ONDAHLIE�S DUNGEON

ONDAHLIE�S DUNGEON

Insane erotica by

LANCE EDWARDS

this twisted self-indulgence is dedicated to the REAL Lady O, whose excruciating attentions are sorely missed

Session 1: Woe to the Unwary

�� Cursing and grimacing, Don hunched his neck deeper into the collar of his shabby winter coat. It didn�t help much. The wind was insistent, plucking at his clothes and forcing its needling way inside.

�� December was a bitch in any part of the Northern world, but here on the shores of Lake Ontario she was a real cold-crotch nickel-plated cunt. Nevertheless, he�d had stuck it out. Homeless or not, he�d had a good job here -- until recently -- and money was more important than comfort. But now both were gone, and it was clearly time to head for balmier climes. With his pack on his back and his hands jammed deep into his pockets, Don trudged south down the highway, risking the occasional shower of slush in the hopes of finding a ride. And soon enough his prayers were answered.

�� A sleek black Audi purred past, then suddenly stopped and reversed itself. Don ran alongside, peering into the heavily tinted windows, and then caught his breath as one slid smoothly down.

�� "You need a ride, hon?"

�� The voice was a rich contralto, sweet and liquid like a shot of honey-sweetened run. The invitation in it was doubly surprising, coming as it did from a woman as undoubtedly wealthy as she was beautiful. Such people rarely wanted anything to do with Don, but for some reason this hot, classy-looking chick was offering him a welcoming smile as well as a ride.

�� Don didn�t hesitate. The door popped open at his touch and within seconds he was ensconced in a plush leather seat, reveling in the Audi�s warmth. Breathing a heavenly melange that was two parts new car and one part Chanel number 5, he had just a second to experience nirvana. Then it�s owner pressed the accelerator, and with a squeal of tires and a powerful throaty roar they peeled away from the curb.

�� "My name�s Ondahlie," she offered, giving him a chance to turn and study her. She was a black girl -- well more of a light golden brown -- and her full cheeks and sparkling eyes lent a hint of mischief to her cherubic features. Involuntarily Don dropped his gaze, checking her out. A heavy winter coat shielded her body, but the calves below were firm, elegant, and exquisitely formed, with stiletto heeled shoes gripping the tiny feet. In any case, she wore her power well, operating the expensive car with a sureness and grace that hinted at long familiarity with such luxury. Watching her, Don had to clear his throat twice before finally finding his voice, and croaking out his name in return.

�� Ondahlie smiled, enjoying his discomfort, and sweetly she asked him "Where you headed, Don Landers?"

�� "Florida." he replied, only half joking, and was gratified to hear her chuckle. He felt rather than saw the appraising glance she gave him, and felt a sneaking bit of pride. "Actually, I�m not really sure. I just figured to make a few more miles before dark and then find shelter. I�m, uh," he shrugged, "temporarily between jobs."

�� "Homeless, huh?" she cocked an eyebrow, not in contempt but as though this satisfied some personal agenda. "Well, Don, maybe I can do better than that." Ondahlie paused, returning her eyes to the road. "My place is just up here a ways. How about a hot meal and a warm bed for a change? I could use the company."

�� Don�s jaw dropped. "Sh-sh-sure." He managed to stammer out. "That�d be great."

�� Once again Ondahlie smiled at him, a secret smile full of promise, and then returned her eyes to the road. Cradled in the soft leather seat, Don sat silently beside her, watching the street unspool before them. After a moment he reached down, superstitiously, and pinched himself. He didn�t wake up.

�� Soon they left the highway behind, taking a series of side roads that led further and further from the city. Don rode beside his enigmatic benefactor in silence, feeling a bit uneasy as they left civilization -- or what passed for it these days -- behind. But then they turned into a long wooded driveway, passing through a heavy iron gate and continuing up a dark, tree shadowed lane to approach a forbidding-looking stone mansion nestled back among a stand of old Hemlock trees.

�� "Kind of creepy looking, isn�t it?" remarked Ondahlie, keying open the garage door and pulling the car inside.

�� "I get so lonely up here I could go nuts. But it was my parents� house..." she trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished, and for a minute Don thought he detected a strange note of falseness in her voice. But then she was opening her door and climbing out, and he followed her out of the car and into the cold dank air of the mansion�s garage.

�� It was almost eerily silent, even the ceaseless drone of the wind cut off by the heavy stone walls. The spike heels of Ondahlie�s shoes rang loudly on the cement floor, and the jingle of her keys sounded preternaturally musical as she unlocked the heavy wooden door. Then she was ushering him inside, the secret little smile again claiming her face. They paused for a moment in the darkened foyer, removing their coats, and then she took him by the hand and led him on.

�� She snapped on lights as they went, revealing high walls crowded with paintings. Dark, horrific scenes dominated, and Don didn�t need an art degree to recognize Goya. He moved away to study one as Ondahlie dropped his hand and turned toward the bar along one wall. "Scotch okay?" she asked.

�� "Sure." He leaned closer, listening to her rummage around behind him, and peered at the signature in the corner. Goya indeed. Battlefields and executions, hacked flesh and the tortures of the damned. He began to wonder about the people who would build such an oppressive old house and fill it with such foreboding masterpieces. Wealthy, but.... decidedly twisted.

�� "Boy, you weren�t kidding." he remarked, as he heard Ondahlie approaching. "Creepy is hardly the word for it. It�s almost like some old castle or something."

�� "Oh, yes!" she laughed wickedly behind him, and suddenly Ondahlie�s formerly sweet voice was so coldly amused that an instant of panic gripped Don�s muscles. It was enough to undo him. He was helpless as she stepped up and snarled "Just wait �til you see the dungeon!" Then something hot and cold and delivering a kick like a charging rhino touched the base of his skull and hammered him into unconsciousness.��

�� After a blank, meaningless interval, Don Landers gradually began to regain his senses. Soon a flickering yellow light penetrated the blackness that gripped him, allowing him to focus on his surroundings. What he saw was not reassuring.

�� Stone block walls enclosed him, and an immense weight seemed to impend on the heavy oak beams of the room�s ceiling. The air was hot and stifling, and some instinct warned Don that he was deep below the surface of the earth, locked up tight in a close stone chamber. And what he could see of the place looked straight out of the Spanish Inquisition.

�� Everywhere the walls were hung with whips and chains and ancient weapons, and medieval torture devices stood ranged around the room. Nearby tables were laden with collars and leashes and handcuffs, harnesses and straps, blindfolds and shackles and dildos and vibrators, plus various other periphrenalia intended for all manner of sadistic perversions.

�� Cunningly designed clamps and rings and penile fetters sat side by side with modified thumb-screws, straight razors, and evil-looking branding irons made for searing various arcane symbols onto human flesh. Wickedly sharp hooks and needles for tattooing and body piercing lay everywhere, and prominent among these other devices was a long, heavy electric stun prod the size of a policeman�s baton.

�� Groggily Don recognized it as the instrument that must have brought him down, and he began to struggle more fully awake. Then he perceived the rack.��

�� He was chained to it, of course, clamped out spread-eagled and helpless by heavy iron fetters. His body was naked, and an angled plane of rough wood supported him waist-high off the floor. His limbs were drawn out in a taut x, and from tight cuffs on his wrists and ankles the heavy iron chains led away to a grease-clotted system of pulleys and gears. Eventually this apparatus connected to a massive iron crank at the foot of the rack.

�� Don didn�t need much imagination to guess its function. He could be tortured to death here, literally drawn and quartered on this very table merely by turning that crank. Yet that wasn�t the worst of the room�s horrors. When he finally focused past the machinery at his feet, the source of the flickering yellow light resolved itself into an open furnace roaring in the far wall.

�� Large enough to cremate any number of bodies, it put out a fearsome heat. Heavy iron doors opened on a bed of glowing coals, and several more branding irons lay heating white-hot in the fire. There, beside the roaring blaze, stood Ondahlie, calmly feeding his pack and clothing to the flames. Then, when the last of his few belongings were consumed, she turned to gauge the extent of Don's recovery.

�� Gone was the polished and sophisticated young woman from the Audi, and in her place was a cold, cruelly authoritarian dominatrix. Poised on a pair of high black, stiletto-heeled boots, her excitingly fit body was strapped tightly into a spike-studded harness of supple black leather.

�� Crisscrossing straps and gleaming iron rings supported and separated her beautiful naked breasts, looping under them and around her shoulders to lift and display them to their best advantage. In addition heavy leather collars circled her neck and wrists, bristling with spikes, and a short black hood covered her head and features.

Only the two eyeholes and her chin and jaw remained visible, but they were enough to convey the overwhelming hunger of her personality. She looked as pitiless and implacable as an executioner as she studied him, and finally Don�s escalating terror broke through the numbing aftereffects of the stun that had felled him.

�� "P-p-please...." he began, trying to babble out some plea, but Ondahlie immediately silenced him, shrieking "Shut up, prisoner!" before he managed to reach the second word. Menacingly she approached the rack, glaring down at him, and the coiled poise of her excitingly taut body was as threatening as her words.

�� "Listen to me, prisoner," she hissed. "You are mine now. Your days of pointless, worthless drifting are over. You live now only to gratify me. You know why? Because you�re never going to leave this place. You�ve been kidnapped, see?

�� "You�re a drifter, a nobody." she sneered. "No one will ever miss you. I doubt if they�ll even bother to look for you, and certainly not here. We�re deep below ground beneath a well-defended estate in the middle of acres of isolated property. From now on your world consists of this room, the cell next door, a few other specialized chambers, and me.

�� "I am the great Lady O, Mistress Ondahlie to you, and I�m going to have some amazing fun playing with you. And as long as I�m entertained, you�re alive and reasonably healthy. So satisfy me if you can, little man, and hope it never ends. �Cause when it�s over.... it�s really over!" And with that Mistress Ondahlie stepped up to the foot of the rack and laid her hands on the crank.

�� Her heavy, dark-nippled breasts jiggled in their open leather harness, and exotic tattoos of snakes and leopards writhed on the gleaming, golden-brown skin of her shoulders and back. Then impressive muscles bulged, as she pitted her strength against the crank.

It turned it easily, drawing the chains tighter and tighter, ratcheting up the strain on Don�s helplessly spread body.

�� The cruel iron fetters bit into his flesh, holding him in an uncompromising grip, stretching Don's limbs until he could feel his shoulders starting from their sockets and his legs spreading apart in an enthusiastic acrobat�s split. The pain was immense, and sweat broke out all over his body. Every joint was screaming with strain before Ondahlie was finally satisfied with the level of the rack�s new tension, but at last she locked the crank in place and approached the table.

�� Stretched out before her like a painful sacrifice, Don whimpered uncontrollably. Weeks--perhaps years--of bizarre sexual torture lay ahead for him, but for the moment at least the Lady Ondahlie seemed unsure of where to start.

�� Her hands wandered over the table, picking up and replacing needles and razors, toying with various clamps and rings and fetters. She spent several long moments sorting through the wickedly spiked and screwed fittings of the many cruel penis attachments she regularly used, pausing occasionally to polish and admire the shiny stainless steel. Then she grabbed up a heavy leather bullwhip, whistling it around and cracking it in the air a few times before setting it back down. She turned to the fire to check which of her many branding irons was hottest, whitest. At last she seemed to make a decision.

�� Turning back to the table, she picked up her stun prod and leaned over Don�s moaning, suffering form. Peering down at his quivering body racked out before her, Ondahlie gave a strange, shrill little giggle of excitement and cried out "First things first!"

�� "I want to see what you�ve got. Eventually I�m going to shave off every scrap of your body hair and then whip and cut and bruise and brand and pierce and scar and tattoo every delicious inch of you, until your entire naked body is marked up like a big, beautiful work of art. But doing that takes weeks, weeks that make me as horny as a hellcat, and so I want to make sure you can deliver first. I want to see your load.

�� "Now I know you�re in pain. And I know you haven�t learned to equate pain with arousal yet. But you will. Believe me, before I�m done with you, you�ll live for the pain. But first I want to see what you can do, and that�s what this thing is good for!"

�� She brandished the stun prod, letting Don study it up close for the first time.

�� From her grip on the handle to the shiny round end that delivered the charge, it was a good two feet long, ribbed for much of its thick length with rough, regular corrugations. A small dial seated on the handgrip allowed one to adjust the level of juice flowing through it from a mere tickling trickle to a deadly jolt of killing voltage. Setting it somewhere in the middle, Ondahlie flipped a switch, and as it snapped into humming life she leered down at Don�s whimpering form and snickered out "This thing will wake up even the most terrified little pecker!" And with that she reached out and touched it to the root of his limply hanging dick.

A low tingle of electricity burned instantly into him, waking up the only nerves in his body not already screaming with pain. Don�s limp penis thickened, growing heavier and longer as it swelled with blood, and soon it was twitching like a divining rod, pulsing with every beat of his terrified heart. Gradually it began to raise its head, exposing the tender underside, and Mistress Ondahlie took immediate advantage.

�� She reached underneath, and touched the hot-cold head of her prod to the very base of his member, pressing down on the sensitive junction of cock and balls and fractionally dialing up the voltage. The result was nearly unbelievable.

�� A galvanizing heat raved throughout Don's entire genital area. His buzzing balls seemed to clench with need, and his traitor cock responded avidly, eagerly, rapidly growing and stiffening and climbing ever higher, until finally it jutted up from the black thatch at his crotch like a thick, fleshy explanation point.

�� Don groaned helplessly, so flooded with stimulation he wondered why he didn�t just fly apart from the pressure. But then through the wild neural storm that caterwauled through him he heard Mistress Ondahlie give a low, satisfied snarl. The huge, hardened spike of his erection stuck out from his suffering body at a rigid angle, its firmly upcocked shaft holding the sensitive plum of the head aloft like a sanctified offering to some cruel, pitiless goddess. And finally it was accepted.

�� As Ondahlie suddenly forced the egg-size bulb of her stun prod up past Don�s tingling balls and deep into his anus, she simultaneously dropped her head in a voracious plummet onto his upthrust organ. In seconds he was engulfed to the root, the straining hot steel of his member deliciously quenched in the exquisite warmth and wetness of that hot, hungrily suckling and slavering mouth.

�� It was like he�d died and gone to heaven -- or hell -- or maybe both. While the horrible pain of slow dismemberment raved throughout his suffering body, Don�s desperately hard and horny penis slid rapidly in and out and in and out of the slippery lips and rhythmic suction of the most skillfully professional blow-job he�d ever experienced. And all the while his potent, evil mistress continued to work the hard ball of her stun prod deeper and deeper up the tight hole of his ass, gouging her way in to where the hot current of her power could have the most devastating effect on him.

�� Already Don could feel it, the blood-rich flesh of his rectum and prostate taking painful fire from the hot stream of electrons coursing into him. And still Ondahlie forced it deeper, pounding her big, deadly phallus rhythmically up into him, harder and harder, fucking him with a giant black dick that came fire instead of sperm. Finally, just as her frantically gobbling pace began to climax in a tongue-lapping, lip-smacking frenzy, she struck the blow she�d been planning for all along.

�� With all the strength of her powerfully athletic body, and all the fire of her sadistically malicious passion, Mistress Ondahlie suddenly ripped her mouth from Don�s laboring cock and slammed the heavy ribbed shaft of her stun prod as high and hard and painfully deep up into his unprotected asshole as she possibly could and spun the dial open. The results of this maneuver were immediate and impressive.

�� Don�s eyes rolled up into his head, and his captive body jumped as though kicked. Already stretched out almost to the breaking point, his helplessly chained limbs nevertheless fought frantically to flip and flop and thrash and spasm in an uncontrollable dance of energy.

�� Failing that, his body tried to bridge, pushing out from head and heels until his neck and back could flex and heave and slam him brutally back and forth against the table of the rack at the insistent current�s every whim. His protruding tongue fluttered in his jaw and every hair stood on end, but even worse than the wild violence of these tremors was the apocalyptic action occurring in the only other part of Don�s body left totally free to convulse.

�� His bulging cock started shuddering, distending even more, growing so hard and thick and fat with blood that it suddenly seemed likely to burst. Then the electrically induced convulsions that rippled through his body finally squeezed the trigger. An ejaculation as mindless and reflexive as life itself exploded through Don�s loins, pumping up vast hot quantities of thick, spurting come to fly forcefully out of the wildly spasming, shuddering length of his painfully turgid penis.

�� Indeed, so much sperm sprayed deliciously out of Don Landers that it seemed to take his consciousness with it -- although surely the blackness which claimed him at his highest peak was more the result of electricity than ecstasy.

�� In any event, the last thing he heard as he plunged into darkness was the exultant, triumphant sound of Mistress Ondahlie screaming out her excitement. And the first thing he saw when he struggled back to the light was her crouched just above him, grinning with promise, as she slowly, deliberately stropped the gleaming, 6-inch length of a long silver straight razor.