Dalia Craig

I shivered despite the warmth coming from the radiators; something about the modernity of all this equipment didn’t fit in with a late-seventeenth-century castle. On closer inspection, I saw that the mirrored wall was, in fact, a pair of sliding doors.

Did they lead to another room?

The temptation to take a peek behind the mirror was overwhelming. I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland faced with a button that read “push me.” I placed one finger on the button, and the doors immediately slid apart with no more than a whisper.

Certain I was dreaming, I stepped into my fantasy world: a windowless cavern which, I guessed by the curve of the gray-stone walls, must form part of the tower. In the light from electric candles that flickered almost as eerily as the real thing, I drooled over the array of restraints which hung from the walls, each separated by filmy, red-silk drapes. A spanking stool and a swing stood ready for use in the middle of the room, a St. Andrews Cross set into an alcove to one side, and, the pièce de résistance, a black wrought-iron, four-poster bed dressed in red and black silk on a dais at the far end.

Oh, joy! I could hardly believe my luck stumbling into this pleasure palace. My pussy clenched as my imagination ran riot with various erotic scenarios; with the right mistress to exact punishment, this discovery could lead to a whole lot of fun. Hold it. The sensible part of my brain took over.

What was all this stuff doing in a remote Scottish castle?

Who apart from Cassie Stuart lives and plays here?

I fingered one of the spaghetti-string floggers lined up on the table with a host of whips, masks, and other…

“Ah, I see you discovered my playroom.”

As if drawn by an invisible elastic thread to the gorgeous butch in front of me, I closed the remaining distance until I felt Cassie’s breath on my lips. Our eyes met and locked in a heart-stopping moment of total oneness. Heat crawled up my neck and flooded my face, and the air hissed out of my lungs cleansing me of all doubts and fears. I took one pace back, and then lowered my gaze in acknowledgement of my submissive role.

Cassie needed no further invitation. With a flick of her wrist, she stripped the towel from my body, tossed it aside, and then paced back and forth. I squirmed under the intense scrutiny, unused to standing totally naked before my mistress, yet turned on by the sensual heat of her gaze. Juices flooded my pussy and began to trickle down my thighs.

I held my breath when Cassie finally stopped pacing and approached the table. What instrument of delicious torture would she choose? After what seemed an agonizingly long wait, Cassie finally selected the very same red spaghetti-string flogger that I had handled earlier. The satisfying zing-thwack, which echoed around the dungeon when she tested it against wood, turned my legs to jelly.