A Mistress' Dungeon (James Marshall)

You're stepping down a dark stairway, each click of your heeled boots ringing out. In the way of dreams, you can see yourself, a vision of proud and muscled feminine strength. You're wearing all red leather, from your laced corset to your long high-heeled boots. The outfit covers most of you, but leaves both your curved breasts and soft, drooping cock bare. You've watched enough porn over the years to know exactly what kind of clothing this is. You're dressed like a bonafide dominatrix. Better still, you feel like one, and you know at the bottom of the stairs your **** is waiting for you.

The door to your dungeon is draped in red velvet, and you slide it open, the oiled hinges utterly silent. It wouldn't do to let him know you've returned and spoil your fun just yet. Your narrowed gaze flickers over the chamber of delights within. A single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling lights up a number of amusing devices. A pillory, off to the far wall, then a spanking bench beside it, and a whipping post, plus a few more. The walls bristle with implements of punishment, crops, whips, canes and paddles all of which have tasted the nubile flesh of your naughty slaveboy on multiple occasions.

Letting anticipation build to a fever-pitch, to the point where you can feel your dick start to twitch and stiffen, you turn at last towards the suffering body dangling there in the middle of the room. And what a body it is. Your slaveboy was already trained to near physical perfection before you took him in, and months of your enforced exercise regime have only added to that. He's perfectly lean, not an ounce of fat on any part of his body. You prefer a toned otter build over a weightlifter, and with his diet strictly controlled as well you've sculpted him to your exacting standards.

You've added a few other things to ensure he's aware of his status. Both his nipples are pierced with barbells, which leaves them ever so sensitive, and though you can't see it now you know his tongue is studded through to make his blowjobs even better for you. Above his soft, drooping dick, not even half the size of your own, the word **** is tattooed in black Gothic lettering. Then, as a final brand of ownership, your initials have been inked into his right buttock in the same font. Of course the rather precarious position he's in right now only adds to the appeal of his naked body.

He's wearing a large red ball-gag and a strict posture collar, keeping his head up, with a short chain fastened to a ring on the back which then joins to a hook on the ceiling. It's drawn just tight enough he has to stand on tiptoes to keep from strangling himself. To add to his misery, both his legs are spread wide and chained via leather cuffs round his ankles to different hooks on the floor, forcing his body to stretch even more. The strain this puts on him is neatly reflected by the way his tense muscles tremble and glisten with sweat. You can see every bulge and line drawn tight, the perfection of his well-trained body enhanced by his suffering.

Even that would not be cruel enough, not to satisfy his ever-present need to be punished. He's also wearing a black leather blindfold over his handsome face, and his arms are stretched to their limits to reach two small buttons on the ceiling with his fingers. It isn't obvious what will happen if he lets them drop, but a quick glance at his tightly muscled butt reveals the painful consequences. Buried between his cheeks is a silver buttplug, with some wires leading from the base. If your naughty **** lets those buttons go, he gets a nice, painful shock to his insides, that will continue until he can blindly find and press them again. It's an exquisite design, if you can say so yourself, forcing him to be complicit in his own punishment. Either he holds the painful stretched position for hours on end, or he must endure the electricity instead.

Of course, you're not here to coddle or relieve him, and with a cold smirk, you run your fingers over the instruments of correction lining the walls, at last selecting a black leather riding crop. The weight of it feels familiar in your hands as your step lightly behind your suffering slaveboy. He's so lost in his punishment he doesn't even realize you're here yet, and you mean to give him a good, sharp reminder to pay attention. Licking your lips, you raise the crop high, then bring it down with all your strength across his pale butt.

A muffled shriek into the gag is your reward, and he jerks in his bondage, his hands slipping down ever so slightly from the ceiling. Just like that, he howls and shudders as the buttplug viciously shocks his insides. Somehow he finds the strength to scrabble blindly for the buttons even as he twitches and sobs, pressing them back up and halting the flow of electricity. You hit him again, on the other cheek this time, leaving a lurid red welt burning in his flesh. He moans and shivers, but stays in position this time.

Testing his resolve, you land a slow, even rhythm of vicious swats across his butt, the whistle and crack of the crop the only sound you've made so far. To your slaveboy's credit he manages to hold his position, right up until the moment you land a particularly hard swat across that first scarlet welt. His suffering shriek is a thing of beauty as he jerks in his bonds, his hands frantically flying down to shield himself. Of course that means they're nowhere near the buttons when electricity sears through his body once again. He's twitching and moaning, every muscle in his body trembling. You watch for a moment, your dick straining to its full size as you relish his agony, before striding to the side of the room and flicking the switch that stops the current dead.

It takes him a moment to realize he's not being shocked anymore. Then he slumps forward in his bonds, moaning his thanks into the gag. He doesn't seem to have the strength to stretch anymore, leaving him hanging by the collar round his neck. You know by now when he's found his limits, and you step to his side, wrapping an arm gently round his shivering body to support his weight. He nuzzles into your body, sobbing like a child.

First, you undo the chain attached to his collar, letting him slump down into you. Then you guide him gently to the floor and release his ankles. His legs are shaking so much you know he won't be able to stand just yet, so you let him lie against you as you release the rest of his bondage. The silver plug pops free of his tortured butt and you set it to one side for cleaning later. Then the blindfold, letting you at last see his piercing blue eyes, full of tears. They're fixed longingly on your face as you reach behind his head and undo the gag as well.

"Thank you...Mistress." He whimpers as soon as his mouth is free. "Thank you so much."

"Do you feel better now, James?" You ask gently, stroking his shivering back. "No more stroppy tantrums?"

"Yes Mistress." He nods, nuzzling into your bare breasts. Normally he has to ask permission to touch you, but in his delicate state you allow him free reign. Seeking what comfort he can, he finds your stiff nipple with his lips, sucking gently. His mind scrubbed raw by the pain of his punishment, he's like a baby at his Mother's breast and you indulge him, stroking the back of his head as he suckles tenderly at your stiff nub. His tongue traces along the stiff flesh, making you moan.

"Good boy." You purr, enjoying the attention. Your nipples have always been rather sensitive, and you can feel your dick respond, throbbing and aching to it's full impressive size. It's pressed against his leg now, the spongy head drooling pre-cum onto his skin. Just the feeling of his flesh against that achingly sensitive part of you sends another needy shiver through your body. "Are you ready to greet your Mistress properly?" You murmur in his ear, your voice hot with lust.

"Yes Mistress." He nods, pulling away from your breast. You gently push him off you, then rise to your feet as he scrabbles to his knees. You're taller than him anyway, but in these high heels you tower above the kneeling boy, your height another reflection of the utter superiority he assigns you in his own mind. You stand there, lips curled, as he leans forward and kisses each of your boots in turn. Then he rises up, his well-trained tongue tenderly licking at first your swollen balls, worshipping each heavy orb in turn. Then he leans up to give one last lingering tonguing down every inch of your throbbing shaft.

As he kisses your drooling head like he might have the lips of a lover, you reach down a hand and grab him firmly by a fistful of auburn hair. He knows exactly what that means and opens his mouth wide. With a thrust of your hips, you **** your cock between his waiting lips. In his heart, he tells himself he deserves no mercy and you're happy to oblige, when it means you get to fuck the handsome boy's throat like a pussy. You thrust his head back and forth, driving your throbbing dick deeper each time. He's gagging and spluttering, drool leaking down your shaft. When you hit the back of his throat, fresh tears dribble down his cheeks. His arms are folded behind him, wrists crossed, telling you with a look he's not about to offer any resistance.

The thought makes you purr with pleasure, and you start to fuck him even harder. His mouth and throat squeeze at your shaft, milking your throbbing flesh to earn the thick load churning in your balls. You thrust your hips and push his head into your dick at the same time, feeding inch after inch between his stretched lips. His studded tongue flutters over your throbbing shaft as it passes, the harder part of the piercing and his talented technique all working together to enhance your pleasure. That's what this is all about. You took him in and tamed him, forcing him to confront that under his surly exterior there was nothing but a lost and needy boy begging for a Mistress to take him utterly in hand. Now he knows his proper place, and relishes it. Even as you **** him with your throbbing cock, his own is stiff and twitching, standing up against his belly.

You feel the orgasm coming and **** yourself deep, pushing his head forward until he's buried in your pelvis, your twitching balls slapping at his chin. You hold him there as he gags and splutters, his throat squeezing your shaft in a vice-grip. Your balls twitch and throb, heat searing from your sack and up your pulsing cock. You moan hungrily as a thick load sprays from the burning tip of your dick, dumping all that cum straight into his waiting belly. There's so much of it you can see his stomach bulge, as he struggles to **** and swallow every drop.

At long last, the flow stops and you pull your throbbing dick free. You smirk down at your spluttering **** as he slumps forward, cum and drool leaking from the corners of his lips. He's such a handsome boy, but you think he looks even better after a hard face-fucking. Reaching down a hand, you gently run your fingers through his auburn hair.

"Good boy." You repeat. He smiles, nuzzling into your hand like an obedient puppy. When you think about what he was, the angry, surly boy, brutally using and abusing women to fill some self-destructive urge he didn't even understand himself, you find yourself very pleased at the improvement. By now, both of you know exactly what he needs. Constant pain and punishment delivered by a cruel and merciless Mistress, and then, once he has endured everything you can throw at him, you show your gentle side and demonstrate to him he has value as your ****.

Just like that you wake in your lonely apartment, to find yourself lying there grinning like an idiot with a puddle of sticky cum drying on your naked thighs. The memory of your wet dream is already fading, but what you can remember makes you stiffen up in shock against the pillows. James Marshall...your fawning toy. Hurting and using him brutally, knowing in your heart that this was what he both wanted and needed to be complete. The leaps of imagination your slumbering brain is capable of stun you. James might be many things, but submissive is clearly not one of them. The cheeky way he stood up to you just this morning demonstrates that much.

Sighing to yourself, you slip off the end of the bed, staring at your drooping, satisfied cock and cum-stained thighs. James...suddenly you're worried about him all over again. You feel responsible somehow, like if you don't nip things in the bud now when he goes and does something even stupider than hitting on a teacher you'll be the one to blame for not stopping him. The piece of paper with his number is still waiting in your jacket pocket. Maybe you really should give him a call tomorrow?

********

This is the hardest route in terms of content. It will feature some early **** futadom, but as you've probably guessed Lucy's dreams about James may be more accurate than she realizes. Once the two have established things between them, there will be strict bondage, pain and masochism, as Lucy struggles to control James and stop him from destroying his own life. While taking the boy in hand, she must also unravel the mystery as to why the school's star player who seems to have everything still hates himself so very much.