I confess to being a little apprehensive as I drove to Douglas’s dungeon. I first met my fellow Scotsman after agreeing to participate in a BDSM session at a club in the city where I was studying. (Please read ‘Club Bondage for a Sexy Submissive’ for that profile). We had gotten on well, and he inquired whether I would be eager to work with him in his self-built bondage dungeon. I had agreed to see it first and understand what he had in mind as the wondered excited me greatly.

When I arrived at his premises on the outskirts of the city, I discovered that he had converted an old outbuilding into a rather impressive bondage cave. Douglas was an amateur carpenter and a trained welder and had used these two skills to great effect in his spare time to refurbish and kit out the stone building.

The structure measured about sixty feet by forty, so it was not enormous, but what it lost in size, it made up for in scope. Inside was a mindboggling series of rails, seats and tables, all of which Douglas, or ‘Master Thore’, as he enjoyed being known in appropriate circles, had designed and produced from his imagination.

‘Nothing has been purchased,’ he explained as he showed me around, ‘I have built the whole set-up from scratch.’

I was impressed.

‘I’ll be honest and upfront with you, Rachel. I need a woman I could hire out with the dungeon. I know many middle-aged guys who want to try their hand at BDSM but can not discover a woman to join them. If I could advertise this with a female submissive, I’m sure it would go like a bomb, especially if the woman were attractive.

‘And you think I fit the bill?’ I replied, still mesmerised by his equipment.

‘Good grief, woman. Of course. You’re young, sexy and into this stuff, and I know from experience you can handle pain. You’d be perfect, and I’d pay you well. You set the limits!’

‘What limits do you think I should set?’ I quizzed.

‘I’ll be honest, the less you have, the more will visit. I’m sure most guys, seeing you, would want to do more with you than tie you up and whip you or stretch you.’

‘You mean fuck me?’ I asked.

‘Yes indeed. That’s up to you. I have no idea what you’re thinking, but if they wanted sex and you were eager, we could charge more.’

‘So if I were a Whip Whore, or a Submissive Slut, I’d be perfect?’

‘Oh yes indeed. Or a Bondage Bitch,’ Douglas concluded.

Despite my studies and my fortnightly job at the strip club, I felt I wanted to give this a go. I did not know why but the wondered of being available to total strangers in a controlled and safe environment greatly excited me.

I spent over four hours with Master Thore as he introduced me to his numerous inventions and devices. I even allowed him to fasten me into some so that I could grasp how they worked. He had used his knowledge of metalwork, woodwork, bondage and electricity to produce, to my mind, a fabulous dungeon. It reminded me of a similar set-up I had visited in Manchester, the difference being most of the items in that were made of wood, whereas Douglas had incorporated much more metal.

I asked Master Thore to give me a complete workout on everything he had to ensure I would be happy using all the equipment before agreeing to anything. As it happened, the incoming week, I had a day free from lectures, and Douglas was reasonably sure he could take the same day off his employment to give me the works.

As the day wore on, I was impressed by the little ‘extra’ touches Douglas had incorporated into his contraptions. On what he termed the ‘Griddle Table,’ he had added a metal penis that swung around from underneath and could be inserted into a woman’s pussy. A small stimulating electric current could then be passed into it while the rest of the table could also be made ‘live’ to bring discomfort to the victim attached thereon.

Several of the props offered the opportunity of sex in numerous positions with the restrained victim, as Douglas, with my permission, demonstrated on several occasions.

Master Thore had clearly put a lot of wondered, talent, time and money into his venture; however, surprisingly, the room was only booked sporadically. He hoped things might pick up if I acquiesced and agreed to partake occasionally.

Having both seen and used the equipment on offer, I agreed to a trial run ten days later, one Friday evening. Not wishing to disappoint anyone, I promised that any guys could enjoy intercourse with me provided that Douglas had thoroughly vetted them.

The following day, Douglas told me that word was out, and he would let me know if anyone showed any interest. I had to wait on tenterhooks until the following Monday lunchtime before he contacted me to tell me that four guys in their forties had booked for the evening.

I had been hoping for hot guys in their twenties; however, I had been warned that mostly middle-aged men used the facility, so I had no cause for complaint.

Master Thore had promised he would purchase any clothing for me and suggested that I be bound to a beam for the guys to discover me and then prepare me for whatever action they desired. Douglas had a smart idea of inviting the participants round before the event to allow them to decide what equipment they wanted to use in the time allotted. It also allowed him to assess the character of those seeking to book the place with me. He told me he turned several offers down because he felt some of the men were suspect in one way or another. Although Douglas would be in his dungeon in a tiny office area, his interest in my safety helped ease any concerns I might have had.

The first Friday night, Douglas picked me up from the campus and drove me out to his dungeon, where my first four-hour session would occur. I confess to feeling several emotions simultaneously, worry, anxiety, excitement, and anticipation. All seemed to sweep over me like waves breaking over the shore.

At ten to seven, Douglas secured me, dressed in a lacy see-through long length nighty to two rings on a stone pillar and left me. The men were due at seven, and my heart pounded as I waited and listened for the sound of car tyres on the gravel drive outside.

Two minutes past the hour, the sound of a car told me that my ordeal was about to commence. I waited in trepidation as the door opened, and four men walked in, looked around and then saw me.

Master Thore had told me to remain mute and only speak to use my safe word or to express my suffering. Trying to keep my mouth shut would in itself be quite a test!

‘Look at the sexy bitch we have to play with tonight,’ the first man said as he neared me.

‘We can fuck her, tie her, whip her and use her,’ another stated as they commenced untying my hands and removing my totally inadequate nighty.

At the far end of the room was a mattress with a protective cover situated upon a fixed wooden frame to which I was led, bent over, bound with cotton ropes, lubricated and taken from the rear.

It was apparent that these men did not intend to waste any time in making use of the student who had agreed to leave herself at their mercy. I guess looking back, what forty-plus-year-old would not enjoy the opportunity of having sex with a pretty twenty-two-year-old university student who was presented to them on a plate? Okay, I was presented in a bondage dungeon, but readers will find out my reasoning.

After the first two men had shot their load into my pussy the third wanted my arse and took great delight in lubricating it deeply, all the while explaining, for my advantage, what a wide cock he possessed. When he suddenly pushed it up my tight bum hole, I realised that his were no idle boasts. His was indeed a thick appendage. I screamed as he stretched me to my limit, enjoying every moment of his pleasure and my intense discomfort.

When he had performed his deed to his satisfaction, he knelt on the bed and, lifting my head, offered his cock to be cleaned. I believe he was mildly surprised that I opened my mouth to receive it despite my arms being bound. I commenced using my tongue to my best ability for his pleasure as his friends looked on.

The final man untied my hands rolled me onto my back, parted my legs and leaping between them, rammed his rod deep into my pussy missionary style. I hardly had time to think about what was happening before his taught body, and long deep groan of contentment told me that his mission was accomplished.

Having seemingly satisfied the four middle-aged strangers satisfactorily, I was lifted off the bed and quickly secured in what Douglas called ‘The frame.’ The name suited it well as it was simply a wrought Iron rectangular frame with four eyelets to attach arms and legs to the four corners. Its position in the centre of the room allowed access to a naked body from either the front or the back.

The longest flogger was lifted from a rail upon which hung all Master Thore’s leather instruments of pain and suffering.

‘I’ve at all times wanted to whip a woman,’ the guy who had obtained it said as he flicked it animatedly onto the floor with a ‘whoosh’ followed by a ‘splat’ sound as it struck the tiles. ‘I’m gonna enjoy myself.’

As I stood taught and exposed, I decided that I would also try and enjoy myself as his flogger struck home across my naked body. I knew that I wanted both pain and humiliation so being the pain slut for strangers fulfilled my desires completely.

Although I could not help grunting or screaming as the leather thongs curved around my skin with a sharp stinging sensation, I felt my sexual gauge between my legs turn to maximum as dampness trickled down my thighs as my back, breasts, and tummy commenced turning beetroot red.

As I climaxed and pulled my body taught on the frame, the flogging ceased as the four surprised Doms looked on in wonder at my reaction and the tell-tale dampness running down my legs. I trembled, gurgled and sighed deeply.

‘She’s orgasming!’ one stated excitedly.

‘Fuck me,’ another added

‘Wow!’ a third added as I opened my eyes from my ecstasy and saw his mouth drop open to resemble something like a venus fly trap waiting for its prey to fly into its deadly grasp.

‘Master Thore never told me she’d do that,’ the leader responded with a look of both delight and shock. ‘Anyway, let’s get back t the work at hand.’

After another five hard flogger lashes, they decided they wanted to try something different. I was released and led to what Douglas called ‘The Electric Griddle Table.’ This comprised a griddle upon which I lay, in a rather uncomfortable position, something Douglas worked to improve during the time I assisted him. The bars upon which I was supported could be made live, and Master Thore’s unique ‘Black Box’ of electrical apparatus with its numerous probes, clips and jaws could also be used to spice things up for both the tortured and the torturer.

The griddle was turned on by twiddling a dial, and the more it was turned, the greater the voltage passing into the frame. It was perfectly safe, Thore having ensured an electrician had built the numerous circuits and transformers that allowed only a trickle charge into his apparatus. This was, however, enough to cause discomfort to victims like me.

As the dial turned, the voltage increased, and I began to tremble and gasp, lying over the metal rails. ‘Griddle’ was an apt name for this torturous table as I resembled, and felt like, a fish on a barbeque. Not being an electrician, I have no idea how the set-up worked, but different sets of bars could be made live at numerous times, those below my legs, bum and back. It could also be arranged with the flick of a switch for the whole griddle to flow simultaneously with a charge. I did not know when or where my subsequent shocking torture would materialise.

I lay gasping, gurgling, grunting and groaning as my legs, arms, and bum alternately trembled uncontrollably as the men took great delight in swapping the voltage around the machine until, mercifully, they had had enough and their allotted time had run out.

Master Thore entered to room and assisted in releasing me from the uncomfortable table as the men thanked me for being their ‘stooge’ for the evening. It was only then that I was permitted to speak correctly without using unearthly alien-type sounds that I had been making all evening.

The men after thanking me profusely wanted to know if I was happy to meet privately for further fun. However, with my studies, the strip club and my other sexual commitments, plus this new venture, there were not enough hours in the week to fit any more obligations.

‘You can book to meet her again here,’ Thore offered genially, ‘however she is booked up for the next six months.’

This was certainly news to me. I had only agreed to one session to ‘try things out’ and see how it worked. I decided to keep quiet until the men had left.

As I rubbed sore and tender areas with my trusted lotions and potions, I asked Master Thore what he meant about being booked for six months.

‘Absolutely true, my dear,’ he announced, ‘I took the liberty of booking on a first-come, first-served basis and suddenly had six months full. It was easy, seeing as you can only visit monthly. Now, if I could get you to agree to visit more regularly…?’

I declined his generous offer; however, despite the many other activities that occurred the following month, I found my mind constantly going back to Douglas Dungeon and could hardly wait to return. As I drove there a month later, I needed to stop the car and nip behind a hedge to relieve myself because I was so excited.

The rest of the journey was not far, but I kept thinking of what I would do and why. I was travelling to a home-built amateur dungeon so that, putting it bluntly, complete strangers could torture me. However, the more I wondered about it, the more I realised I enjoyed all that went with it. I wanted sex, as just about everyone in my year group knew. I received more offers to open my legs than I could satisfy. I also enjoyed my work at the strip club. It was fun to be ogled at knowing that most of the men watching longed for me to go to bed with them. Attending a dungeon with the sole intention of allowing others to gain sexual gratification from my willingness to be bound and tortured was different. Much different.

I realised that now it was not just seeing cocks harden as guys played with me. The pain also turned me on and got me very moist between my legs. The more demeaning and intense the pain inflicted was, the more my body responded in feverish excitement. I was a genuine pain slut, or as Douglas had called me, a ‘Torture Tart.’

After parking my car and walking into the dungeon, Master Thore met me with his usual enthusiasm.

‘I was worried you would let me down.’

‘Why?’

‘I wondered you might run scared or something.’

‘I told you on the phone last night that I was coming.’

‘I know, but I was still worried.’

‘If I promise to do something, I do it,’ I announced, ‘It’s a family moto that I was brought up with that my word is my bond.’

‘Great. Thanks. Sorry I doubted you,’ Thore replied. ‘I guess I was worried about being embarrassed and not having my victim here and ready as I had promised.’

Having quelled Thore’s fears, we went inside, where I had thirty minutes to prepare for the evening’s activities.

‘These guys are all in their thirties and want to give you an enema tonight. Are you happy with that, Rachel?’ he enquired.

‘I can not say I discover enema’s the most pleasant of experiences,’ I replied, ‘but yes, I’m eager to give it a go.’

‘Great. I’ve prepared a wee fun item for it for you.’

Douglas led me to a wall with a piece of foam attached to it that stood about four feet square. In front of this was another of his metal contraptions: a cross between a wagon wheel and a series of tree rings.

‘It’s a target,’ he explained jauntily. ‘When the time comes for you to discharge, you kneel here and have to aim for the centre. If you hit the centre hole, you’re safe but hit anywhere else, you will receive numerous punishments.’

‘I love it,’ I responded, ‘You at all times seem to think up something else each time I come.’

‘If you came more often, it might not be so easy,’ he replied with a chuckle, ‘however, imagining someone as young and gorgeous as you in some painful position makes my mind work overtime. When these guys suggested an enema, I wanted to make it much more fun.’

I smiled as I took up my position naked except for my knickers on the mattress with my wrists bound with ropes to the wall. These guys wanted to waste no time in getting down to action.

I lay in position with my heart pounding as the door opened and the five men walked in. I was lying under a spotlight, and they made straight for me, two grabbing at my knickers, two fondling my breasts, and the fifth unzipping his fly to offer his manhood to my mouth.

Within seconds my mouth and pussy were full of rock-hard cock while other hands explored my body with animated interest.

‘I’m impressed,’ one of the five stated, ‘Thore told us she was a sexy bitch, but I had my doubts until now. You’re a fuckin sexy cunt alright. I hope your as good a fucker as you are a looker?’

‘Try me and see!’ I teased, speaking for the first time, ‘I don’t think you will be disappointed in this dirty fucking bitch tonight.’

My invitation seemed to electrolyse the guys as they almost bristled to make full use of their prize, laying naked, eager and wide open before them. One after another they came at me desiring blow jobs and the full deep use of my pussy. In next to no time, my face and hair were matted with cum, and I could feel it seeping out of my overused cunt.

The guys all ceased their activities on the two occasions I decided it was time to reach orgasm so they could watch me squeal and squirm with ecstatic pleasure. In fact, on the second occasion, I had to beg the guy lying on top of me to carry on thrusting me so that I could obtain the maximum pleasure efficient.

As soon as the sex was over, I was released and dragged to a crude rubberised mat situated in front of the scoreboard, and I knew the enema was next. I had received several enemas before and had also experimented with friends; however, I had not found the action hugely exciting for me. I did appreciate that it could be profoundly embarrassing and that something about it really excited the guys performing the operation on me. I guess the opportunity to syringe copious amounts of soapy water into a pretty girl’s anus and watch the results must be a turn-on to the male species.

I braced myself on hands and knees as the syringes were filled and then placed into my rectum. I grimaced as the water was forced into my backside.

‘I bet a dirty bitch like you has a fucking filthy arse,’ one of the guys stated as he watched eagerly as more water was added to my burden.

I flexed my buttocks together when it was evident that I was full to capacity.

‘Hold it in and don’t spill a drop,’ one of the guys ordered, ‘while we flog your pretty butt.’

I squeezed my muscles and pulled faces of desperation as the long-thronged flogger struck hard across my pert and exposed bum. To take my mind off the pressure rapidly building inside, I counted the number of times the leather thongs lashed across my arse. Although I wanted to cry out, I remained mute as to have done so would have required me to lose my grip on my bum and spilling the enema.

Finally, the flogging ended with my bum glowing red and feeling like I had sat down on some smouldering coals.

‘Good girl, I’m impressed,’ the guy who had been inflicting my pain confessed. Now you can release the contents. Aim at the target. Bullseye means no more flogging or whipping. Anything outside of that circle means we go by this chart on what punishments to inflict

I saw that he held a coloured chart in his hand, representing the target on the wall. The different colours meant different amounts and punishments for areas missing the bullseye.