by Nikki Chase
But the domed ceilings, the layout of the room, as well as the chandeliers overhead definitely remind me of something.
“How…?” I ask loudly, trying to be heard over the loud music and the crowd. I look up at James, my mouth hanging open in surprise.
The prince just winks at me and smiles, obviously pleased with my reaction.
I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before, but the main hall in The Dungeon must’ve been modeled after the ballroom in Ardglass Palace.
Maybe I was too distracted to pay attention to the décor the first time I came here. There’s always so much going on in this place.
On stage, a woman wearing only a black bra and a pair of black lacy panties stands on her tippy toes as a pair of clamps hang down from the ceiling and pull her up by the nipples. She looks uncomfortable, but she just stands there obediently—not that she could protest if she wanted to, with that red ball gag in her mouth.
Behind that woman, three other Submissives are pressed right up against the back wall on stage. They’re held in place by thick, metal rings that have been screwed into the wall. The silver rings restrain each woman by her neck, her wrists, and her spread ankles.
Even though they’re not gagged, the three women at the back are all wearing nipple clamps and holding the chains between the clamps in their mouths. I imagine they’d be punished if they drop those chains.
All four women are blindfolded, so they can’t see the big, burly man joining them on stage.
They can hear his taunts, though, as well as the whoosh of his whip as it slices through the air. All the women flinch, although when the whip cracks, it only lands on the woman at the front, the one standing on her toes. She cries out as a thin, red mark appears on her creamy skin.
I watch, mesmerized, as the man grabs her by the neck from behind and puts his hand between her legs. His fingers dance while he whispers something in her ear.
I wonder if she knows the whole club is watching her make unintelligible sounds against her ball gag, obviously getting more and more aroused by the second. I wonder if she enjoys the attention.
When she finally comes, her whole body shakes and the whole club goes wild, clapping and shouting. There’s no way she doesn’t know she has an audience now.
“Let’s go,” the prince says.
I’m wearing a black babydoll lingerie set, which James bought for me at the store inside this club. He told me to pick whatever I wanted, and he seemed amused that I went with a relatively tame number, with an opaque fabric and a hem that goes all the way down to my mid-thighs. The lingerie has pretty yellow lace trimmings along the hemline and the shoulder straps.
I thought this outfit was going to help me blend in with the other club-goers, but it only makes me feel more self-conscious. It makes me feel like people can tell I’m a newbie who doesn’t really belong here.
A leash hangs loosely between us as we make our way past the crowd and into a dark hallway. The prince has bought me a pretty silver collar with laser engravings of roses on it. There’s a loop for a leash hook at the front, which connects my neck to the leather handle in the prince’s hand.
As we pass door after door, it becomes apparent to me that these are the private rooms. I can tell by the sounds people make behind the doors.
Most of the doors are closed, and the open ones are usually empty. But as we get nearer to one particular open door, I hear a woman’s moans inside.
When I peek through the open door, I’m surprised to see a woman being gang-banged by three men at the same time. She’s straddling one man, who’s lying down underneath her, while another man fucks her from behind.
The last man holds her head up by the hair and says, “That’s right, slut, take it.” Then he stands upright and jams his cock into her mouth.
“Some Doms like to share,” James says when he notices me falling behind.
I scurry down the dark hallway, the sounds of my high-heel pumps muffled by the loud music. The prince pushes a door open and grabs my waist, directing me inside.
“Do you?” I ask at the doorway.
“No, what's mine is mine,” he says as he pulls my hair and stares down into my eyes. A smirk plays on his lips, and he lets me go.
I regain my balance and continue standing there as a thrill runs down my spine. He treats me like his possession, and it only makes me yearn for him to claim me.
“Weren’t you about to get inside the room, Rosemary?” James asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Uh… Yeah. I mean, yes, Sir.” I stumble all over my words. The prince has just ruined my composure, and he knows it. And he likes it.
The room I’ve just stepped into was built by an evil genius of an artist. There are metal and leather contraptions all over the place. Tools that look like instruments of torture from the Middle Ages hang on the wall—crops, floggers, and paddles of all sizes.
My heart hammers in my chest when the door clicks shut behind me.
Hey, wait a minute.
It’s quiet here. Quiet enough for me to hear the door shut, even though the music was still thumping when we were in the hallway. This private room is sound-proofed.
Suddenly, the silence scares me more than all the other things in this room. The absence of distracting sounds means the prince will have his attention on me. As if I don’t already feel terrifyingly vulnerable around him.
Despite our passionate sexual trysts, the prince has not given me any commitment. He has not made me any promises.
That means that whatever we have is only sexual. And after the thirtieth day, we’ll be going our separate ways. I desperately want to go home, so that should be a good thing… right?
But the more I time I spend with the prince, the harder it becomes for me to separate my body from my heart. Every time I submit my body to him, I’m overcome by the urge to surrender my very self, mind and soul, to him. But I can’t do that if we have an expiry date.
Funny, when I first got to the palace, thirty days seemed like a long time.
Now, I’d give anything to spend more time by Prince James’ side. Well… almost anything. I can’t leave my family behind for him, especially not my father.
“Let’s get your punishment out of the way first, shall we?” James says as the sound of his ominous footfalls fill the room. He stops by a strange metal thing on the floor and motions for me to approach.
“Yes, Sir.”
Bolted down to the floor is a flat, shiny length of metal with four loops in it, the shape of inverted U’s.
What is that thing?
It doesn’t look as menacing as other things in this room. It’s not big or sharp, but something tells me it’s dangerous.
“Strip,” he orders.
I take off my new lingerie and my panties, letting them fall to the floor. What’s the point of buying me a new outfit if he wants me to take it off right away?
I don’t question his order, though. I know that would be a mistake.
I stand before the prince, wearing only my high-heel pumps and the collar around my neck.
“Get on your hands and knees,” James orders as he crouches by the metal thing. His blue eyes roam all over my body. It’s unmistakable—he wants to take me right now, but he’s holding back. He knows it’s only going to be better if he takes it slow.
I get into position and he pulls me back by the ankle until my feet touches the cold, hard metal, making me gasp in surprise.
I look behind me. The prince has lifted up one of the four parts of the metal thing that is shaped like an inverted U. Then, he pulls it back down over my ankle and locks it in place.
Oh my god, it’s a set of shackles! It’s designed to keep me bolted down to the floor, like a piece of furniture for him to use.
As the prince restrains my limbs one by one, I feel more and more helpless.
I find myself in a version of the doggy position—which is already a pretty submissive position to begin with—and my ankles are shackled down, along with
my wrists between them.
My ass is pushed up into the air because of how my limbs are positioned, and my cheek is on the carpet.
I’m completely vulnerable.
And unbelievably aroused.
What is wrong with me, that being helpless and dominated turns me on so much? I’ve always believed in equality between men and women, and it kind of bothers me that I have this deep craving to be objectified.
But I can’t deny the longing inside me, or the pulsing of the muscles in my pussy.
I want to submit.
I need to.
“You know, the ballroom was one of my mother’s favorite places in the palace,” Prince James says as he gets up on his feet.
With my ear pressed against floor, I can hear his every step through the fibers of the carpet.
“She used to have dances in the ballroom,” he says, “and it just seems like a waste to have it sit empty and desolate all the time.”
I strain my neck to look up at the prince as his Italian shoes stop inches away from my face. From where I am on the floor, I can’t see his expression clearly—only a vague blur of where his head is.
“So I built a replica and make it a place where people can party. Only I put my own twist into it,” he says.
“You own The Dungeon?” I ask, surprised by the revelation.
“That’s right.” The prince’s voice sounds closer as he bends his knees and crouches beside me. “Just like I own you.”
“Does anyone know? Anyone in the club?”
“The management team does, but to everyone else I’m just part of the crowd,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because people put on fake personas when they’re in the presence of royalty, and I’m only interested in what’s real.” James strokes my hair and says, “Now, my little rebel, remember this morning when you wore panties under your dress?”
“Yes, Sir,” I say, knowing the time for chit-chat is over.
“You know you weren’t supposed to.”
“I thought, since we’re here in Malvern…”
“You thought my rules don’t apply just because we’re somewhere else, Rosemary?”
I pause to consider the question.
I guess that’s right, but that’s also not quite how I’d put it. It’s just that there were so many people around us, and I…
“Your rules apply everywhere, Sir,” I answer softly. There’s nothing I can say to escape this punishment. I know I broke the rule this morning.
“I think I’ll use something new tonight,” he says as he gets up.
Prince James approaches the wall behind me, where the the whips hang. He picks a thin black stick about the thickness of my finger and about two feet long. At the end of it, there’s a rectangular piece of leather.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks, as he swings the thing in the air, making sharp swooshing sounds.
“No, Sir,” I say. My voice is shaking, I realize.
“It’s a riding crop. It’s what people use on horses when they’re bad, just like you were this morning.”
I’m wearing a collar like a dog, I’m shackled to the floor like a table on a cruise ship, and I’m about to be punished with a crop like a horse.
This should feel demeaning—and it does. But it’s also deeply erotic.
The prince holds all the power in this room.
I’ve given him free reign of my body. He can do what he wants with me, and the way he’s pushing the boundaries of what I think I can endure is intoxicating.
The more pain and humiliation he puts me through, the more apparent it is that he truly owns me.
James drags the flimsy leather bit at the end of the crop along my bare back, following the curve of my spine. I can’t help but shudder. My whole body tenses up in anticipation of the pain.
“Ready for your punishment, sweetheart?” the prince asks as he crouches behind me.
“Yes, Sir,” I say softly. My heart hammers in my chest as I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself.
The riding crop makes no sound as it travels through the air, which only makes it more of a shock when it lands on my ass with a thud. I let out a loud cry, which reminds me that nobody else can hear me, other than James.
The crop hits me two more times before the prince puts it aside. My skin starts to sting. I don’t have to see it to know that it’s turning red. At the same time, I also feel myself getting wet.
“That looks beautiful,” James says as his fingers trace the marks that I’m sure are left on my ass. His hand feels hot against my skin—a little painful and a little pleasant.
I hear his pants being unzipped behind me, and I know he’s about to fuck me.
The same way the crop has gotten my pussy drenched, it has probably also made the prince hard as stone.
I love the pain as much as he loves inflicting it.
When he presses his cock against my stinging ass, I gasp, both from the pain of his warm body rubbing against my stinging, sensitive skin, and from desire.
Prince James lays his body on top of me, pressing his chest against my back. His hot, hard cock grazes against my pussy, making me whimper. The prince puts his hands on the floor to support himself, one palm landing right in front of my eyes.
I inch my head toward James’ hand. I want to be so close to him that he’s inside me. But since the only part of my body I can move is my head, this is all I can do. I rub my cheek against his fingers and kiss his hand.
“You need it, don’t you?” James asks as he places his palm closer and sticks a thumb into my mouth.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, my voice slightly muffled by his digit in my mouth. I lick and suck the finger like it’s a cock.
“Do you want it in your pussy or your mouth, sweetheart?” he asks.
“Anywhere, Sir. My body is yours.”
“Good girl. That’s the only correct answer.”
Prince James pulls his finger out of my mouth and gets into a kneeling position behind me. I’m so soaked that he slips inside without any resistance. He rolls the leash around his hand so my head is pulled back.
This is kind of uncomfortable. But just like that Submissive on stage, I know this is not about my comfort, or even my pleasure.
As a Submissive, I derive pleasure from being desired and used by my Dominant. I understand that now.
All that matters is his pleasure.
As James plunges in and out of me, my pussy makes obscene wet sounds that leaves no doubt as to how desperately I want the prince.
I pay no attention to these sounds, even though they used to mortify me. To think I was a virgin not too long ago.
James grabs my hips and drives his rock-hard cock inside me, again and again, fucking me fast and hard, pushing me back and forth on the floor. The carpet rubs against my sensitive nipples, sending another dose of pleasure straight to my pussy.
I start to shake, even as he continues to pummel into me, my muscles contracting and relaxing rhythmically. When the prince finally erupts inside me, it sends me over the edge.
I don’t know if this is right or wrong. All I know is I can’t not do this. I can’t say no to Prince James.
Maybe leaving him will break my heart. But I’m already in way too deep.
Even if we take sex out of the equation now, is that going to improve anything? Probably not. The Pandora’s Box is open now, and I can’t close it again.
There’s nothing I can do. I’ll just have to make the best of my remaining days with Prince James.
James
Fucking leeches!
Gossip journalists and the paparazzi. The maggots of society.
Know what’s amazing about today’s technology? Anybody can call themselves a journalist or a photographer. Anybody with a smartphone and Internet access.
That’s great, right? Now anyone can tell the world anything. Even the most ordinary cat can become a celebrity without ever leaving the house.
Sometimes, though, technology
fucking turns everything to shit.
I thought I was being careful, coming to The Dungeon on another Masquerade Night.
It was already fucked up that I couldn’t go to my own club whenever I wanted. Now it seems I can’t even go at all.
I glance again at the gossip tabloid that I’ve just thrown across the room, lying on the floor with some of its glossy pages bent.
On the cover are two familiar figures: me and Rosemary.
We’re both wearing masks, of course, just like everyone else at the club.
Normally, when I visit the club, nobody pays me any attention. After all, I could be anybody. Maybe I’m just someone with a similar build to the crown prince.
But I forgot my black bowler hat last night. I thought it was going to be fine, because the hat had always made me stand out anyway. And we only spent a few minutes in the common areas last night, opting to stay in the private room for most of our time in the club.
Without the hat, as the pictures show, it’s easier to recognize me. My hair, my profile, and the shape of my face are all visible.
And I’m caught in the act of buying lingerie and a collar for a woman. In a BDSM club.
In short, exactly what I’m not supposed to do.
God damn it, after the previous scandal, I should’ve known better than to indulge in public. I have no one to blame but myself.
The editors of this particular tabloid have been nice enough to cover our (already masked) eyes with rectangular black bars. However, the headline, in big yellow letters, also says, “CROWN PRINCE BEHAVING BADLY: A NEW VICTIM?”
Fucking judgmental pieces of shit!
These people don’t even know me, and they’re sitting there, up on their high horses, judging me.
It’s highly hypocritical, because these people must’ve done some things that are not perfectly nice and conventional.
Perfect example? Whoever took our pictures must’ve been in the same club I was in.
I could tell the press it wasn’t me, of course. This is easy enough to deny.
It’s even easier for Rosemary to go unnoticed. As long as her father keeps my presence here a secret, nobody should be able to say, with confidence, that it’s her in those pictures.