You may have noticed in my last post about the Center for Sex Positive Culture that I didn’t talk much about what happened inside. I also don’t really say much about what goes on inside my local dungeon, Kitsap ACES, either. Well, anymore. There is a reason for that. These are public spaces, and I have learned the hard way that things I say here can inadvertently affect other people’s lives.
So, what goes on in the Dungeon stays in the Dungeon. (Oh, and these photos were taken with permission from the Director of the CSPC.)
I’ll be a good girl. I can talk about what was going on in my head though. Trust me, Saturday night my mind was exploding.
Devices similar to this have been used to publicly humiliate criminals (and sinful women) for a very long time. Trapped in place, unable to see the onlookers taunting and pelting them, unable to move while being beaten before the crowd or (in my imagination at least) sexually violated. Repeatedly.
I imagine unseen men under cover of darkness. Carrying blindfolds so mouths became accessible. I wonder how many women, often punished for adultery, were gang raped while serving their sentences in town squares.
I have masturbated to that fantasy forever. Somewhere much earlier in my childhood I must have seen a photo or movie of a woman bound in one of these. That image never went away.
I have been tortured in this before with the same date, but then it was just the two of us. This time I actually was in public. And Sir said I was being punished for being an insatiable whore. I would be beaten, tormented, and humiliated. And that was just the beginning.
As soon as the blindfold went on, I trusted my friend, and suspended disbelief. One of my oldest fantasies became reality. Really, REALLY real.
He beat me hard. I screamed a lot. There was no need to be quiet. I could hear the murmur of voices, people walking by, sitting nearby discussing me, talking about me with him. I could hear the screams, moans, and pleas of others being tortured and fucked nearby.
He displayed my cunt and ass for them, tormenting me with his fingers and slamming them into my pussy. I screamed more. He beat me more while I fought the pain, slamming my shoulders into hard wood over and over.
He pointed out that my juices were freely running out between my legs onto the ground. He reminded me what was next and called me a whore. I felt the flush of completely honest humiliation. It was the truth.
He tormented me with toys that I fought even harder than the pain. He forced orgasm after orgasm out my body varying pain and pleasure. The screams continued. My body fought until it finally surrendered.
My mind had already traveled to somewhere else in time…
He released me from the stocks and shackled me with iron cuffs and chain. He told me to hold onto a pole while he slipped on a condom, reminding me of Sir’s no lube rule. Then the tip of his cock brushed my asshole. I started pleading. He has a huge cock, and he would hurt me, even with lube.
He kept pushing, starting to slip the tip in. My whore body began to betray me, pushing back on his cock even as I was asking him to stop. In my final, coherent, bratty moment of complete insanity I said “I dare you to throw me up against a wall and do that.” He does love a brat, and it was his birthday after all. He took that dare and took my ass all at once.
My mind jumped right back out of reality. The chains were cold. His body pinned me. He was raping me. People were there, some watching, others probably screaming as well. I could only hear myself.
Oh wait, that WAS reality. Silly me. It gets confusing. But the fantasies weren’t over…
Next I was placed on the sling, and secured to it. I was still blindfolded. My internal scene started roaming. My cunt gushed.
I had specifically requested this part. I had seen the seen it the first time I was there. It was rough canvas, not leather. More of a cargo net than a sex swing. It was perfect.
Another very old mental image that had been getting me off as long as can remember is that of a girl on a cargo net, usually on a ship, being used by many men. It must have come from an old pirate movie. Trashy romance novels and serving on a ship in the Navy has only reinforced this fantasy. But it was still only a fantasy.
There’s that magic again. Fantasy becomes real if you believe hard enough. Time and time again.
Used I was, and my mind was definitely gone, but I hear my body woke up. I’ve written before about that side, and when it comes out, it is a pretty wild fuck. All animal, no brain.
My legs wrapped around the chains I was bound to for something to hold on to. My hands gripped onto the suspended shackle chain. My body lifted up and I fucked back with everything I had. And a bit more. I was told I spent most of the time about a foot up off of the net. I was also louder then than I had been the entire night.
Finally it was time to go. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t even there. I was left on the sling while the van was loaded and my date chatted with others. I have no idea how long I was gone. A few centuries maybe.
The first thing I remember again is knowing I had been laying displayed, exposed, and vulnerable in a public place the whole time I was out. Anyone could have just walked up and fucked me while I was alone. Again.
That is the hottest way I have ever come back to reality!
Or is it fantasy?
I am always mixing those two up…