various lengths and materials, some of which were already adorned with naked submissives.
In the farthest corner, Brie noticed several large metal cages. But the wall that held a plethora of whips, floggers, canes and other tools—the number of which was staggering—captivated her imagination and left her speechless.
The anguished cry of a submissive grabbed her attention. She glanced around at women bound to St. Andrew’s crosses, benches, or leather swings, being whipped, fucked, or tortured with unknown instruments. Brie struggled to take it all in.
Sir felt her tension and suggested, “Why don’t we visit the scenes individually, Donkova? You can explain to my sub what is transpiring.”
“Certainly,” he said, nodding to Brie.
Rytsar guided them over to a woman spread out on a bench, bound by chains. She had a large metal collar around her neck, making it impossible for her to move. “Andreev enjoys subjecting his sub to clitoral torture.” The Dom had already attached nipple clamps, but there was an extra chain that led down to her pussy. He was in the process of pulling back the hood of her clit and attaching the clamp to the loose skin. “Clit exposure allows for more intense play,” Rytsar explained.
The Dom rubbed her naked clit, making the sub whimper pitifully. He then picked up a lit candle and leaned in, licking her erect clit before dripping the wax directly on the exposed sex. The girl screamed, but didn’t call her safe word. Brie saw clearly that her pussy was red and swollen with excitement.
A more lustful cry caught Brie’s attention. She turned to a lanky female chained to a pole being whipped with a cat o’ nine tails. Rytsar grinned. “My personal favorite, the cat o’ nines. Such exquisite torture.”
She struggled to wrap her head around the fact Rytsar was a sadist. He had been demanding but playful the day she’d scened with him. Based on his actions that day, she never would have suspected his underlying need to deliver pain. Brie suddenly realized that what had been a mind-blowing experience for her must have been mere child’s play for him.
As Rytsar continued to show off his dungeon, she kept glancing back at the girl on the pole. Despite her pained screams, the Dom had already made the girl come twice. Brie couldn’t help wondering if she was missing out somehow. All of the women in this dungeon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves despite—or because of—the pain.
Later that night, when she was lying in bed, safe in Sir’s arms, she broached the subject. “Master, do you have sadistic tendencies?”
He did not answer her question; instead he correctly read into her inquiry and turned it back on her. “Has tonight’s exposure awakened a latent desire, téa?”
Clever Master.
“I was frightened by some of the things I saw tonight, but I wonder, Sir…is it a true fear or just fear of the unknown?”
“I noticed your interest in the cat o’ nines,” he commented, nibbling her neck. “Would you like to taste its sting?”
She hesitated, the idea of it unsettling—yet alluring. “Yes.”
“Then I shall speak to Donkova tomorrow.”
“What? Aren’t you going to scene with me?”
“No. I shall defer to Rytsar Donkova’s expertise.”
“Then I would rather not,” she answered quickly.
“I believe you should,” he replied, sucking on her earlobe. “How else can you know your desires if you do not explore them?”
She tried to imagine herself tied to the pole receiving painful strokes, but as much as it enticed her, it frightened her equally as much.“Will you be there with me, Sir?”
“No, Brie. I would detract from the scene.” She tensed in his arms. “Do not fret, little sub. I will request a simple whipping session, no audience and no intercourse involved.”
She nestled deeper into his arms, suddenly excited and terrified by the prospect of scening with Rytsar. “What if I only last one stroke, Sir?”
“Then you will
In the farthest corner, Brie noticed several large metal cages. But the wall that held a plethora of whips, floggers, canes and other tools—the number of which was staggering—captivated her imagination and left her speechless.
The anguished cry of a submissive grabbed her attention. She glanced around at women bound to St. Andrew’s crosses, benches, or leather swings, being whipped, fucked, or tortured with unknown instruments. Brie struggled to take it all in.
Sir felt her tension and suggested, “Why don’t we visit the scenes individually, Donkova? You can explain to my sub what is transpiring.”
“Certainly,” he said, nodding to Brie.
Rytsar guided them over to a woman spread out on a bench, bound by chains. She had a large metal collar around her neck, making it impossible for her to move. “Andreev enjoys subjecting his sub to clitoral torture.” The Dom had already attached nipple clamps, but there was an extra chain that led down to her pussy. He was in the process of pulling back the hood of her clit and attaching the clamp to the loose skin. “Clit exposure allows for more intense play,” Rytsar explained.
The Dom rubbed her naked clit, making the sub whimper pitifully. He then picked up a lit candle and leaned in, licking her erect clit before dripping the wax directly on the exposed sex. The girl screamed, but didn’t call her safe word. Brie saw clearly that her pussy was red and swollen with excitement.
A more lustful cry caught Brie’s attention. She turned to a lanky female chained to a pole being whipped with a cat o’ nine tails. Rytsar grinned. “My personal favorite, the cat o’ nines. Such exquisite torture.”
She struggled to wrap her head around the fact Rytsar was a sadist. He had been demanding but playful the day she’d scened with him. Based on his actions that day, she never would have suspected his underlying need to deliver pain. Brie suddenly realized that what had been a mind-blowing experience for her must have been mere child’s play for him.
As Rytsar continued to show off his dungeon, she kept glancing back at the girl on the pole. Despite her pained screams, the Dom had already made the girl come twice. Brie couldn’t help wondering if she was missing out somehow. All of the women in this dungeon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves despite—or because of—the pain.
Later that night, when she was lying in bed, safe in Sir’s arms, she broached the subject. “Master, do you have sadistic tendencies?”
He did not answer her question; instead he correctly read into her inquiry and turned it back on her. “Has tonight’s exposure awakened a latent desire, téa?”
Clever Master.
“I was frightened by some of the things I saw tonight, but I wonder, Sir…is it a true fear or just fear of the unknown?”
“I noticed your interest in the cat o’ nines,” he commented, nibbling her neck. “Would you like to taste its sting?”
She hesitated, the idea of it unsettling—yet alluring. “Yes.”
“Then I shall speak to Donkova tomorrow.”
“What? Aren’t you going to scene with me?”
“No. I shall defer to Rytsar Donkova’s expertise.”
“Then I would rather not,” she answered quickly.
“I believe you should,” he replied, sucking on her earlobe. “How else can you know your desires if you do not explore them?”
She tried to imagine herself tied to the pole receiving painful strokes, but as much as it enticed her, it frightened her equally as much.“Will you be there with me, Sir?”
“No, Brie. I would detract from the scene.” She tensed in his arms. “Do not fret, little sub. I will request a simple whipping session, no audience and no intercourse involved.”
She nestled deeper into his arms, suddenly excited and terrified by the prospect of scening with Rytsar. “What if I only last one stroke, Sir?”
“Then you will
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