FOREWORD

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

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.