Hanging Around the Dungeon
Melissa saw Erik step out of his closet into the room. She halted. He studied her critically, then twirled a finger to indicate that she spin around. Drawing on her years of boring ballet classes, she twirled slowly in front of him, sinking to her knees in what she hoped was a graceful fashion at the conclusion of her turn.
Erik nodded thoughtfully. "You have done well, my padawan."
She was puzzled for a moment at the term, then giggled for a brief moment before reforming her features into a proper submissive pose.
He looked down at her sternly. "Was something funny?"
"No, Master. Far be it for me to ever suggest that a Star Wars reference might confirm your geekdom, sir."
He harumphed. In a voice that was a surprisingly good impression of Yoda, he admonished her, "Saucy slave indeed, facing hours in the dungeon, tweaks her Master, she does. Truly fearless, this one is."
Melissa dissolved into laughter, slumping to a sitting position on the floor. The juxtaposition of what she was wearing combined with his comical Yoda voice was too silly for her to treat seriously. At the very least, the silliness released her nervous tension about whether she had dressed appropriately.
She had picked out black sandals with six-inch heels. That choice had been safe since she knew he loved women in impossibly tall heels. She reminded herself that "safe" was a relative term -- she frequently worried about twisting her ankle walking in these heels, although she was getting better at it. By the end of the summer, her calves would certainly be in amazing shape.
She had matched her shoes with an under-bust corset in black jacquard silk, which had taken forever to lace up by herself. The three-way mirror in her closet had helped, but pulling the laces tight behind her back, and then tying them, had strained her arms and shoulders. She had to take several breaks to rest her aching muscles before she was done.
She had also put on a black collar made of leather and lace. It looked pretty, plus she had come to understand the symbolic importance of wearing a collar. He had stocked one drawer in her closet with a wide selection of collars, from demure chokers that she could wear out in public without attracting much attention to heavy leather posture collars that held her head rigidly in position. She had almost decided to wear a black leather posture collar -- it made her look very submissive -- but she wasn't sure how long she could tolerate having her head held in a fixed position, so she set it aside.
As the final bit of adornment, she had taken out the horse hair tail that Erik had given her earlier in the week when they had the pony training session. Even though they had both agreed afterwards that pony play wasn't their favorite activity, the tail had clearly had a strong effect on Erik. Out of all the pony gear, it was one of the few things he had decided to keep. Melissa had to agree, when she had seen it in the mirror, the effect was very compelling. The reddish blond color of the tail was a surprisingly close match to her strawberry blond hair.
The tail appeared to emerge from her body just at the top of the crease between her buttocks, where her tail bone was located. This visual effect was achieved by a stiff, but springy wire that held the base of the tail firmly against her skin. The wire was hidden by curving down between her buttocks to twin dildos, one for each hole. There was another springy connection between the bases of the two dildos, which gently clamped onto her insides when the dildos were inserted. The one that went in her butt was also shaped with a flared body and very narrow base, so it stayed in place without falling out.
The overall effect was that she had a thick horse hair tail growing out of the base of her spine. Once she got the dildos firmly in place, she was surprised at how quickly she became accustomed to the pressure. After a couple of minutes, she mostly didn't notice the tail, except when she walked. The swaying motion of walking in heels made the horse hair flick across the back of her thighs, which tickled.
When she had first worn the tail at the beginning of the week, her anus had been sore from the pressure. All the exercise her poor butt had been getting since then seemed to have strengthened those muscles. The pleasure/pain "motivator" that Mistress Amy used also had two dildos for front and back.
Erik clearly enjoyed anal sex, although he had been careful not to overdo it until she had a chance to stretch enough for his larger size. He had given her a graduated set of "butt plugs" specifically for that purpose, along with a schedule for inserting them several times a day. After a few days, she could much more easily accommodate the butt plug that matched his size. There were larger sizes in the set, but she hadn't been tempted to try any of them.
Before Erik, she had only had anal sex a few times, all with boyfriends who were, fortunately, more modestly sized. Even then, she hadn't found it particularly comfortable or fun. It had been amazing to discover over the past week that she actually did like being penetrated from behind. The feeling of fullness was surprisingly arousing. She had particularly come to like having a butt plug in her behind while Erik filled her front. Every time his penis slid in and out, she stretched in a very delightful way.
Her positive reaction hadn't escaped his attention. He had promised her a session with another man joining them, so she would have two men inside her at the same time. As outrageously lewd as the idea seemed, she was a little unsettled by how much she was looking forward to Erik making good on his promise. In less than a week with him, she had gotten much more comfortable in leaving her Catholic upbringing far behind, as well as her pangs of fear about women's equality. She knew that she was equal to Erik, as a person, while also enjoying her role as his submissive sex slave. Those two ideas didn't feel as contradictory as they once had. She was feeling more comfortable with the distinction between sexual fantasy and reality.
Erik walked to stand over her, clearing his throat loudly. She stifled the last of her giggles and pushed herself back up to a proper submissive's kneeling posture. When she tried to compose her face, however, into the correct expression of demure passivity, giggles once again erupted. She held up her hand in a plea for a moment to collect herself.
Erik put his hands on his hips and adopted an exaggeratedly stern expression. He tapped his foot against the floor.
Melissa's attempts to be serious dissolved once more into peals of laughter. Erik shook his head sadly, finally letting a smile creep onto his face. He knelt down in front of her, taking her hands in his. With a sigh, he asked, "Oh what am I to do with you?"
Melissa protested, "I promise, I'll be a good little submissive, just don't do the Yoda thing. At least, not when anyone else is around, and I have to behave. Oh God, Mistress Amy would never forgive me."
Erik grinned, "No, she would not. She would simply give up on you. But she has no sense of play in her soul. Such a serious woman. She barely tolerates Serena, you know..."
"I didn't, but I could have guessed it... if I'd thought about it. What about you? You seem so serious all the time, but you surround yourself with people like me, and Serena..."
"I appreciate the lightness in my life. Need it. Spontaneity. Joy, even. My life would be grim indeed if it were always so serious. That's part of why I treat being a dom the way I do, as play, as a game. It's a way to relax and be playful. I mean, think of a BDSM club. Everyone is dressed up in costume. There's music. There're shows, interactive; it's like being on a ride. It's an X-rated Disney World for consenting adults. Taking it too seriously would ruin it, at least for me. Of course, people like Mistress Amy think I'm a hopeless amateur and poser. Clearly, I lack a sufficiently respectful attitude. As do you, my little harlot. But I can get away with it. You, on the other hand, you shall pay dearly for your lack of respect."
"Oh, whatever shall you do with me, Master?"
Erik chuckled sinisterly, "I shall do whatever I want, as is both my right and duty." He rocked back onto his feet and stood up smoothly, still holding her hands. "Come. My dungeon awaits you."
She rose carefully in her heels to join him. "Yes Master, your sex slave accepts her punishment willingly."
He lead her toward his closet as he snorted quietly, adding, "Eagerly."
"Yes, Master. Your punishment is always so... instructive. I am always eager to be taught my lessons at your hands."
They reached the mirror. He reached behind the frame to release the catch and flicked the glass of the mirror back into the hidden room. A swirl of smoke escaped. He stepped across the high threshold, but Melissa held back, nervously eyeing the smoke that lay along the floor.
He grinned reassuringly, "Smoke machine. I turned it on just as you came downstairs."
She said, "Oh," and stepped through, following him, not sure what else to say. To herself, she added silently, "I can't believe he has a fucking smoke machine. I mean, who's got a smoke machine in their house? Of course, who the fuck has their own dungeon?"
He led her over to a small table in the middle of the room with some equipment arranged on it. They stopped at the table, and he took an oddly shaped padded cuff from the table, fastening it around one of her wrists. The cuff had a sleeve that fit over her hand, almost as a cone, except that it tapered to a blunt point by her fingertips, ending in a polished chrome o-ring. He put a matching cuff on her other hand.
Then he took a length of soft thick black rope, looped it through one of the o-rings and tied a knot. Reaching up, he fed the rope through a dark iron ring that she hadn't noticed, which was bolted into the ceiling beam above them. He repeated the process with a second piece of rope, which he threaded through another iron ring that was several feet distant from the first one.
He maneuvered her carefully into position. Squatting down, he took the end of the rope that dangled from the iron ring and was attached to her left hand. He pulled the rope downwards, lifting her arm up towards the ceiling. Then he threaded the end of the rope into another iron ring that was recessed into the floor. She hadn't noticed it in the fog that swirled across the wide, rough floor boards. He positioned her left foot directly above the ring and tied the rope around he ankle. She was now firmly trapped on her left side, stretched from the floor nearly to the ceiling beam.
