Rules of the Dungeon
Eve was a flexible overseer. She was the dominant in charge without question, but she let her assistants determine their personal boundaries and general rules of conduct. We all had to obey the dungeon rules: no exchange of bodily fluids. And the second biggest rule: no PIV (penis-in-vagina) penetration. We used condoms on all toys, and we wore gloves if we touched a client’s genitalia. After a session, everything was run through the dishwasher or cleaned in a special solution that killed any bacteria. We wanted to create a fantasy, but there were physical limits to what we would do.
Each assistant had a different personal set of rules that we used during play. My personal rules were 1.) the person had to always ask first if they could touch me–consent first before all things, 2.) I didn’t kiss the other person, 3.) the person couldn’t touch my vagina, 4.) I never lied about the size of a man’s penis 5.) and I didn’t see dungeon players outside of the dungeon, either in person or on social media.
Surprisingly, a dungeon player didn’t always ask to touch me, because often they weren’t in a position to. Typically the player initiating the scene was the body being acted upon. In other words, Eve was the top giving us both orders, arranging the so-called chess pieces. I acted upon the victim… er, client, as she instructed. The person was often in bondage or rendered incapacitated in some way so that they could only watch me. Watch and wish they could touch. The push-pull of teasing and denial could be the most exquisite slow torture. My luscious body would be inches from a man’s mouth, and yet he was powerless to close that gap and taste the delicate curve of my breast. He may have squirmed and begged for it, but I rarely acquiesced.
I confess that at first it was hard for me to dance cruelly out of their reach. I was trained to please by the dominants in my life. I was wired that way naturally as part of my Good Girl identity. But submissives didn’t flock to Eve because she was nice in the way that I was nice. They asked to play because she was sadistic and sensually generous in a way that brought them quivering to their knees and begging for orgasm. Gradually I understood her philosophy. She made them feel so good alternating pleasure and pain that they almost always wanted to return. The element that I was proudest of, that gave my work purpose, was that we were free of judgment. As long as we all consented to the scene (and everyone was over 18) we would help that person achieve the fantasy they had been dreaming about. The dungeon rules kept us safe, and my personal rules kept me from giving too much of myself to a fleeting moment of an intense sexual encounter.
My favorite visitors to the dungeon were the ones that I had seen before. The ones that I had developed a rapport with and the ones that I knew something about, they were the ones that I opened up with more. We developed trust in those interactions, and no matter what skeptics may think, those moments of brief connection were gifts. It was a gift to accept someone in all their naked glory, no judgement, and to be able to create something electric with them. I was able to do all that with my rules safely in place. Until I met him.
Play With Your Meat
Eve described him as “a young piece of meat.” Translation: she was excited to play with someone younger who had a hot body. I didn’t feel as excited and was generally more circumspect around younger men. Not many of them chose the dungeon, and often when they did, they arrived with the expectations of fraternity boys in an Asian massage parlor. They typically needed a lesson in consent, and often they were all over the place regarding their sexuality, so that it made it difficult for me to get a read on what it was that they wanted exactly. I found them generally unsettling, but I figured I’d at least get eye candy for an hour. He did not disappoint.
Guy was about my height and a decade younger. He started the hour by shedding his clothing in an expedient manner, but Eve slowed his pace. She requested that I assist him, and I happily complied, sliding my hands across the muscled planes of his stomach as I undid his pants. I held his gaze as my hands skimmed up his rib cage to pull off his shirt, and I breathed in his warmth and our closeness. I let my fingers roam down his muscled thighs as I sank to my knees, my face deliciously close to the bulge in his underwear. I was unable to deny the physical attraction I felt. It was such a novel feeling that I felt giddy, like Christmas had arrived early and Santa had given me my very own boy to play with.
In contrast there was the squirming thought that I was single without an eligible man in sight. It felt incredibly decadent to be so close to another human and to feel the overwhelming desire to sink into all that smooth, warm skin. I wanted this, not in the professional way that I was supposed to, but in a wolf that wanted to eat a sexy bunny kind of way. Devour was the word that I felt, and my body turned electric with every stroke of my hand against his muscular body.
Somehow my clothes came off. I honestly can’t remember how exactly. And then we were both naked, facing a fully clothed Eve. I sidled up behind him to press my softness against his chiseled frame. He was deliciously warm, and I suddenly had the urge to dig my fingers into his hips and mark him as our pleasure toy for the time being. I may have asked Eve if we could keep him.
It wasn’t only the physical attraction or instant sexual chemistry that held me off-kilter, I felt the alien urge to hurt him. Playing with Guy inspired sadistic urges within me that I had never experienced before without being coached by someone more dominant. But this sprang to life all on its own, and the only way I could describe it was that I felt like a wolf with a bunny rabbit. A bunny rabbit in a rock hard body that I wanted to sensually torture and tease until he begged for release. A bunny that you wanted to lick and bite and lovingly maul until you had both dissolved into puddles of cum. And then he asked to kiss me.
My common sense said no, but I found myself consenting. I said yes, and greedily accepted his lips on mine. He marked the time we spent together with a questioning, “yes?” And I continued to reply with my own enthusiastic “yes!” He asked at every stage of our play together, and I didn’t want to deny him. Not only because it was what he wanted, but because I wanted it, dammit. He stretched out on the massage table, and I marred his smooth skin with scratches and bite marks. He pulled at my nipples as we kissed, my hair falling around us in a curtain.
Eve was busy with his bottom half. She had tied his cock and balls up with a shoestring into a snug bundle, and had then pushed his cock between two pieces of clear Plexiglas that could be tightened together with screws. I was only half-watching, distracted by the delicious man’s hands and lips. Eve interrupted with a simple command.
“Use him to pleasure yourself.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I fetched my favorite gold dildo (yes, we call him “Gold Member”) and rolled down a condom to the base. I made Guy put on a latex glove to hold Gold Member upright in his hand. As Eve started the hitachi on his trussed up balls, she slowed down how she screwed the Plexiglas sheet against his cock. I positioned Guy’s hand exactly how I wanted it, and then instructed him how I wanted to be fucked. It took only a moment to find a rhythm, and then the dildo slid exactly in the right spot. The first orgasm rolled over me, followed quickly by a second. But I was greedy. I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t the dildo. I broke another rule.
I set the dildo aside and asked him to use his fingers.
“Yes?” he asked as I leaned over him.
“Yes,” I answered.
My breath caught as his fingers slid into me, and I silently hoped that he would be as good with his fingers as he was his lips. Again I was not disappointed. Orgasm followed orgasm in a long line of pleasure. One arm was braced against his shoulder as I clung to the table with the other. I tried to remain upright, riding the waves of sensation as Guy experienced his own orgasm. It felt like my brain had been short-circuited. I was so high on endorphins and the power of topping that I lost myself a little bit. I remembered the rest of our time together, but I remembered it through a cotton candy haze of residual pleasure.
I had difficulty pulling myself back together after that. Re-entering the world after intense play is like replacing your armor piece by piece. I was still trying to find my proverbial breastplate, and Guy had already cleaned up and pulled on his clothes. There had been only one other time when I regretted saying good bye, and this was now my second. We said farewell, and I felt the loss of that connection. Wistfulness, I suppose, tinged with regret. Coming down from a topping high was hard too. Looking back, I probably had a touch of top drop as well.
Later that night I thought long and hard about what I was going to do. Ultimately what I wanted to say was ‘thank you.’ I didn’t think there would be any harm in doing so, and I felt like he was the type to be polite and not turn it into something weird. Still, I was respectful of people’s privacy. Not everyone wanted to be confronted by a dungeon assistant in real life. I dropped him a short note of thanks on Fetlife. I had broken rules during our session, and I had loved every moment. I had felt sadistic and dominant all on my own, and I wanted to explain how grateful I was for all of it. To my surprise he answered, and not only that, he asked me to meet him for coffee.
This is the part where I don’t really know what I’m doing. This is all new territory, and what if I majorly screw up? Part of me frets over it. And then there’s me who’s a wolf. And she doesn’t care about any of that. She wants the bunny. The funny part is that I don’t know which part of me will come out on top.
TO BE CONTINUED…
(I’ve always wanted to write that.)