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Today is Monday and time for the weekly staff meeting. And ... what a meeting it is. Staff sits around and discusses what sexual fantasies to pursue during the week. Today Stefan ... Monica's Daddy ... whom I will call Daddy ... gave a short explanation of UNIX and how the different servers are interconnected to our other sites. I have to say that it was Greek to me but I did like the way Daddy took his time with my lack of computer knowledge. He also told me that I should never ... never ... us a composer to convert my writing to HTML ... that's the Internet language ... as they add too much garbage and take too long to load.
Fuck the technical shit and let's get to the real issue. What to do about my fear of pricks ... I mean a stiff penis and not masculine figure ... and the consensus was that I would work out my fantasy on Daddy ... since it seemed he wanted to get what I wanted to give.
After the meeting I called my therapist in Chicago and told her that my Master ... Dungeonmaster ... had set up an interlude between Monica's Daddy and myself to live some of my fantasies. She thinks I am crazy and spent an hour of her time scolding me. "Fuck", I thought ... five years on her couch nothing. What could a night in the dungeon matter?
It's Thursday. The night is here.
Dungeonmaster opens the wooden door to the dungeon and motions for me to follow him into the dimly lit room. He tells me to take a seat on a chair in the corner and wait for the others to arrive. He opens the top drawer to the antique wooden desk and takes out a black leather whip and a cigar box, laying them carefully on a wooden chopping block. On the walls of the dungeon there are a variety of ropes, cuffs, rings, hooks and pulleys. Through out the rather large room there is a large wooden cross, what looks like a saw horse, the chopping block of course and several tables and chairs. Everything in the room is wood or metal, everything looks very old and there are no electric lights ... only candles. The wall across from the door is a dirty white, to the left the wall is red, the right the wall is black and around the door it is a dark purple. The ceiling is a flat black and there are reflective pieces of glass, which cast light much like little stars.
After a half-hour Monica enters the door with her Daddy. She leads Stefan to the center of the room, lets go of his hand and joins me silently in the corner. Daddy, as Stefan is called, is wearing a dark red robe, he stands where he is left, head down, silent. He is about the same height as my father was, not as fat, about the same age and ... I hope ... doesn't stink of stale beer. His hair is receding, almost balding, short with graying sideburns, broad shoulders and very light skin.
Dungeonmaster approaches Daddy and tells him to remove the robe, which he does immediately. He is nothing under the cover and I see that there is a chain connecting the two clips in his nipples. I have seen Monica's rings a few times but this is the first time I have seen a man with clips. Daddy has a heavy black collar with metal studs and a black strip of leather is attached with a gold clip and hangs at his side. His hands are clasped together in front and there are leather straps attached to each wrist much like heavy bracelets. Dungeonmaster takes the ropes and leads Daddy to the horse and the old man bends over as his Master attaches the lead to a hook in the floor. One leather bracelet is secured to the near leg of the horse and the other to the far leg as Daddy is bent with his ass in the air.
Dungeonmaster holds up two fingers ... Monica is number one and I am number two ... and motions for me to approach. Showing much trepidation, I approach the two older men as Dungeonmaster reaches for the whip he had placed on the desk, hands it to me and steps back. I stand motionless looking first at my Master, then Daddy and finally Monica. They are motionless, silent and unapproachable as I wonder how to begin.
The whip is heavy, not too long and there is only one strand, not like the nine tales one reads about. I move my hand letting the whip float through the air, back and forth. My eyes are fixed on the white ass in front of me, my arm raises almost unconsciously, I swing the leather and let a light blow land on the Daddy's ass. "Harder", I hear from the man bent over the horse so I increase the speed and send another blow whistling through the air. There is a resounding " ... whack ... as the whip lands and I again hear, "harder", so I raise my arm, swinging the leather through the air ... whack ... and I hear again, " harder". My eyes are blurred as I see my father bent over and the black leather lands on his ass as I continue swinging the strap at the terrible child abuser until the sweat begins to pop on my forehead. Every time I swing and connect I hear the muffled voice cry, "HARDER", so I swing until my arm is tired and I swing some more. I see my father's fat ass, flaming red, striped as shit drips from his ass and smears over his cheeks. Tears run down my cheeks as I swing, crying, " ... you dirty rotten ... child fucking ... bastard." I raise my arm again and my wrist if snatched in a vise like grip as Dungeonmaster steps forward and takes the whip from my hand and I collapse to the floor in tears.
Our Master holds up one finger and motions for Monica to approach. He hands her a jar and she scoops a mound of butter like gel and spreads it on Daddy's ass. "Harder ... ", I hear Daddy whisper as Monica's hand rubs his ass in a circular motion, first one cheek and then the other.
"Tears roll down my face as I lay, catatonic, on the floor.
"Please help me", I whisper. " ... please!"
"When you are ready", I hear someone whisper.
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