Chapter 1 - Beginnings

 

Lane was scared. They had tied her to a wooden cross. Not in the usual way, but bent forward at the waist with her arms tied behind, up high, and her ankles strapped tight to its sides. Her crotch rested on a thick block of wood shaped like a penis.

This was the most extreme position The Dungeon offered. No question about that, she decided. But it's is what I wanted, right? ...genuine pain and a real loss of control.

Lane knew she was submissive, that she was turned on by bondage, by the idea of being dominated and helpless, forced to serve. She understood that hers was more than a youthful experiment. She needed this. She needed to quiet her inner voice.

Turning fantasy into reality though had been a lot harder than she'd originally thought. The college men she'd dated were always too shy, too silly, too rough in the wrong way... And the older Manhattan wolf pack had been even sillier, sometimes even dangerously so. It was frustrating. She had started to think that she was alone, that her longing was perverse. Even worse, with each failure, she became more of a bitch lashing out at the men with vicious put-downs and rejection. She had called her last beau a pansy and made a convincing argument against his manhood. She-bitch, that's what everyone in school called her now...She-bitch.

It wasn't fair, she thought, stretching painfully. The failing was theirs not mine. All I want to do is submit to someone, to have an experience, to know what it is like... But it's got to be real, not some stupid sex game or freak-play.

That's why she was here, in 'The Dungeon'. The ad promised an authentic BDSM experience, "a taste of the forbidden fruit." She pulled hard on her straps...and so far, so good, her fear was genuine, her pain was real, her cunt was throbbing with anticipation... Maybe it was too real, the pain was excruciating. Then again, she'd insisted on realism. She pulled once more on her arms and pushed up with her legs trying to ease the agony in her shoulders...nothing. There was no relief from this except perhaps in the smooth oily surface of the penis crushing her cunt. The penis was clever, she admitted. The only relief available to me from this torture is between my legs. The symbolism is perhaps a little too obvious, but I'm in no position to criticize.

She lifted her head and blew the hair out of her face. Breathing was getting difficult now and her neck and shoulder muscles were burning.

So this is what real pain was all about, she thought. What will it be like in five minutes, ten? Her stomach knotted and more sweat trickled down the side of her face. It was terrifying to think about more seconds like this, let alone minutes. Someone was using a drill on her shoulders, poking holes in her muscles, her bones. It was humbling to have no control over the situation. Still, there was something intense about it, something exciting...

NOT OKAY! I've tried it, her mind screamed; now I want out. NOW! It was true that she had insisted, INSISTED that she not be shown any mercy for thirty minutes, but she hadn't realized what it would be like. THIRTY MINUTES!

Was she crazy? This was nuts! I've only been here for a few minutes and the pain is...just unbearable! The tears were flowing out of her eyes in a steady stream. This isn't producing the rush I'd thought it would. I just can't imagine staying here for thirty minutes.

"Ah, excuse me," she called into the dark.

Her words echoed back from the cell's stone walls.

"Hello. EXCUSE ME! I've changed my mind. I'd like to get out now." The edge in her voice was sharp and the tone more frantic.

Silence. No acknowledgement of any kind. She waited and tried again...nothing.

The pain was coming in huge waves now, tsunami-like waves, making her shake and sweat like a pig. She could feel drops of sweat falling from her pointed nipples and hear them hitting the ground. Her body was involuntarily grinding on the phoney penis.

"GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" she screamed, jerking frantically on the bindings. "PLEASE!" The echoes of her pleas continued for a long time.

Nothing...no sound at all, no one rushing in to release her, no crowd of sycophants jostling each other to obey, just the frantic pumping of her lungs, the blood pounding in her ears.

I've...I've...I've got to get out of here! she thought in a sudden panic. I...I...can't take ANY MORE... She knew she was hyperventilating, but was powerless to stop. The agony was turning her vision into a tunnel then a pinprick of a sight hole. She felt herself breathing even harder.

In seconds, there was no light, no thought. She was unconscious. Her breathing slowed and her luscious body began to move on its own. It was a kind of full-length convulsion combined with dozens of muscle spasms. After a time she awoke and was aware that her body was moving of its own volition. She couldn't control it.

More importantly, somehow she felt different in her head. She fought off another wave of panic. The pain was still there, but she pushed it to the side. What's happened to me? she asked herself. What's different? The question gnawed at her as she squeezed the penis with her bare wet thighs.

It's me, she thought. I'm adapting to what's happening here, changing. The pain is still intense, but the mind-numbing fear that caused the panic is gone. I'm thinking about it now, controlling it to some degree. I can feel the control, it's intense.

Is that all? What more do I feel? she asked. This is it, the opportunity to find out. THINK; think about what you feel behind the pain.

She pushed her suffering even further back in her mind. Suddenly, she felt...free. It was a moment of startling clarity and self-discovery. I feel...I'm free, free of complication, free of worry, unburdened. All the things that have been hanging over me are gone, irrelevant. The only thing that matters now is the pain and...and what I want.

What I want...? She thought about this for a long time. She was definitely feeling something behind the pain and it was growing stronger every moment. Arousal...I'm sexually aroused...no, no that wasn't right. This was more than mere arousal, more than a simple itch. This is something I must have. It's something I need...to survive. She thought about how she must look bound this way and the itch in her crotch intensified.

I'm getting off on my own bondage, she thought. My helplessness is turning me on. It's as if the person I was is gone, replaced by...by what?

She began to move her crotch more forcefully on the wooden penis, working her fluids deep into the wood like a thousand girls before her had done. The pain in her arms receded and she shuddered with a deep, uncontrollable need.

I want a man, her mind screamed. I must have a man. NOW! A man who feels the same way, who must have me, who must possess me. A man who wants to...

The thought of a man's cock in her mouth was too much and she climaxed, rubbing her clit furiously back and forth on the wood. It wasn't exactly an orgasm; it was more like her body was expressing some kind of primal need. The action left her shuddering with anticipation. I must have him," she though. She had never felt such a compulsion before. It scared and excited her like nothing else had ever done.

What's happening to me?

She pulled fiercely on the straps, her pain forgotten, amazed by her strength, by the incredible want she felt. She twisted until it was too much then rubbed herself again on the penis, amazed at how good it felt at the wonderful feeling of unyielding leather.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME!" she moaned out loud. She'd experienced all kinds of sex, but never felt anything like this. "What's happening..."

She closed her eyes, the longing was too intense. When she opened them, there was a man standing in the cell. He was naked except for a thong that covered his oversized cock. He held a riding crop in his right hand.

"Ready for me, Lane?" he asked.

She closed her eyes again, forcing her mind to focus. There was something about his manner that she had never seen in a man, something threatening and dangerous, something commanding. He was going to get what he wanted from her. There was not going to be any discussion, no courtship, no pre-coital dance. Incredibly, this felt right to her. In this situation, it felt right. He was the dominant member of their species, the aggressor...the master. It felt natural for her to submit. Her brain injected more endorphins and she nearly fainted from the sudden stimulation.

"Please," she groaned, unsure of what she was pleading for.

"Please?" he asked. "Please what?"

It was the most frustrating moment of her life.

He bent down and put his face inches from hers.

"Please what?"

She shook her head in one last moment of defiance.

He brought the crop down hard on her upturned ass and she felt a sudden jolt of burning pain. He struck again in the same spot. The pain was worse and it lingered longer. She screamed and shook her head again. He struck a third time then switched hands and cropped her other cheek.

"Please what?" he growled menacingly.

She was intensely aware of everything now. The crop had brought everything back into violently sharp focus. She suddenly realizing that she was nowhere near her physical limit. This could get more painful than she'd ever imagined.

"Please what?" he asked again.

"Please fuck me, Master," she cried loudly. "Please, please fuck me!"

The urgency of her need was obvious. Every part of her was straining forward, trying to reach him, to touch his body.

"I intend to," he said.

She blinked her eyes and felt deliriously, irrationally happy. This was totally out of character for her. Something had happened, something that she wanted to... The thought died in her mind. None of this matters, she realized suddenly. He is going to do what he wants no matter what I say. The certainty of it, the inevitability was frightening and exciting. Suddenly, she understood her submissiveness.

"...You know what's going to happen if you fail to please me?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, Master," she answered desperately, only half aware of what she was saying.

She knew exactly what was going to happen.

He moved in front of her face and pulled on the bow at his waist. His thong fell away and she was staring at his prick. It was enormous. She strained to reach it with her mouth, her tongue. There was nothing more important in the universe than having his warm cock in her mouth.

It was astonishing. She had always resisted oral sex. It was too degrading, too humiliating for someone as beautiful as her. Yet at this moment, nothing else mattered than to wrap her full lips around his shaft. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face until they were looking at each other then he slowly pushed himself inside. She felt an enormous wave of satisfaction and gratitude.

"Make me feel good," he ordered.

She moved her head in a gentle up and down motion, careful not to draw him so far inside that she gagged. Three times the crop struck the inside of her right thigh then the sole of her upturned right foot. He switched hands and repeated the pattern on her left side. The pain delivered his message more fully than any command.

Her head began to pump wildly on his cock.

"Slow down," he ordered, "work your way up to a faster pace gradually, squeeze hard, use your tongue, take it deep inside..."

He underscored each phrase with a painful stroke to the tender soles of her feet. His words and the pain of the crop seemed to pair naturally. She listened and obeyed.

"Good, now take it all the way inside."

She gagged once and then again, paying for each failure with a severe cropping to her bare ass. On the third attempt, she held him inside until she felt herself blacking out. Still, she held him inside. He pulled out and waited for her to relax then started again. This time there were no blows to her ass. She had learned. He buried himself again and she took him without stress then lovingly applied her lips, tongue, and mouth, knowing that he would expect nothing less. Even her throat now seemed to be cooperating, opening and closing for his pleasure.

He came with a series of animal-like grunts. She felt herself losing control. The explosion was...indescribable. Somewhere in her mind she could feel the convulsions and knew that she had spurted for the first time, but everything else was hidden in the blinding light. She realized instantly that this was the first time she had ever really experienced an orgasm. It was an incredible feeling.

After, she felt as if she had run a marathon and won.

 

Lane spent the next two hours wrapped in a blanket, recovering. She felt incredible, reborn, closer to her feelings and to the core of her sensual being than she had ever felt before.

This is who I am, she thought, the real me. I'm submissive, totally and completely submissive. The She-Bitch of the East Village is nothing more than a lowly sex slave. It was amazing that I have managed to hide this for so long. She knew her life had changed, forever.

Later, she stopped by The Dungeon's administrative office to thank the staff. The man from the cell was inside smiling shyly. Lane approached him privately.

"I just wanted to say, thanks," she said softly handing him a folded hundred-dollar bill.

"Thank you, Miss," he answered sincerely. "I hope it was okay for you."

His polite words brought her crashing back to earth. As exciting as her experience had been, it was still a game...a fantasy. That was all The Dungeon had offered, that's all they ever could offer and this man wasn't her real master. He had just opened her eyes.

She knew that she needed something more, something real. The intensity of her feelings was no longer something she could deny, or wonder about, or experiment with. Now she needed to act, to do something decisive that would make sense of her life. The Dungeon experience had been wonderful, but it had only provided a peek through a keyhole. She needed to open the door and step through.