The Tickle Dungeons Pt 04

FIRST RIDING -- YORK ESTATE -- CAIS

Cais, Yais, and the Dame Knight Listily rode in a carriage to the sprawling York Estate. It was beyond the walls of DunnisUrom in the prestigious First Riding. Cais lay over his mistress' lap, his pants removed. She's positioned him so that his throbbing erection stuck out in to space, getting no friction against her thigh. She rubbed his buttocks between spanks--he whimpered.

He knew what she was doing: part of the dance of dominance was the dom--usually HIM--the MAN in the union--was putting him unfairly under punishment until his resentment bubbled up. When it did, he'd draw a really severe punishment designed to thoroughly put him in his place. Girls were often put through this both prior to and after their marriage: part of the "breaking in" process. It was always one he'd thought of as enjoyable--but now that it was a contest of his mistress's will to punish him constantly until he broke and drew a more serious discipline--it was far less fun.

Yais had said he should just hurry it up and "have it out" with her--but it didn't work like that. If she caught of whiff of tactical thinking, the punishment position would simply continue--just worse. She had to believe he was at the end of his tether. Secondly, the humiliation arranger was working on ways to make the ordeal worse should he either draw the more severe punishment prior to the wedding or if he tried to 'game the system.'

He desperately didn't want that! He knew he was likely to get it though. She rubbed and spanked--her fingers gently stroked his anus. He whimpered. The touching of his anus--making him utterly helpless--humiliated--felt pleasurable. His cock jerked. He wanted the relief of an orgasm badly.

The meeting at the York estate promised to be unpleasant for him--fruitful for the Dame Listily: Madame York had found something. Her estate was not one of the historical "great houses"--but she had ties to the Crown and Throne and was something of a "New Aristocracy."

She was very interested in Cais' union with the Dame Knight--and was invested in his submission to her. She was helping to underwrite the wedding. He liked her--he'd known her for all of his life and knew she was intelligent, perceptive, and shrewd. She had a great appreciation for the arts of punishment: something he'd found fine when he wasn't the subject of it.

The meeting was ostensibly about the wedding--but he knew was about tracing the convincing stone that had been used to try to work on his older sister. Whatever Madame York had found, it was something she wanted to discuss face-to-face with his mistress, and his mother--but for now, the meeting was going to be centered around his upcoming marriage. If anyone was watching, it would appear entirely benign.

The carriage pulled to a stop. Smak!

"Ow!" he gasped out. She patted his buttocks: "When you can force down your cock, you can wear your trousers again." Pow!

He groaned: He was being presented at the York estate naked from the waist down. The carriage door was open and Yais clambered out. She was graceful on all fours, and quick--but now she wore a voice-muting muzzle with cute false ears sticking up from her head. Besides her leash and collar, she wore a strap harness that left her breasts bared. Her buttocks were bare with an anal plug giving her a long tail, like a cat's.

She got out and squatted by the steps, waiting for her master (Cais) and mistress (Dame Listily) to join them. Welcoming them were two women in servant's uniforms. They looked to be senior girls--their uniforms were nice--not revealing. They smiled delightedly at Yais and then smiled brilliantly at Cais' blushing visage. He wore shoes and a shirt: he looked bedraggled. His bottom was light pink.

Dame Listily stepped down and placed a hand on the small of his back.

"You will be well cared for here," she told Cais quietly. "I will meet with Madame York and determine what has been discovered."

Ugh. He blushed, and forced a nod. "Yes, mistress bride," he said--a bit thickly. Doing this in front of the servant girls and the butler was awful. They well knew he was the son of a great house and well above her in social status--and being humbled. She knew it as well and gave him a rub on the back and then a kiss.

Ooof. His cock quivered. Her smell--her lips on his--her tongue invading. He didn't want to appreciate it--but his body didn't care. He inhaled, blushing hard. A nod. He wasn't going to be in on the important conversation. There were going to be wedding things he'd be attending to. Even though he was specially trained in these matters.

That little humiliation was doubtless intended.

"Tamasi," curtsied the younger of the two maids. "I'll be taking pet-Yais!"

The Dame Knight smiled and handed over the leash.

"Come on, girl," she said. "First to the flower garden--then inside!"

Cais knew Yais was being taken to pee. She crawled along with the girl, preparing herself for the humiliation.

"Hasi," said the other. "I am charged to take Master Cais." Her smile was bright with her appreciation of his humbling.

"By all means," said the Dame Listily.

"Don't spend now," Hasi warned him. Her fingers curling around his cock. He whimpered softly. It was humiliating and she let her fingers play slightly along the tender underside of his penis. "If you do," she warned him, "there'll be lots of extra punishment--and you have quite a bit planned today!"

He grit his teeth. "I'll do my best, mistress," he growled.

She laughed and looked back at the Dame Knight--she was striding away with the butler. Yais to the side, squatted amid a bright spray of flowers. He suspected they were bred to sting the bare flesh and being made to squat and pee in them, was probably even more unpleasant than the act alone would be.

A fountain with a huge statue of Atlas holding up the world dominated the front of the estate. Cais could see his cock jutting out. His wrists were clamped to the sphere of the earth meaning the mythological titan could not reach down to relieve himself. The statue's buttocks were marked with whip or cane marks. The artisan had added marks carefully on the inner thighs and the backs of his thighs. It illustrated the punishment inflicted on him as he held up the sky by the mythological furies.

"She's really got a plan for you," mused the maid. "Do you resent her?"

He glanced at her--it was an amazingly forward question--a maid to the son of a great house. Of course, she was leading him around by his erect cock.

"No," he grunted slightly--her fingers on his cock were so distracting. "It's a reversal of the norm--but I don't--It's what I would have prescribed given who she is--"

Hasi rewarded him with fingers stroking his most sensitive places.

They entered through the house's great double-doors and into the large round room. He was not surprised to see the wedding arranger. Ms. Turnbolt stood, a bit of a smirk on her face. He knew her attitude towards him was required by her station as his humiliation orchestrator. He still blushed hard and looked away.

"Well, there's our blushing groom!" She walked over, her shoes clacking on the floor.

She reached under and handled his scrotum.

"Madame York has set us up with a mock venue. I want to test his capability. After a few dry runs, we'll invite the mistress for a wet one!"

The maid nodded. "Do you want me to lead him, Miss?"

"Aye. Take him to the theater. I'll be there momentarily."

She took him down a side corridor, walking over a red carpet. In an alcove, a fat girl squatted over a vaginal spanker, her hands bound above her head. She wore a bit-gag in her mouth and a judicial slave collar on her neck. The back of the alcove was mirrored so he could see the letters FU CK done in punishment tattoo on her buttocks. WH IP were marked on her large breasts.

She was smudged and dirty all over. She smelled of body odor and slightly of pee.

SMAK! The rubber tongue of the spanker slapped up against her vulva and she shuddered and struggled. She was held by restraints in a deep squat so she couldn't get away. Her eyes were desperate and wet.

Cais thought she looked vaguely familiar.

"You're not the only one being broken in," Hasi smiled. He nodded as she led him down the hall. "The spanker is on a random-variable gear set," she said. "It spanks about once per minute, but the cadence is all varied. Hard to 'get used to.'"

The Theater room was a large ballroom with tall windows and two sets of chairs with an aisle between them. In the back was a red velvet round "bed" about a foot off the ground and wide enough for him to lay on it. At the front was a wooden block that approximated the Sattvan Altar Stone. It was covered with a tablecloth. Seeing this--imagining it full of his family--friends--notable people--was a sudden surge of humiliation. Oh! She was going to do it to him! And: Oh! This had been done to women since forever. There was no getting out of this!

"Lay back in the diaper position." Hasi told him. "Miss Turnbolt will be in shortly."

He did. If she left, he would be terribly tempted to masturbate, even though he'd be caught out for it--but she moved around to the side where his head was, and gently stroked his hair. He heard a muffled slap of the sex-spanker and an even more muffled cry from the judicial slave.

Clop. Clop. Clop. Miss Turnbolt, accompanied by two girls in white toga-like dress with golden rings fastening them and their bodies pained in brilliant blues and yellows entered. The girls were slinky, seductive looking, their wraps not really concealing much. He knew they were Madam York's personal attendants--her "songbirds."

Their smiles were brilliant, sultry, and predatory all at once. They rushed over to him, making no sound at all on the floor. They were barefoot--but even so; they ran silently and squatted down by him, their delicate fingers stroking his inner thighs, his buttocks, his anal cleft. Anywhere but his cock and balls.

They tittered lightly, smirking and laughing.

They were gorgeous, and when he met their eyes, his cock moved against his will. They caught it and laughed at that.

"Okay!" Miss Turnbolt said. "Now--our goal is to have you marched up the aisle, at attention, and to spend in front of everyone."

His eyes widened.

"Now, I don't want you to enjoy it--so it's going to be a spend without direct attention--essentially a ruined orgasm! But I don't want a long refractory period--so."

She opened a box. One of the songbirds stood and held out her hand.

"A cock-root suppository will keep you hard-erect but also unable to spend well!"

She smiled brilliantly.

He blinked, oh, mercy! This was going to be awful. The painted girl squatted down and spread his cheeks, inserting the suppository into his anus and gently pushing it in deep, her finger violating him. He could feel the glycerine additive starting to warm his channel. Soon the "cock-root" extract would begin infiltrating his region, forcing his cock into an unwanted powerful and uncomfortable erection--one that would be nearly impossible to satisfy and one that might not even be sated if he did manage to spend.

The girl grinned. Miss Turnbolt took a crop from one of the cases. It had a wide rubber slapper on the end and she stood over him.

"Hold him," she instructed, and the girls took his arms.

"How long this lasts," she said, "is up to me--and I plan to give you a very good working over. It's necessary to get you in the right frame of mind for your humiliation walk!"

He swallowed. He had a fair idea of what the crop might be like. Those fears were confirmed when she smacked him lightly with the slapper. The smarting of a good swat with it flashed through his region. In actuality, she'd only tapped him with it--but he arched his back and cried out. He wanted, badly, to close his legs--but he knew better. She begin to tap his scrotum. Smak. Smak. Smak. "Oh!!" "Owww!!" "Ahhh!" The pain was sharp, smarting--there was no damage at all to the flesh --just a faint pinkness growing. She smirked down at him.

"Hold his legs open, girls."

She instructed. The Songbird girls shifted to put their fingers into the backs of his knees and draw them apart.

Smak. Smak. Smak. The crop touched his cock, and he howled softly. She grinned and applied it to the underside. Pop! Pop! Pop! In his imagination, a powerful rubber slap was exploding against the vein and tender flesh along the bottom of his penis. The pain blossomed, and he wailed. She wiggled the slapper in his anal cleft. POW POW! "OH!!!"

"Mercy!" he begged. "Please!"

She didn't react or slow. Smak. Smak. Smak. Along his scrotum and taint. He titled his head back on the velvet surface and moaned. The pain was crisp. The humiliation and the helplessness of the position drove his cock even harder. He felt an urgency in his bottom from the suppository and a different one in his cock--It felt like it was straining at his very skin itself.

Each pat with the crop was an affront. He howled. He was outraged, humiliated, and overcome. She continued to pat his scrotum with soft pat-pat-pats.

"Oh!! PLEASE!! MISTRESS!!"

She stopped, or paused she stepped forward to look down on him from between his spread legs. "Has our anxious little cock had enough?" she purred.

"Y-yes--please--I can't take any more!" He gasped.

"Turn him over girls," instructed Miss. Turnbolt. "I want to address his anus."

He wailed as they turned him. He didn't fight--he went with them, his only hope that by compliance he could gain a degree of mercy. He knew that the Art of the crop meant she could tap it on his anus as much as she wanted and he would have no choice but to endure it.

She rubbed the slapper between his cleft, over the nub of his sphincter. Tap.

"Oh!!"

Tap-pat. "Ahhh!! OH!!"

Tap-Tap-Tap. She lightly tapped the horrible thing against his anus and each soft kiss brought the feeling of a heavy strap blow directly on his tenderest spot. He knew that a girl would have her clitoris worked over with it--but ohh--OHH--his anus was far too tender for the awful thing!

He cried out--gasping. Ms. Turnbolt seemed pleased with the reaction. She stopped with the light tapping.

"Okay," she instructed the songbird girls. "Let's have a look at our outfit and see what we think!"

Her two girls brought in a crate and opened it. They and the songbirds 'got him dressed.'

It was knee high punishment boots--they had mild heels, but the "active ingredient" were small nubs designed to aggravate the soles of the feet. They reached the knees with pads to encourage kneeling. It left him naked from upper thigh to just below his navel. Above that, he wore a bright pink button-down shirt (buttons on the left, as with women's shirts), and a pale blue jacket. It came with cuffs that could lock behind his back, up at his collar, or at the waist, as desired.

The final touch was a collar and a horse-like bit and bridle and blinders. He felt like the blinders would probably be a mercy--but the entire outfit was both reasonably comfortable and dreadfully humiliating.

He lay there as the girls got him into it.

"Boys are much easier to dress than girls," said Miss Turnbolt. "Usually, for the girls, we cover their regions until a nice reveal--but I want to show off that humiliation-erection."

His cock was beginning to suffer the effects of the cock-root suppository. He groaned. He was already desperate to spend to start with. Now it was punishing--and the humiliation was making it worse. The girls got him up, and he was made to prance in place, having to stand on the balls of his feet to avoid the painful little nubs in the soles of the boots.

Thus, his buttocks were pressed out to his rear, and his cock jutted out in front. He moaned. Everyone seeing this--it'd be terrible as was intended.

"Let's start with the walk. You four girls: march him up by his cock. With the cock-root, he shouldn't be able to spend, so tease him on his march up. I want to see a nice little trail of pre-cum up the aisle."

The girls took his cock in their hands--OH! Their fingers played along it, along the underside of his penis, and they led him agonizingly slowly down the aisle. They slapped and rubbed his buttocks periodically. They stopped to glide their hands across his shaft--he felt himself gloriously pass the point of orgasm only for the awful root to pull him back to the needy urgency.

He moaned and sobbed.

"Slap his left inner thigh: that's a signal for down-on-your-knees, forehead-to floor!"

POW!

He practiced dropping, spreading his knees, to take harder spanks to his buttocks. He whimpered and sobbed softly.

"Good--now--for our big display--" Miss Turnbolt opened a wooden box and in it sat a leather-coated anal plug. It looked huge to Cais, who gasped when he saw it.

Ms. Turnbolt nodded: "We're going to practice putting this in--but I don't want him to get too used to it! It'll be done up at the front, kneeling on the block, his bottom facing the crowd."

They had steps for Cais to climb and kneel; the girls helping to steady him. He knelt, his bottom raised, knees spread.

"Our lubricant is a mild irritant," Miss Turnbolt explained. "It'll give him a bit of a nasty itch at his anus and a nice, punishing feeling of emergency in his bottom. The plug itself is applied to his prostate--following the main ceremony, we'll have his dance floor spanking--and each slap with that plug in his bottom will increase the stimulation until, even with the root, he'll have a nice spend over her lap in front of everyone."

Cais moaned in an awful, desperate panic--oh, oh--this was unthinkable. He'd seen girls put through humiliation weddings before--blushing as they sucked their groom's cock at the altar, before the entire procession, taken energetically by the groomsmen, and displayed so the results visibly dribbled down their thighs, walking up the aisle.

He'd seen them suffer the "dance floor spankings" with their new husband seated in the center of the floor, the girl over his lap--as the senior women in attendance strode up to both apply their hands--but also to gift the husband with various implements to be used in her new life of domestic discipline.

Now it was going to be him! He imagined having to write thank-you note to the ladies for the wonderful new paddle or whip his mistress had received and used on him early on, to remind him of his place.

He gasped as one of the songbirds probed his anus and started working on the plug. It was slick, thank Sattva--but oh--it was getting big fast. He grunted.

"No," snapped Ms. Turnbolt. She gave his scrotum a pat with the awful crop and he yowled. "I want moans--not grunts--you are going to vocalize like a girl for this entire affair. Practice your moans!"

Oh--ugh--bitch! But he moaned--the girl worked it in and he cried out in as high-pitched a voice as he could manage.

FIRST RIDING - YORK ESTATE - FRESTA

Fresta was acutely aware of just how cruel her former mistress, Lady Astalia, had been. It wasn't just that she'd suffered grandly under the woman--but that Lady Astalia had both enjoyed having her suffer and hadn't overtly cared for her. It had been miserable--but Lady Astalia had pulled her out of poverty, gotten her trained and fed and clothed--and, well, the woman certainly had her own problems to deal with.

Fresta had been grateful and embarrassingly loyal to the former merchant woman, despite her treatment. She had always been exceedingly submissive--and amenable to punishment. Lady Astalia had provided that in great amounts.

Now, however, with Mistress York, things were different. The lady was both a more expert disciplinarian and extremely devoted to her staff in a way that made Fresta squirm with emotions that were unbearable, as they were hard to define. Certainly the woman's penchant for inflicting misery was hard to deal with--but her attention to Fresta, her newly adopted secretary--was frighteningly intense. Going over the woman's lap made her feel embarrassed, a little humiliated (she moistened badly as soon as any attention was paid to her), and safe in a way that was almost overpowering.