His Dungeon Brings All The Kinky Girls
There are, he sometimes reflects, certain advantages to having the baddest-ass dungeon in town. As this became known among the freer-thinking ladies of his community, his kinky dating problems pretty much evaporated. He keeps a playdates calendar now, and it’s usually full up with sweet and eager kinksters who want to play with his inquisition rack and his thick wooden cross and his supple whips and his talented fingers. (As well as with — no less important! — his urgent dick.) Hell, he’s even got a list of cuties willing to come over when he’s not looking to play — they’ll cook him dinner, and then just snuggle on the couch doing the bondage-porn tube equivalent of Netflix and chill, ‘casting clips from sites like this up on his big screen.
He’s had long term BDSM relationships in the past. He even kept a “slave” for a few months, once. Those situations were fun in an entirely different way. A dom can get away with sexual selfishness with a permanent slave in the house. One time he demanded six blowjobs a day and told her she was being punished with orgasm denial the whole time. For two weeks he never lifted a finger to give her an orgasm. Every man’s dream? The sadist in him seriously enjoyed her growing frustration and carefully-concealed anger, but he was actually fond of the girl, so one night he ended the game: he wrapped her in shrink wrap and held a powerful massaging vibrator against her cunt until she had about a dozen screaming orgasms.
It’s different when he plays with a new lady every third night. The kink community here isn’t that big, and there’s a subbie mafia: they tell each other everything. A man has to protect his reputation for showing a lady a good time in the dungeon. Plus, he has plenty of play dates with return customers; that doesn’t happen by accident. So he’s on his good behavior even when he’s being bad and mean. Palm a lady’s pussy through her panties to make sure she’s enjoying her visit, keep fresh batteries in the vibrator, and let her kiss it and slurp it before buzzing her tender bits with it. A simple formula that hasn’t failed him yet!
The scary executioner style hood is his “thing”, his trademark during his dungeon playdates. It’s not like these ladies don’t know him; he’s been to munches and public play events and getting-to-know-you coffee dates in public places with every one of them. And these aren’t stupid women; every one of them, he imagines, sets up a “call me when you get home” safety call with another member of the subbie mafia before they vanish into his dungeon. In fact that’s why he wears the hood. He’s a known commodity, a stalwart member of the kink community, he’s as safe and trustworthy as it’s possible for a sadist to be. And being too safe? It’s great for getting dates, but it’s not quite so great at dampening the panties of the kinky little bitches who boldly enter his playspace alone.
No, he long ago realized that his signature menacing hood injects a frisson of delicious fear into any play date. His guest-victims seem to enjoy the symbolic reminder that he’s not a nice man, even though he, sort-of, actually is. By now, the hood’s such a trademark that they ask for it when he forgets to put it on!
