The Ancient Dungeon

The Ancient Dungeon

I looked around the ruins of the castle. Nobody else was about. Good. I didn’t want anybody else to know about what I had discovered. It was a secret only for me.

I was wearing jeans and sensible boots. No high heels for a trip to a ruined castle. My double D breasts were swinging free, bra-less, in a black tee shirt, with a black leather jacket over the tee shirt. But it meant that there would be fewer clothes to take off, a little later.

I walked to the secret. It looked just like a large flagstone in the floor of a room now lacking a ceiling, and with walls only three-quarters tall. You could stand on the flagstone and nothing occurred. But I had discovered how to slide this flagstone too the side. As I did.

Ancient stone steps led down into the darkness. For all that I knew I was the only person to have walked down the steps in hundreds of years, ever since the castle had been reduced to a ruin during the English Civil War. I took out a powerful flashlight and turned it on. The beam lit up the stone steps. I descended down into the darkness.

The place was very damp, and I could hear water dripping in the darkness. But it seemed to be structurally safe. If it had been going to collapse it would have done so hundreds of years ago.

The stone steps went down a long way. I was soon deep underground. But the air was still good, or at least good enough to breathe without difficulty. The stone steps eventually ended in a passage. I walked along the passage to an ironbound oak door, still in one piece. The door was open, and beyond I could see the remains of an ancient dungeon, all of the torture devices lying in ruins.

I took off my backpack, and leant it against the wall outside of the dungeon. I took off my sensible boots, and my socks, and put them in the backpack. The stone flagstones of the passage were cold beneath my feet.

I took off the black leather jacket and stuffed it in the backpack. My nipples were already erect with the cold. Or was it with anticipation of what was to come? I didn’t know.

I took off the black tee shirt, and put it in the backpack. My heart was beating a little faster.

I slid down my tight jeans and stuffed them in the backpack. I wasn’t wearing any panties. I was now entirely naked, just outside an underground dungeon. Nobody knew that I was here.

I turned off the flashlight, and rested it on top of the clothes in my backpack, where I would be able to easily find it later. I was now in utter darkness.

I felt for the oaken door, finding a large, rusted iron ring on the inside. I stepped into the dungeon. With some difficulty I pulled the door closed. It closed with a clang. Despite there being nobody inside this castle, I heard bars being put on the door through which I had just come. I was here for the duration.

Almost as soon as the door had been barred, light came on in this dungeon. Burning torches, set in sconces on the wall, lit up this place of torture, their light flickering. The place had come to life.

The items of torture were no longer broken ruins on the stone floor. They now looked just as they had looked the day that they had been created. I saw the powerful wooden rack, on which I had already been broken in the past. I recalled the slow torture as my arms had been pulled out of their sockets, until the sinews had all been torn. No mercy had been shown that first time, and I had thought that I had been going to die. But I had woken up alive, and here I was, back again, and not my first return to this hidden, mystic place.

I gazed at the two holes of the breast guillotine, where my breasts had been held/ I had been unable to draw them through the holes. I had begged for mercy, but not one whit of mercy had been shown. The gleaming blade had been released, its great weight easily parting my double D tits from my body. Yet there they were, still attached to me.

My gaze then alighted on the whipping frame, to which I had been attached on my last visit to this remarkable place. I had been whipped on my back, and arse, until I had thought that I would die. But the torture had been too skilled for that. I had only died after her had whipped my front. My breasts had been ripped to shreds, the blood running in rivulets from them. And I had succumbed.

There was a new piece of equipment. Each time I came down here there was something new, another toy of torture with which to play. This time there was a wooden frame which would hold my limbs spread, allowing full access to all the secret areas of my body. Next to the wooden frame there was an iron brazier. The coals were glowing red, and I could see the handles of various devices thrust into those glowing coals. So, this time it would be death by branding iron. I was terrified of the pain to come, so terrified that my clit stood out in arousal. I would not be able to bear the pain. But that was the point.

Standing next to the brazier was the torturer. He stood a full six and a half feet tall, and his muscles had muscles. He wore black leather boots, and black leather breeches, of a sort which possessed a hole at the front. His big, hairy, round balls, and his massive cock had been pulled out through the hole. His cock was erect, and was at least ten inches long. It looked as thick as my wrist. I knew that, during the torture, he would rape my holes with that cock, for he had done so on each of my other visits before. And it would be a true rape, and not some enjoyable coupling. Well, it would be enjoyable for him.

His chest was bare, and was covered with sweat, no doubt from the heat of the brazier near which he stood. It glistened in the torchlight.

On his head he wore a full leather mask, so that I could not see his features, only his eyes glittering.

The torturer gestured towards the wooden frame. He always gestured. He never spoke. Perhaps that would have destroyed the spell. I walked over to the frame. I stood on tiptoe so that he could tie my wrists, my arms spread wide. He tied my wrists so securely that I could feel the blood being cut off from my hands. But what did it matter if my hands died if I was going to be tortured to death?

He tied my ankles next, to the corners of the frame, spreading my legs painfully wide. I was now utterly defenceless. I couldn’t have escaped from this bondage in a million years. Nor would I want to.

There was no slow preamble to this torture, no slapping me about or light whipping. It was on with the main event. My torturer walked over to the brazier and pulled something out. I could see a large, glowing skewer, which he held by a small, wooden handle.

“No, please.” I begged. I always begged, although it made no difference. Begging was part of this game, and there was fear that I would not be able to withstand the pain. The torturer ignored my pleas. He walked over to stand in front of me. I could feel the heat radiating off this cruel skewer, and it had not even touched my flawless skin as yet.

By now I was sweating as well, with my proximity to the brazier. The torturer held the skewer to my left breast, letting the very end touch my skin. I screamed in agony as I heard my skin sizzle. Then, slowly, as slowly as he could, he began forcing the skewer through my breast. I screamed again, as the metal cooked the inside of my breast, a passage of utter agony about which I could do absolutely nothing.

I saw the skin deform on the other side of my breast from where the skewer had entered. Then the still glowing end of the skewer forced the skin open. My breast was now transfixed by the glowing metal.

My silent torturer returned to the brazier. He removed a second skewer. No mercy. He forced it through my other breast. The pain was no less than the first one. I was begging him over and over. But not one jot of mercy was shown.

Over and over my torturer forced skewers into my breasts, until I knew that my large breasts had been totally ruined, by the thirty or so metal skewers transfixing them. Whenever I fainted from the pain he slapped me back to consciousness, not wanting me to miss one iota of this torment.

He only stopped when there was no more room for red hot skewers inside my ruined breasts. My torturer stood in front of me, and inserted the tip of his massive cock between my lower lips. I suspected that he would also transfix them with glowing metal, and that was why he was fucking me now.

He fucked me brutally, trying to deny me any pleasure. Yet my masochist tendencies were at their perverted height, and I couldn’t help getting turned on, as he thrust harder and harder into my cunt. But he came before I could cum myself. I was denied, at least for the moment.

Once he had had his pleasure he returned to the main business: the meeting of my flesh with red hot metal. He got out a poker (it looked like) and touched it, several times, inside my armpits. That was not the least bit sexy, not even for a masochist like myself. It just hurt, a hurt beyond pain.

He rolled the metal up and down my sides, until the metal was no longer glowing. Then he returned it to the coals.

He must have had small needles resting on the brazier, as he picked one of those up next. He started on my fingers, stretching a near dead finger out and forcing it up under the fingernails. With the blood cut off by the rope around my wrists the only things I could do were scream and suffer. I could not move my fingers at all.

He delighted with thrusting red hot needles under each fingernail. He was beginning to get aroused again by my tortured groans. He started on my feet, thrusting a needle under each toenail. I screamed and screamed and screamed.

By now he was rock hard again. He moved around behind me. I felt his cockhead touch my anus. I had no strength to resist. He raped my arsehole, taking pleasure in ripping me apart. He came a second time inside me.

Once he had cum he returned to the brazier. He pulled out an iron with a flat head. He laughed, as he stood in front of me. He touched it to my inner thighs, again and again, slowly working his way up towards my defenceless pussy. Finally he had branded a rout all of the way to wear my thighs reached my groin.

He burned my pussy mound, time and again, leaving little round marks. But he had not yet touched my labia or clit. He was saving those for near the end.

More short needles were produced. They were used on my labia, pinning my cuntlips to my thighs, so that my cunt was painfully open. More needles, carefully inserted, held my clit hood out of the way, so that it was utterly defenceless. It was erect, and red, and soon to feel the touch of red hot metal.

My torturer produced another iron from the coals. Its round head was the exact width of my clit. He touched it to my clit and held it there. I came and fainted.

But, of course, I was not allowed to seek solace in unconsciousness. I was slapped back to wakefulness.

“No more.” I begged. “No more.”

But, of course, there had to be more. My durance was not complete. That cruellest of irons was applied to what remained of my clit time and time again, until it was totally burned away. No more orgasms.

There was one final torture which had been saved for me. The torturer brought one final iron, glowing white, for it had been in the heart of the coals all night. Not counting its handle it was two feet long, and as thick as my torturer’s cock. There was only one place for it to go. Its glowing head was touched to my open cunt, and I screamed a final scream, as its full length was slowly thrust up into me, burning my insides, ruining my cunt. It was forced up until I expired, and darkness descended.

My eyes flickered open. I was naked and cold, lying on ancient stone flagstones. I felt around for my backpack. I found my flashlight on its top, just where I had left it. I put the flashlight on the floor, and quickly got dressed.

There was not a mark on me. I did not feel exhausted, or as though I had been tortured. Instead I felt more alive than I had ever been.

I could see that the door to the ancient dungeon was open. I could see the ruined torture equipment. But, this time, there were the rotting remains of the frame to which I had been attached, and the rusting remnants of a brazier.

As I walked back up the stone steps to the surface I wondered what piece of torture equipment would be waiting for me the next time that I came down.

The End