Out of the Dungeon Read online

  Out of the Dungeon

  SM Johnson

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 SM Johnson

  Discover other titles by SM Johnson at Smashwords.com

  DeVante's Coven, My Fifteen Minutes

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Prologue

  It was one those mornings so clear and sweet that the perfection of being outside pierced my soul. The kind of morning that made me glad to be alive and part of the world. The breeze was fresh, the sun rising into a golden sky that promised a rich, warm afternoon.

  We started early on Friday so we could leave early and jump-start the weekend.

  Friday used to be my favorite day of the week and for a moment I could almost feel it, the sweet anticipation of freedom. But I was already dreading the many hurts and perceived slights I would suffer during the next three days. I dreaded the weekend so much that a terrifying thought lanced into me like a stab wound. I can't do this anymore.

  I winced when I couldn't get the thought out of my head. If I said it to myself, I would have to say it to Roman. Transparency, truth, and trust. Telling Roman would change my life in too many ways to count. A dozen years tumbling down, swirling into dust at our feet.

  I told myself it was just one of my dramatic flights of fancy, and could be stuffed back inside my heart. Hidden, the way one hides a lie.

  The truth hated the lie, and wanted to burst free, the way we fly out of the office on Friday afternoons. The truth wanted – no, begged – to explode, to spray everyone with the putrid green tinge of jealousy that colors my whole life.

  But the contract doesn't allow jealousy.

  And I don't know how to live without the contract.

  Chapter 1

  On Thursday night, Dare accompanied Roman and Jeff to a private dungeon party for the most elite and beautiful Dominants and their most cherished submissives. It was a party for beautiful people. The Doms and Dommes were in leather finery, subtle and strong, scary in the arrogant way that Dominants can be. The "darlings," as their hostess referred to the subs, were cherubs in angel wings and high heels.

  The costumes horrified Dare. The idea of being taken away and dressed in feather wings and heels was mortifying. But, as usual, a few words of reassurance from Roman had Dare trotting after a scary leather Domme who promised to make an angel of him.

  She pulled his shirt over his head and helped him shrug into elastic straps that held white feather wings on his back like a rucksack. Then she presented him with oversized white heels. "Finish undressing and put these on," she said, and left him to manage it.

  Dare undressed, tucking his briefs into a pocket of his pants before folding them. The woman had left his shirt on the floor, and he picked it up and folded it. He rolled his socks together and set the whole neat bundle against the wall.

  He looked at the shoes. Sighed. But then he jammed one foot into one shoe, then wobbled and almost fell trying to slide into the other one. He felt stupid. Another try, and it was done, and he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other trying to find his balance.

  The wicked Domme returned, holding a length of white satin ribbon with bells attached to each end. "How are the shoes?" she asked.

  "Weird," Dare said. He'd been dreading the whole evening, and now that it was here, he wasn't dreading it any less. He'd only agreed to come because Jeff was totally enthused about the whole thing, and there was a competitive part of Dare that always worked hard to measure up to Jeff.

  The woman draped the ribbon around the base of Dare's cock. "A present to Roman," she said.

  Dare wondered how ridiculous this was going to get, but the ribbon was smooth, and her hands stroked him with cool, quick movements, and his body had no trouble responding.

  She wound the ribbon until his cock was encased. She tied the ends together in a tight little knot at the top of his cock, then bade him to practice walking.

  The bells jingled with every step. It was the little humiliating things that killed Dare, made him wonder what the hell he was doing involved in such crazy shit. Little things that made him feel less enchanted with the whole scene.

  But. There were things Roman did purely to foster his presence in the community, events that were socially obligatory, like attendance currency. If Roman asked people to come to his dungeon parties, he was sometimes obliged to attend theirs, even if their brand of S&M was wildly different.

  This was definitely different. There was no dressing up in flouncy drag to amuse Roman in regular, daily life. And thank God for that. There were, of course, mundane daily chores, mostly carried out by Jeff, and tasks that were performed purely for Roman's comfort because he was the Master.

  Jeff cooked, paid the bills, and took care of the dry cleaning. Jeff kept track of Roman's schedule, and Dare's now, too, and he did it all with a quiet sense of contentment and a hard cock. Dare cleaned up after supper, and he might rub Roman's shoulders, or his feet, or polish his Master's boots. But mostly Dare was invited to spend the night when Roman wanted to play.

  Roman in leather was Roman in full Dominant mode, and Jeff and Dare would perform at Roman's cue for Roman's pleasure. Live pornography at its best. Dare preferred alone time with Roman, but had grown fond of Jeff during the past few months, and they were able to turn each other on, no problem.

  Dare usually got to top Jeff, which he much preferred. Jeff was about as campy and Nellie as a faggot could be, and found it sublime to offer his submission, even to Dare, out of love for Roman. That Roman paid attention, directed and controlled, was in itself a turn-on.

  Dare was still on the fence about the whole BDSM thing. He liked the idea that he was adventurous, that no one from his old life would ever understand or even want to understand what all this was about. Dare could never explain to anyone from his old life what happened to the inside of his head when he was paddled or spanked until he cried. That there came a point when he rose above the pain of it and floated away from everything negative about being human, hanging in a suspended animation in which the world and everyone and everything in it was perfect.

  The rest of it, the "lifestyle," as so many called it, was not very significant to Dare. He didn't need to hang out and talk about this stuff all the time, didn't need to live daily under the micromanagement of a Master. Dare could have lived the whole of his life without ever jamming his feet into white high-heels and having his cock entwined with ribbons and bells.
br />   "Swing your hips more," commanded the velvet-wrapped-steel voice of the wicked Domme.

  Dare sighed again and let his hips sway side-to-side in the exaggerated manner of a runway walker.

  When the wicked Domme felt Dare had practiced walking and jingling enough, she led him back into the room where the party was happening. Jeff was prancing and performing for the room, dark blue eyes flashing merrily, and bells jingling. The silly grin on his face was quite possibly a reflection of how much alcohol he'd already consumed.

  Dare stopped a foot over the threshold to observe. Jeff's shaved head was due for maintenance, because his hair had grown into soft brown velvet that felt good against Dare's skin.

  "How about the Limbo?" Jeff asked. "Can we find a broom and some music?"

  Dare groaned. Who does the limbo? Hadn't they all outgrown this kind of thing? But no, the hostess invited Jeff to investigate the stereo system and went off to find a broom.

  Dare tottered in his high heels over to Roman. "How long do we have to stay here? I hate this."

  Roman swatted at Dare's penis and made the bells jingle. "Nice duds," he said. "Love the wings. Maybe I should buy the outfit and set you up to dance on the bar."

  "Not funny, Roman. Leave the silliness to the younger boys. They like it."

  "They like the tips at least," Roman said, then winked. He offered his fresh drink to Dare. "Liquid courage."

  Dare accepted the drink and sucked it down fast. Funny how Jeff's shaved head was submissive, but Roman's just another part of his Dom persona. Like the leather vest, jeans, and black boots. Roman didn't allow his hair to grow into velvet, though sometimes Dare wondered if doing so would create a softer Roman. He laughed at himself. No. A soft man wouldn't suffer a tribal tattoo that started just under his jaw bone, climbed around his left ear, then stretched into a curve around his skull.

  Their hostess returned. "All right angels, let's get this party started!"

  "If I were you," Roman said, his hazel eyes gleaming almost gold, "I'd volunteer to hold the broom."

  Dare sighed, but Roman was right. Holding an end of the broom seemed like the least humiliating way to participate. The music came up loud, and it was some horrible Kei$ha-styled song, the kind of thing that Dare hated and Jeff loved.

  Dare approached the hostess and grabbed for the broom handle. He twisted off the part with the bristles to make it a limbo bar. He offered an end to the hostess, and she took it. Jeff came first, eyes flashing, hips swinging with the exaggeration provided by wearing heels. "I looooove the limbo," he said, as he arched his back and slipped beneath the broom handle.

  "Of course you do," Dare laughed, and let go of his grumpy mood as the rest of the angels arched and dipped in turn.

  When the bar was lowered to waist height, Roman came over and turned Dare so he was facing the hostess, who was holding the other end of the broom. Roman said, "Keep the broom handle at your waist and spread your legs wider each round to lower it.

  Dare did as Roman said, but his balance was awkward in high heels, and he swayed a bit. Roman's arms came around Dare from behind and grasped each nipple in a hard pinch. The pain shocked a noise out of Dare. Roman prolonged the pinch until Dare groaned. The limbo dancers were down to two, Jeff and a slave Dare didn't know the name of. One of Roman's hands wandered between Dare's legs and bumped his cock, making the bells chime. Dare squirmed.

  Roman's hand traced along Dare's hip, then his ass, and settled between Dare's legs, cradling his ball sac. Roman rubbed and pulled and pinched until Dare was so aroused he thought he would explode. The muscles of his spread thighs twitched.

  Jeff was watching, and he bumped the limbo bar on the next round, ending the game. The hostess declared the other angel the winner, and that was that.

  "All right angels, check in with your Masters and see if they need their drinks freshened."

  "Do you need your drink freshened?" Dare gasped, as Jeff , glassy-eyed, came and knelt at Roman's side.

  "I suppose I do, considering you finished mine." Roman snapped his fingers. "Jeff, get me a drink."

  "Yes, Sir," Jeff said.

  "Come home with us tonight," Roman said. "We'll have playtime."

  "Only if we can leave this party soon," Dare answered. The shoes hurt his feet and made his calf muscles clench, and even though Roman's hands aroused him, Dare still felt ridiculous.

  "One more drink," Roman assured Dare.

  Jeff returned with drinks for all. Roman sat down on a parlor chair and bade Dare and Jeff to sit at his feet.

  "Should we stop at the dungeon, or play at home?" Roman asked.

  "Home," Jeff and Dare both said, in unison.

  It took a little while for Roman to make the rounds, but it was a week night, and no one was expected to stay late. Eventually, though not nearly soon enough for Dare, they were allowed to turn in their costumes and get dressed.

  In the cab on the way home, Roman said, "I like the accessibility the angel costumes provide, but I'm not sure I care for the heels."

  Dare burst out laughing. "And you say that, even though you didn't have to wear them."

  "I love dressing up," Jeff said. "Have you seen her slaves in their devil outfits? Ooh, hot." He licked his finger and held it up in the air, making a sizzling noise.

  "Dildo tails?" Dare asked.

  "Of course. Bells jingle, tails wiggle."

  Dare groaned at the thought. "I guess I should be glad it was an angel party then."

  "Speaking of dildo tails," Roman said. "I found your jewel in the cabinet, Dare. Which means you aren't wearing it."

  Dare squirmed a little bit. Roman's micromanagement was annoying. Roman wanted him to wear the anal jewel all the time, a reminder of belonging even when they weren't together or engaging in sex play. And it wasn't that Dare didn't like it, or that wearing it wasn't a total turn on, because it was, but when Dare wasn't with Roman, he didn't want to be turned on, he wanted to relax.

  The jewel was just a round, red, glittery jewel, flat, in a stainless setting. It was attached to a thin stem, and the stem was attached to a heavy stainless steel egg. The egg went inside and the jewel stayed outside. In slave terms, it was considered very dressy. Wearing it kept Dare in a low, pervasive state of arousal, the state he was always in when he was around Roman.

  Dare didn't need or want the Roman part of his life to invade all of his life. He was okay with keeping things compartmentalized. When he was interviewing for the kind of corporate job that required nice, country club manners, and a well-fitted suit, he didn't want to find himself thinking, Oh my God, I'm wearing a jewel that's attached to an egg that's up my ass.

  It amused some people to bring elements of their alternative sexual lifestyle into the vanilla world. But not Dare. He fit the straight-laced presentation to a T, and didn't mind that the way he looked allowed people to make a certain set of conservative assumptions.

  "I had job interviews," Dare said. "I didn't need the distraction."

  "Then you should have asked permission. I'm not unreasonable or purposefully cruel. If you're going to be noncompliant, then we're due for a discussion about what you want from me." Roman looked from Dare to Jeff, then back to Dare. "Last week, you both assured me that all of this is working fine. Here, let me quote. Jeff said, 'I don't have anything that needs discussing.' Dare, you said, 'It's all good.' And yet you've been defying the protocol I gave you. If something's not working, then our Sunday check-in is the time to fix it."

  "Sorry," Dare said.

  "Oh, there will be punishment," Roman said. "And I expect you to follow protocol until we discuss the matter on Sunday. I know you think I'm micromanaging and there's no real purpose to you wearing it except that I'm being a controlling bastard."

  Dare looked out the side window so he didn't have to look at Roman.

  Roman's warm chuckle filled the back seat in a way that said I know you better than you know yourself. His voice said, "You don't know anything, Dare, so give me some le
eway. Not that I don't want you thinking of me every moment of every day, because of course I do, but the jewel provides an element of anal training."

  Dare nodded. He hadn't considered that. He felt his face reddening as Roman talked. The practical things that were done for comfort and health were embarrassing to talk about. He liked when things just sort of happened, like they weren't prepared for in advance. The parts of their sex life that were calculated made him uncomfortable.

  At the beginning it seemed like there was a natural progression: Sit here. Now sit here in bondage. Now sit here naked in bondage. Now sit naked in bondage on this butt plug, don't worry, it's small.

  Roman pushed Dare into things fast, without allowing him to over-think them, and there was a feeling of spontaneity and natural order.

  Roman talking out loud about anal training made Dare want to run. Maybe not all the way back to his old life, but at least to a place where he could find middle ground.

  Oh well, Dare thought, he could ignore his growing feeling of malcontent until Sunday. "Yes, sir," he said. "I understand," and braved a look at Roman.

  Roman smiled. "Good."

  Chapter 2

  Jeff must have had too much vodka, because he was really drunk when they arrived home. He begged out of sex play with the reminder that he had to work early in the morning, and asked to be allowed to go straight to bed. Roman let him go, with a warning. "Tomorrow we'll talk about how it's not okay to drink yourself out of service."

  Dare was naked and alone with Roman, which he feared and craved at the same time. Feared because he knew he could expect his punishment to push limits, and stretch his mind as well as his body.

  Craved because Dare could lose himself more easily in whatever Roman wanted him to experience without Jeff's resentment crawling around the edges of everything.

  And losing himself was the whole point.

  Roman went to the tool chest, and held up an object of the sort Dare hadn't seen before. It was a curved plastic wand, about a foot long, with molded round balls every inch or so. The narrow end had a very small ball, but they increased in size every inch along the thing, and the last one, just before the looped handle, probably had a two-inch circumference.