The stream of people entering the dungeon ebbed and flowed. It wasn't a large room and yet so much happened in there -- the tumult of people, the punishments, the dominance and submissiveness, the creativity, the spectacle of an unusual underground world. The 'B' rated filmic version of cold, damp, slime walled dungeons, rats scurrying, their nails clicking on moist cobblestones, had never been further from the truth.
The room was dark, warm, womb-like - the tangy smell of leather emanating from the furniture heightening the senses. All the pieces were black wood and leather except for two red velvet thrones which elsewhere may well have looked kitsch but here reigned with suitable aplomb. A grope box was fully occupied -- the sub's mistresses inviting all around to prod her naughty plaything. With gusto, people pushed fingers and whole hands through the holes. One woman spat wine through a hole onto the submissive's cock. Every now and again, a satisfying squeal could be heard.
The St Andrew's Cross was no less an object of interest. On the wooden frame, a man was tied into position, hands and legs locked akimbo by ropes looped through the O rings at top and bottom. His bare back and buttocks faced the audience that awaited his punishment. True, they had much else to keep themselves entertained with; it was the element of suspense that his mistress worked so well, as she sat at the bar in the other room.
On the suspension swing, a blonde haired woman was tickled with a violet wand. Heavy silver weights, like Christmas baubles, hung from her nipple and clit rings. During the course of the her punishment, these weights were discarded and needles like those used by acupuncturists were slowly, gently, quite lovingly, pushed through her soft, supple flesh. Both the weights and the needles were incongruent accessories to her fragile frame. Her master wielded the electric wand as deftly as a magician would, violet electric lines flashing over her pale skin. Her skin really was beautiful -- creamy and almost unblemished. The only piece of covering she wore was a mask as if to stop her from catching sight of herself. The electric lines both caressed her with their warmth and tortured her with their exacting demand of self.
The walls of the dungeon were brick but covered in modern BDSM tapestries that showed a series of enticingly torturous play. Although the room was at road level, the bricks that showed between the tapestries added to a feeling of being underground and the woven pictures helped to soundproof the four walls.
The ceiling was hung with black velvet and tiny star lights like diamonds glittered within the swathes of thick material. Floor lamps, strategically placed, threw gentle lights on each piece of equipment and its participants.
Marti caught her reflection in a mirror that perched precariously above the curved doorway that led between the dungeon and the bar. She was wearing a deep pink PVC mini dress with buckles which helped the dress to cling even more tightly to her curvy body. Seeing herself dressed like that, so provocatively as her mother would say, gave her a sense of the theatricality of the situation. A mix of intimidation and of excitement coursed through her.
The heat in the confined room was making her feel very sexy. A tiny bead of sweat was edging its way down between her round ripe breasts, pushed up and held bulgingly in place by the wire of the buckles. She could also feel a dampness between her legs -- the tight PVC skirt kept her legs together, allowing little air to make its way between her thighs and the sweat was trapped on her flesh. She bent her body slightly and surreptitiously slipped a hand up her skirt and in between her legs, brushing away the sweat that gathered there. She stood up and her eyes locked with another's. A young man, sexily dressed in tiny boy shorts, suspenders, stockings and heels, naked from the hips up bar for the narrow collar around his neck which was locked in place by a tiny padlock that swayed gently as he moved.
He glided over to her. "Mistress", he murmured. "Does your hand need drying?" She felt a blush heat her body; she held her hand up, nevertheless. He took it in his, lifted it up to his nose and breathed her scent in, deeply. He blew on her fingers, drying them, and then raising his eyes again to hers, he took her middle finger and slipped it into his hot wet mouth. She jumped slightly. He released her finger, lay her hand by her side, clicked his feet together in a strange salute and then disappeared into the crowd. She was shaken but not yet stirred and she felt the dampness again between her legs. Not so much sweat this time she thought as desire, pure simple lusting desire.
She found a seat, a high chair really, long chrome legs and a black leather seat and back. The leather felt very cool against the backs of her upper thighs. She pushed her bottom into the small gap between the seat and the upright back and pushed her spine up. Her totteringly high heels were playing havoc with her back but it was worth it for the incredible appearance she knew she made. It made her feel as naughty as a little whore child. There was a mix of the minx and the sprite in her and she felt a deep desire to show them both. As she sat there, musing on a mix of thoughts, the evening's dungeon master, Sam, came up to her and proffered her his spanking hand. He held still a whip in his hand and was seeking out naughty children to punish.
She laughed and said "For now, Master Sam, I will decline. Come see me anon, good man." What had come over her, she thought, to talk to the resident master as if he were her vassal? Dear o dear. She'd best watch her back (and her bottom) and this thought sent her silently chuckling.
Sam stood there, smiling and then he bent down close to her so she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. "Be careful what you wish for." This surprised her because she hadn't wished for anything. She looked up into his twinkling blue eyes. His smile was tight. He turned and left her.
She felt a tug on her right boot. She looked down and saw the sexy young man's bright face smiling up at her.
