They reached the stairs down to the public dungeon. Grigori flipped the light off then picked up the waiting torch from its holder, striking a long match against the wall just as the tourist guides did, before lighting the pitch and letting the smoky haze permeate the top of the stairwell. “Let’s go. Hold the handrail, Damask. The stairs are very old and uneven.”
“The handrail’s cold for such a warm day.” She rubbed her palm on the seat of her jeans before taking hold of it again, placing her feet carefully on the steps.
“The solid stone here stays cool on even the warmest days, but sometimes the guides play tricks as well, rubbing ice on the handrail or leaving puddles of cold water on the steps and in the dungeon to make it look scarier,” said Jairus.
Damask couldn’t wait to see just how scary it really was. When Jairus pulled a huge old iron key out of his backpack to unlock the door she sighed with happiness. She didn’t care if it was really just pretend for the tourists, it certainly looked ancient and evil.
Grigori took a step into the dungeon, beckoning her to follow him. He walked around with the torch burning smokily in the cooler atmosphere, shining its weak light on the iron maiden, and a rack. “Be very careful not to trip on the chains and eyebolts. Anyone who angered the werewolves was chained to these walls and their spirits still haunt this area,” Grigori said, his voice deep and urgent.
“Have you been memorizing the tourist brochures?” she teased. But the iron maiden did look very scary. “What’s that?” she asked pointing to a triangle-shaped box a bit like a gymnastics vaulting horse.
“It’s called the Spanish donkey. Those who anger the werewolves are forced to sit on it, weights tied to their feet. Gradually their body is forced down and down onto the sharp pointed wood until their bodies are split in half and they die screaming,” said Jairus in a ghoulish voice.
“Right. And you remember this happening in the past?” she asked.
“Many, many times.”
“Uh-huh. Please may I have the torch now so I can look around properly? I really would like to see everything, without the joke commentary.”
Grigori handed the torch to Jairus and left the dungeon. Damask was surprised but stood still, waiting for him to come back. She was reasonably sure she wouldn’t truly fall over anything, but not quite sure enough to put it to the test. Then the electric light turned on and the room was revealed with its genuine stone walls and floor and old-looking equipment. First she walked across to the chains and weighed them in her hands. They were very heavy, worn and rusted in places. Okay, they might be genuine.
The rack, the donkey, and a metal scepter-looking thing also seemed genuinely old to her. But the metal spikes in the iron maiden didn’t seem at all worn or chipped as they should have been.
“The iron maiden is not genuine,” she said, turning to stare at the men.
“Twice over,” said Jairus.
“Good deduction,” added Grigori.
“It’s a copy of a fake from a museum in Germany. Having said that though, the original fake is about seventeenth century I think, just not Middle Ages. The bench and the rack and even the Spanish donkey might only be seventeenth or eighteenth century as well, but the lead sprinkler is old, and so are the chains and bolts,” said Jairus.
Damask wandered around again, entranced by the ancient implements of torture and wondering if the old werewolf leaders really did persecute people. She supposed they probably had. Back then a person’s life had little value. People died of hunger every winter and even telling the leader bad news was grounds for execution. Refusing to obey an order was usually solved immediately by the leader chopping off the head of a rude person. After all, every ruler carried a sword all the time back then, and even peasants always carried a dagger.
She was much happier living in these days. Life could still be harsh and brutal but by and large people were able to live a long and happy life. The sound of the key being turned in the door made her look up, startled out of her reverie.
Grigori and Jairus came and stood right in front of her.
“How much would you like to play a few dungeon games?”
Grigori placed his hand on the wheel of the rack. “Shall I tighten this one more turn?”
Damask thought. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. Would one more turn make it hurt too much? What if she dislocated a shoulder or a knee and needed to go to the doctor? How would she explain that? Yet was she giving up too soon? The hot water had been very hot, but not long lasting. Perhaps she should try one more turn to see if it was more pleasure than pain.
“Just one turn.”
Grigori turned the handle very slowly. Much slower than he’d done previously. And she knew then he never would have asked her if it would have been too painful for her. He would never deliberately hurt her more than in a manner she would find exciting and sexy. She could trust both these men completely.
Her body was definitely pulled more tightly, stretched harder. The pressure was on her more and it was a slight, aching feeling. One she knew might not be fun if she was left like this for a long time. But right now it was pain but not bad. More intriguing, interesting than anything else. And she’d learned a valuable lesson to know she should trust Grigori and Jairus.
Icy cold drops of water spattered her face and chest, then dripped down on her belly, her legs, all the way to her toes and back up to her face again. Damask gasped at the extreme cold then laughed. “Don’t tell me. You had another insulated mug in your backpack only this one held ice water.”
“Exactly so, my sweet.” Jairus bent and touched his lips to hers. “In the BDSM dungeon contrasts are a way of inducing pleasure. The sub comes to accept and expect the heat, and then suddenly it’s cold instead.”
Damask nodded. She could see that. A person would be expecting the heat and be ready for it. Cold would catch them unprepared and be doubly effective.
Grigori started to turn the wheel loosening the tension on her body, and Jairus untied the ropes holding her. Both men sat her up and while Grigori massaged her shoulders, Jairus kneeled and exercised her knees. She hadn’t been spanked but it had been a very interesting lesson nonetheless.
Jairus spread her legs wide apart and stood between them. Gently he pulled her close to him, tipped her head back and kissed her. This wasn’t a soft, sweet kiss like the night before, but one of passion, lust and longing. His tongue flicked along the seam of her mouth demanding entry and she opened and let him inside. Jairus licked the insides of her cheek, behind her teeth, along the roof of her mouth. His tongue was everywhere, possessing her, demanding more and more from her.
Breathlessly, she pressed her aching nipples against his chest, rubbing her breasts over his warm skin as she kissed him back with everything within her. His hands massaged her back and unhooked her bra. Obediently, she moved one arm so the strap slid off her and then Jairus bent his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Then he pressed it against the roof of his mouth and she almost orgasmed on the spot. Holy shit that’s erotic.
Grigori sat beside her on the solid wooden edge of the rack and Jairus lifted her, turning her, shifting her onto Grigori’s knee. She put a leg on either side of the muscular man and snuggled into his arms, lifting her face for his kiss. Her body was so aroused from Jairus’s kisses she had to concentrate to remember that now it was Grigori’s turn.
He pressed kisses to her forehead, her nose, her eyelids. Tiny, light touches of his lips to her skin. She was enjoying it so much, she almost didn’t realize his hands were busy inside her panties until one finger teased her anus and another stroked her slit. Damask’s eyes widened. She was so aroused already from the kissing, she wasn’t sure this was a good idea.
Then his finger slid deep inside her and she knew it was a good thing. A very good thing. Her inner pussy muscles gripped his finger and she moaned.
Grigori’s lips descended over hers and his tongue began fucking her in a determined, measured way. The finger inside her kept pace with his tongue. At her back, gentle hands were stroking her skin, hands that moved around her body and were teasing her nipples.
Damask had to break the kiss to breathe, and when she did she leaned her head back on Jairus giving him more room to tease her aching breasts.
Grigori had two fingers in her cunt now, finger fucking her deep and fast as his other hand lightly teased around her ass, and his thumb stroked her clit.
“Come now, Damask,” ordered Jairus.
“Obey your two Doms,” added Grigori, thrusting a finger deep in her ass.
Damask’s body crashed into an orgasm, her pussy coating Grigori’s hands with her cream as she shook and quivered between the two men. Jairus’s hands cupped her breasts, still gently stroking her skin, his mouth pressing a row of kisses along her shoulder.
“Tomorrow we’ll find a bed and fuck you properly. You’re ours, Damask. You belong to both of us, now,” said Jairus.