After hours of wicked, erotic torture in the form of a remote-controlled vibrator during a long car ride, the sub and her Master drove through the wrought iron gate and traveled down the road to an isolated treehouse cabin in the woods. But it wasn’t just any treehouse; it was an adult-themed Treehouse Dungeon.
Treehouse and dungeon are two words that seem to contradict each other. But this decadent Airbnb in beautifully scenic Dunlap, Tennessee, was the perfect getaway for a Dom and his submissive slut.
How do I know this? I am that submissive slut.
Once we arrived at the cabin, I was directed to remove my clothing and leave it in the car. My Sir reminded me that only my safe word would stop the action and that there was no shame in needing to use it, even if it was to take a temporary break. As always, I was confident that wouldn’t be necessary, but I thanked him for making me feel safe and loved. I walked up the stairs, naked except for my collar and leash, and crossed over the threshold into the Red Room, trembling in anticipation of the next two days as my Sir’s sex slave.
My eyes widened as I observed a multitude of bondage furniture, impact implements, and a variety of restraints. Most of what I saw was familiar to me; this wasn’t our first foray into BDSM, after all. But a chair with a vibrating wand poking up through a hole in the seat was something I’d never sampled before. Naturally, we started with that.
My already overstimulated clit and labia were drenched even before I sat down. Straddling the bench, I waited patiently for my Sir to adjust the wand's position for maximum intensity. When he turned it on, I came almost instantly. Lusty pleasure washed over his face as he watched me squirm and writhe as waves of orgasms had me panting and screaming.
“Go ahead, my little slut; make as much noise as you wish. No one can hear you,” he commented.
The vibrations were relentless against my tender flesh, but it was clear he had no intentions of letting me rest. While some Doms embrace orgasm denial, my magnificent Alpha-male preferred forcing me to cum repeatedly.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmured. “Keep cumming for me.”
I did as I was told until I couldn’t speak coherently, and tears from my overwhelmed state decorated my cheeks. Finally, he switched off the toy. With my legs shaking, I rose from the chair, which was covered in my juices, and was led to the spanking bench. Unfortunately, my diminutive height made it impossible for me to be restrained—one size does not fit all. So, I did my best to lean over the sizeable wooden contraption to present my ass for impact.
I was spanked with two different types of paddles, one that made a thud upon connecting with my creamy flesh, and another that provided a severe sting. Both offered different sensations of pleasure and pain, and had my nectar dripping onto the floor. The spanking continued until my Sir was satisfied with the red hue adorning my formerly pale ass.
“Let’s move to the cross, shall we?” he said, taking my leash and guiding me to the foreboding, black St. Andrew’s Cross. He secured my wrists and ankles so that I was facing the wall, giving him access to my backside. I waited with bated breath as he perused the available choices with which to tan my hide.
He picked up the crop and ran it along my skin until goosebumps covered every inch of me. Then, without warning, the leather implement made contact with my already rosy bottom. He swatted my ass and the backs of my thighs until my entire body was trembling.
Without a word, he exchanged the crop for a flogger and began striking my back. This was a new experience for me; he’d never whipped my back before. While it stung, it was also salcious, and I was pleading for more.
“Again, please, Sir,” I begged.
“Oh, does my little slut enjoy having her back flogged?”
Though I couldn’t have explained why, I was thoroughly aroused by it and nodded to show my consent. Acknowledging my desire, he struck my ass, back, and legs until I climaxed. Grabbing the crop once more, he spanked my sopping wet pussy until I came again, my juices spraying and my body shaking uncontrollably.
Undoing the restraints, he turned me around and refastened them, so I was facing him now.
“Look at your nipples! They are standing at attention for me.” He wasn’t wrong. It was as though my breasts were wearing pointy little party hats, waiting for the next fun activity.