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.

Scenes and Settings, part 3

I thought I should continue my blogging about scenes and settings. We tend to be quite similar when it comes to that, don't you think? Often when I write of some setting I find particularly interesting I find that I share it with others. Maybe it all follows a pattern and we all think we are unique while we are just parts of something bigger.

Or maybe there are something general in those scenes that speak to our minds. Like there are historical or at least possible scenes that evoke something within us that is easily transformed into fantasies. The slave market is an obvious choice, it is degrading and speaks to our sense of unfairness. In a world that publicly shuns objectification of women, especially as sexual beings (here is the hypocrisy, though, never before has the world been so full of exposed female bodies, that are there for the pleasure of the viewer), the fantasy about a time and a place when a woman was an object you could buy and sell seems alluring, maybe because it provokes our good taste. Perhaps it is because it is about the public display of bodies, the objectification of women that makes us go there, that makes it forbidden and exciting.

I know that some out there likes to turn it around, to have a man be the focus of attention. I know this. But this is my blog so I simplify it a bit. For me there is always a woman being sold or whipped or whatever she is subjected to.

Another of those scenes that lends itself well to fantasies is the public punishment of criminals. There is a plethora of scenes and settings that fascinates us. Is it because someone is exposed to public shame and agony we like it? A real public punishment was surely a gruesome event but in our mind we take away from it some of the forbidden fascination and transform it into a fantasy.

I bet there were more men who were publicly whipped than women but in fantasy land it is often a woman who is there, tied to some whipping post being treated with a whip. In fantasy land she has no right to retain any decency. No she is brutally stripped naked, so it becomes a scene with one person stripped and exposed in front of the many and subjected to a cruel punishment.

We take something that has some roots in reality and transform it into a scene from fantasy. The shame is accentuated by being naked, the excruciating pain becomes passion and arousal.

A very typical scene, at least in my mind, is the public square, in some medieval town. There is a scaffold with a whipping post. There is a crowd, hungry for the spectacle to come. There is a man, in mask. A strong man, muscles shining in the sun, boots, a broad leather belt and a vicious whip in his hand. He is the Man. He becomes the symbol of male power, the ruthless lover, the one who takes but gives nothing back.

There are also other men, grim and old; the magistrate, the judges, the ones who judge and decide on the punishment. They are not attractive. They are cruel and ugly and cold. They are there to see that the punishment is carried out according to the law. They are the men who have the power.

Then there is the woman, the heroine, the criminal, the one deserving the punishment. She is helpless and vulnerable and have no means of protection, even the law wants to see her suffer. The crowd wants to see her suffer, the judges want to see her suffer.

On my medieval square she is stripped naked, her flimsy dress is ripped from her body and she is tied to the pole. The Man, the masked man with the whip steps forward and the crowd falls silent.

This was not supposed to be about what happens. It was about the setting, the scene. You have to do what you like with this. I am done describing it now. Maybe I return someday to write a story.

What about mutuality, that thing we really need to have for it not to become really cruel. I think this woman, in her heart, really fancies the Man with the whip, and somewhere deep inside she gets a thrill from having her clothes ripped off and whipped senseless. As I said, the pain transforms to passion in fantasy land, passion and arousal, and maybe more.

Scenes and Settings, part 2

Before I go into that I will have to tell you that I am moving flat and since moving a landline with associated broadband connection is something immensely complicated in UK I will be cut off from the Web for some time. How long I don't know.

Anyway, this is part 2 and part 1 was the post before this; Back to Basics. Anyway, I am going to be a little predictable and tell you about another favourite setting for fantasies and naughty thoughts. The one I am going to talk about is the slave market.

I know, you have all been there, either as onlookers, buyers or merchandise. My slave market is almost always set in a very hot country, vaguely Middle Eastern. There is a desert and a town with a bazaar and all that.

To this town I arrive in the company of some man (or men) in a burnous. All the details are not set but I may be wearing something similar or perhaps just a cloak swept around me. I walk on bare feet. That is one of those things that work in fantasies but is not so nice in the real world. Sand can be very hot. I have an iron collar around my neck. Of course, I am the merchandise.

It is a chilly morning but I know it will be a hot day. If you have ever been to a Mediterranean country you know what I am talking about. There is a certain smell in the air. You know it is going to be immensely hot but it is still a bit cold.

We are early and the square where the market is being held is almost empty. Not only slaves are sold here. Some early risers set up shop, some spread their wares on rugs on the ground while others have tables. The man and I are walking towards the part where slaves are displayed. Along one side of the square a set of sturdy poles are set in the ground. There you can bind your slave and display her to prospective buyers.

When we arrive I have to take the cloak off and, of course, I am naked underneath it. I shiver in the chilly morning but the man takes no notice. He doesn't have to tie me to the pole. Instead I have to stand beside it and display myself for the buyers.

The day becomes hotter and the square fills up with people. The market is underway. There is a lot of posing and having to stand in certain ways and even kneeling. And some of the buyers want to examine the merchandise. There is prodding and groping and squeezing and touching. Some of them can be quite intimate in their examinations.

There is a certain shame in that, being touched and groped by strangers who don't even have to buy you. I am only a naked slave and can do nothing but display myself.

Eventually someone comes along and buys me. But that is, really, another fantasy.

Then there is the classical slave auction. Here I find myself standing on a dais or similar and there is a many headed crowd of people in front of me, looking at me, bidding for me, or just looking. They are safe in the crowd, clad and free and can enjoy the spectacle. I am not. I am naked and exposed and seen by everyone.

But there is a certain pride in this, strangely enough. Of course I am very beautiful and of course the bids are high. I will sell for a high price. Not that it benefits me but I have the pride of being valuable.

This is part of the sense of being a slave and being sold, that you are not going to gain anything from it. Someone has taken you and will get the money. This is very unfair but such is life for a poor slave.

Back to Basics

That is what I want with this blog, to return to what it is about. This blog is about fantasies and mostly about my fantasies. I like it to be a meeting place for people with minds full of exciting fantasies but I started it and I will write about my fantasies. There is no contradiction in this.

I was thinking about my fantasies and especially settings. I am a little inspired by a blog entry at Wystan's blog, where he wrote about his favourite settings.

I too have favourite settings although they are not as important to me as they once were. I thought that I would just mention some of them and how they fit in, in the overall chaos of my fantasy life.

There seems always to be a mansion, a manor house or something of the kind. This is a place for well mannered and self indulgent older men with a rich social life. I often enter these scenes as a woman, considerably younger than this man, who sees him as someone worthy of bowing too. I am not always sure how I ended up in his house but I am always in awe of his power.

The action in those scenes often takes place in the library. I do love libraries. There is elegance and style in the setting and this room is always a lovely room. There are velvet hangings and dark colours overall. There is always a nice Persian rug and a fireplace with a nice fire burning.

In this setting the lord of the manor decides to show off his power over me and this always means kneeling, baring the body and some serious whipping with a horsewhip or something similar. This is not the place for a cosy smacking of bottom in the lap of an understanding and loving man. No this is the place for some rather harsh treatment.

There is always a kind of ritual that includes undressing in stages, preparing the scene and the fetching of instrument used for whipping. It is all formal, all held back and there is often an audience, elegantly dressed and fascinated but polite.

All what happens within you, when you go through this ritual, is hidden or almost hidden. There is the baring of the body, allowing the onlookers to see all your reactions. The slightest movement in the body is there to be seen.

There is a certain cruelty present, in that your Master, the lord of the manor, explains why and how you are going to be punished and that he is very clear about how to maximise your suffering, talking about how the baring of your body is to make you feel humiliated and make the whip bite harder. He may even whip a cushion in front of your eyes to make you think about how it will be when your naked skin is the target.

There is no calling names, no 'young lady, you have been naughty' or that sort of thing. No it is all very calm and collected and although you have to strip naked and kneel to be whipped there is a certain kind of dignity to it.

There is the dreaded arousal, of course, the one you don't want, the one you don't need. And since you are naked it will all show. They will know. They will not comment but they will know.

Afterwards no one abuses you but they are all very happy having witnessed your whipping and they want to look at your body and are quite pleased to see the marks. They may congratulate your Master for a well performed whipping. There is no hostility towards you but there is neither any sympathy.

Oh, I get carried away. Maybe I will do this into a series of entries.

There is another location at the manor that is of interest. It is the stable. Your lord and master may have ordered you to go to the rough men in the stable to receive a punishment.

You do feel very small and very humiliated having to endure such a disgrace. Those men are rough and only too eager to humiliate you. They know exactly what to do and there are no rituals here. No, you have to strip off at their command and hurry with it. You may be tied to pillar or maybe lean over some bales or crates. And the whipping will be severe.

They will not spare you. They are brutes and they know how to use a whip. These men may take the opportunity to fondle you and grope you a little so you have to endure their rough hands on your exposed body. They won't have you, the Master won't allow it but they may touch and they may talk about you.

This is just a start. There are more scenes. This is the problem with me, I get carried away.