The Naked Dungeon free porn video

Tears ran down my cheeks as I knelt on the cold floor of my cell. My training collar was locked around my neck, and the collar was locked to a short, thick chain to the wall of my cell. There was a ledge intended to serve as a bed, but the chain was too short to allow me to reach it. There was a blanket on the cold floor. There was a hole in the floor for a toilet. And there was a camera high up in a corner that pointed towards me always, watching every move I made, every breath I took.

~~~~~

Earlier, The Keeper had told me, “You will sleep on the floor until you deserve a bed. You are nothing until you learn to be what your Mistress wants you to be. Do you understand?”

I had quickly agreed, sitting in Nadu, eyes cast down.

“Take her,” he had said.

So they ordered me up, put a hood over my head, a loop around my neck, and I was hauled by the stick attached to the loop through passageways I could not see. Finally we came to a stop. I heard keys and a lock, then metal hinges swung open. I was pushed into the cell. The floor was cold under my feet.

“Nadu,” came the command.

I fell to my knees, in position. The loop and hood were removed, and the chain locked to my collar. They closed and locked the door and left me there, kneeling on a blanket in a windowless room less than two meters wide by four meters long.

I was trembling with fear. I was alone, naked and chained to a wall. I was at the mercy of someone I knew nothing about, who demanded instant perfection, and whose face I would never see. I had expected training to be difficult. I hadn’t expected it to be medieval.

But mostly I was scared because I didn’t know if I would ever see my Mistress again.

If I did everything perfectly, she might, perhaps, accept me. But it would take weeks of harsh, demanding treatment and training, and I wouldn’t see her in all of that time, nor know if I was pleasing her or not.

If I failed, I would be cast out, and never lay eyes on her again.

And that petrified me.

~~~~~

The day had started bright, clear and warm, but I was shivering as I put on the long coat my Mistress had selected for me. That, plus high heels, were all I was wearing. Today was the day I was to begin my training, and I was as frightened as I have ever been.

We went to her car and she drove me to DeCoven. Before we left the car, Mistress turned to me, her face deadly serious.

“Mouse, listen to me. This training will be one of the hardest things you will ever do. It is a huge step, and it will leave its mark on you forever. It is more than just learning skills. It is a test of your commitment to me, to the lifestyle, even to yourself. You are going to have to decide who and what you are.

“This will strip away the veneer of everyday life. It will strip away the artificial layers of polite behavior, of how you relate to other people – indeed, how you choose to relate to other people – and of how you think of yourself. It will test you to the extreme edge of your being.

“It is critical that you learn everything you need to learn, that you be perfect in everything you do, and that you persevere until you are perfect. Failure is not an option for either of us.

“If you cannot make that commitment to me – or to yourself – we will both be far better off that you turn away from it now than that you try, and fail.

“This is the choice you need to make, before you leave this car.”

Then she sat there, silent, watching me and waiting for me to speak.

I would say I was shocked by what she said, but I already felt such deep fear that it was like rain on the ocean. I sat there for some time, I don’t know how long, then felt something shift inside me, something like rage.

I felt rage that life had brought me to this juncture, and rage that I was to be tested so. I felt rage that people always doubted me, could doubt me. Did they think so little of me that they expected me to fail?

But above all, I felt that I had the right to choose the life I wanted, and especially, the person whom I loved.

I lifted my eyes to hers, which I did not do anymore unless bidden. I picked up her hand, raised it to my lips and kissed it. “You are my Mistress. I have no world without you. I have no life without you.

“If it is a choice between succeeding and failing, then you are right, there is no choice. Mistress, there is no life for me unless I succeed.”

I turned, opened the door, and got out of the car, then stood, waiting for her to lead me. Leaving the car was one of the hardest things I have ever done. But it was done, and I would not turn back.

I had no idea what I was committing myself to.

But I would do it, no matter what it was.

~~~~~

Mistress got out of the car, then walked around to me, took my hand, and walked me to the door of DeCoven. It was too early to be open, so she rang the bell. Shortly thereafter, a submissive dressed as a waiter answered, bowed to my Mistress, and let me in. “She is to be taken to The Keeper.” Then she turned and left.

By now I was shaking. The submissive waiter’s attitude of deference disappeared with my Mistress. He looked haughtily at me, then walked away without further acknowledging me. I turned and hurried after him.

We walked through the major public rooms of the Club, where I had been before for performances, and into one of the private playrooms. He turned, ensuring I had followed him, waved his hand, then walked away with a sniff.

I tentatively looked into the room. There was a tall man, about 185 centimeters tall, very fit, and wearing black clothes and a black mask tapping a crop against his side. “You’re late. Take off your coat. Nadu!”

I removed my coat, and looked for somewhere to place it.

The crop whirled and the coat was knocked from my hand. “Now!”

I dropped to my knees, letting the coat fall.

He walked around me, taking his time and inspecting me. He lifted my chin, forcing my head up. He prodded my tits. He spread my knees further apart. He probed between my ass cheeks with the crop, then walked back in front of me, his crotch close to my face.

“I am The Keeper. From now on, my word is law. Does this worthless lump of shit understand?”

I wondered whether to answer ‘Yes’ or ‘Yes, Keeper’, but by the time I started to answer, he cropped me across my tits, and said, “Answer immediately!”

“Yes, Keeper!”

He cropped me again, for no apparent reason, then, when I whimpered, he did it a third time.

“You will remain silent at all times unless you are asked a question, or given permission to speak. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Keeper!”

He stood glowering at me for a time, then turned, picked something up and turned back. He placed a hood over my head with a loop that he cinched tight. It lifted and I went with it, scrambling up.

“Come with me, you worthless slut.”

The loop around the hood seemed attached to something, and pulled me along. I later found out it was a stick attached to the loop that allowed someone to lead the candidate without touching them, even though they were hooded.

I had no idea where we went, but knew that we went down a flight of stairs, which is incredibly difficult to negotiate blind, especially when the person leading doesn’t slow down. I almost fell when we reached bottom and there were no more stairs, but stumbled, and just managed to keep up.

Finally, we stopped. There was a strange sound, as of a heavy curtain being moved, then a metallic sound that turned out to be a lock on a heavy, metal door, then the sound of hinges creaking, and a cool breeze. I was led through the door, I guessed, which was then closed and locked.

Shortly after that I was led into another room, then ordered into Nadu. The hood was removed, and I saw I was in a dungeon, but unlike the one I had seen at the club before. The devices here looked far more serious. They were certainly not toys.

“This one is here for her fitting. Be quick about it!”

A naked man wearing a submissive’s collar moved forward and fitted a leather collar around my neck. I heard a click and knew the collar was locked around my neck. I was ordered into High Bracelets, so stood, and pushed my arms behind me. The submissive removed my high heels, then locked wrist and ankle bracelets around me. Each bracelet, anklet and the collar had rings that made it possible to bind them easily.

“Nadu.”

I dropped to my knees, was hooded again, then they took me to my cell.

~~~~~

The month that followed remains a hazy recollection of pain and torment. I have only scattered memories, like piles of trash sticking out of the water in a flood.

~~~~~

The first night, after a day of seemingly pointless exercise, plus endless training in Gor slave positions I already knew. I was again locked into my cell and chained to the wall. The door opened and a dog bowl of food was set on the floor, then shoved into the room by the foot of a man I didn't know.

I was famished, so I started to pick it up. Before I could reach it, my hand was slashed away with a crop. “On your hands and knees, slut.”

I quickly complied.

“You may eat the food, but you may not use your hands. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

I was slashed again with the crop, this time on my ass. “I’m not your Master. You are not worthy to have a Master. You will call me Sir.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Eat.”

I bent down to see a pile of table scraps in the bowl. I put my face down and tried to eat with just my mouth. The food got up my nose and in the hair hanging down by the side of my face, and the bowl kept moving away. I reached forward to adjust the position of the bowl with a hand.

My ass was cropped again. “Nadu!”

I quickly sat up in position.

“Bracelets.”

I put my hands behind me. He secured them together.

“Eat.”

With my hands locked together behind me, I had to balance on my knees to lean forward. Now there was no way to avoid getting food all over my face, in my hair, up my nose. But I was hungry and knew that if I didn’t eat, it would be taken away, and I would stay hungry.

I wound up pushing the bowl around the floor, until finally it moved outside the distance set by the chain. I did my best to get it back, but it was completely beyond my reach.

The man had been standing, watching me. “Still hungry?” he said.

“Sir, yes, I am.”

“Good.” He unzipped his trousers and pulled out his hard cock. “Then eat this, slut.”

I hesitated…and was cropped across my tits. “Now, slut!”

So, with food dripping from my face, and my hands bound behind me, I knelt up, licked my lips, and took his cock in my mouth. He put his hands behind my head and shoved his cock deep into my throat.

If I had had some warning, I could have coped, stuck my tongue out, and moistened my mouth. But this was totally unexpected, so his cock hurt me, and I gagged on it when it reached the back of my throat.

He held me there, forcing me to gag and cough and retch for what seemed like forever, but was probably less than a minute. Finally he pushed me off, and I fell back, panting, but was suspended in mid-air when the chain snapped taut.

“Can’t even suck cock properly. Again!” And he pulled me up by my hair, then grabbed me by the neck, bringing my mouth around to face his cock.

I moistened my mouth, licked my lips and opened wide, determined to be ready this time. He placed the head of his cock on my extended tongue, waited for what seemed like forever, then fucked my mouth deeply until he was about to cum. He withdrew and spurted cum all over my face, including into my still-open mouth.

Then he zipped up, exited the room, slammed the door. He left me with my face covered with cum, the remnants of my meal, and with my hands bound behind me. I collapsed onto the blanket and tried to get comfortable.

Eventually a sub came into the room, undid my hands, took the bowl, and left. I wiped my face with my hands as best I could, wrapped myself in my blanket and wept.

But underneath, my rage surged.

~~~~~

When I was out of my cell, I was worked hard. Sometimes it was physical exercise and training, anything from yoga, to free weights, to dance. Since I was already dancing professionally, this was my favourite form of exercise…but with a difference.

I had to be perfect in everything.

If I had my arm position slightly wrong in a yoga asana, I was cropped. If my form wasn’t perfect when I was lifting, I was told what a useless, worthless piece of shit I was, and told to do it again ten more times. If I missed a step, even slightly, I was told to repeat it to exhaustion.

In all of this, I was worked until I collapsed, panting.

Then I was told to stand up, and might be given a mop and a bucket of soapy water. I would be told to clean a long hallway, but with my wrists bound together in front and my legs strapped to a spreader, wide apart. I was never fast enough and they always found spots I had missed.

My meals at this point were always taken when I was returned to my cell, on my hands and knees, from the dog bowl. And I was never allowed to use my hands in any way. They were table scraps, and rarely enough to satisfy me. I was hungry all the time.

Yet the body gets used to almost anything, and the rage fueled my determination not to let them get to me.

By the fourth night, I think it was, I was exhausted at the end of what I assumed was a day. My food had been removed, and I was left to sleep. But despite everything, I was horny.

Except when Mistress had forbidden me to do so, I would cum at least once a day, and frequently multiple times. Since I had moved in with Mistress, I was in the best shape of my life, and as healthy as I had ever been. As well, I was living with one of the sexiest women alive. As a result, I was often very horny indeed.

I knew, without being told, that I would not be allowed cum. I rolled onto my side, spread my legs slightly, putting the knee of my top leg over onto the floor, put my hands near my crotch, closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was asleep, breathing steadily.

Underneath the blanket, hopefully hidden by my top leg, I started stroking my thigh gently with one finger. I moved very slowly and gradually stroked it closer and closer to my kitty, until I was stroking the outside of my labia. Being as careful as I could not to show movement, I slipped my finger between my lips, and eased my finger down, over my clit, and down, splitting the inner lips.

Being as still as I could and only moving my wrist and part of my arm, I moved two fingers down across my clit to my slit, worked one finger inside myself, then up to my clit again. I was slippery and hot when I started, but by the time I had done this several times, I was getting eager to cum. I shortened my stroke and focused on rubbing my clit, massaging it gently at first and then harder, while desperately trying to keep still and silent.

I could feel my climax growing, and knew that I was breathing too hard, but couldn’t stop myself. When I finally burst, rather than try to regulate my breathing, I held my breath and kept everything still except for that one, wonderful finger.

It was not the best orgasm I have ever had, but it felt amazing under the circumstances!

When I finally finished trembling, I slowly withdrew my hand, shifted my position slightly to get more comfortable and fell quickly to sleep.

I was awakened abruptly when the door to my cell clanged open, my blanket was stripped away, and I was hauled to my feet by The Keeper. I had no idea how long I slept. There were no windows in the dungeon, so I had no way to tell time.

“Did you play with your Mistress’ property without permission, slut?” the Keeper asked.

I didn’t know what to say. Anything I said would be bad. I just stared at the floor, my heart beating fast and hard.

The Keeper just glared at me, then unlocked the wall chain, threw me to the ground, clipped a leash to my collar and marched out of the cell. It was clear I was supposed to crawl on my hands and knees, but it was incredibly difficult to keep up with him, and the heels of my hands, plus my knees, got very sore.

Finally, we got to the dungeon – the real one, not the public one. The Keeper saw me into the room, then left me with another big man wearing a black mask and black clothes.

“Up,” he said.

I scrambled to my feet. He dragged me over to a padded pommel horse and bent me over it at the waist. Then he attached my feet to a spreader bar, which was fastened to the floor. This forced my legs wide, and exposed my cunt and my ass to whoever was behind me.

Next he ran chains through the rings on each wrist cuff, pulled them tight in front of me, then fastened them each side of a full-length mirror on the opposite wall.

I was forced to face myself, spread, bent over the horse, and helpless.

The masked man walked up behind me and said, “Did you play with yourself?”

I didn’t answer.

 He moved away slightly, then swatted my pussy hard with the flap of a crop.

“Did you play with yourself?”

When I didn’t answer, he swatted me again. And asked and swatted a third time.

It stung. A lot.

After the third swat I cried, “Yes, I did. I’m sorry!”

He swatted me again. “No one asked if you were sorry. Speak when you’re spoken to! But you’re going to be sorry.”

He swatted me three more times.

By now I was writhing on the horse, but was barely able to move as my chains were so tight. I was also getting turned on, which I knew was foolish, but it was also beyond my control.

He walked away, put the crop back in a rack and picked up a Hitachi wand on a long cord. He turned it on and looked me in the eyes through the mirror as he walked slowly back towards me.

When he started on me, it was surprisingly gentle. He worked around my thighs, down from my belly, over my ass and towards my kitty. He had the wand set on the lowest setting and massaged my mound, then lightly glided the wand across my pussy lips, barely touching them, just enough to set them vibrating.

I moaned. He smirked.

He repeated the action, pushing the wand slightly harder into me. I started moving my ass, but only fractionally. He noticed and smiled again.

Then he turned up the speed of the wand and started pushing it harder into me. By now I was incredibly wet and eager for more. He split my pussy lips with the wand and pressed the device so it was cresting my cunt, as if he were going to push it inside of me. Yet, instead he pushed it up higher, to my clit.

I moaned loudly and could smell myself. He withdrew from my cunt lips and massaged all around my labia, down to my perineum, across my asshole, then back up again, and then between my labia again, reaching my clit.

By now I was trying hard to writhe, but was helpless to do more than wriggle. I found myself holding my breath, and could feel my climax beginning.

And he stopped. My breath exploded from my lungs and I cried out.

He stepped back, turned the wand off and set it down, then put his hand in a bowl and came up with some ice cubes. He stepped forward and pushed them, en mass, against my labia and made sure they touched my clit. And he rubbed them up and down against me.

I screamed.

He held them there for a long time, massaging them into my most sensitive parts, then pulled them away. I shrunk against the horse, panting.

He stepped back, dropped the ice cubes back into the bowl and picked up the wand. Stepping forward, he turned it on again.

And placed it against my clit, then rubbed it up and down all around my labia, between my ass cheeks and back again. But focussed on my clit this time.

Again, my body responded and I could feel my climax approaching. I was almost there, just on the verge…and he stopped.

I screamed again, but knew there was no point begging.

He must have known female anatomy incredibly well, for I came very close to cumming several times, and he would always stop just before I reached the point of no return.

He used the ice cubes sometimes, sometimes not. He would tease me towards a climax, then stop and wait while I relaxed, then start again.

I lost track of time, I lost track of how many times he teased me towards a climax, then denied me. I had pissed myself somewhere along the line, and was a slobbering, drooling mess when he finally stopped, turned off the wand, set it back in the rack and walked towards me.

He grabbed my hair, forcing my head up so that I looked at myself in the mirror.

“Will you touch yourself again without permission?”

“No,” I promised. I was panting hard as I said it.

“Will you cum without permission?”

“No”

“Ever?”

I looked at my eyes, at the haunted, tortured emptiness of them, and said, “No, never.”

He dropped my head, then walked away to retrieve something. He fitted a hood over my head. Then he left me there.

I have no way of knowing how long they left me hanging on the pommel horse. There was no way to tell time and I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. My body tingled and I ached from being stuck in this position for so long. My body screamed for a release that I knew would not be coming.

I think I finally slept.

I was awoken by being caned from behind. I jerked my head up. The hood was removed from it and first my feet, then my hands were released. I collapsed onto the floor.

“Leasha.”

I dragged myself up to the proper position, but not fast enough, and was cropped across the backside.

A leash was fastened to my collar and I was led away, crawling on my hands and knees, head down, along a hallway. I had no idea where I was going, but hoped it was to my cell.

It wasn’t. I was led to a pail of soapy water with a stiff brush next to it.

“Scrub the floor.”

Whoever it was walked away.

~~~~~

I was finally led back to my cell and chained up, and I fell asleep immediately.

When the door to my cell banged open and I was ordered into Nadu and was slow to respond, they brought in a hose and sprayed me with cold water, continuing long after I was in Nadu. By the time they stopped I was shivering, but didn’t dare move. Water soaked my blanket and filled the floor and gradually emptied through the toilet hole.

And another day started. If it was day. Time was arbitrary here and I had no idea what time it was.

That night, if night it was, after I had dragged myself through everything they had me do and cropped me, insulted me, berated me, or forced me to repeat things over and over until I got them perfectly, I collapsed on the floor and started to cry. I couldn’t take it anymore. This was pointless cruelty and I knew Mistress would never sanction what they were doing. It made no sense!

I knew I could quit and I desperately wanted to. All I had to do is say so and it would all stop. But then I would lose Mistress forever.

~~~~~

Puzzles fascinate me, and both my conscious and subconscious mind work and worry at things I do not understand until I do. It is what Mistress recognized in me, when she challenged me to a game of chess.

It took me some time to recognise what was happening to me at DeCoven, but looking back on it, it should have been obvious that they were trying to break me, so that they could reshape my personality. They didn’t want me to act like a slave, they wanted me to become a slave. They wanted mindless obedience, no matter what.

This sounds evil, but it is precisely what I had agreed to. Asked for. Begged Mistress for: to make me into her true slave, not just a submissive. I had transferred all of my will, all of my choices to her – and now they were trying to achieve what I had asked them to do: make me into an utterly obedient slave.

This conclusion exploded into my mind when I was exhausted and weeping on the floor of my cell. And once I realized what the game was, the rage within me blazed. My tears stopped. I jerked upright and stared at the camera. I am sure my expression was not one of submission and obedience. Quite the contrary.

And it was at that moment that I knew there was nothing they could do to me that would make me quit, or to break me. I had them, they didn’t have me.

But they tried. And they were determined.

~~~~~

The things they did varied, as if they were experimenting, trying to find ways to get to me, find a chink in my armor.

I was often stopped in the middle of doing something and told to present my mouth for fucking, or my cunt, or my ass. I did, then went back to whatever I was doing.

They demanded perfection in everything I did, and worked me, over and over and over again until there was nothing left for them to criticize. I forced them to accept perfection.

They paddled, caned and cropped me, never to extremes, because they knew Mistress would never permit it. But they also knew that I was young and strong, and that they had me for three months. Therefore they had three months for my body to heal from anything they did to me. My ass was often red and frequently sore from a beating, as was my pussy from crop-slapping. They stopped cropping me when they realized that being I actually found the crop a turn-on. Purrrrrrr…

Perhaps the closest they came to truly hurting and breaking me, after my realization, was when they found a part of my anatomy where they could beat me, and it wouldn’t show: the soles of my feet.

In that first month they often gave me nonsensical tasks, or made ridiculous demands, mostly to give them an excuse to punish me and shake my confidence. I did whatever they demanded immediately, getting as close to perfection doing what they ordered as I could…while letting my attitude show they hadn’t reached me. I was being a brat…an attitude that Mistress knew well, and which I believed she secretly applauded, as I had often seen what I thought was amusement on her face.

This time was different. They claimed I needed punishment, I can’t remember for what. They bound me to a table with a spreader bar between my legs, then lifted my feet so my legs were horizontal. Then they caned the soles of my feet.

This hurts like hell at the time and it hurts worse later on, especially when you try to walk on bruised feet. Which they demanded I did. I accepted the pain and never gave them the pleasure of seeing how much it hurt.

They had to be restrained in what they did, because they knew Mistress would be furious if they did me serious harm. But they tried the best they could to get past my armor.

And failed.

They tried to embarrass me. They made me masturbate in front of them or in my cell, with my legs open and facing the camera, or while one or two of them were using one of my fuck holes. They ordered me to do all the degrading, humiliating things they could imagine.

But again my nature prevented them from reaching me. As a submissive I was someone who frequently found such demands exciting.

They edged me regularly, taking me as far as they could before stopping, and left me panting. This did reach me and I was frequently desperate to cum. Sometimes they let me beg to cum before denying me. Sometimes they refused to let me even beg.

But Mistress had done this to me before. I hated it, but I knew I could survive it and that it was temporary.

~~~~~

Finally a time came when their treatment of me changed.

I was still chained in my cell, but the chain was long enough now that I could sleep on the ledge as a bed, instead of in a cramped corner of the floor. And I could reach the sink, which meant I could wash, which was an enormous improvement!

My food got better, more nutritious and there was enough of it. I still had to eat it from a bowl on the floor, but I could use my hands now.

And the tasks ceased being meaningless and started taking on real purpose. I was taught different kinds of dance. I was shown how to improve my fitness and learned about diet, and how to space and organize exercise to get the maximum benefit from it. I did more yoga to help me stay supple and increase my flexibility and range of motion. They brought in people to start teaching me Tae-Kwon-Do, as well as other forms of self-defence.

They taught me things about pleasing people sexually, both men or women, as well as people of more amorphous sexuality. How to tease and please several people at once. How to organize, or be the focus of, a gangbang. How to properly and completely deep throat a man, almost regardless of size (although there are physical limits). How to service a glory hole. How to accept anal sex with minimal distress, while simulating it if that seemed desireable. How to dress – or undress – to seduce and entice. How best to use make-up to display my natural assets.

Many of these things I knew, but not in the depth, or with the subtlety they taught.

The point was that now they were educating me instead of trying to break me. And this would continue in other ways through the second and third months.

They had done their worst.

But despite everything they had done, or tried to do to me, I was still De Muis.

Unbroken.

© Copyright, JamesLlewellyn and NikaS on Lushstories.com, March 2021.
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