Dungeon Crawl – Captured

Welcome to Romancing the Kink’s Dungeon Crawl.

Back again. Picking up from last week, this is the third and final part of a particular dungeon visitation.

Part one and part two are here.

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A cold draft crossed the expanse of the dungeon striking her bare flesh and in response, her exposed rump bristled with goose bumps. He was back. The door clicked shut behind him, the bolt slid across with a thud. Her fists clenched tight, her toes curled up too.

“I’m back,” he announced softly.

He resumed as if his absence had not happened. She expected something, what she did not know, she had lost the train of thoughts she had been feeling before he left, in its place she had filled the emptiness of the room with anticipation.

Behind her blindfold, darkness held sway and it made her hearing super sensitive. The edge of her dress, tucked under her waist, pinned against the bench, was tugged loose. It flopped, then slid down her back, halting suddenly. Then she heard the snip. Then another. A quick succession of snips eating away at the fabric of her dress. He was cutting the dress with scissors.

It was a slow progression. She could feel his fingertips, nudging her, keeping a grip on the dress. Then the final snip at the base of her neck. Throughout his surgical divestment, she held her breath, not daring to move an inch, not that she could, the restraints about her ankles and wrists kept her still.

His hands cleaved the dress into two halves and it slipped softly away from her back, falling down her arms and collecting about her hands. Her fingertips clutched at the silky fabric, accepting it as a comforter.

Now her back, along with her legs and bottom, lay bare to him. A brief pause as he moved about her bent form. Something tickled along her spine. Not fingertips, to sharp and defined for nails. Tiny pricks ran down her backbone. She imagined a trail of miniscule indentations being left in her skin. His chosen toy: a pinwheel.

He criss-crossed the wheel over her back. No longer tickling, it sliced like a hundreds of tiny daggers running over her flesh. She gasped, unable to wriggle or squirm, she knew he enjoyed watching her immobilisation and inability to respond. Her only relief was knowing he wasn’t using a knife to inflict his little torment.

He shifted the wheel down, lowering it over her rump, covering the red marks of her paddling with fresh pinpricks.  Parting her cheeks, he flicked it down her crack, over her tender bud. She shrieked, quietly. Down her legs he went, adding to the mix his hot breath on the backs of her legs. The wheel pressed against the soft inner flesh of her thighs.  It was becoming too much, too intense. Yet, she ached for more, to have him push her that bit further over the precipice and into the abyss.

It wasn’t the play she had been expecting. No cane or crop, merely a wheel of pins, methodically and delicately applied for his pleasure.

“Good pet,” he said and the wheel left her body. She breathed out, a long exhale and she could not help noticing how placid her body felt, no longer were her hands clenched about the fabric.

A few seconds later she sensed the flash of light through her blindfold, simultaneously there was a click. A familiar combination.

He undid the cuffs holding her in place over the bench. With his hands about her waists, he practically lifted her up. The blindfold slipped off her head, she blinked, blinded by the solitary light bulb of the dungeon, she shut her eyes.

He held her against his chest, her racing heart in a duet with his more sedate beat. Arms encased her body, the last dregs of her dress slipped down her arms and on to the floor.

Opening her eyes, she peered at the wall. She always ignored it when she entered the dungeon, keeping her eyes diverted. Only, afterwards, when she had reached that special place could she glance at the wall. There were dozens of photographs nailed to the red bricks. All pictures of her, showing different poses, different states of captivity.

His hand stroked down her hair, one sweep of his palm followed by another. She remained captured by him and had no desire to escape.

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Don’t forget the rest!