When I heard that the government was going to impose a ‘lockdown’ you
can imagine how excited I got. I’ve been locking down slaves for many
years. My Oubliette dungeon has seen many a naked male locked in
chains down beneath the feet of his mistress, or if lucky, gang of
mistresses. Of course I soon realised that this lockdown meant staying
at home and operating a good few feet between people. It also means
that for the moment, visitors to the dungeon are not allowed – but I
did have one unexpected arrival who never forgot what a real ‘lock
down’ would mean. He learnt a lot that day and has the scars to prove
He had come to look at a leaky gas appliance and I kept my distance
while he fiddled around with his tools. He was quite a young, muscular
specimen, just the type I like to play with. ‘I will soon be fiddling
with his tools’, I thought trying to supress an evil grin.
After he’d finished I pretended there was a leaky gas smell in the
adjoining building. Would he investigate. He nodded and I followed him
in to a room he had never expected to see- my dungeon equipped as it
was with throne, spanking bench, whips, stocks, cages and torture bed.
His face was a sight to see. His jaw almost dropped to the floor as
first he looked at the instruments of torment around the dungeon and
then back to me.
‘Any of this interest you Mr Gasman’, I said in a seductive voice. He
swallowed hard and said something like he’d been looking at femdom
porn but never seen it in real life.
‘Would you like to try it?’ I asked in my most innocent voice. He
nodded, too dry mouthed with excitement mixed with fear, to say
‘Well then, the first stage is to get undressed and wait for me at
the other end of the chamber. Remember we will keep our two metre
distance at all times. This will be arms length domination.’
He rapidly stripped and did what he was told; stood stark naked at the
end of the room. I left him for a moment while I put on my nursey
swabs, masks and all. Rubber gloves of course. Apron and boots. He
gasped as he saw me change into the dominant nurse. A care worker who
would soon be taking care of his bare arse.
‘To keep my distance, I am going to tell you now to kneel where you
are with your back to me and your arse high in the air. I am going to
whip you with long bullwhip and you are going to count the strokes but
most importantly not move an inch. If you come even a centimetre
closer, I will lash you unmercilessly, is that clear?’
He nodded and did what he was told. He had little choice.
And so I began, gently (by my standards) at first and then with more
power and gusto. He was a good boy and counted all the strokes up to
50 including the ones past 25 when the purple stripes on his bum were
turning to oozing red.
At the last stroke, I told him to take down a pair of my thigh length
boots stored on the shelf above his head, and give them a damn good
clean with his tongue.
I watched him do this from my thrown. He could see behind my face mask
that I meant business and no slacking was allowed.
After I was satisfied that my boots were sparkling clean, I ordered
him to get dressed and get out.
He did so bowing and scraping and holding on to his sore behind. I
watched him as he left up the driveway, half limping but looking
pleased with himself. I imagine that when the lockdown is over, he’ll
be back and I’ll be locking him down good and proper.