WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website. You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.
-------------------------------------------------
(Story Content: M/f, Bondage, Discipline)
The place looks to be over a century old, shrouded in a cluster of large oak trees. Threatening dark clouds and thunder signal that another rainstorm is going to hit, so you quickly make your way up the long gravel road to the front porch. A knock on the door reveals that there is no one home. The windows are boarded up; the roof and sides of the house are riddled with neglect.
Deserted.
Rain begins to fall. You circle around to the back and find the entrance to a cellar. A rush of warm air strikes your face as you pull the storm doors open and quickly descend the stairs. Squinting in the darkness, you fumble with your pockets for the matches. You almost jump as a large rat scurries across the floor and disappears into another room. Outside, the heavy rain is pounding the earth, but you feel little comfort in your refuge.
Using one match, you slowly venture forth to the opposite end of the room to try the light switch. Nothing. There is a small white candle sitting on a dusty shelf, so you light it. The cellar looks to be completely empty. You wander through, what seems like an endless maze of rooms, when something catches your eye. Carved into the very foundation is a doorway that doesn't seem to fit with the rest of the house. You approach it, holding the candle in front of you, and peer into the small passage. There is a steep, narrow stairway that spirals downward and out of sight. The ancient stone masonry gives you the impression that this was here long before the house was even built. Throwing caution to the wind, you decide to investigate and slowly descend the stairs.
A powerful scent of wet stone and rotting wood lingers in the air. The flickering candle is just bright enough to illuminate the first and last few steps around you, before blackness creeps in and consumes everything.
Suddenly, a noise makes you stop dead in your tracks.
At first, you only hear your own breathing and the soft, distant sounds of dripping water. But then there's something else -- the faint, muffled cries of a human being, looming up the winding stairwell. Then it stops. Could someone be calling for help? You quicken your pace until you reach the bottom step. Through the dim candlelight, you see what appears to be a long corridor. Claw like pillars reach up to grasp the hulk of the low ceiling that weighs down upon you. The end of the passageway takes a sharp turn. What lies beyond it is a mystery. You're feeling very uneasy now, uncertain as to who or what you'll find if you continue on. You listen again for the muffled sounds, but there is nothing. Slowly, you make your way through the corridor. When you approach the corner, you stop for a moment, take a breath, and make the turn.
Directly ahead is a narrow doorway. Holding the candle outward, you step through and find yourself standing in a small empty chamber. The light does not fill this place. There are corners that remain in shadows, and an odd, almost heavy mist that somehow seems to interfere with your vision. Then you hear the noise again, just off to your left, and very close. One sweep of the candle in that direction reveals a sight that makes your heart jump.
In the very center of the room, there is a young woman standing alone in dark with her back to you. She appears to be in her early to mid-twenties, with sandy blonde hair flowing about her shoulders -- and she isn't wearing a stitch of clothing! What's more, the girl has been forced into a spread-eagle stance, with her arms hanging wide above her head and apparently chained to the ceiling, her nude body stretched tight by the bonds on her ankles. For the moment, you remain frozen in the doorway, stunned by your own disbelief. The candlelight immediately announces your presence though, and she casts a wide-eyed glance over one shoulder in your direction. Her lips are drawn wide around a red, rubber ball that has been secured to the back of her head with leather straps. She tries desperately to call out to you, but the only sounds she can manage through the strange-looking gag are muffled, inaudible moans.
Of course, your first reaction should be to help the poor woman. After all, you were raised to believe that real men were chivalrous by nature, and it was clearly expected that if you saw another man hurting a woman, you would intercede and rescue her from the villain. On the other hand, you didn't expect to stumble into this tempting scenario, and that presents a whole new set of issues, such as whether or not she's really alone, and if she is, for how long. Not to mention the obvious question of what the hell was she doing down here in the first place! Going against your better nature, you decide to ignore her exasperated pleas for now and step forward for a better look.
Just as you had assumed earlier, she's most likely in her mid-twenties with the sleek, well-toned figure of an athlete, yet still very feminine-looking. Her young breasts stand out provocatively from her ribs like two round melons. Her skin is lightly tanned all over, leaving just the slightest hint of a bikini line. Overall, this girl is definitely worth the look.
She watches helplessly, unable to offer even a token resistance, as you lower the candle down to the V of her body to bring it into the light. Without a doubt, her pussy is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen! She sports a recent shave that leaves no trace of hair between her thighs, only smooth flesh surrounding those luscious, pink folds. Just the sight of it, alone, is enough to make your swelling organ rear up to full readiness.
But of even more interest at the moment, is in the way she's been restrained. Her wrists are bound with leather cuffs, and each connecting chain runs through a pulley in the ceiling, then downward to a large hand crank. Her ankles are also cuffed and fastened to a pair of metal rings spaced about 4 feet apart and bolted to the floor. The entire setup has been carefully designed to keep her limbs pulled outward in the shape of an X, leaving the woman no choice but to remain standing, trapped and helpless, with every naked curve displayed provocatively from all angles. Then, as if to add even further insult to her suffering, fastened to the base of each nipple is a type of spring-loaded clamp, with a delicate chain about 10 inches in length linking them together. Another chain is clipped to the center of it and secured to the wall she is facing. The clamps look menacing enough by themselves, like cold-steel replicas of clothespins with insidious-looking jaws, and the tension of both chains keeps her upper body still, so that even the slightest movement would cause the links to tighten, and the metal teeth to bite down even deeper into her swollen nubs.
The room itself resembles a makeshift dungeon. An array of whips, crops and an arsenal of other devices, some completely foreign to you, hang neatly on one wall. You've leafed through plenty of adult publications in your day to know that this young beauty is obviously a submissive or 'slave', and in the process of being disciplined. Her ice-blue eyes seem glassy and tired, yet there's also a look of intensity and defiance in them that draws you in like a moth to the flame. Whoever left her down here must surely be nearby, but where? You step back for a moment to ponder the situation. By now, any initial concerns you may have had for the woman are completely forgotten, but you also know you're running the risk of getting caught if you remain here much longer.
Then something in the far corner of the room catches your eye, draws you in. Sitting ominously in the shadows is a wooden frame that looks very much like a carpenter's sawhorse, only this one has the 2 x 6 crosspiece mounted upright at a 90 degree angle, leaving one side of the board jutting upward. That top edge has been sharpened to a rough point from end to end. You study the board closely, then gaze at the beautiful slave girl standing only a few feet away with her long legs spread wide apart. The height looks perfect.
Yes, now this has possibilities worth investigating!
The woman strains to look around, as you drag the horse out and position it behind her with one end pointed toward the crack of her buttocks. Then you slowly push it forward, it's legs screeching and jerking ponderously across the floor. She hears the approaching noise, and instinctively raises herself on her toes, not realizing the predicament she has just placed herself in until it's too late. Quickly, you slide the horse underneath her and center the board between her thighs so that she straddles it. The board's sharp edge sits just low enough to avoid any painful contact with her most sensitive flesh, that is, as long as she remains on her toes!
The woman looks at you, wide-eyed with panic. A soft whimper escapes her lips. The chains allow some movement, but not nearly enough to break her stance and dismount. There is little she can do now but wait helplessly while her legs begin to tire.
You take a step backward for a moment to admire your handiwork. The feeling is almost intoxicating, the lust, the sense of power you have over this gorgeous creature. In the dating world, you would never have gotten anywhere with a woman like this. Your thoughts reach back in memory to all the women that have spurned you over the years, laughed at you when your back was turned. You convince yourself that this one is no different, only now, the tables have turned. You can do whatever you want with her, take anything you want. Who could blame you for using this opportunity to finally make things right?
You approach her again, circling her. You slip your finger under the leather straps around her wrists to test them for unwanted slack. Quite unnecessary from what you can see, but a lovely effect nonetheless. Taking hold of her wrists, you slide your hands downward into the soft, moist hollows of her armpits to check her grooming. She utters a cry of protest and squirms frantically against your unwelcomed advances, only to suffer a painful reminder that her nipples are still tightly clamped and chained to the opposite wall. This beauty isn't going anywhere, in spite her struggles. You can feel her heart beating faster as you shift your attentions to her breasts, tracing lazy circles around the outer curves before taking them into your hands. She draws a sharp breath when a finger strays against one of the clamps.
