Submission 132

FOREWORD

This is a record of a fantasy, not an attempt to describe a real life dungeon, about which I know almost nothing.

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He opened the door at the bottom of the three steps for his companion and stood aside as she entered. She was beautiful and beautifully dressed. but they had no personal relationship. Their only connection was that he had signed up to let her do anything she wanted to him. And he had agreed to do anything at all that she required of him. No limits. No safe words. His actions were urbane, but he was shaking inside.

The club space was dim. There was a small gathering of well dressed couples sitting at cocktail tables and a low stage, less than a foot high.

His companion gently touched his elbow and guided him to the stage. She faced the audience, "This is my contribution for the evening, Neil Cavendish." Cavendish flinched a little at hearing his real name spoken aloud. "I hope you enjoy him."

She continued, "Now, Neil, please remove all your clothes. You can put them on that bench."

Cavendish removed his tie and proceeded with the rest. He was lean, but muscled. He didn't shave his body. He knew he looked good, but took more pleasure in the public exposure. He stood straight swollen halfway to an erection, and let his hands hang loose at his sides.

The woman, whose name was Rosalind, came up to him and placed her hands on his arms. "Turn and face the room, please." Then she stepped close behind him, she could just fit her chin over his shoulder, and threaded her arms under his. He could feel her breasts and hips and the hem of her full dress as it swayed against his calves. She turned her hands so her nails pressed into his chest and dragged them down through his chest hair and across his belly to his pubis. She dug her knuckles in and pulled on the hair slowly but viciously. Cavendish could not suppress a grimace of pain, but his erection rose to completion. "There," she said with some satisfaction, and gave it a sharp slap.

An involuntary erotic spasm coursed through his lower abdomen, shifting his erection. The onlookers murmured approval and one clapped. He felt a flush of embarrassment pass over him, also visible, and he basked in his humiliation.

"OK, now go over to those posts. Face the room and grasp the handles." There were two posts, a couple of feet taller than he was, fastened to the floor, with shaped wooden pegs, like straight coat hooks, protruding from near the top. Cavendish extended his arms up and out, just short of discomfort, and grasped them.

Next she instructed him to place his feet outside of two pairs of small blocks fastened to the floor just inside the posts. Each pair had a space about three inches between them. This allowed his feet to rest flat on the floor without his ankles touching the blocks. This left his balls hanging free and vulnerable.

"This form of restraint tells us that you want us to hurt you. You could let go at any time, of course. But until you do, we're glad to have you displayed and accessible."

Displayed and accessible. Cavendish closed his eyes to savor the words. Displayed and accessible, displayed and accessible. This time his belly and thighs and back and buttocks all spasmed in visceral delight.

Rosalind went to a table at the side of the stage and picked up a knife. It was a strange shape, almost triangular. Only about six or seven inches long, but almost two inches wide at the hilt, and tapering acutely to what looked like a needle-sharp point. Perhaps it really was a needle, somehow fixed to the tip.

She held it up to Cavendish's gaze and placed the tip against her forefinger and pressed until there was a small drop of blood. She smiled at Cavendish as if to say "See?" and then placed her finger against his lips. He obediently sucked off the blood.

Then she placed the flat of the knife gently along the side of the knife alongside his testicles and pushed them to the side, looking up at him provocatively. She did it again from the other side. He swelled even further.

Next she pricked his chest, coming provocatively close to the center of his nipples, and then his abdomen. You couldn't call it pain, but tiny drops of blood ran down in rivulets. He gripped the pegs harder; his whole body was so awash in surrender he feared he would fall. Then she pricked him on either side of the base of his cock. These pricks actually caused real pain that expanded up to his navel. His erection, far from withering, became even stronger, crying out for the same treatment. But she gave him no relief.

"Alright, now turn around and position your hands and feet again." He turned and grabbed the pegs the other way. He fixed his feet against the braces and presented his backside to the gathering. Another woman mounted the stage, and, standing at the side, so as not to impede the audience's view, leaned into his back. He could feel her breast pressing into him. She placed her hands on his buttocks from above. She paused for a few moments before working her fingers into the cleft. This should have been one of the most innocuous moments of the evening, but Cavendish felt like she was grasping his whole being. His testicles swelled further and touched his spread thighs. His shallow breathing quickened. She pulled his buttocks apart, exposing him to the audience. Rosalind stood to the other side and gently touched his anus. Cavendish's cock throbbed. He took a deep breath and surrendered to the possibility of being cut. Rosalind didn't injure him there but did prick his buttocks in half a dozen places. The submission elicited by each prick was piquant. At each point the pain faded into the feel of a persisting mark of degradation, pushing him to a peak of arousal. This discharged some of his sexual tension but his cock remained rigid and hard.

Rosalind wiped the traces of blood from his body with a cloth dampened with an astringent and then said, "Grasp your wrists behind your back and come with me," and led him to a small open space in the center of the tables. As he passed by several people caressed his erection, or flicked it sideways, but never grabbed or squeezed or rubbed the way he wanted to do himself.

"Get down on your knees." Cavendish complied. They left him there for a bit, long enough for his submissive pose to take hold of his consciousness. Small spasms flickered in his belly. "Now bend over so your ass is in the air." He kept his hands locked on his wrists and lay the side of his face on the floor. The floor was highly polished and clean and when his cheek was pressed against it, it was not uncomfortable. He reveled in his degrading position as several of the audience members stood up for a better view.

One woman was wearing heels with very pointed toes. She pushed one into his anus and worked it around. Cavendish could feel it in his cock. Then she withdrew it and placed the sole of the shoe on his hip and pushed hard. He fell over on his side, but didn't let go of his wrists. He lay there, relishing his situation under the gaze of the audience.

A man stepped forward from the group. "Get up." He was much Cavendish's height and build and he was dressed very like Cavendish had been when he arrived. Beautifully tailored slacks and sport coat. A light gray shirt and subtly patterned tie. Standing facing him deliciously accentuated Cavendish's nakedness. His skin became even more sensitized from his shoulders to the floor. He wanted to be touched. Touched anywhere. But the man just said, "Go over to that fountain. Stand to one side, facing it."

Cavendish did as directed and the man came with him. He stood very close and talked quietly. "We know you desire to be bound and whipped and raped. And we'll do all that. But right now it's about control. You're going to come. But only when I tell you. Not until and not unless. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Then the man placed his hand firmly on the nape of Cavendish's neck, reminiscent of how one would restrain a dog or a cat. It caused a jolt of sensation to course through his torso. Next he touched the underside of Cavendish's balls with the back of his thumbnail and slowly drew it up his cock to the tip. Cavendish had already been throbbing with need, but this light disdainful touch pushed him to the edge. Then the man put his mouth close to Cavendish's ear. Cavendish could feel his breath. He said quietly, but firmly, "Now!"

Cavendish's hips bucked. He panted loudly. He contracted inside and sent semen spraying into the fountain over and over. If not for the hand on his neck and now the other on his chest he would have fallen over. When he was spent he sank to the floor, still with his arms clasped behind him.

Afterward Cavendish was guided through the tables back to the middle of the floor. Another man approached him, again, of the same age and build as himself. "Hello. I'm Antony." Cavendish looked steadily into the other's eyes and an image flashed in his mind of them sitting opposite each other at some conference table, and the moment of recognition. Cavendish felt a small thrill of anticipation.

"As we understand it, you've never been with a man? Correct?"

"Correct."

"Well, that must be remedied." He drew the back of his hand down Cavendish's torso and along his flaccid penis. "Please kneel."

Cavendish did as he was asked, wrists still clasped, and several other men in the audience rose. They took off their ties and jackets and rolled up their sleeves. Four of them approached Cavendish. His heart pounded against his ribs at the fear and anticipation of the unknown as two of them knelt on the floor and put both hands on his calves. Then two others grasped his forearms and forced them to the floor.

Next the men holding his calves pulled them apart, just under the point of pain.

Cavendish had committed himself to accept whatever was inflicted on him that evening, but an atavistic need to fight back caused him to struggle. This only served to demonstrate how helpless he was.

His field of vision comprised mostly the hands of the man holding his right arm and the seam of his pants pressing into his swollen testicles. Cavendish was mesmerized. It was only his sense of feeling that told him a man had knelt between his thighs. His slacks rubbed against Cavendish's sensitized skin. Hands were placed on his hips and then came the pressure on his anus. Nothing more happened for some moments. Just the mild pressure of the head of a cock against an anus, time for Cavendish to absorb what was happening and for his own cock to swell. Then he was penetrated. He endeavored to relax, but there was no lubrication, and the dry friction caused him great pain as the cock was driven in and out of his body. But surrender to real pain was all the sweeter and Cavendish swelled more and more with each thrust.

Then came a soothing change as the other climaxed and slowly drew out his softening and now well lubricated cock. Cavendish felt almost bereft when it was gone. He felt his exposure vividly when the man stood up and his thighs and ass were once again revealed. A thrill travelled from his pelvis to his imprisoned calves.

Another came and knelt and pressed hard into Cavendish. But this time he was well lubricated and could give himself up completely to the invasion. The irritation caused by the first assault now enhanced what was happening. His erection was as hard as he'd ever known it.

The man holding his right forearm stood up and moved to his rear and was replaced by another. Before he entered Cavendish, he slapped him hard on each buttock. This seemed to force more blood into Cavendish's genitals and the resultant stinging pain was a source of pleasure. This one's cock was the thickest of the three, but Cavendish was now totally open. He welcomed the thrusts but was frustrated with his need for release. He needed to be stroked. And then his wish was granted. He heard the swish of a woman's skirts and felt her moistened hand close around the base of his cock. She stroked him in synchronization with the thrusts in his rear, up and back, up and back. They must be a couple. Until finally both men exploded. His arms and legs were released and he fell on his side again, still panting deeply.

Presently someone took his hand and helped him up. The audience was still standing around him and watched intently when he was given a wet towel and could wipe off his ass and his thighs and his cock. He stood for a few moments, with the towel pressed between his legs while the juices of the three men drained out of him. Then someone took the towel and Rosalind him led back to the stage.

There was now a cage-like structure on the stage. It consisted of two circles of metal tubing, about three feet in diameter. These were connected by five thin metal posts, equidistant except for a wider opening in the front. It was positioned with one circle on the floor and one at the top. There were small metal rings attached to the posts at intervals. Cavendish was directed to stand in the middle and face the audience.

Another woman joined Rosalind, bringing with her two small stools. They positioned the stools to either side of Cavendish, stepped up on them, their full skirts brushing his legs, and attached manacles to his wrists. They were lined with sheepskin and a long cord was attached. They stretched the cord up to the top of the cage and threaded them through two small rings. Cavendish's arms were raised above him as far as they would go without discomfort and the cords were tied off.

Next the each took a long strap made of thin leather, about three inches wide. They looped the straps around Cavendish's thighs a little above the knees and nudged his legs apart as far as possible while keeping his feet flat on the floor. When they tied them off through two more small rings Cavendish was left immobilized and displayed. He savored the exposure and the anticipation of what would happen next.

He was initially puzzled by the appearance in their hands of two pieces of fabric, shaped like an elongated quarter moon with strings attached to the convex side and joining to form a length of twine. With both working together, one woman pulled one buttock hard to the side and the other affixed the fabric, which was covered with a strong adhesive on one side, to the skin, almost touching his anus. She pulled the cord taut and tied it off in a ring. Then the two moved to the other side and repeated the maneuver. The cords pressed into his flesh, creating their own eroticized region. Cavendish could feel the air between his cheeks, telling him he was completely exposed, as the women stood behind him, admiring their work.

Next a sheepskin lined collar was placed around his neck and tied to the rod in the back of the cage.

After that clamps with serrated edges were fastened to his nipples. They were very painful but caused a surge of pleasure in his cock. Each clamp was tied to a ring in the side rods. The pain slowly faded and was bearable unless he moved too far or breathed too deeply.

Small clamps were similarly fastened to the edges of his navel, causing the same sort of pain/pleasure sensation as the nipple clamps.

By this time he was halfway to a full erection, but it was clear that Rosalind needed more to complete her work. She took him between her palms and slowly rolled his penis back and forth. She bent over and took him in her mouth and inserted her tongue in the slit at the end. Cavendish closed his eyes and lost himself in the swelling of his cock. It became as hard as he'd ever known it. But for the cords tying his nipples and navel he would have thrust into her to try to get relief.

Rosalind reflectively drew her finger along the now straight line from his balls to the end of his cock and smiled in satisfaction. Her assistant handed her a hinged ring with two fine chains attached. It was ringed with tiny triangular teeth. She fastened it over Cavendish's stiff cock, positioning it in the middle, midway between the base and the tip. She attached the chains to rings in the struts at the side. She pulled them taut enough to squeeze his erection, but only to tantalize. Like a hand stopped in mid stroke. The teeth were almost flat against his skin and would only dig into the flesh if he pulled the chains completely taut.

Lastly she inserted a bullet shaped plug, about the size of Cavendish's thumb into his rectum, past the ring of his anus, taking care to let him see its construction first. A thin chain was attached to the flat end and she stretched that to a ring on the strut in back. Just enough so it could be felt, and cause discomfort if he moved forward and pain if he moved forward further. It had gone in smoothly, but it was clear that it would hurt mightily when it was pulled out.

As a parting gesture, she placed her palms on Cavendish's legs, right at the top. He was slim but his muscles were well defined, and she was able to slowly follow the contour of one on each thigh down and across nearly to the inside of his knee. Then she lightly pulled in various places on the scattering of hairs on his thighs, the intimacy causing spasms that tugged at the chains linked to his ass and his cock.

"There!" she announced to the audience. "You can now come and do what you want to him. Let's have two tables at a time, OK? Just don't loosen any restraints."

Chairs scraped and a small group approached. Some of them first stopped to look Cavendish in the eye. Some smirked. Some were serious. Cavendish endeavored to give himself to whomever made such contact. Each took it in turn so he could focus on what was being done to him. One woman pressed her belly against his erection and reached around to toy with the chain emerging from his exposed anus, all the time giving him a come-hither look worthy of a 1940s film. A man stared at him like a schoolyard bully while he took his cue from Rosalind's opening of the evening and pulled on his pubic hair until Cavendish let out a cry of pain. Another woman simply smoothed his hair back from his forehead and cradled his dangling testicles in her hand. For those who chose not to hold his gaze he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be a thing for their titillation. One such person pinched him hard multiple times in various places. Each initial touch of their fingers was as thrilling as the pain that followed. Some tugged gently on the nipple clamps. Someone, he couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, massaged the area between his anus and his testicles with their knuckles, causing the muscles in his thighs to spasm.

He didn't become inured to what was happening. On the contrary, each look and touch caused a sexual thrill throughout his sensitized body, caused his need for release to intensify.

The last person was an authoritative woman dressed in bright emerald green chiffon. She pulled so hard on the hair under his arms that he involuntarily pulled back, causing significant enough pain in his nipples and penis that he cried out. The woman reached up and caressed his cheek, holding his gaze. Cavendish was desperate for some touch that would bring him to climax. She shifted her gaze to his penis and gently inserted a lacquered red nail into the end. It was almost enough, but she left too soon.

Finally the audience had returned to their seats and Rosalind removed the leather collar from his erection, kneeled in front of him, removed the ring and took him in her mouth. She sucked and stroked. When she saw that he was ready to come she moved to the side. Cavendish threw his head back and emitted long low moan to discharge some of the tension. His need to stay immobile barely overcame his need to release his whole body to the orgasm. But the root of his belly did all the work, contracting inside over and over, shooting semen into the air, passing through his penis with a sharp sensation of pleasure like he had not felt before.