“Now for another equipment change,” Master DieQual said, smiling lustily at me. “I can’t have you feeling trouble free when you’re not here in the house,” He added. “We will now go down to the dungeon.”
He led the way out of the small “changing room.” Tyler followed Him and I brought up the rear. We walked across the marvelous foyer, through a magnificently appointed dining room, and into his kitchen. I was stunned at the very modern look, gleaming appliances, multiple sinks. There was a small breakfast nook off to the left with windows opening out onto his spacious property. Just inside the kitchen, Master unlocked a door to the basement. The two of us followed Him down. The stairs were lit by two small lights. At the bottom of the stairs He turned on the room lights.
I was floored when I saw the dungeon! It was a “real” freakin’ medieval dungeon. The walls and ceiling were dark stone. Later I found out it was fake, but the impression was real. There were a dozen lighted sconces on the walls. They also were fake with red LED lights forming the “flames.” The only concession to modernity were recessed ceiling lights which provided the real illumination in the room. The sconces were just decoration, but they did set the scene.
The far wall was the equipment wall. There were hoods, collars, whips and paddles of all types. A small area on the wall had metal and leather devices of unknown application, other than to cause pain to a young man’s body and junk. The wall on the right had hanks of rope and coils of chains, along with metal collars and cuffs strung together with chain, and an assortment of locks from very small ones to three absolute monster locks big enough to hold an ocean liner. The other wall had a real wooden rack made of heavy, rough hewn timbers. A large cylinder was at one end with chain coiled around the drum. A small drive wheel had long spokes sticking out. There were cuffs and chains at the other end. It was just like the one I was tortured on during the “executive retreat.”
In the center of the room was a raised platform, maybe a foot high. A heavy wooden frame was bolted to the platform and the whole area was brightly lit by focused ceiling lights. The frame was obviously intended for a spread eagled young body. A heavy metal chair was in the left corner; it bristled with leather straps.
Chains hung from the ceiling, heavy metal rings were attached to the walls, and a stout wooden pillar ran from floor to ceiling in another corner. It was a total torture dungeon! You could almost hear the echoes of past torture sessions, young guys screaming their guts out in agony as the Master thrived on their pain. The thought crashed across my mind that I would be joining the screaming young guys, adding to the echoes.
“Well, you look suitably impressed, Dickie-boy,” the Master said, smiling at me.
“Sir, yes, Sir,” I said. Maybe my jaw was still hanging open.
“Louder, boy,” He said. “I want to hear your appreciation for what I have constructed.”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” I yelled, automatically stiffening to attention. “Sir, yes, Sir!” I added for good measure.
“That’s better,” He said. “Now for the change I promised you.” He turned to Tyler: “Get the cock cage and ass ball remote.”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” Tyler replied. He walked over to the equipment wall and brought back the same device that had been attached at the end of retreat weekend to my buddy Ray. He handed it to Sir.
Then the Master barked out: “Dickie-boy, slave A!”
I dropped to the cement floor on my hands and knees, lowered my forehead to the floor, and stretched out my hands Fuckhead that I was, I balled my fists. Wrongo Bongo.
Two seconds later I felt the lash on my back, hard. “A-a-h!” I yelled out, startled at the sudden pain. Then a second lash, more pain, another scream filled the dungeon. I immediately unballed my fists and put my palms to the floor.
He continued to bark orders: “Now, present . . . ass!”
This I did correctly, moving my hands to grip my ass cheeks and then spreading them as wide apart as I could, anything to avoid more whippings.
At the same time, I was surprised when Tyler dropped to the floor and followed the same command, even though I don’t think Sir intended it for him. I guess he was well trained. The whip is a good teacher.
Sir did nothing to relieve Tyler of his discomfort. Then He went to work on me: First he forced the metal ass ball into my hole. I grunted as the overly large ball pushed through my asshole muscle and plopped into my gut. My sphincter closed down on the metal arm. Then He bolted the control box to the bottom of my cock cage. The last step was to attach the metal arm extending from the ass ball to the control box. The arm was designed to be shortened over a wide range. Sir pulled the arm in tight, slightly stretching my asshole, and then secured it to the box with a lock. I heard and felt the click. The sound said: “You’re fucked, Dickie-boy!”
With no warning to me whatsoever, Sir activated the remote controller and sent a level one shock into the device now secured on my ass and junk. The pain was awful. “A-a-g-h! A-h!” I screamed, losing control of my body. I collapsed onto the floor into a fetal position.
Sir held the button for a few more seconds. Then He furiously shouted at me: “Slave A! Get back into Slave A!”
I gained control of my body and slowly resumed the slave A posture. Then He started to lash my back with gusto. “I did not release you from the position! You had no order to leave slave A!”
Lash after lash welted my back. I yelled again in pain. “A-g-h!” filled the dungeon. The lash was hitting welts which were still raw from the earlier whippings. OMG, I couldn’t win. I couldn’t do anything right. How could I avoid getting beaten with His whip?
NEXT: Ch 15, The Tit Workshop