The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (11)

dungeon

My Experience In The Dungeon

We were in the dungeon.

It was a large room and not really all that dark, more like a well-equipped home gym, with glass-block windows across the top of one bricked wall, the opposite wall oak-paneled and draped with floggers, whips and BDSM paraphernalia, the floor covered with a heavy black mat, occupied by a steel cage, various benches, a whipping post, with overhead restraint bars suspended by steel cables from the ceiling. The room had the same unexpectedly airy vibe as the rest of the house.

This was actually my first time in the dungeon. The dungeon was not quite as I had imagined that morning, but the dungeon was close enough, especially given that Miss Lilly and had been brought there for punishment. Instead of being locked into stocks, we were strapped down side-by-side in identical bench-like apparatuses, each with a primary bench for the torso and wing benches for the legs, these bondage benches constructed with heavy oak wood and upholstered in red leather, with sturdy black leather restraints all around.

Being Punished in the Dungeon

My head was strapped down to a chin rest, so I couldn’t see Miss Lilly, but the sound of her taking lashes from Mistress Hunter’s whip made me cringe. Lillian wasn’t gagged, so with every blow came her genuine wails and shrieks in the dungeon. It was awful to hear. Mistress Hunter berated her between lashes, calling her a bitch, a filthy little cunt, a selfish, manipulative whore, and so on. I honestly couldn’t tell if she meant her words, or if these were dark terms of endearment, sexy dirty talk. After all, Miss Lilly’s crime was fairly innocent, and her violation of confidence had only brought Mistress Hunter pleasure at my hands.

I have to admit, part of me was turned-on, proud, even, to be in Mistress Hunter’s dungeon, her attention focused on Miss Lilly and me as equals, that is, two submissives equally subject to her rule. My ass still smarted from the branding, even with the soothing ointment Miss Lilly had applied after I was brought in from the garden. The pain reminded me that I had been chosen, that I had been found worthy of being her slave. No sign of the other candidate; I assumed he had been sent home, packing. As I said, the sin of pride.

dungeon

Mistress Hunter’s Lashes

When it was my turn, Miss Hunter beat the pride out of me. She was merciless. I thought I’d be able to take the whipping better than Miss Lilly, to keep my mouth shut and not cry out like a girl, but I was soon yelping with each lash that fell upon my back and ass. The totality of the restraint, the inability to twist or turn or lift my torso off the bench or move my arms or legs in the slightest made it all the worse. I was soon begging for mercy, pledging my utter obedience and promising best behavior. And I meant it. Honestly, it was easier to be gagged and suffer in silence during one of Mistress Hunter’s whippings.

When she was done, Mistress Hunter donned her strap-on cock and we took turns deep throating it. She moved out of my peripheral view and positioned herself behind Miss Lilly. I couldn’t see what was going on next to me, but I heard rhythmic pumping and Miss Lilly’s gasps, which became cries of ecstasy and then the shriek of an orgasm. A brief pause, then Mistress Hunter spoke, “What do you say?”

“Thank you, Mistress . . . may I have another?”

“You may, but you’ll have to endure another dozen lashes when I’m done. And this time, you may not come without my permission, is that understood?”

“Yes, oh yes, Mistress,” Miss Lilly moaned, still in the throes of post-orgasmic arousal.

The Devil’s Bargain Made in the Throes of Passion

It was a devil’s bargain, pleasure and pain commingled. It was now clear to me that Mistress Hunter delighted in making these sorts of bargains. I knew I wasn’t any better equipped than Miss Lilly to resist; after all, I had agreed to be branded as the price of an orgasm last night.

The pumping resumed. It wasn’t long before Miss Lilly began to beg, her voice coming in fits and spurts between labored breathing: “Please Mistress . . . please . . . may . . . I . . . cum? Please?”

“No, you may not!”

The sound of Mistress Hunter fucking Miss Lilly continued unabated. I knew Lillian was helpless to control herself, she was going to cum, and cum hard. Soon she shrieked with raw, animal pleasure.

“Ah, my little slut, did you orgasm without my permission?” Mistress Hunter interrogated her.

Miss Lilly replied in a contrite, little girl’s voice, half an octave higher, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Do you know what that means, you little whore?”

Of course, she did, all three of us knew, but Miss Lilly replied, “No, Mistress . . .”

“It means I’m going to have to punish you . . . you or your fellow slave, Mr. Green.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Miss Lilly responded, “Punish me, Mistress.”

“Oh, how very touching. Do we still have a sweet spot for Mr. Green, slave Lillian?”

“No, Mistress,” Miss Lilly replied, still panting, “But not him . . . I was the bad girl.”

“I see. Well, let’s see just how strong your resolve is. If you cum again, I’m going to whip Mr. Green, not you, so Lillian, try to control yourself!”

Mistress Makes her Cum Hard Again

The pumping resumed, and it was not long before Miss Lilly was fully aroused, making these sweet, incredibly sexy mews and cries of hers. I’ve never none anyone who could be brought to the cusp of an orgasm so quickly. Soon she begged, “Please, Mistress, please let me cum. I beg of you . . .”

“No,” said Mistress Hunter firmly. Control yourself, slave.”

Sweet torture . . .

Miss Lilly lasted another thirty seconds, then cried out in anguish, almost as if she had been hurt, but there was no doubt that it was another orgasm.

“Did we cum, my little whore?” Mistress Hunter teased sadistically.

Again, the contrite, little girl voice: “Yes, Mistress.”

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, my little cum slut?”

“No, Mistress,” Miss Lilly wailed.

“Well then, Mr. Green will have to pay the price for your pleasure.”

A brief silence, then the sharp crack of the whip. “Ready, Mr. Green? Your friend slave Lillian here can’t control herself. It’s earned you more stripes.”

dungeon

Mr. Green Pays For Miss Lilly’s Pleasure

I cringed, anticipating the first blow. It came down hard, a sharp, stinging impact against my left cheek. I cried out involuntarily. Then another lash, this time to the inside right cheek. Then back to the left, then the right, then up to my back. I knew Miss Lilly suffered every blow with me. I counted twelve lashes before Mistress Hunter relented. Next to me, I heard Lillian sobbing.

“Now that your ass is all warmed up, it’s your turn, slave,” Miss Hunter growled into my ear, her fingernails caressing my back and ass crack. “You are a virgin, aren’t you?”

Indeed, I was. I had fantasized about this sexual act a hundred times, but never explored the dark territory which now spread before me. Or behind me, as you wish. “Yes, Mistress,” I replied with trepidation.

“I’ll go easy on you this first time, slave. Relax and take deep breaths. I’m going to put some lube up your ass; henceforth, we will think of it as your vagina.” I soon felt Mistress Hunter’s finger push into my anus, spreading lubricant around, then two fingers, circling around the sphincter, relaxing the muscles. I kept catching myself holding my breath, feeling my body flooded with adrenalin, anticipation and fear.

“Take a deep breath, Mr. Green, then let it out.”

I did as she instructed. As I exhaled, I felt the head of her cock pressing against the opening of my male vagina. She slowly pushed her way in. A moment of shock and pain, and then she was through, pushing in deeper and deeper, all the way inside, until I felt her thighs pressed against my crotch. “Mmmmmm, such a nice, tight vagina you have, my lovely slave. And you’ve given it all to me, haven’t you?”

Mistress Hunter Takes Mr. Green’s Virginity

I won’t deny it, it felt awesome. “Yes, Mistress,” I moaned.

“Yes, indeed you have, your ass is mine now, Mr. Green, I own you. You are my slut, my whore, and your tight vagina is going to bring me such pleasure.” I heard and felt a sudden buzzing against my crouch, then realized she had turned on a vibrator. She held me under my ribcage and began pumping, gently at first, then her thrusts progressively gaining vigor, the intensity ramping up until her thighs began to slap against my bottom and my body rocked on the bench. Her breathing accelerated and a deep, growling sound emanated from deep in her throat. Her nails dug painfully into my sides and she cried out, made several violent lunges against me and then she was still.

I felt her weight on the small of my back. As her lungs heaved, I could feel the mounds of her breasts through her lace corset. My cock was rigid, aching and erect under the bottom of the bench; I knew that with only a few strokes I would cum easily, joining my Mistress.

But I knew it was not to be—I had become her whore, nothing more than a slave with a vagina whose purpose was to bring her pleasure.

For all the pain I had endured, the pleasure of the moment was equally mine. I was her slave, and I was proud.

Next: Dinner for Seven

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Freelance author living near the Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia.

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