look.  Food acquired, we talked all the way back to the hotel, both of us buzzing happily.

I wish we could have taken some pictures while playing but we did get some great shots once we were back at the hotel room.  This one’s been published before, but it’s my favorite and really sums up the whole experience and how I felt, very well.

Back at the hotel, we ate our food and took some pictures and settled in for some more lovin. It was an awesome night, everything I’d hoped for and more.  Roxy is so good at reading me, knowing my limits, knowing what thrills me.  She guided me through my virgin experience at the dungeon, and brought me out feeling better and more powerful than I had before.  I found out that I don’t mind being nude in public, don’t much care if I come loudly with people watching.  As long as I have my Sir with me, I can do anything.

I’m looking forward to future dungeon dates and definitely looking forward to the Folsom Street Fair.. bought my tickets today.

 

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5 Responses to In the Dungeon.. part 2

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