In the Dungeon

I woke finally from my drugged sleep, saw the wire sides of the cage. Master evidently wasn't awake yet, and disturbing him would certainly have repercussions. In the last two days my soft shapely bottom had been thrashed until I pissed myself, and had had both my oral and anal virginity taken. I had been hung by my wrists and whipped till I shrieked. I had made the acquaintance of the hood, the gag, and the nipple clamps. And in spite of my stretched mouth, sensitive rectum and burning buttocks, I was floating on a cloud of pure sensuality.

My cock had sprung to attention and I caressed it gently, but stopped as I became too aroused; I had to save my energy for my Master. I was so much on edge that I figured the smallest attention would make me erupt. Later in the week I calculated that he had come in my mouth or on my face four times, and my ass the same. The number of penetrations should actually be higher in light of an incident later that day.

As I lay in the cage anticipating his needs, I reflected on my anal sex epiphany. I had heard that once a man's cock is in your mouth, you are never the same again. How much more so when it's in your ass? I hadn't known much about it except that some women liked it, some didn't, and men gave and received it. What I did know was its stunning impact on myself. In spite of an initial discomfort, I had loved it. Yielding to Master's cock had been a true epiphany.

Now it was hard to take my mind off the aroused humming sensation I felt in my bottom. For receptive anal intercourse to work, surrender is essential, or you'll be torn up. And when you relax and let Master's cock slide deep into your bowels, it blows your mind. I enjoyed drinking his come - another deep submission - but also appreciated the rather humiliating sensation of the sticky liquid drying on my cheeks and chin, since he would not always let me wipe it off.

Shortly I was released from the cage and sent to the bathroom to prepare for the day. I took a hot bath and carefully rinsed my rectum, though I have an efficient digestion. Since Master liked to take his cock out of my ass and have me suck it, it was important to be squeaky clean, since I wasn't into scat. Not yet, at least, though the idea was not totally repulsive. No doubt Master could make me do it if he chose.

I felt free of all that had gone before in my life; liberated to serve with a willing heart. I was making definite progress towards total sensual subservience to him. Master had a lot of stamina; he was very fit and healthy, as well as disciplined, fit and articulate. He was measured and calm, and it wasn't very hard to yield to his cock and his paddle. He was not cruel or vicious, just very stern. And sensual.

When I emerged from my bath, pink, nude and expectant, Master immediately gripped me by the neck and bent me over a chair. He explained that as long as I wore the collar, I would receive a paddling most mornings and evenings. The number of strokes would be based on the day's comportment, but would be in addition to any whippings or canings in the course of the day. True to his word, he promptly delivered six hard swats, which stung like bees and caused me to cry out in pain when the paddle impacted my tender stripes.

Sniffling and wiping my face, I stood obediently, eyes downcast, as he informed me that today was housekeeping day. He pointed out the chores and knotted a small white apron tightly around my bare waist. The apron covered my genitals but left my bottom bare, which emphasized my feelings of desirable helplessness.

There was something very arousing about the cool air on my naked butt, and I went about my duties semi erect, dusting and mopping carefully. From time to time I would see him looking keenly at my naked behind. By now I knew better than to try to be seductive at all; it was not my prerogative. Nevertheless I had many lubricious thoughts of him slowly and deeply entering me from behind as I whimpered and pleaded, and couldn't help glancing at him submissively.

After two hours of dutiful cleaning, he marched me over to the pillory. He secured my neck and wrists under the heavy wooden bar; I waited nervously as he examined my work. He had found a couple of missed spots, for which the penalty was to be six more paddle strokes. I gritted my teeth to endure them, but squealed and danced from foot to foot when the paddle's edge cracked on my tender bottom and impacted the welt from the kurbash.

That punishment completed, he stroked my quivering back, released me from the pillory, and clipping my wrists together behind my back led me over to a wooden crate that sat in the middle of the floor next to a stout post about three feet tall. It was open on one side; the other had a sliding panel with a cut out. He put a cloth over my eyes and I was suddenly unable to see what would be done to me. Then he eased me into the crate; there was just room enough for me to kneel inside it, my arms couldn't move at all..

I knee walked forward till my head protruded from the front. He slid up the panel so that the cutout fitted around my neck, my head was immobilized and my blushing bottom protruded from the open back. This was the most severe restraint I had yet experienced; about all I could do was wriggle my fingers and toes. I was unable to offer any resistance. He tugged on a pulley, and the crate was lifted in the air; the inside surfaces of the wood were rough on my soft skin. He swung it over to rest on a thick post about three feet tall.

Then, pinching my nose so that I had to open my mouth to breathe, he thrust a new kind of gag made of metal between my now forcibly open lips. The metal cage fitted over my upper and lower front teeth; he squeezed the sides and my jaws were forced apart. Clearly he would be able to penetrate my mouth as deeply as he wished. I can't tell you how vulnerable this arrangement made me feel. My two orifices were completely accessible, at a convenient height, and I was at the mercy of anybody who wished to probe them. Which was clearly going to happen.

I waited in darkness while he moved around the room. Then he stepped in front of me and I felt his penis enter my mouth. Slowly he pushed it in until it was seated in my throat. I gagged, choked, and drooled; the gag prevented me from speaking coherently; but he would not let up, filling me with his tumescence.

A most remarkable change then occurred. I felt somebody else move behind me. He smelled clean and crisp like Master. His cock was different, I realized as he guided it into my rectum; it was longer but slimmer. The two men then began to fuck me in both places. (I was later glad that they had not both put their cocks in my sensitive behind, which I've seen done in a lot of pornos.)

They were synchronizing their fuck strokes, and I was soon yelping and writhing with passion under their relentless pounding. The man behind me - I never met him or learned his name - was a skilled operator. He was playing my rectum like an instrument, guiding his cock to my most sensitive places and squeezing my penis and testicles just enough to keep me on a desperate sexual edge. I was tremendously excited and filling the room with a high pitched gasping squeal through the swollen cock in my mouth.

"Uh. Uh. Uh. Ung. Ah...Ahhh. Mmm, mmm, ah, ah, ah. Ng...ng." And so on.

I think it was here that I had my first real understanding of true submission: blindfolded, confined, my openings completely exposed to my masters. Anal sex will tear you up if you resist. So engaging in it involves acceptance and submission. The first time Master put his cock in my mouth was life changing, but the first time he went in my ass was stunningly transformative. My fantasies from an early age were submissive and masochistic, and now they had been made real.

From that point on there was always a glow in my ass, and I could not stop mentally recreating the sensation of an erect cock entering my soft imprisoned mouth. Submission was making me happier and sexier, though I was always afraid of losing his good will. Now, you might say that whipping my tender behind, and other places, is a strange way of demonstrating regard. But Master understood my deep, previously buried desire to submit and be obedient, and he skillfully guided me to a total acceptance with his paddle, cock and blindfold.

They fucked me remorselessly until I was a boneless wailing mess, pleading gutturally for I didn't know what. Waves of remarkable sensation coursed through my body. Being fucked simultaneously by two experienced older men is an extraordinary experience. The sensations, sounds and smells -- and the submission - will always be a titillating presence in my mind.

Although I cried and tried to struggle as they penetrated me, some part of me was loving it. They were compelling me to be their sex slave, and this provided me the most exciting set of fantasies. After that weekend I couldn't stop thinking about sex, constantly imagining new scenarios with myself as the abused, aroused object of lust. Master understood me perfectly; many of those scenarios were later enacted, to my shame and joy.

When they came (together, I was not allowed a release) they rested for a few minutes, then switched places and began on me again. They must have been on me for an hour or more. Come was dripping out of my forced-open mouth and trickling down the divide of my bottom. I think I must have passed out when they both came in me a second time.

When I came back to consciousness, the shadows in the room told me it was late. My other partner, whoever he was, was no longer present. I told Master I needed to go home, and he consented. Of course I had to submit to the evening paddle strokes before I could leave, and they were hard ones. But my sexual epiphany had transformed me to the point that I now sincerely welcomed and relished the pain, and actually wriggled my clawed bottom to incite his fervor. Certainly I had become a new person over this dramatic weekend.

I was allowed to rise and dress. I was forbidden to shower; Master said that would help me retain the memories at least till I arrived home. He hugged and kissed me hard; I felt deliciously fragile in his powerful arms. I'm not sure what was so attractive about him; he wasn't especially handsome or charming. But he was clean, confident and charismatic. He was both severe, and kind. Disciplined yet sensual. Perhaps he represented the father I never knew.

"I'd like you to return a week from Friday." I nodded silently; what else was there to say? "That's very good." He handed me a handwritten letter. "Read it when you are home alone, and follow the directions." We embraced again, and I went out to my car for the trip back to New Braunfels. The sun was setting, but I felt like a totally new person.