I Should Not Be Doing This

I have been a volunteer working in this stately home (a big old ancient house filled with ancient treasures and open to the public) in Great Britain for longer now than I care to remember. During my time here I have had quite unrestricted access to the place, and I discovered a few months ago that it has a deep cellar which has been deliberately hidden. Within that cellar is a hidden or forgotten about torture chamber or dungeon as they are called. Now you might expect that an old monument of a house might have such a place concealed within it, but there was one thing not quite right with this situation, and that one thing is that most, though by all means not all of the equipment conceal within the room is ancient as might be expected, a hell of a lot of it was new or at least modern made in the 1920’s; this is a torture room set up for the 20th century, not for the distant past, and I can’t help but wonder who might have been secured in there, and what had been inflicted upon them and why, and of course I mostly wanted to know by whom.

Now you might be wondering why I was wandering about in the darker parts of a delightful house, well the reason is quite simple I am what might be described as very kinky. I love bondage and especially self bondage, and I like both taking risks and being helpless well as much as is possible; if I am to have a hope of surviving my bondage or remaining undiscovered during my play times, I have to be careful and I have to be selective, so I am always looking for suitable places to play in.

Well reader, picture this if you can, I have discovered a private place equipped in a way that would delight any masochist and that apparently no one else knows about. I also have both keys and access to the place when no one else is around and I have the fantasies that such a place can and will allow me to fulfil. I can describe my discovery in no other way but ‘amazing’ and with that thought and the copy I have of the keys safely secreted away I begin to plan my adventures.

The house is open to the public every Friday through to Sunday afternoon. The gates close at four pm and most of the staff have departed by five, leaving the house empty apart from the cleaners until the following Friday. Armed with my itinerary and having previously stashed a selection of my favourite bondage goodies I spend a very long Sunday guiding the visiting public around the house interior and wondering what they (the guests) would really think if they knew that I planned to be secured within the houses hidden torture chamber for the rest of the afternoon and well into the night. I wonder what the young men accompanying their girlfriends would say if they knew that I miss prim looking tour guide was showing them around with my knickers soaked through with my own love juices, and mostly hesitating on the edge of an orgasm, whilst I talked to them and pointed out this or that piece of history.

I wondered what those same girlfriends would think of me if they could read my mind and know that I intend to be bound and strapped down helpless and alone for hours with my all stuffed full and held on display, what indeed would they think of me if they knew that? There was one woman, a red head that seemed to take an interest in me, I don’t know why I have no sexual interest in women other than from a desire to be humiliated in front of them. I certainly wasn’t giving her a come on, but she got close to me and listened with apparent rapt attention as I talked of the previous owners and their parties and hunts of legend.

She looked at me in a quizzical way, then she smiled and said thank you before leaving the house with the rest of the guests. Four O’clock fast approached and as I closed the big front door I could not help but gently rub my palm across my throbbing mound of Venus and down over the protruding heavily swollen lips of my sex. I came instantly, not a highly visible screaming orgasm, more of a gentle coaxing introduction, but what didn’t help was that the front door had not closed and a hand had rounded its edge and pushed it open some more, just enough in fact to allow a certain red head to poke around the edge and say thank you to me yet again.

My orgasm flushed my face, I knew it had, it always does, and she had seen the effect, I could only hope that she did not understand its meaning, though somehow I was not certain that I was right about her interest in me being sexual, she might just be genuinely grateful for my having guided her around so perfectly, who knows. Any way the front door finally shut, the guests departed the grounds, and we the volunteer staff made ready to depart for our homes.

I as always would be the last to leave, as I had the keys to lock the building up tight and the codes for the alarms which need to be set. A few goodbyes followed and some until next week etc, but soon it was just me and a bag of bondage gear and an empty historic house, all alone and filled with excitement. I double checked the front door having done the same at the rear as the last of the staff had departed. I had shot the bolts on the rear doors and passed through the dark house alone, it felt quite eerie being locked inside all alone and with little or no natural light flowing through the windows. For a second or two I hesitated, wondering if I was doing the right thing; then I shrugged my shoulders and headed down the kitchen back-stairs towards the concealed dungeon. The kitchen is huge but beyond it is a corridor which led to the master’s private store, at the end of that room, is a door that leads into another corridor and then a final to a door that lead out into the grounds.

History tells us that cricket and tennis equipment was stored in this room and nothing else. To the left of the outer door, set recessed into the wall is a fire place, step within that and look up, and a concealed handle appears out of the gloom. Pull that and the left brick wall of the fire place swings back revealing steps which lead down into darkness. Sconces line the walls filled with oil now, as I had by necessity refilled the oil holders with lamp fuel, so that I could light them and the flickering would create the same feeling for me as anyone previously had felt as they were being taken into the dark, I hoped to re-enact everything they might have experienced. I used a lighter, a little clipper gas lighter, they would have used a flint to light a candle and then the candle to light the way down, but I used a clipper for both convenience and safety.

The stairs opened out into the dungeon or as I preferred to think of it, as the torture chamber. Over against the far wall was the piece of equipment that I intended to utilise to fulfil my fantasy bondage. I swiftly stripped and put my clothes securely in a leather bag and locked it shut. I then removed my ice block release mechanism from inside of a cool bag. It consisted of a block of ice frozen to the end of a piece of looped string and with a key attached to its end, the ice melts the key then drops and I can reach it and free myself well my legs anyway, simple effective and supposedly safe or as safe as any method might be.

I used a drawing pin to fix the cord above where I would be bound and in such a way as the key would drop into or at least near to my hand once the ice had melted. Next I removed my bondage toys and as always I started by fitting the heavy leather ball gag tight between my teeth and padlocking it in place. Now I should have explained that I have hidden the only keys to most of the locks I intend to use in the grounds, in fact they are a mile from the house down by the main gates, and to recover them will mean me walking (bold as brass) into the open and collecting them from the floor at the centre of the gate’s. As the gates are made of metal bars, and quite see through I will be bound nearly naked and in plain view the whole time I that approach the gates to fetch the keys. Unless I decide to crawl along the wood edge to get close to the gates without being seen, but doing so means crawling through large swathes of stinging nettles. I will cross that bridge when I get to it I decide, locking my ankles to each post of the wooden whipping frame with two keyed alike padlocks.

Now I bend forward, just checking, a glance at the key dangling and I am happy with everything I stand up again. Next I insert the dildoe and after that a hand made wooden butt plug bought of the internet from Rumania of all places. Inserting it is a hard thing to do in the position I am locked in now. I manage eventually, but it hurts a lot and was quite messy too as I had forgotten the lube I usually use. Next the rope coil is unwound and then re wound but around and between my thighs, it will hold the intruders to my peace safely and tightly into place, whilst at the same time rubbing and annoying and creating an itch in my sex, an itch that only dives me forward in Oh so many delightfully tormenting ways.

Now as this is the first time in this dungeon and because if I admit the truth I am slightly afraid, I have decided that I will cuff my hands behind my back and then I can only wait until my key falls and I can free myself. I can move slightly I can bend forward, I can twist and turn and listen; but I am in effect bound and helpless. Before I fit the cuffs and snap them shut I pick up a black cloth bag and pull it over my head adding a dog collar to hold it in place. Now I am ready I reach behind me and slowly squeeze the first of the handcuff locks tight around my thin wrist, with a second left to think I decided and the other follows.

I am secured and helpless, blindfolded or bagged I suppose and bound to a bench, with my sex already feeling the rub of the rope as it generates friction to my every movement. Now all I can do is wait and try to enjoy my self imposed predicament, and all of the time knowing that to be free fully I will have to crawl or walk to the gates, there crouch down dig the soil away to recover my keys, which will then allow me to recover my clothes from the bag they are locked in along with my car keys and those required to lock the building up and set its alarms. I have to have done all of this by 9 am in the morning, because the cleaners will arrive than and that would mean me staying hidden for the whole of the day and into the next night without food or drink and constantly terrified of being discovered, that is part of the risk and also a major part of the thrill for me.

Somewhere behind me I hear a noise, then I feel a finger tracing gently across my protruding bottom, before I feel a single slap and hear a tinkling laugh. Helpless I realise that I am not alone and that there is nothing I can do to defend myself. I struggle, but all that achieves is the ropes chaffing my groin and driving my dildoes deeper inside of me. Adding to my pleasure yes, but also to my torment, and mostly to my fear. The finger becomes a hand, a hand that pushes against my back flattening me out across the whipping benches surface in preparation for what I wonder. Between my roped together thighs my body shows its own anticipation and an orgasm erupts as the hand holds me down and my ice lock melts.

to be continued...

14.10.11