On Display to Thousands

Initially, I remain caged as people enter the Dungeon. Most of the ‘Club’ members are here as are a few people I don’t recognize. Seems like they are all planning, organizing, and setting up for the afternoon and evening events. Some are working together, some individually. For example, three guys are assembling a pipe and rail fittings system. One of them might be a sub as it appears they are sizing it for him or someone his size.

Eventually, Master D and DR. D came for me. They pulled me out of my jail cell and marched me to the bath facility, hands still cuffed behind me, vibrater still doing its thing. I am taken directly to the special urinal where I am told to pee.

The fixture has been manned. I will find out after the weekend that it was Master D’s own sub. There is also someone sitting on a folding chair in the corner, reminding me of a bathroom attendant. My warped mind, considering the current circumstances, ponders how I am to tip him as I have no pockets to hold change.

Instant shy bladder. I am under the watchful eye of two men who are holding me and someone watching me from behind. I am about to pee into a fixture that will drain into another one’s mouth. Both those thoughts shut me down. The strong vibration in my ass doesn’t help. My failure to perform doesn’t please either of them. And they came prepared. Master D has in his hand a mini-livestock shock rod, i.e. a tiny cattle prod. No warning, just a simple and powerful shock to my right butt cheek that buckles my knees.

“Think you can pee now Sissy?” barks Master D. I try, but not fast enough to suit him and I get a second jolt to my left cheek, this time making me collapse against the porcelain urinal. I stagger back upright as I am sternly warned, “The next one will be on your ball-sack if you don’t get to it.”

I don’t know how, other than from utter fear, I start to pee. It wasn’t a lot, but certainly a stream was produced. Selfishly my mind is more concerned about my own well-being than the person who is now being forced to drink my urine. I’ve been forced to drink both my own and other people’s urine before, not pleasant.

Handcuffed and my shock-shaky knees barely supporting me, my handsfree aim wasn’t perfect. That meant I had a little mess to clean up. I’m pushed to my knees and told to lick both the forward rim of the bowl and then the tile floor in front of it. The rim is cold and wet. The wetness is me. Well, I hope it’s just me. There is also a pubic hair which now sticks to my tongue.

As I do the floor, I feel the urinal’s eyes staring at me. I take a quick guilty look at him (I assumed it was a him) and return to my task. Bending all the way to the floor while on my knees without my arms, it is difficult not to smash my face as I tongue the floor. So, it certainly doesn’t help knowing I am being watched by those eyes. It also doesn’t help that my escorts pick this time to turn off, then roughly pull the plug from my butt.

I swear they are two pees in a pod, as one says to the other. “Think he wants to lick this clean too?”

To which the other replies, “Why wouldn’t he?

And so, they pull me upright with my hair. and into my mouth goes the plug that has been vibrating my rectal track for the past two plus hours. Nothing stays clean under those conditions. At lease my mind is off that hair.

I am then escorted back into the center of the dungeon. I am told to sit on the floor where I am uncuffed, hooded, and then bound by ropes. The hood was a loose fitting full headed leather piece with open eyes and mouth. I was told that its purpose was to keep my anonymity with the guests who would be at the party. Odds are that absolutely no one would be there that would know me, but for my own ease I would be covered. 

The rope work is done by an expert. On my second visit to Las Vegas, I was used as a model for rope ties in a set of bondage training films. This guy was the instructor.

He ties my right leg first. He starts by placing my leg through a loop at the end of a four-foot webbing strap. He then secures my ankle to the back of my upper thigh with rope using five, maybe six, lashing loops, then clenches the loops with a few tight frapping turns to create a basic frog tie. The strap loop now held tight within the crook in my leg. This is then repeated on my other leg then similarly done to my two arms.

Next up he ties a multiple loop bowline around my mid-section and a second one around my neck. For the non-Boy Scouts reading this, the bowline knot is primary used to create a fixed loop (in my case multiple like sized fix loops) at the end of a rope. It is a good non-slip knot. While both the coils around my body and neck are loose, the knots are tight while retaining the desired slack in the loops.

I am then moved with the help of three other guys to under the rope hoist. The suspension bar has been removed and replaced with a large ring. It is lowered down so that it is a few feet above me.

The four straps that were secured in the crooks of my legs and arms each have a carabiner fastened to their leading ends. They are snapped onto the ring and then adjusted so that all my limbs are pulled toward the ring at equal lengths. The waist and neck ropes are then secured to the ring so that they are the same lengths as the straps.

With little fanfare, I am hoisted upward off the floor to about waist height. I am very surprised but there is very little stress from the suspension. My weight is equally distributed to the five primary suspension lines. The neck rope’s primary job is to hold up my head. It does so without any constriction on my throat. The boys even make some minor adjustments to the rope and strap lengths to make the load well balanced.

Again, while I wouldn’t call this comfortable, I am bearing no real body stress. That’s a good thing, as I will hang here for a substantial amount of time. I am told I am serving multiple purposes. As I am right in the center of the room, for the guests who enter the dungeon I am a display piece, sort of artwork, sort of eye candy, sort of precautionary warning to submissives. I am at work height, and anyone who would like to use either of my vulnerable holes are invited to do so.

I am warned that any guests may elect to use my defenseless privates and body. That is the Host’s desire, I’m to serve as his party favor to the guests, his gesture of thanks for their attendance, a sort of memento of the occasion. (No real need to remind me, the way I am tied, stretched and hung, my planned use by others seems obvious.) To boost my growing angst, I’m shown a collection of floggers, whips and electro toys they have set on a table beside me ‘to correct any behavior deemed worthy of modification’. Then it was added, ‘or just because it’s a hoot to be able to torture the straight sissy’.