Tortuous Bondage Basement

Following my first ever ‘Forced Fantasy’ encounter, the ringleader, Simon, the organiser, told me about his father. He was a successful small builder in the Greater Manchester area but was big into BDSM. He was a carpenter by trade and had recently renovated some buildings for offices that he was letting out. However, he had included a ‘Bondage Basement’ for his and some of his employee’s amusement.

He had used his skills in wood to produce some pretty impressive bondage equipment. Simon showed me some photo’s and the results certainly looked rather remarkable. It was clear that his father had money to burn, as most of his creations were in oak and looked more like works of art than items to be used in a BDSM event.

Simon said that he had mentioned me to his father, and he had, in turn, wondered if I’d like to travel to Manchester to try out his cellar. I thought it a bit far fetched that someone in their late forties would want to ask a twenty-one-year-old university student to make use of his creation.

Therefore, it came as a bit of a surprise when one afternoon, just as lectures had finished, my phone rang from a number that I did not recognise.

‘Hello,’ my name is Barry. ‘You won’t know me, but hopefully, you know my son Simon?’

‘Oh,’ I said, greatly surprised by the call, ‘You’re the builder?’

‘Yes,’ the voice on the other end of the phone chuckled, ‘So you know something about me?’

‘Yes, just a little.’

‘Well, I’m going to lay my cards on the table. I’m a no-nonsense businessman and not one for beating about the bush. I hope you don’t mind straight-talking.’

‘No. Us Scot’s are pretty much the same,’ I responded.

‘I know it’s a bit presumptuous, but would you like to meet me for a meal sometime? I have a proposition I’d like to put to you that would be better said face to face than over the phone.’

I laughed, ‘You certainly do get straight to the point. When did you have in mind?’

‘Umm, well, I’m in your area tonight. Like now. I had some appointments and thought I’d chance my arm with you?’

I had a piece of coursework I desperately needed to write up but somehow felt the urge to meet up and see what this straight-talking builder had to say.

Half an hour later, I waited at the appointed rendevous when a large four-wheel drive grey Mercedes pulled up.

‘Rachel?’ The driver questioned as he wound down the passenger window.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Are you Barry?’

‘Yes, but don’t look so shocked.’

‘Sorry, but I was expecting a builders van with ladders on the roof.’

‘I have one of those as well, but use this for special trips.’

‘Very nice,’ I commented rather enviously as I opened the door and climbed in.

After finding a place to eat and placing our order, Barry got down to business.

‘I’m not sure how much Simon has told you. I run a decent little business and purchased an office block two years ago that needed fixing up. I intended to sell it on but found it would work better financially in the long term if I rented the office space out. This place has a basement of two main rooms underneath. I thought I could try and make it into a private bondage room. The problem is licencing it. No one wants to give a licence. It also seems that no one wants to rent an office above such a commercial venture with all its connotations.’

I nodded in understanding.

‘So here I am with my own private and fully stocked bondage club and no one to use it. My wife isn’t interested, and the only use it has had is a couple of guys who work with me for the odd hour with their girlfriends. I want someone to be prepared to stay for a weekend to try it out fully.’

‘That’s where I come in?’ I replied.

‘Well, yes, but..’ He paused before continuing, ‘four of the lads who work for me and I have talked about what fun it would be to have someone bound down there who let us use the equipment to its full capacity.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, we have asked around, offered to pay, to try and find some girl who could fulfil our desires. So far, without success, although we thought some fat hag might have been interested. Then Simon told me about you and what you did with him and his friends. We want someone with spunk Rachel who is willing to take all that we can give and more. It will be a weekend of real pain, but we hope also fun.’

‘I looked across my plate with eyes wide open.’

‘If it’s not your thing, I understand, so please don’t worry. I just wanted to ask, the fact that you are so pretty would make it doubly fun.’

‘So what exactly would you want to do?’

‘Push your limits, stretch you, whip you, smack you and generally, if I can use the word, spend the weekend torturing you and hearing you scream.’

‘Wow, you don’t want much, do you,’ I replied with a half-smile.

‘I have a DVD in the car I’d like you to watch to get some idea of what we want to do. Would you be at least happy to see it?’

‘I guess so. I may as well get the full picture of what you’re asking.’

Later we sat in his car as he set up his portable DVD player.

‘This is from a film called ‘Beautiful Teacher in Torture Hell,’ he explained. ‘It’s Japanese but has subtitles. Not that that matters. We want to do this to you.’

The player ran as I watched a buxom young lady tied with hands above her head while someone smacked her breasts with his hand several times.

‘Did you count how many times he hit her?’ Barry asked.

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘I think about sixty. I’ve watched it and counted it many times. I may be one out, but sixty is a nice round number. Could you handle it?

‘I have no idea. I mean, she was just acting. She wasn’t taking all those slaps.’

‘I know, but we want someone who would, and we may want to do it twice.’

‘I’d have to think about that.’

‘Look at this one. It’s electrical torture.’

‘Oh. I have never had that done to me,’ I explained.

‘I have an excellent electrician who has rigged up a very effective and safe machine. We have used it on ourselves.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I know it’s perverse, but we needed to ensure it works. It does. We can change the intensity along with the shock waves. It should be patented for the BDSM trade. It is so good. Now watch.

I watched as a bound woman sitting in a chair had clips placed on her breast and then jumped and screamed as she received shocks from the clips.

‘We have a probe, like a penis, that will go up your cunt or bum as well as the breast clamps. It’s very intense.’

‘Wow,’ was about all I could manage to say.

‘Now watch this one.’

For about an hour, we sat in Barry’s car as he showed me clip after clip of all he was hoping I might be willing to endure over a weekend in his bondage basement, pleasing him along with some of his work buddies.

As the last clip finished, I was convinced that I could not fulfil all they desired, although I wanted to give it a go.

Barry was desperately disappointed.

‘Don’t worry, Rachel, I knew it was a very long shot when I asked you. You don’t get anywhere without asking.’

It was quite a surprise even to me that I found myself heading towards Manchester six weeks later to answer his invitation.

On several occasions, Simon, Barry’s son, suggested I try it, having already experienced me in action first-hand wearing crocodile clips.

After two weeks of hard thinking and preparing mentally, I phoned Barry to ask when we could meet for the event. I desperately desired to please Barry and his gang of builders, but more than that, I wanted to push my boundaries to discover what my limitations were. The invitation would be a wonderful if unexpected and painful way to find out.

I must have been excited or bonkers at the prospect because as I neared my destination, I pulled over to let a police car past. Unfortunately, it pulled in behind me as I did so, and I realised with some apprehension it was me he wanted to stop. It was the first and only time the police have ever stopped me.

‘Hello Miss,’ the officer from the passenger seat said politely, ‘Is it your car.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘We stopped you because you seemed to be knocking along a bit.’

‘Oh.’ I was gutted. Before even arriving at the rendevous, I was going to get a ticket for speeding.

As requested, I rather sheepishly got into the back of their car.

‘Don’t worry, young lady. You’re not going to get a ticket this time. Just a friendly warning as you were going a bit quick.’

‘Thank you, officer,’ I replied in sheer relief. ‘I’m so sorry, you see I was going to…’ My voice trailed off as I realised I could hardly admit where I was going or what I would be doing. I would have been locked up for good and the key thrown away.’

‘Going to see the boyfriend?’ One of the policemen interjected.

‘Yes. Sort of. Well, it’s a long story,’ I stumbled.

‘Relationships can be. Just watch your speed, don’t be so anxious with the right foot and take your time.’

‘Yes, thank you. I will.’

‘Watch yourself pulling out into the traffic. Take a long run along the hard shoulder and then pull out. Have a good weekend.

‘Yes, I will. Thank you,’ I repeated as I climbed out of the car clutching my driving licence.

I drove off, realising that, having been warned about driving too fast, for whatever reason, I must be looking forward to what I would be subjected to over the next two days.

After a bit of a search, as I did not in those days possess a Satellite Navigation system, I found the building and, driving round to the rear, as instructed, found Barry’s rather splendid car located in the car park.

As I parked, Barry appeared from a side door with two other men of similar ages. I nervously got out of the car as they approached, smiling.

‘Hello Rachel,’ Barry said, ‘Great to see you. Thanks so much for coming today. I cannot tell you how excited we all are.’

I smiled sheepishly as he introduced me to his two colleagues.

‘You are beautiful,’ one commented, ‘Do you know what you’re letting yourself in for this weekend?’

Again I forced a smile, ‘Maybe not.’

As we entered the building, we turned immediately left and down a railed staircase that led to the place that would be my dungeon for the next two nights.

At the bottom was a big heavy fire door.

‘This door is totally soundproofed,’ Barry explained. You could stand here with your ear to the door and not hear anything from the inside. We have tried it, believe me, radio’s, boom boxes, even out power tools. It works.’

I was not sure that the assurance of no one being able to hear me when I screamed or cried out helped or not.

We went inside. I was surprised to see another four men aged between thirty-five and their mid-fifties. I had only expected five, so discovering seven men was another shock to the already nervous system.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but when wind of what we planned got out, no one who helped create this room wanted to be left out,’ Barry explained with what I thought was a slight blush.

‘The more, the merrier,’ I answered brightly, looking around at the room properly for the first time.

It was large, at least sixty feet by forty, with two large pillars in the centre supporting a metal beam. At the far end was a raised platform about afoot higher than the rest of the floor. On it stood a pair of stocks that could secure feet, wrist and head. Alongside was a St Andrews cross. Standing, like some glorious wooden throne, was a sizeable chunky chair, the position of which could be amended by the looks of the various hinges, bolts and wing nuts.

Hanging behind the platform arrangement was a series of whips and chains on a beautifully crafted set of wooden hooks. Just below these was a wooden box about eighteen inches square. I had no idea what it was, but it intrigued me.

‘Queening Stool.’ One of Barry’s friends pointed out.

‘A what?’ I questioned.

‘You know a Queening Stood. A woman lies with her head in it, and a man sits over it, and she can give him a rim job.’

‘Oh.’ Was all I could say in response.

‘Of course, the guys sitting could give something to the woman if required. But that might be a bit extreme, don’t you think?

‘Um, yes maybe,’ I stammered, knowing that I had already partaken in a couple of such encounters, although without the aid of a Queening Stool.

‘This is my electrician,’ Barry explained, introducing one of the men, ‘and this is his incredible electrical torture tool.’ Behind the guy was a converted toolbox that, when opened, contained various wires, fuses, and a soldered circuit board. A flex led from one side to a three-pin plug, while from the other came wires bearing a pair of metal clips and a rounded probe about six inches long and one inch round.

Above the stage area attached to a large wooden beam was, what I discovered later, a very intricate pulley system working a shorter beam. The position of anything connected to this could be altered to either stretch arms out wide or straight up.

To either side at floor level was another set of pulleys that could be used to spread legs apart. It seemed to me that Barry and his team had thought things through very carefully.

At the opposite end of the room were some stacked plastic chairs and a large deep double mattress. I was gobsmacked, never having seen anything like it before in my life.

‘It’s pretty impressive,’ I had to confess, turning to the designer and creator.

‘Well, on and off, it’s taken us eighteen months to get this far,’ Barry explained.

‘He’s a perfectionist, you see,’ one of his employees added, ‘He made that cross twice as the first one didn’t look right. It was fine to us but not to him.’

Barry smiled, ‘I like things just so. The only thing missing was someone to use it all with us. That was until today.’

‘I gave a half-smile knowing now that there could be no backing out. I was in it for the long haul, and it was going to be a painful one.’

‘Rachel,’ one of the younger guys asked, ‘I know you came to be… well… er… tortured in this room, but… can I ask something?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I answered, sensing his embarrassment.

‘I never realised you were so fucking pretty and sexy until I saw you. Would you allow us all to fuck you before we do anything else?’

This request didn’t surprise me, not because I consider myself ‘sexy’ in any way. On the contrary, I always thought I was a bit dull and plain. However, I had discovered that physical sex with me was mighty big on their agenda among my peers at the University.

Barry looked at me, ‘How do you feel about that, Rachel?’

I looked around the room at the equipment all set up, ready and waiting for me. Then I looked at the seven men standing around me.

‘I guess as I have travelled up here, you may as well do whatever you desire with me. It might also cut down on the torture time, too,’ I answered, trying to give a confident little laugh.

‘Are you sure you’re happy, Rachel?’ Barry checked, ‘Any limitations in what they can do?’

‘Yes, I’m happy, and I’ll let you know if any of you cross the line,’ I answered.

‘Okay then, lads,’ Barry responded, ‘She’s all ours, three holes, pretty face and… Well, we still have to see the rest. So let’s strip her down!’

I stood still as they guys undid the dress I was wearing and pulled it down to reveal my bra and panties underneath. The bra was quickly undone, and my breasts exposed. Somebody pulled my panties down to my ankles, and I was helped to step out of them. I remained standing as my shoes were untied and removed, followed by my socks until I was naked before the seven men. Being stripped nude had taken just a few seconds.

It did not take long for the guys to undo buttons and unzip trousers to release their large solid erections. I was led to the mattress and made to kneel to massage them and provide the required blow jobs.

On many occasions at University and working in a strip club, I discovered that most guys were never happy with just using one of my orifices. Most wanted at least two and, if available, all three. Although much older than most of the men I had played with, these northern builders were no different. It was very soon apparent that everything on my person that could be penetrated must be available.

Taking on seven horny guys takes some time, especially as they all wanted to fire their loads on multiple occasions and in various places.

It was gone midnight when the sex-charged guys had finished using my body that was now wet with both sweat and a liberal splattering of cum. There was also a rather putrid aroma within the room.

‘I think we need something to eat,’ Barry commented as he commenced dressing.

‘I’ll order some Pizza if you tell me what you want, Rachel. Then while I’m gone, my men will position you for the night.’

I enjoy hot spicy food, just as I enjoy hot spicy sex, I guess, so I ordered the most sizzling pizza available.

Barry had already told me that the office basement was to be my, in his words, dungeon over the two nights I had agreed to stay. For some unknown reason, I had not, however, contemplated being bound all night.

The men lowered the beam on the pully system, and soft white ropes were attached. I was provided with a white cotton robe and told to tie it off around my tummy. I complied as several twists of duck tape were applied all the way around above and below my breasts. I help my hands aloft to assist the guys in their efforts. Then my wrists were tied to the cotton ropes, and the beam lifted to pulling me taught until my feet were only just taking my weight.

Apart from the food, I had no idea what was coming next.

Barry eventually returned and seemed happy enough to see me in my new position. As my hands were securely bound above my head, I had no way of feeding myself. My pizza, therefore, was offered to me, along with a bottle of coke, by seven sets of willing hands. After my journey there and several hours of constant sex, I was as hungry as a horse and wolfed the whole of a large and hot pizza down, helped with copious amounts of coca-cola.

When we had all finished, and Barry had collected up the leftover containers, he turned to me. ‘Do you remember the first film clip I showed you that time we met?’

He had shown me so many that it was not easy to remember what sequence I had viewed them.

‘The one where the woman gets her breasts slapped around?’

‘Yes, I do now,’ I replied.

‘We have set you up in just the same way. Dressed in a white robe and bound above and below your tits. They are not as big as hers, but that will not matter. We want to slap them, as agreed sixty times if you’re still happy.’

I braced myself and nodded.

‘We have a problem, though. There are now seven of us when originally there were going to be six. If it were six, we would each have twenty shots in two sessions over the weekend. So what I propose is that six have the two sessions, then the two leftovers, one of whom will be me, get to do a third session on the last night. Agreed?’

I had little alternative as I nodded again with a slight smile.

‘Right, let’s get started,’ Barry commanded, ‘Let’s all watch that clip to ensure we get it right.’

He pulled his little DVD player out of a bag and, holding it played the piece I had first witnessed six weeks before. The difference was that playing it in a film was one thing, but this was for real and would be very sore.

‘You have all seen the video again, so set about it.’

One of the men undid the knot tying my robe and pulled aside the part covering my breasts, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. After a few pulls to ensure the robe was far enough away, he removed a ring from his finger.

It had all seemed a little unreal up to this moment. I had thought about all Barry had spoken to me about on our first meeting and in subsequent telephone conversations. I knew I wanted to be the first woman to use his specially prepared and costly ‘Bondage Basement,’ I knew too that I did not want to fail but now suspended tightly with my breasts exposed and three men lining up to slap them, I went weak at the knees.