Dungeon Stories

Over the years, and the many evenings spent in dungeon play parties, I have seen a number of happenings that were humorous.................humorous in ways that only those who appreciate BDSM might enjoy. This is a small collection of stories about those funny dungeon moments:


The first occurred while playing at my first trip to Thunder in the Mountains in Denver. I believe it was July 2000. We were staying at the home of my swan (she wasn't "my" swan then) and her ex. There were two other BDSM couples there too, one from Oregon and the other from Toledo, Ohio. The dungeon at Thunder was an enormous space, and there were great double rows of St. Andrew's Crosses arranged back to back, leaning at about 30 degree angles against each other facing in opposite directions. The last night of the conference I had my t, swan, and the wife of the other couple, Jan, all restrained side by side on crosses. I was going "down the line" as it were, flogging each of them using two-handed flogging. For whatever reason, I don't know if it was just the level of experience of those in that dungeon that evening or what, it seemed that not many people there had seen two-handed flogging previously. We became kind of a sensation. We gathered a crowd. Somehow the fact that I had put a flogger in my left hand at the same time as grasping one in my right and was able to coordinate swinging them simultaneously made a stir. Anyway as we were doing this, suddenly from behind our row of crosses, there landed near the bare feet of my sweetheart and then fiance, sly, a dart. I was way more than simply intrigued and curious. The potential to touch another's possession and partner in a dungeon without the owner's permission, let alone non-consensually and dangerously, is well, to say the least, to expose oneself to potential serious violent mayhem. I stopped flogging and walked around the end of the row of crosses. Who and what should I find, immediately across from and in front of our crosses, but a nude man, restrained kneeling with his ass thrust out, and three charming young ladies, each with nothing other than honest to goodness African blow guns. These three were having a riotous time blowing darts into this fellow's ass. He clearly had several darts in his ass, little trickles of blood from some of the resulting piercings, and was squirming and making appropriately pained noises as each new dart pierced him. I was transfixed. It was one of the more unique BDSM practices I'd then encountered. I haven't encountered it again since. I reminded the three ladies of the importance of keeping their darts from our play area and returned to my three submissives languishing for the attention I had been paying to their backs.


In my early days of BDSM practice, I was closely involved with a woman who had been a practitioner at that time for about 35 years. She had undertaken, thank goodness, to mentor me -- giving me technical training, essentially the how-to's of using floggers, how to control a quirt, how to paddle, and on, and on, etc. She was very good and I am for ever indebted to her for her attention and tutelage. I try to repay it by assisting others who are new to all this. Anyway, our local BDSM group traveled to a BDSM club in Detroit. As luck would have it, the party that night was crashed by a young guy in his early twenties. He wore your typical wife-beater t-shirt which he had cut off to expose his abdomen. He was amazingly proud of his carefully sculpted and well exercised 6-pack abs. He went about the dungeon bragging to people that he could take a punch in the stomach from anyone, and that no one could hurt him -- so buff was his abdomen and core. Eventually he encountered this woman who was my mentor.


I need to digress to describe her (my mentor). She was about 5 ft. 4 inches tall. She was large. She was very large. She was like 55 years old. She had a very gruff voice and typically dressed in a wardrobe the would have been the envy of any good lumber Jack. She was the antithesis of femininity. She was strong and very powerful, a registered nurse by profession. She has spent decades hitting people with things, studying hitting people, the physics of striking people, the sensations one can create in the process, pleasurable and painful and in between.

This young guy thought that talking to this fat old dyke (which was a wrong assumption on his part, but one that was understandable) was a hoot. The very thought that she could hit him hard enough to cause him any distress was ridiculous in his view. I can still recall her usual discourse in these sorts of situations. "Let me see now, do I understand that you want me to hit you in the stomach? I see, OK, you do, and you are sure that I can't hurt you, but you are challenging me to try. And if I do hurt you, that is OK with you, because you are consenting for me to hit you. Well, all right then." (Whenever she said "well. all right then"...your ass was fucked...believe me I knew.) She gave him one last, "Are you really sure about this?" He smirked at this old crone thinking she could in anyway hurt him.

She reared back and slugged his gut. He doubled over with a huge gasp and did a slow motion backward somersault after wavering for a few seconds as though he was groping for balance. When he arose, a minute later, he could not stand up, and was clearly having distress breathing. He slunk from the club -- doubled over -- and we never encountered him again. It's not nice to fuck with very experienced old crones when you are the hot young kewl kid:)


The next anecdote features the same woman again. Her submissive, a younger woman, was getting married. We traveled up for the ceremony and reception -- a play party in the home of a friend. Like many BDSM-ers they had a dungeon with a good bit of equipment in their basement. There was a young woman at the party who we had not met previously. She confronted my (then former) mentor. She told her that she had heard of her reputation and that she had a huge desire to cry from being sessioned. It seemed she had been in "the life" for about two years at that point, and no one whom she had been with had been able to enable her to achieve tears. She made a simple request: could she possibly make her cry, and make her cry a lot? After the usual consent conversation, which followed the same pattern as the one in the previous anecdote, having received all the appropriate consent affirmation, the fateful, "well, All right then," was uttered, and the directive, "Follow me to the dungeon, dear."

t and I stayed in the living room. I'd moved away from that community over a year before, so I was renewing old friendships, and talking to others in for the wedding who we usually only got to be with on line, and introducing (and showing off ) my then new submissive, t. After a while, as we were socializing, a submissive came up from the basement asking the hostess if she could have a box of Kleenex. It seemed she was helping sop up the tears of the young woman who had asked to cry and they had exhausted the supply in the first box. After she retrieved the new box of Kleenex, we went to the basement stairs and peered down into the scene below us. "Young Miss I Only Wish I Could Be Made to Cry" was restrained facing a St. Andrews cross. My mentor was behind her at that point I believe using a rubber discipline strap. The young woman's ass was the only part of her that was redder than her face. She was practically dancing on the cross which despite the weight of the cross and her body was, likewise, practically dancing. She was not only crying but weeping hysterically and trying to utter garbled pleadings for mercy which were unintelligible, but of course everyone knew exactly what she was begging for. There was a submissive on each side of her, each with a plastic trash bag, daubing and sopping the tears and snot from her face. She stayed on that cross for about an hour. They went through three boxes of soaked Kleenex sopping up her tears. Never again did this woman have to wonder if she might be able to be brought to tears from BDSM play. I'm betting it was a while before she asked anyone to try to assist her to achieve that, or even to sit down for that matter.


These are just a few moments that stand out in my memory as I think back on experiences in dungeon play.


All the best,


Tom


Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.