The creak of leather echoed between the walls of her basement dungeon. Her pet sat chained to the wall and again struggled to shift the straps of the armbinder holding his arms behind him. He wore only underwear and socks besides his bondage. The room was dark save for a small nightlight flickering away near the stairs leading to the rest of her lair. Only the slow, rhythmic hum of a small fan kept him company as the hours and hours of life ticked away behind him. His thin twin-size mattress hosted her captive as he futilely tested the bonds that held him to her. He was being punished with confinement and had lost his upstairs privileges for a week.
The chain from his steel collar tinkled softly against the concrete wall as he maneuvered to the post anchoring him in his mausoleum. 'If I can just get one of these straps off my shoulder,' he thought to himself, 'maybe I can get the rest of it off.' His attempt was hopeless, but he had nothing better to do. Even if he did somehow manage to escape the armbinder, the chain between his collar and the wall was absolute and nothing except a key or bolt-cutters would free him from his cell. Both of those were safely kept locked upstairs, well out of reach.
The anchor was a smooth ring screwed into the concrete and offered no purchase as he worked. His idea to pry an arm loose failed before he even began trying, but he tried anyway. She couldn't be serious, right? There was probably a key hiding under the mattress if he could just free his hands. His collarbone screamed in bruised agony as he dug his shoulder into the extended metal, but it made no hold and he fell to his mattress again frustrated. His hands balled into fists behind him and did nothing more than crinkle the material encasing them.
He looked beside his resting place to see a large red emergency whistle. It was only to be used in case of an emergency. He had once tried to use it out of boredom and begged his owner to release him when she rushed downstairs to tend to him, but she was only infuriated at him for the false alarm. After a few strong shocks to his testicles, the armbinder being padlocked on, and a bit of his screaming for mercy, she again left and locked the heavy steel door behind her. The whistle was certainly no route out.
With a startled yelp, he jumped a bit as a light shock was wirelessly applied from upstairs. A shock collar was padlocked around his genitals and reminded him that his captor was thinking of him. Sometimes it only beeped. Sometimes, it vibrated. It shocked him again, a bit harder this time. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears as he thought of her strong legs holding his head between them as he sucked her clitoris. He remembered the desperation for oxygen he felt as she purposefully covered both his mouth and nose between her legs. He remembered she pulled his face in with a leather belt wrapped around his throat. He remembered the fire raking along his back as she opened his skin with her sharpened, hardened nails.
A gallon of water sat beside him and he reluctantly went for a drink from the straw. The bitter taste of dissolved sildenafil citrate, the ingredient of Viagra, accosted his tongue as he took gulp after gulp. He knew that the drugged water would only worsen his condition, but he couldn't help himself. Either be hard for her or be thirsty, and the only thing worse than thirst was death. His dick, ironically free of his chastity cage, was pulsing in rage from the involuntary erection caused by a drink an hour ago. Finished with his drink, he fell prone onto this mattress and humped the soft fabric with all his might in the hope of draining the cum from his balls. He may have to sleep in his own juices, but he didn't care. The whole of his skin was flushed and blushing as blood demanded that he hump something. Anything.
He had never been this desperately horny in his entire life, and all he could think about was her. He would literally do anything for her right now, his mind was so blinded with lust. Clean her car? You bet. Empty his bank account into hers? Absolutely. He'd pull out his own hair if she freed one of his hands and promised relief from the fluid crushing his testicles from the inside out. She was stimulating him to produce as much semen as he could and it felt as if he were carrying two walnuts in a too-small sack. His whole body was on fire. He moaned in anguish and called her name like the prayer of a condemned prisoner.
"Goddess! Please. I need you. I can't take it! Please! Come back!"
The sound of his voice reverberated in his ears as it bounced from wall to floor to ceiling. The small window was blacked out and with no clock in the room, he had no idea what time or day it was. His rock hard cock leaked precum as he continued to gyrate his hips against the bed. He bit the pillow under his head with enough force to break a tooth as he screamed in pain from the pressure in his balls. But he stopped.
He waited silently, trying to hear for her footsteps over the fan. He heard them.
As quickly as he could, he shuffled to the floor of the basement and got to his knees. He bowed down with his head touching the floor. So eager was he to show submission that he brought his head down too fast and hit the floor far harder than he wanted to, but he hardly noticed. Lust pounded in him and deadened him to all but her. Whatever she wanted. Anything. He was sorry. She was to be respected and taken seriously. She could keep him down here for the rest of his life and nobody would come to save him. He had no idea how long he had already been down here so far.
He heard the heavy bolt of the basement door actuate and it swung open. The light switch was flipped and he was blinded by the sudden assault to his vision. He closed his eyes. Such was her power that her light blinded him upon her entrance, both metaphorically and literally. It illuminated a room full of BDSM gear and furniture, including a small cage, a whipping cross with chained pulleys for racking him, a fucking bench, a wall of hanging toys of every size and shape, and much more besides. A small restroom was in the corner within the reach of his chain. The soft patter of footsteps came closer and closer as she came down the stairs. Sweat coated him from his time as her captive and it suddenly felt cold. He kept his head firmly down as he heard her approach to just in front of him.
Looking down, she saw her pet and was conflicted on what to do. Her pussy told her to fuck him until he couldn't fuck anymore and her mind told her to beat him for daring to call to her without permission.
"You're shaking." Her voice was velvet death.
He said nothing. His legs were indeed unstable. His every heartbeat cramped his muscles. He needed out. He needed relief. His confinement was too small.
"Look forward." Her voice was Alpha and Omega.
He did so. He saw black pantyhose seated in black, furry slippers with just the hint of heel. The house-shoes of a dominatrix. Above her shadowed legs was a leather pencil skirt with a black riding crop hanging beside it. He dared look no further up.
"Did you need something?" Her voice was a nuclear weapon.
"Yes Goddess." His voice was crushed with fear. "I need out."
He saw the crop move and he immediately put his face back to the floor in a bid for mercy. He felt the soft leather tip slowly and lightly trace the armbinder behind him. It went from his shoulders, down to his ribs, down to his hips, and slowly back up the other side.
"Are you in danger of something?' Her voice was untested waters.
