Long-term incarceration for education in a dungeon

 

Long-term incarceration for education in a dungeon.

I walked into the pitch-black basement where the individual jail cells were.

There were six cells, as far as I could tell, and each was intended for solitary confinement.

I was supposed to begin my long-term education here and begin my 24-hour a day servitude.

I had taken a leave of absence from my job and intended to work as a slave inside a prison.

My prison dominatrix put me through a series of tests before I was allowed to join the ranks of the prison slaves, including physical tests to determine my physical and mental health and a mental stress test to gauge my emotional fortitude.

I was ready for the worst because I had already gone through the worst torture games as a dungeon slave.

I received a prison shirt and some lightweight pants.

Slave 8097 appeared as my identification number on both.

The guards I got to know over the next year only used this number from that point forward to address me.

I had been reduced to the status of an item with a number and turned into a slave to do carpentry, plastering, and door repairs.

My BDSM story as a dungeon slave is that of a workhorse kept in prison and a dungeon slave in solitary confinement who was increasingly repressing his emotions.

I only obeyed the prison guards' commands and carried out their requests.

I had to work with the animals they kept on the farm in addition to the majority of the manual labor that was required.

I helped hold the horses when the blacksmith arrived and distributed feed and manure.

Weirdly, I only ever saw another slave once, leaving me to wonder if I was the only slave working round-the-clock.

When I first got sick and thought I might have to leave the slave incarceration, I initially noted each day in the small book that my domina gave me with a pencil, but I soon forgot about it and made my own calendar, which was already a mess, so I left it in its entirety.

A hard bed and a blanket were in my cell.

It took me some time to get used to sleeping without a pillow because at first my neck hurt all the time.

Soon, not even washing in ice-cold water bothered me; instead, the darkness I experienced whenever the light abruptly went out tormented me.

I frequently didn't know if it was day or night because my dungeon cell lacked a window.

For me, this lack of rhythm was the most challenging aspect because I was constantly wondering whether spring had arrived, if the sun was shining, and whether I should be awake at night or during the day.

I tried to estimate how long I had been out when I was taken from my cell, but I was largely unsuccessful.

Since it was always cold in the dungeon, the heat shock on summer days was extremely intense and once caused my circulation to stop working.

The doctor, whom I knew from my first illness in the cell, was called, and I was then allowed to stay in the stable for the duration of the day and night by my dominatrix.

The nighttime sounds of owls and crickets, the smell of the pigs next to me, and their snorts were all such wonderful experiences.

I so badly wanted to reach out and cuddle against their warm body, but I refrained out of respect for the mistress's punishment.

Another issue with my long-term education was the absence of touch.

I was desperate for touch.

When I once confessed my longing to a guard and expressed it, I was severely flogged.

This was the only instance in my BDSM history as a dungeon slave because I had learned to keep my emotions to myself.

From that point on, however, I would occasionally receive a visit from a slave who was forced into the cell with me, said nothing, but complied with all instructions from the guard, and who stood in the doorway and observed how the Slave missed a hand job and had to milk me.

She would receive a cane if she didn't complete it to the warden's satisfaction.

Because I found the slave's latex-gloved hands (I never felt bare hands in the entire dungeon education) emotionally so stimulating that I could hardly defend myself against the rapid ejaculation, I always tried to cum quickly and that was generally successful.

Then the guard made me lick up my own sperm.

It was a year of hardship and labor, of emotional borderline experiences, and above all, of humility, because I learned this because I only now realize how wonderful my life as a slave in freedom is.

I would do it all over again and be imprisoned as a slave once more just for that thrill I still experience today when I recall the burden of being a 24/7 slave in prison and the moment of freedom when I was out.