The Dungeons

Don't get excited now. This is not going to be a long description of bondage sex in some suburban basement. I am just scribbling something down that was in my head. It's not even a proper story, just a fragment.

I am back and have had a very relaxing Christmas break. It is still winter and it is still dark so I will have to wait for better days, though. Hope you have had a good Christmas. UK is experience the worst winter in 30 and maybe even a 100 years but where I live there hasn't been a single snowflake...until yesterday. Now we have a proper winter too.

Anyway, here it goes. I do get some very overly dramatic scenes in my head, sometimes, more fairytale like than anything (with some kink, of course...grins). And this is one of them. Be warned, it isn't a story, just a hint of a scene...sort of.

The castle sits perching on top of the cliff like a brooding creature from the ancient times. It casts its shadow over the surrounding country as if it is a giant bird of prey ready to strike at any moment.

Below the castle, deep in the bedrock, hidden from the world, never seeing daylight, are the tunnels, the deepest depths of the dark heart of the castle, the tunnels that are called the Dungeons in frightened whispers in the inns and taverns of the land.

At the heart of the Dungeons are the chambers, where the air is torn by the screams and cries of the unlucky inhabitants, those who are taken there for the pleasure of the Master of the Castle. Most have sinned according to His laws and could be said to deserve it but some are as innocent as the day they were born. The Master follows no laws other than his own. He does what he wants and woe betide those who catch his eye when he thinks his dungeon is becoming empty.

If the violent cries in the chambers tears the heart, the tunnels where the inhabitants are kept are deadly silent, freezing the blood in the veins. Here and there a torch casts its flickering light on the mute walls. The prisoners in the cells dare not speak, dare not whisper, they hardly dare breathe.

Along one of those tunnels come an odd pair, one looks tall beside the other who stoops and moves almost sideways, like some giant ape. They are clad in leather and boots and carry knives and whips in their belts. The taller one stops and listens for a while, his small eyes glimmering with the hope that one of his guests have uttered a sound, giving him a reason to punish. Not that he need a reason, but if there is a reason, he won't hesitate.

The stooping one snarls, turns his head this way and the other, sniffs the air and grunts. He is clad like the other but when the tall one is grim and ugly, this one seems to be born out of the rocks themselves, the result of an unlucky match between a troll and an ogre.

They continue down the tunnel and stop outside a door. The tall one peers into the darkness but sees nothing. He doesn't have to see. He knows who is locked up in that cell.

He takes a torch from the wall and unlocks the door. When the two guards enter the cell they hear the faintest gasp. The tall one holds out the torch and lets the light shine on the prisoner. The ogre like one licks his lips as the flickering light fall on the form of a girl standing by the wall.

She doesn't belong there, she is young, she is shapely and belongs in the sun, on the surface, among her peers, among humans, not among the worms of the earth. She has been left standing, her hands manacled and chained to the wall. She is dressed in a short flimsy dress that falls to her mid thighs. It is almost open in the front, barely covering her body.

She turns her head at the sight of the guards. The tall one, the one that is still slightly human, chuckles to himself. He loves this, this is what makes life in the tunnels worth living.

He turns to the apelike one and snaps his fingers. The ogre grins and begins to drool as he moves forward, towards the girl. She gasps and squirms and tries to move backwards, away from the monster, but behind her is only the solid wall.

He reaches out his claw like fingers and takes hold of her dress. To him the fabric is like cobweb and he tears it open, exposing the fair prisoner. As she holds her breath in terror, he tears away her dress, leaving her naked. He throws away the torn clothes and moves forward but a command from the other guards stops him just at the moment when his rough hands are about to make contact with her soft skin.

The two guards stand back, regarding the girl. She is at their mercy, chained to the wall, naked and helpless. They smile to each other.

That's it, folks. You have to fill in the rest, I am afraid.