Dance De Sade - The Gathering...

Dec the 24th 2004 My eyes adjusted to the light as we descended the stairs, going deeper beneath the estate's main foundations. I felt a bit of a chill from one of the branching halls, assuming it emptied at the river where the breeze would be stiffest. The air smelled of torches and damp, with the occasional odour of burning herbs. I could distinguish cinnamon and basil. I wasn't sure about the undertones of some of the other scents. The whole effect was eerie, taking me from one century…back…back into the past, where debauchery and the decadence of gluttony and waste was something the aristocracy indulged with verve. The journey along this dank and dark tunnel lined in stone and masonry swept me back into history. I suddenly recognized the illusive odour. I could smell pitch. The thick black tar like substance used in the Europe of old, to cauterise wounds, seal cuts and burn for torture. I'd smelled the aroma only once before in my life and I never forgot it. One of my earlier experiences, about ten years prior, saw me attending a fetish ball in the City, with new friends and other fetishists. The club was packed and throbbed in time to the music. The Goths had a display dungeon set up in the far corner, the hot pitch left boiling over a small compact fire. I remember the boy's screams as the thick goo was laid to his back. He couldn't have been more than nineteen and had chosen a very extreme road for himself. I recall his shrieks of horror as the pitch was drizzled along the skin of his back and, when cooled, stripped off, leaving blistered, burnt and scarred skin forever. I even recall "pitch artists" who could do amazing little tattoo type artwork with the drizzle of a brush. The friend I'd attended with had a yin yang done on her inner wrist. She climaxed half way through, the pain so pleasurable for her. Snapping back to the present, the torch moving further ahead of me, I called to my hostess to wait for me. She turned a corner, not hearing me and the tunnel fell to darkness. The walls of the tunnel closed in on me and I picked up my skirts and hurried forward. Rounding the curve in the tunnel, I was blinded by the light spilling from a large arch in the stone. I stepped in through the arch and surveyed my surroundings. Torches lit the walls, the chamber stood large and low ceilinged in the lower belly of this magnificent old estate house. From the stonewalls, chains and hand and ankle cuffs extended. Throughout the chamber, torture racks and stretching tables sat, near a central fire. The chamber even sported an Iron Maiden. I saw all manner of devices in the wink of my eye. This was the well-equipped Society de Sade. We knew how to spend a night. I headed over to the others, about eight in all. Sylvia and David, drinks in hand, stood with the Stillworth's. A few others examined the chamber, awaiting the slaves. Lord Stillworth pulled a bell pull and a trusted servant led three people into the chamber, naked and shackled. One was Sissy. She looked positively ecstatic. She wouldn't look that way soon. Not once the Society started to play. She met my gaze, nodded in thanks for including her and followed the dungeon master to her place. We "aristocrats", goblets in hand, moved about the chamber, watching as Lord and Lady Stillworth began the evening's festivities. The Gathering acknowledged that at any time we chose, we could move between the grand ball going on upstairs in the mansion ballroom this evening. Should we wish to dance, enjoy the balcony or mingle with the best of the blue bloods, we were free to do so. Those of us in attendance knew the rules. We WERE the club, for years. We'd been enjoying our kind of play for long enough to slip into the fascinating roles that history handed us this evening. Lord Stillworth moved over by Sissy, thanking me for bringing such a plump specimen for the Gathering. Sissy looked particularly pleased with herself. I shook my head slightly warning her to keep her head down, but she didn't see my signal before Lord Stillworth saw her look. He took the flat of his hand and slapped her hard across her face. She looked shocked all of a sudden, realizing what might be in store. Lord S nodded to the dungeon master and he took hold of Sissy's chains, leading her to a device I shuddered to think of, but grow wet in memory. Sissy began to struggle as she understood what would be expected of her and this excited the Gathering. We all moved closer to watch Lord Stillworth's work. He drew her to the device, attaching her wrist chains to the overhead bar. Taking hold of her hips from behind, while the dungeon master took hold of her shackled ankles, his Lordship lowered her onto the stool of the contraption. The seat of the stool held two upright posts. The size of large cocks, each was positioned and secured right into the seat. Lord S. lowered Sissy onto them, one slipping into her very wet cunt, but the other shoved painfully and dryly into her bottom hole. She shrieked in pain as the rod invaded her body. Lord S. shoved harder and finally both carved dowels slipped into her holes. She cried her body brutalized by the intrusions. He secured her to the device, leaning her forward and adjusting her arm restraints so that if she moved to seek a more comfortable position, her body would be forced further down on the cocks. Her body shook with pain. I sipped from my goblet of wine, watching her with little sympathy. She knew what she was in for. She knew I was a cruel mistress. She still came. And now here she was, firmly fucked twice over, her body cramping by the minute. Other members of the Gathering came over to see her. We laughed and the women all bared our nipples more fully so that the men of the group could have a good lick. Mine were the toast of the party because of their penchant to stick out hardened and stiff close to an inch. I provided wonderful sucking if their lordships were into that. My nipples were a breast-man's dream. With our powdered wigs, crinoline skirts, velvet, lace and linen, the entire chamber became a surreal step back in time. I felt his lordship's mouth on my left nipple, while I also detected his hand moving somewhat harmlessly up my skirts. His fingertips got to my wet box and he started expert manipulations of my clit. I parted my thighs, his manipulations unseen by the Gathering until he threw my skirts up and called all their attention to his playful fingers. Everyone cheered him on as my body climaxed. A round of applause ensued, Sylvia came over and cleaned me up with her tongue and we carried on with our main purpose here this night. The Gathering resumed, as we took our spots around a young man chained to the stonewall. David had his arm draped over Sylvia's shoulder, his fingers twiddling her left nipple above the bodice of her gown. Her wig sat three white ringlets on the left side and they dangled against the white of David's skin as his fingertips dipped below the level of her bodice to cup her breast, pinching her nipple to a bright rosy red. Lady S drew my attention back to our first male victim….