Descent Ascent
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Tour De Force, Descent Into Rolanda's Netherworld free porn video
On the living room sofa, Rolanda continued to stroke my spent body with
her soft hands, dragging her beautifully manicured red nails gently
through the cum-soaked hair of my chest and my pubic arch as we smoked in
relaxed silence. She was the picture of mature loveliness in her chic
nautically-themed outfit. I looked down and admired her stunning red
pumps, and then we kissed again, interrupting my reverie with the
insertion of her minty smoke-scented tongue between my teeth while she
exhaled more smoke into my lungs. It was all just so wonderfully
delicious and tension-free. The fantastic sex had been so untainted by
guilt or ulterior motives. It had simply been for the uninhibited joyful
expression of unbridled sexual gratification with absolutely no strings
attached....a wonderfully liberating experience in my young life.
In the distance, I could hear Lisa's high heels clicking on the wooden
floor as she made final preparations for breakfast. Rolanda finished her
Eve Menthol 120 and left for the boudoir, giving me one last peck on the
cheek. Before long, she returned with a steaming wash cloth and a fresh
towel. She busied herself washing the remnants of ejaculate from my
chest and crotch with the warm soapy cloth, making sure she gave special
exploratory attention to my genitals. Then she softly dried me with the
fluffy Turkish hand towel. It was wonderful to be attended to so
affectionately, a luxury that I had never experienced since infancy.
"There, Darling, all clean and shiny again!" she smiled.
"Thank you, Rolanda, that felt wonderful."
"Let's join Lisa in the breakfast nook and enjoy one of those wonderful
muffins, shall we? Then you can finish getting dressed and I'll show you
the rest of the house."
We arose from the sofa. Rolanda slipped her slender hand through the
crook of my elbow and we proceeded back towards the kitchen and dining
area where Lisa awaited us. As we ascended the stairs, I could see that
Lisa had refreshed her makeup and lipstick, and was again the picture of
domestic propriety, waiting patiently for us as if the wild sexual scene
in the living room had nevery happened. We took our places at the
gleaming granite counter where Lisa had previously set our places. The
muffins were indeed delicious and we ate our fill.
When we were finished, Lisa placed a dainty ashtray and a matching
cylindrical golden cigarette server filled with fresh Eve Menthol 120s in
front of us. Rolanda offered me one, took one herself and nodded
permissively to Lisa who submissively pulled a long white Eve from the
elegant container. She pulled a beautiful Dunhill ligher from the front
pocket of her white lace-bordered apron and gracefully lit our cigarettes
first before tending to her own.
"Richard, Darling, we have another little surprise for you in a moment
that I think you will find interesting."
"Excellent, Auntie, I can barely wait!"
Rolanda and Lisa exchanged brief knowing glances. We finished our
cigarettes in silence, enjoying the creamy menthol smoke. Soft jazz
played through hidden speakers in the background. I loved to watch them
smoke. Their smoking gestures were similar to each other and very very
feminine and affected. Subconsciously, I emulated their gestures as I
enjoyed my femmy Eve in my best imitation of their classy style.
"Off with you, get dressed!" Auntie dismissed me to the boudoir with an
expansive gesture toward the back of the house. "We'll be waiting for
you here, Darling."
I returned to the immense bedroom and located my sport jacket, shirt, and
slacks in Rolanda's cavernous closet. To my amazement, my shirt had been
laundered and freshly pressed. Obviously Lisa had been up early without
disturbing my postcoital sleep! I hurriedly dressed in anticipation of
new hidden wonders in Auntie Rolanda's impressive domain. I examined my
tie, but decided in my aroused impatience to forego the time required to
put it on, and headed back to the front of the house, feeling stylishly
natty with my dress shirt's top two buttons left undone.
"Oh my, that's a nice chic look, Richard," admired Rolanda as Lisa nodded
her agreement, exhaling a nice plume of menthol toward the kitchen
ceiling. "You have the kind of class that engenders my attention. I
think you will fit into my circle of special friends very nicely. Now,
come with us, Darling, while we explore the netherworld of my humble
little abode."
Lisa led the way with Auntie again taking my arm, strutting regally into
a gracefully arched hallway which curved away to our right beneath the
stairs to the upper level of bedroom suites which Rolanda had described
to me the night before. The hallway floor was tiled with large, highly
polished glossy ceramic squares. The walls and arched ceiling were
richly paneled in square oak inlays of exquisite design. The tunnel-like
hall had no windows, but was subtly lit by cleverly hidden recessed
lighting from above and at floor level. The wide curvilinear hallway
terminated abruptly at a pair of massive double doors, shaped to mimic
the profile of the arched ceiling overhead. The doors had a heavy
Medieval appearance, covered with pyrimidal-shaped three dimensional
reliefs surrounding two immense door handles of intricately worked black
wrought iron. Lisa pulled a large skeleton key from her apron pocket,
bent slightly at the waist and inserted it into an ancient looking
keyhole. I heard a distinct symphony of clicks, suggesting the movement
of weighty tumblers, as she deftly twisted the key in its receptical.
Lisa left the key in the lock and pulled on the two substantial iron
handles. Silently, the arched double doors swung open towards us,
revealing a curved, downward-leading staircase of slate-tiled flats and
oak risers dropping away into the darkness below. In the dimly reflected
light of the hallway behind us, I could just make out that the arched
ceiling and walls of the stairway were finished in muted natural terra
cotta-covered masonry. The curving stairs were paralleled at waist
height with oaken-capped wrought iron handrails on both sides. Lisa
flipped a hidden switch and the way to the hidden basement was
progressively bathed in the flickering yellowish orange light of many
electric candelabra, uncannily reproducing the mood of the European
Middle Ages. The effect was one of mystery and intrigue, purposely
designed to create a sense of vague foreboding in anyone descending these
stairs for the first time. A little shiver of perverse anticipation
insinuated itself through my body.
"My, isn't this interesting?" I ventured.
Rolanda paused gracefully on the threshold and smiled at me, a bit
wickedly I thought, and squeezed my arm. "I told you last night when we
arrived, 'give up all hope, ye who enter here' didn't I? Perhaps
foolishly, you didn't heed my warning, Darling," she murmured
cryptically, "You're about to discover what I meant." I felt the goose
bumps propagating down the back of my neck, all the way to my buttocks,
in response to the ominously mocking tone of her voice.
Lisa waited patiently for us on the top of the first broad step.
"Proceed, Lisa, it's time for Richard to be shown the dungeon!"
Without hesitation, Lisa preceded us down the stairs, her heels and those
of her mistress making tantalizing little staccato clicks as their hard-
tipped high heels contacted the slate surface of each stair. Despite my
sense of foreboding, Rolanda had exquisitely piqued my curiosity about
what surprises might await me in the mysteriously unseen "dungeon" below.
What kind of bizarre environment was I about to discover? The curve of
the descending corridor turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees and
brought us to a completely darkened room of unseeable proportions or
shape.
"Bring up the lights, Lisa." whispered Rolanda, as if not wishing to
disturb the latent spirits who might be hiding in the darkness stretching
out before us.
Lisa turned to a recessed rheostat mounted on the wall and slowly moved a
slide switch upwards, casting a slowly intensifying indirect light into
an immense room that dramatically revealed itself to us. It was indeed a
dungeon, with deceptively contemporay design. The clever concept
combined the dark themes of a Medieval castle's nether reaches with
obvious modern touches. It was clearly not a Hollywood reproduction of a
torture chamber from the Dark Ages, but parts of it were reminiscent of
certain architectural themes from that terrifying historical period.
Two adjoining walls were partially faced with a convincing facade of
massive hand-hewn stones. Along these walls were arched alcoves which
framed storage racks of medieval torture implements such as tongs,
shackles, flogging whips, quirts, and crops of every length and
description, gags, leather masks and restraints, blindfolds and other
devices designed to inflict pain or physical restraint. Some were more
modern, almost gas mask-like, the exact purpose of which I could only
guess. Where the faux stone walls met in the distant corner, I could see
what looked like three classic jail cells constructed of very sturdy
looking cylindrical bars, a small mock courtroom with compact jury box, a
prisoner's dock, a judge's dais, and two counsels' lecterns.
Immediately at the bottom of the stairwell to the left were a pair of
spacious bathrooms with doors partly ajar labeled "Dommes" and "Bitches".
Another large door to the right seemed to be a dressing area and I could
see long racks of leather and rubber fetish clothing and gear, row upon
row of suspended high heeled thigh high boots in many colors and matching
racks of shoulder-length leather and PVC gloves, shelves of stylish
ladies' hats and very large wigs on stands, many dresser drawers down the
center aisle, similar to those in Auntie Rolanda's bedroom closets, and
large mirrored and well lit makeup tables with dressing chairs along both
sides.
The other two walls of the main "dungeon" room were covered with spotlit
floor-to-ceiling plateglass mirrors, all bordered with heavy ebony and
chrome frames. I knelt in curiosity to inspect the floor. Instead of
being finished in a conventional style with tile, wood, or even brick,
much of the dungeon rooms floor was "upholstered" with a soft black
spongy synthetic leather material that felt and looked like dyed cowhide
backed with a thin foam layer similar to a gymnastics mat. Extensive
pathways of hard shiny black synthetic tiling fanned out across the room,
allowing, I supposed, those wearing spike-heeled shoes to navigate the
room without punching holes in the softer faux leather flooring in
between.
The pathways divided the room into various sections. Nearest us was a
huge black onyx-topped bar, professionally-equipped with a broad mirror-
faced back bar dominated by endless glass shelves displaying expensive
cocktail crystal of every description. Other shelves were generously
stocked with containers of spirits and racks of wine bottles.
Surrounding the bar was a large sitting area with supple black leather-
upholstered wingback chairs and sofas, all with conveniently located
glass-topped wrought iron cocktail tables for each seating ensemble.
Closer to the "dungeon" area proper were booths facing the largest part
of the spacious room, each separated by floor-to-ceiling dividers to
provide intimate privacy for its occupants.
Spread throughout the spacious "dungeon area" were a wide variety of
specialized black leather furnishings, apparently designed for an equally
eclectic venue of fetish torture activities. Each was equpped with
appropriate leather and chain restraints which were obviously designed to
immobilize a willing "victim" for abuse by a dominant lover. Some were
hammock-style devices suspended by chains or leather straps from
unobtrusive attachment rings mounted in the ceiling, others were similar
to gymnastics "horses", shaped to conform to the restrained subject's
body, and still others were in the form of puritanical stocks with
leather or fur-lined openings for the insertion of the victim's limbs or
necks.
One nearby apparatus, the purpose of which was not immediately obvious to
me, was a leather-padded chair with a prominent oval hole in its seat.
Directly underneath was a black enameled plumbing fixture that looked
like a shallower version of the sinks I had seen in ladies' hair salons
with an curved indentation to support the back of the customer's neck
during a shampoo. The shallow sink had a drain in its bottom. A long
leather floor cushion extended away from the front of the chair with
black leather restraint straps punctuated by chrome buckling hardware
laid out to both sides of its mattress-like padding. Rolanda and Lisa
watched me examine the device with quizzical interest. I looked to
Rolanda for explanation.
"It's a 'human toilet', Honey. I suppose you've never experienced the
joys of having a gorgeous dominant mistress piss in your mouth or all
over your face, have you?"
I honestly had never entertained the most fleeting of thoughts about such
depravity. "Well, honestly, Rolanda, I find the thoughts of that
somewhat repulsive."
"That's fine, Darling, but not everyone feels that way about it.
Actually some of my submissive friends find it sexually stimulating in
the extreme. Of course, there are also those who even crave having
someone, how should I put it delicately, defecate on them, but I have
rules here, and I don't permit 'scat freaks' in my dungeon, that's too
disgusting, even for me!" she grimaced.
"Scat freaks?"
"People who are obsessed with having someone deposit fresh warm human
excrement in their mouths or on their faces. I'm told that it is the
ultimate in humilitation, but you couldn't prove it by me."
"Oh my God!" was all I could manage. Lisa turned away in embarrassed
silence. She undoubtably was glad that as Rolanda's maid, she would
never be called upon to clean up after such a messy session!
Satisfied that she had made her limits clear, Rolanda swept her arm
around the room, "There are many other interesting opportunities here for
all to enjoy in their own kinky ways, Sweety! Have a look around and see
what you think," she invited.
As I looked around the dungeon room, one of the most fascinating devices
to catch my eye was instantly recognizable as a convincing replica of an
early 20th Century electric chair. I assumed that it was for staging
mock executions. Awesomely realistic in appearance, it was located near
one of the mirrored walls where I visualized that the trembling, weak-
kneed executionee would be able to observe him or herself being strapped
to the chair with strong black leather wrist, arm, thigh, and ankle
restraint straps. It had wicked looking electrodes, curved steel bar
protrusions, prominently wired, and hinged to the sturdy wooden chair's
back frame, apparently to be fastened about the torso to ensure full
electrical contact with a hapless subject's abdomen.
Most intriguing to me was the uppermost part which was mounted securely
to the top of the chair back and attached to a heavy cable within a
sturdy flexible conduit. On the business end was a dome-shaped silvery
metal half helmet, obviously designed to cover the top of the condemned's
head. Hanging down around the rim was a sheer black voile curtain,
trimmed incongruously with femmy lace, apparently designed to cover the
victim's eyes as the helmet device was lowered into contact with the
skull. Properly positioned, it would allow spectators to observe the
condemned person's terrified facial expressions during the final
preparations for his or her execution, and later, the agonized
contortions of the victim's face as the jolts of high tension electricity
coursed through his or her body.
"The Chair" was by far the most macabre of all the fetish hardware in the
room, and irresistably I followed the appropriate tiled path to examine
it more closely with my two transvestite paramours following closely
behind in bemused interest. Near the electric chair on the closest
mirrored wall was a gigantic electric knifeswitch with a large black
enameled handle presumably designed for an executioner to decisively move
the contacts to the energized position! When I reached the electric
chair, I observed that there were rows of cold steel cylindrical contacts
on the chair's arms, prominently wired to deliver millions of deadly
volts to the condemned person's forearms, along with identical contacts
under the buttocks and thighs, partially recessed into the leather-padded
seat, as well as the backs of the calves on the chair's lower legs. I
also noticed that protruding through the seat of the chair itself were
wires with electrical contacts that could only have been designed for one
purpose, electrical connection to the condemned person's genitals!
I fingered the deliciously silky material of the facial veil, imagining
what it must be like to be strapped into the chair knowing that mock
electrocution were imminent! The material was transparent enough for the
condemned victim to see the executioner's switch directly in front of his
or her eyes. I could feel my own electrical thrill running up and down
my spine and extremities as I visualized the process of having a gorgeous
dominent transgendered "warden", dressed from head to toe in supple black
leather or glowing satin, orchestrate the restraint of the condemned to
the chair, then personally lowering the veil over his or her desperately
pleading eyes before methodically reading the death warrant aloud before
dispatching them to the afterlife. It was a disturbing yet titillating
image that played itself out in my mind in excruciating detail.
"Does this thing actually deliver a shock to someone?" I asked, feeling
an uncomfortable huskiness in my voice as I asked the unthinkable.
"Absolutely, Darling," replied Auntie Rolanda. "I understand it can be
quite, well how should I put it, 'electrifying'", she winked at me
wickedly. I fidgeted nervously at Auntie's dark pun. "I've officiated
at a number of deliciously erotic "executions" here, Honey, and it is
amazing how far a whimpering leather clad bitchboi will shoot his faggy
spunk when I throw the big switch over there! Of course the "executions"
are timed to be the "climactic" events at the end of our little parties.
First we stage trials over there in the "courtroom" where testimony about
a submissive's sexual misbehavior is presented by the appropriate
mistress or master in front of judge and jury. The accused is publicly
humiliated in the process and I've actually seen some "defendants" shed
genuine tears of remorse as the most explicit evidence of their
disgusting sexual depravity is presented to the jury! It's incredibly
interesting to watch, Darling, you'll have to join us some night when
Auntie and her friends are all in a leather lather down here!"
I shuddered involuntarily but I knew that I wanted to observe just such a
night of feminized debauchery. Auntie was watching me closely, and I
knew she could already read my inner erotic thoughts like a book. She
could tell that the imagery of her dungeon sex parties was having the
desired effect, seducing me inexorably into her plans for me, like a
naive fly to the lair of the Spiderlady.
"My submissive victim friends tell me that their execution orgasms are
the most intense. Just think how erotic it would be to watch a femmy
sissy leather boi get his just deserts and squirt his creamy cum all over
himself without anyone even touching his clitty prick, whimpering,
moaning, and squirming like the little sissy faggot that he truly is, and
all humiliatingly exposed for the erotic entertainment of my special
guests! Often the 'witnesses' have simultaneous orgasms as they watch!
They pump their cream all over the victim as she 'fries' in 'The Chair'!
It's all really quite stimulating and sexy, believe me."
"Mmm, I can only imagine," I whispered hoarsely, imagining that special
"moment of truth" while the gathered group of fetishists held their
collective breath, masturbating slowly in anticipation of the whimpering
condemned's imminent dispatch by Auntie's big switch on the wall. I
could see clearly in my mind's eye all the "witnesses" jacking themselves
off all over the victim's tightly restrained leather-clad body as the
twitching fagslutbitch shoots incredible streams of electrically-
stimulated cum wildly into the air without anyone touching her exposed
clitty pole! I was getting incredibly hard again, just thinking about
all the sperm-soaked ritualistic fetish "executions" that must have
occured during Rolanda's darkly elegant fetish parties in this very room.
"Of course, I always offer the condemned a last femmy cigarette before I
order the "guards" to finish strapping her in and then throwing the
switch!" she chuckled ominously.
So what do you think?" Rolanda purred, "I mean of my kinky little
creation of the dungeon scene?"
"I never imagined that such places existed. It is very sexy in some dark
demonic way," I opined, still a bit shocked at the amount of erotic
thought and planning that had gone into design of the place.
"Well, Darling, like so many gay bitch goddesses, I do have my dark
demonic side. Occasionally I find it entertaining to invite a group of
my S&M fetish friends over for an evening of socializing down here," she
smiled. "Perhaps you'd like to join us for the fun and games sometime in
the near future?" She opened her red calf handbag and pulled out her
cigarette case, offering Lisa and me each an Eve 120. She pulled the
Dunhill from its little holster on the side of the case and offered us
each a light. I gratefully accepted the cigarette. I needed a smoke to
calm my raging erotic nerve endings. I noticed that near each set of
torture apparatus, a sturdy floor-anchored ashtray and stand was located.
Obviously, Auntie's smoking fetish knew no bounds in her expansively
elegant home, even down here in her dungeon.
"Yes, I think I might enjoy that, Auntie, if for no other reason, for
purely idle satisfaction of curiosity!"
Rolanda allowed me to light her cigarette and slowly batting her gorgeous
lashes at me, momentarily interrupting a piercing look, and exhaled the
smoke in my general direction. She stepped towards me with elegantly
lipstick stained cigarette drawing attention to her long red fingernails
and provocatively used the soft leather of her expensive handbag to
caress the obvious bulge in my trousers. Lisa kept her eyes averted as
she inhaled a creamy ball of her own smoke, pretending not to notice my
pleasurable discomfort.
"Idle curiosity?" Rolanda asked rhetorically, exhaling another cloud of
thick menthol smoke into the room, then smiled and let a dark little
chuckle escape her bright red lips. "I think we might discover that a
little more active involvement might be more gratifying for you than
simply satisfying your 'idle curiosity' as a detached observer, Darling."
I inhaled my mouthful of creamy smoke deeply, shifting my weight
uncomfortably from one foot to the other as I tried unconvincingly to
ignore her not so subtle suggestion. "So who comes to your fetish
parties, Auntie?" I asked innocently, again attempting to deflect
attention away from my prospective participation in future dungeon
parties, "How do you find people who enjoy this sort of thing?"
"Darling, they're literally everywhere. The internet is full of them,
dommy people and subby people. It can be quite exciting once you get
past your conventional inhibitions. I have an intimate group of friends
that I've known for years who enjoy this type of 'entertainment', Sweety.
We usually meet down here every week or so. We sometimes also go out
dressed in our sexy leather and visit nightclubs that specialize in the
S&M theme. They are all nice people, mostly gay cross dressers and TVs,
with that delicious little kink for 'crime and punishment'. It's just
another one of many exciting types of erotic role play that add so much
variety to life. Sexual gratification takes many forms, and the
liberating practice of transgenderism inevitably leads to experimentation
in additional forbidden pleasures that might otherwise remain unexplored.
It prevents it from getting boring, Dear."
My somewhat bewildering but recent happy introduction to transgendered
gay sex made it difficult to imagine how it could ever become boring, but
I was listening with rapt attention to Rolanda's lecture on the merits of
"variety" as "the spice of life". I was ready to learn whatever she
wanted to teach, becoming putty in her lovely soft gay hands.
Rolanda glanced at her diamond-studded wrist watch. "Oh my, time flies
when we're having fun, doesn't it, Sweety? I have a little 'engagement'
this morning. I'm meeting our hairdresser for my weekly facial and
massage appointment. Would you like to accompany me?"
"Well, that sounds like fun, Auntie. Is this with your friend who
performs as 'Sugar Cane'?"
"Yes, Darling, you have an excellent memory for detail!"
"I would love to go with you, Auntie, if you're sure I wouldn't be in the
way, of course."
"I'm so happy that you want to join me. I confess that I want to show
you off to her. I know she'll be impressed with my hottest new lover."
I blushed, but I was excited at the thought of being displayed proudly by
my regal Auntie Rolanda.
"Good then. Lisa, put the dungeon "to bed" and make sure everything is
tidy and ready for our next party next week."
"Yes, Mistress."
Auntie took my arm and led me to the stairs for our ascent from carefully
crafted underworld, a place that had simultaneously shocked and
stimulated me by its revelation of yet another realm that I had never
known or even suspected to exist. I found myself excited at being
invited to one of Rolanda's next S&M parties in her spacious "dungeon".
My cock was hard and drippy as we started up the stairs.
To be continued....
Jeannie
- 14.10.2020
- 12
- 0
