One Night in a Dungeon

by Shay Savage

  “Yes, you do.” I lean forward a little and almost reach out, but I feel like it might be too soon. “I may not be a psych major, but I know something happened to you—something big. If we’re going to do this, I want to know what it was.”

  Chapter 3—Rocco

  “All right,” Casey says, “we’re here.”

  I don’t look up. I know where I am before Casey walks around her beat-up Mazda and opens the passenger door. I turn to place my feet on the asphalt and stand facing the doors to Power Exchange.

  The building is large and nondescript. No sign advertises what goes on inside, and people who attend are discreet outside its doors. Once inside, we’re both waved in quickly. As regulars, we don’t have to go through the check-in and waiver process of the newcomers. Casey responds when the door monitor asks her a question, but I don’t engage. I’m not one to be social, so I don’t look around to see who is here that I know. I don’t smile and wave at anyone as we head up the stairs.

  Casey stops as we reach the landing and sticks her hand into a box full of paper wristbands. She pulls out a red one and tells me to hold out my wrist.

  I’ve never worn a wristband before, but I know what each one means. Green means submissive and available to play with others. Blue is for dominant and available. If someone is open for either, they’ll wear both colors at the same time. Orange is for dominants that aren’t taking on new subs, and red is for a sub who has been claimed.

  “You all right with this?” she asks as she wraps the paper around my wrist and secures it with the sticky end.

  I place my fingertips under the edge of the band and twirl it around my wrist. It feels strange—not bad, but different. That’s what confuses me. Different usually feels bad.

  Cree has often worn a blue wristband, but it never even occurred to me to put one on. I was never looking for someone. Power Exchange was just a place Cree had the space he needed to tie me in private. My place wasn’t big enough, and Cree had roommates. This place just made sense.

  I glance at Casey as she wraps an orange band around her own wrist. The bright color is in sharp contrast to the all-black ensemble she’s wearing. Although I've seen Casey look out of place with her outfits on campus, her shiny black corset shirt, laced up the front instead of the back, tight miniskirt, and fishnet stockings fit in perfectly with the attire of other dungeon-dwellers.

  Watching her makes my skin warm enough that I look down at my arms to see if they’re turning red. They aren’t, but they feel like it. I don’t know why. My attention goes back to the strip of paper secured to my arm, and I run my fingers over it again. I don’t even realize Casey is talking to me until I hear her call my name sharply.

  “I asked if the wristband was okay with you.”

  I nod.

  “Speak up,” she says, her tone commanding me to look at her face. She narrows her eyes at me. “It’s dark in here, the music gets loud, and I want to know for sure what your answer is.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. She’s right about the music. I can feel the bass thumping in my feet, and we’re not even in the main room yet.

  “Good. I don’t want anyone else to think that just because you’re not with Cree, you’re fair game.”

  I’m not completely sure what that means.

  Casey leads me to the back of the dungeon, past other couples, thruples, and groups in the process of setting up scenes. We pass a woman lying face down on a table. She’s naked except for large, noise-cancelling headphones and a blindfold. Next to her is a box riddled with holes. Inside each hole is a wooden rod. On top of the rods are a bunch of rubber or silicone objects in various shapes. I see a ball, a star, and something that looks like a cubed-shaped chunk of swiss cheese. The display reminds me of the box full of Tootsie Pops at the end of the counter at the bagel shop. Several people stand around the woman, select one of the rods, and strike her body with whatever is on top of it. The objects light up, sending multicolored flashes of light all around.

  At the back of the main dungeon room stand a few moveable walls to add privacy for those who want it. Casey leads me behind one of the walls to a section I’ve been to before with Cree. A mat covers the floor, and a hard point hangs from the ceiling with a large loop attached to it. A few cushions lie in a pile near the privacy wall.

  I stand at the edge of the mat, staring down as I watch Casey in my peripheral vision. She pulls out piles of rope and places them strategically on the mat along with some carabiners and a pair of scissors. She removes her shoes and puts them next to her empty rope bag.

  “Ready to get started?”

  I stare at the rope, already thinking about what it will feel like when it’s wrapped around me. My fingers are tingling as my anxiety builds. I don’t usually feel this way before Cree starts to tie. In my head, I keep hearing Casey say that this is all about sex for her, and for the first time, I start to pay attention to what else is happening in the dungeon.

  Behind me, I can hear the steady thud of a flogger and corresponding moans. At the top of the privacy wall, I can still see flashes of colorful light, accompanied by laughter. Electronic music barely covers the buzzing of vibrators and the crack of whips.

  Casey reaches out and grabs my chin, pulling my attention back to her. She stands right up against me and looks up at my face. Her grip is strong. It doesn’t hurt, but it would take a little effort to turn my head. I don’t try. I can’t even move. All I can do is stare back into her eyes.

  “You are going to learn to listen when I speak to you,” she says. “I’ll go easy on you for a while, but if you want to have as much time in rope as you say you do, I expect you to fucking pay attention to me when I’m talking. You understand?”

  I blink. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I wait for the panic to take over, but it doesn’t come. Right about now, I expect to want to turn and run, but instead, I find I don’t want to.

  “I asked you a question, Rocco. Do you understand what I said?”

  I nod as best I can, but she still glares at me.

  “Yes,” I say quietly.

  “Good boy.” Her eyes soften as she leans toward me, then scowls. Placing a hand on my shoulder, she pushes me down until I’m kneeling on the mat in front of her, and she’s looking down at me. “That’s better. Now stay still.”

  Casey places her hand on the top of my head, then runs her fingers down my cheek. She caresses the place where her fingers gripped my chin a moment ago, lightly grazing my skin with her fingernails. Moving her hand to my shoulder, she walks around me slowly until she’s standing at my back. I stare down at the floor in front of me as I feel her tugging at the end of my braided hair until it loosens. She unwinds the braid completely and then comes around to stand in front of me again.

  With both hands, she holds my head for a moment, then combs her fingers through my hair, spreading it across my shoulders. She takes a strand and twists it around one finger, gently placing it against my neck before tilting her head and looking into my eyes again.

  “You just never think of yourself that way, do you?” Casey shakes her head slowly. She leans in, placing her lips right up against my ear. “You’re fucking hot, Rocco. That hair just makes me want to grab it in my fists and ride you until the sun comes up.”

  I swallow hard. I’m glad she didn’t ask me a direct question since I’m not even sure I can speak right now, and I want to follow the directions she gave me. Though the music isn’t as loud in the side area, she wanted me to speak out loud, and I told her I would.

  “I love that you have long hair. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”

  “I just haven’t gotten it cut,” I say abruptly. I don’t know why the words even come out of my mouth. It’s not like I can explain how difficult it is to even think about finding a place near campus that will cut my hair, then walking to said place and talking to some total stranger about hair. They’d ask me what I wanted, and I wouldn’t know how to answer. The thought of going for a
haircut was bad enough with my foster mother.

  “You just have to tell them what you like,” she had said. “Sit down in the chair, and say you’d like it short on the sides and a little longer on top, just like Michael’s.”

  “No.” The panic inside rose at the very thought.

  “It’s easy, Rocco. You just have to make yourself do it. Once you try it out, it will be easier the next time.”

  “No!” Flailing my arms and legs, I eventually escaped and hid under the chair in the kitchen.

  “Will you talk to him?”

  “I can’t get anywhere with that kid. You wanted him. You deal with it.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to cut it myself. Again. Ugh!”

  “You need to call the case worker, and tell her this isn’t working out.”

  “Maybe he just needs more time.”

  “Sometimes they’re too broken, Carol.”

  I shake my head slightly, clearing the memory.

  “I guess I should put it back in the braid though. Otherwise, it’s going to get caught up in the rope.”

  She stands behind me, swiftly twining my hair back into a plait before twisting the rubber band around the end.

  “There we go. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Casey spreads the blanket on the mat and motions for me to kneel on it. I follow her directions immediately. My heart begins to beat in anticipation, ready to feel the tight coils of rope around me again. I need to get lost in myself and stop trying to understand what the hell is going on here. I’m not sure I’ll ever get it, and I’m afraid once she figures that out, she’ll be on to someone else, and I’ll have to beg for time with Cree when Kas isn’t around.

  Eventually, she’ll figure it out. She’ll understand that there isn’t really any hope for me, and she’ll give up. Everyone does.

  Casey gently pulls my arms back, placing my wrists together behind me. I close my eyes as I feel the first strand of rope wrap around my wrists. She moves the rope up my back, holding it in place as she leans against me, pulling the rope around my shoulders, first one way and then the other.

  “Too tight?” she asks softly.

  “No.”

  “Want it tighter?”

  “Yes.”

  She yanks the rope, and it digs into my skin. I feel my body trying to slump forward, but Casey’s grip on the rope is firm, holding me upright.

  “Is that better?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  She begins to tie me a little faster. She’s not as quick as Cree is, but she doesn’t waste time getting me bound. I start to fade into myself when I feel her breath against my cheek.

  “You look perfect all tied up in knots,” she whispered. “Even better than I imagined. I want to run my hands all over you. Are you okay with that?”

  “I...I guess so.”

  “You have to be sure. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “It’s okay,” I reply quietly.

  She starts at my shoulders, running her fingers down my arms and then up the center of my back, just outside the ropes. She moves around in front of me and touches my chest and my stomach before she kneels down. I feel her tighten her grip just above my knees before she runs her hands up my thighs.

  My skin tingles. An unexpected warmth spreads through my body even though my skin quivers where she touches me. My dick twitches and my balls tighten up.

  This has never happened before though I’ve been tied hundreds of times. Cree never touched me like this, and I’m not expecting my reaction. The last thing I ever anticipated was to get an erection from her touch, and I don’t know how to respond to it.

  So, I begin to panic. It’s my go-to response for everything.

  My body tenses and my head begins to spin. I try to reel myself in, thinking of the ropes around me, but it all feels different now. Different is supposed to feel bad, but it doesn’t. It feels good, and that scares me just as much. The warmth in my body concentrates in my face, and I hear a small whimper escape my throat.

  “It’s okay,” Casey says softly in my ear. “Hold on. I’m right here.”

  I feel the ropes loosen around me. I want to scream at her to stop—I didn’t mean for her to take them off—but I can’t say anything. The ropes begin to fall away, and I just want to cry as my body is released from the tight, harsh embrace.

  After she releases the final knots, Casey brings my hands around and rests them in my lap, then rubs my arms and shoulders.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I have no idea how to respond. My throat tightens up. She asked me a question, and I’m supposed to answer verbally, but I don’t know what to say.

  “Did I screw this up?” She sits back, sighing again.

  I look up at her, immediately wanting to apologize for causing the look on her face. She thinks she did something wrong, but I know it’s all me.

  “I’m the one who screwed it up,” I say quietly. “I’m always the one screwing it up.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says. “I’m in charge here, remember? I make the decisions, not you. I’m the one who has to make sure it’s all right.”

  If I were the type to argue a point with someone, I’d be arguing with her now. Of course I did something wrong. I’m in a room with a person I barely know, and I don’t have the ability to act right. I can’t express myself, and I have no idea what she’s thinking. I’m a lost cause.

  Casey grabs one of the ropes and coils it back into a neat bunch.

  “Are we done?” I ask, resigned to the idea that I will have to go to Cree and tell him it didn’t work out.

  “Do you want to be?”

  I glance away, not sure how to answer and not sound like the needy freak that I am. I do want more. I want it to never stop. If she just kept me tied up all the time, I’d be great with that, but saying it out loud makes me sound like a total nutcase.

  I am a total nutcase. I just don’t want her to realize it.

  When I don’t answer right away, she lets out a heavy sigh.

  “Are you good for a few minutes?” she asks. “I need to hit the bathroom.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Stay here.” Casey stands abruptly and walks away, leaving me sitting on the mat.

  I stare at her retreating form, knowing I’ve done something wrong but not knowing what it was or what I should do about it. I’m sure anyone with a lick of social sense would know exactly what to say, but I’m at a complete loss.

  Maybe my foster parents were right—I am too broken.

  Chapter 4—Casey

  Without looking behind me, I head out into the main area of the dungeon and make a beeline for the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face and try to compose myself.

  I’m in over my head—way over my head.

  I thought once Rocco realized I knew how to do rope that he would be fine working with me, but nothing is going the way I thought it would. At Cree’s place, he’d relaxed with me even though he’d had a bit of a moment. I knew he was all right there, at least. Now, I can’t even tell if he’s enjoying himself.

  I want him to want me, and I can’t tell if he does or not. That’s the real problem here—my own damn ego. I wanted him to beg me to do more to him, and he’s just...not doing that. If he were anyone else, I’d be on my way out the door now, causally flipping my middle finger at whomever had dared reject me.

  But this is Rocco, and Rocco is different.

  I knew this wasn’t going to be easy before I ever approached Cree, and I know now that I can’t just give up. That said, I need help.

  Growling once at my reflection in the mirror, I square my shoulders and stomp back out of the bathroom. Over by the kitchen area, Cree is casually lounging in a sex swing while chatting with Ivan. I glance at the corner where Rocco is still sitting on the floor and decide taking the time for a consult is a good plan. I wave Cree over.

  “Smoke break?”

  “Sure.”


  We head out to the smoking balcony and light up.

  “How’s it going?” Cree asks as he leans against the rail and takes a drag.

  “I can’t tell.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  I glare at him.

  “He’s not a talker, Casey. If you want him to open up, you’re going to have to work at it.”

  “Work at it how?”

  “Use your imagination, and consider things you wouldn’t do with others. Rocco doesn’t process social situations like most people do. Sometimes you just have to be blunt with him. I know you’re capable of that.”

  “What if he still won’t talk?”

  “How you deal with that isn’t a decision I can make for you,” Cree says. “You’re the only one that can determine that. Thankfully, you’re good at making decisions. Rocco isn’t.

  “But how is he going to deal with me making decisions for him?”

  “I think it might be just what he wants.” Cree tosses the cigarette butt and opens the door.

  I stomp out my cigarette and follow Cree back inside.

  “He never responds to questions with more than yes or no. I can’t just guess at what he wants!” I’m frustrated, and it’s coming out in my voice.

  “Sometimes he can’t talk, Casey. He just can’t. If you really want this to work, you’re going to have to learn to read his signs. That’s not going to be easy, and it isn’t going to happen fast. You have to take your time.”

  “I don’t know his signs.”

  “Time,” Cree repeats with more emphasis. “You’re going to have to be patient. It took months for him to start opening up with me.”

  “I’m going to lose him tonight,” I say. “I can’t wait months.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Cree looks over to Rocco. “He’s upset at himself now.”

  “How can you tell that?”

  “Look at the way he’s sitting.” Cree points with his head. “Arms around himself, like he’s trying to be his own rope. He’s mad at himself. He probably thinks he upset you.”

  “He did.” I fold my arms over my chest, and Cree gives me a sharp look. “I mean, by not telling me if he was okay or not. He started to panic, so I untied him, but that didn’t make it better.”