View from a Dungeon

View from a Dungeon

A View from a Dungeon (part 1) – Astrid Bailey

One of the first things He told me was that He liked dungeons… Was, in fact, trying to find just the right lock for the stocks he was presently building.

I believed Him.

I told Him I wanted to fly. He told me He was afraid of heights but would guarantee my flight into realms I had never even imagined.

I knew He could.

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I said, “But what if You fall in love with my hair like every other man I have been involved with?” Without hesitation or a second thought You said (in that beautifully enchanting voice), “I know what I like.”

Do You?

And so here it is, one year later…

Remember me… the girl who quoted Leonard Cohen and begged You to be my Master… the one with all that hair…

Which to sacrifice first… the hair or the heart? (I think we know the answer to that as surely You are aware of the double beating in Your chest…)

As I lay down to sleep I think that one day perhaps, this aching for You will either cease or be rewarded.

And then one morning I awaken and I sense Your presence even before I open my eyes. I am frightened because too many times I have felt this same way and then opened my eyes and met nothing but the emptiness of my own room…

But not today… not this time.

My body feels strange… weightless. I open my eyes to find You looking down at me. I realize now I am naked, spread-eagled and suspended at the ankles and wrists by chains attached to the ceiling of this dark, unfamiliar place.

Before panic sets in, You speak to me… calming me, soothing me, allaying my fears. “This is, after all,” You point out, “what you wanted…”

I find solace in those cold blue eyes of Yours… and something else… a dark longing… fright. Whether it is Yours or my own I can’t be sure.

But I relax into my soft restraints and let myself drift. I am safe here with You.

You have moved behind me and out of my line of vision. I glance around at my surroundings. I am in a room lit only by candles and smelling faintly of lavender and sage. There is a wall to the left of me hung full of various objects of pleasure/pain. Most I am familiar with… some I am not.

There in the corner… where I always knew they would be… are the stocks. (Oh my God, He really does have stocks!)

My curiosity somewhat subdued, I glance upward and gasp as I see myself reflected in a large hanging mirror.

I feel myself flush crimson as I realize just how helpless and exposed I truthfully am.

Before that small inkling of anxiety can blossom into something bigger, You are there again, this time between my legs… my crotch level with Yours. You pull me tightly against You and I cannot help it… I grind myself against You, leaving a wet trail along the front of Your pants.

My head drops back as my lower body arches further up at You. I feel the long curling strands of my hair brushing the floor…

The sensuality of it escapes neither of us.

You step from between my thighs and move up toward my head. Your hands reach into my hair and run through the tangled ringlets, separating them, stretching their length… inhaling the soft shampoo aroma…

The thought of taking all this hair from me… of taking it down to stubble… and then, the slick, vulnerable, never exposed before denuded scalp… (How powerful You must feel to know it is only to You that I would make this sacrifice).

And also a burden too, perhaps…

But my needs and expectations are as simple and true as they were from the beginning… I have only wanted to serve and belong to You. And I have wanted to give You something I have never given before… the hair I have hidden behind my entire life.

I realize I am trembling and I am embarrassed because I have no control over it. I have no control over anything at this point.

You lean in close to my ear and whisper, “Are you flying yet?”

I cannot answer… I am strung too taut to do little more than breathe shakily.

One of those long fingered, elegant hands reaches for a strand of my bangs… to brush it away I think… And then I draw in my breath sharply as I see the other hand slice through the upheld lock with a straight razor. The motion is so quick and deft that I do not realize what has happened until I see the loosened tress hanging limply in Your hand, unattached from my head….

Finally it is happening… the time I have most feared and most wanted. My first thought is that You are going to dry shave me and I am terrified until I see that You have sharpened this blade to serve the stead of scissors. You are slowly slicing off my ringlets… one by one… dropping them casually to the floor… occasionally draping one across my twisting body.

I watch Your hands at work in the mirror above… the ease and gentleness with which they are moving.

Already I look different… my reflection a testament to this.

I can clearly see the tender shaven lips of my cunt swelling… strings of moisture gathering and dripping down… My face, an odd mixture of terror and ecstasy…

And You…


You have done this before….

And I know I am not Your first… but You will be my only…

As the last long strand falls to the floor You cup my cropped head in Your hands gently… tenderly massaging the scalp beneath the short soft bristle.

Your lips lower and begin tracing a path along my now naked nape. One hand has moved between my legs and I feel Your fingers spreading my moisture, opening me up for what is to come.

And then Your voice in my now exposed ear… “Do you want me to stop… or… do you still want to be my little bald baby?”

To be continued?…

copyright 2001 L.Bailey


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