The Golden Room

He sat on the edge of the bench, naked except for his blindfold, in the cold, damp room. He had been here many times before. But he knew that there was no point in speculating what lie ahead as each “event” was unique.

Would he be here for the evening? Would it be multiple days? Would he be cast out into the rain in just a few hours like he had been a few months ago? He wasn’t sure which to hope for, quiet frankly, and his body buzzed with both arousal and trepidation.

Donald had been, as per usual, kept waiting, shivering and alone, for what felt like a few hours. He had no way of telling what time it was, exactly. He was, as always, instructed to leave his Rolex, his cell phone, and all other electronics or timekeeping pieces in the glove box of his driver’s car before entering the house. Once inside, he was to disrobe, placing his belongings into the lidded metal box that sat near the door that led the the stairs. He would then retrieve the simple, black blindfold from the tray on the antique, mahogany bureau, put it on, tying it snugly in the back as instructed, and there he would wait for an escort to lead him down a long, narrow staircase to what could only be described as a dungeon, and then he would march several more steps to where he would linger for an undetermined period of time before things got rolling.

On his first visit to Ann’s house, he was instructed to remove all jewelry including his wedding ring, but all visits afterwards, he was to wear it. Donald wasn’t sure exactly why, but it didn’t matter.

He was antsy, shivering and anxious as he sat in “his cell” as it was referred to, and he wondered if he would be here much longer. He knew better than to call out. He had done this once only to have the door fly open, and someone charging in with a garden hose to douse him with painfully frigid water, and he was left there overnight to consider his impatience. No, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was the same man who sprayed him down with a hose, or if it was a different man each time he was escorted or “engaged”. Truth be told, he didn’t want to know.

“Get up,” snapped a voice over the com system that the entire house was wired with.  He jumped up immediately and stood at attention.  It was time. And, despite the cold, his modest, formerly flaccid penis also stood at attention.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m rea..”

“DO NOT SPEAK. I DID NOT INSTRUCT YOU TO SPEAK.”

Donald nearly apologized, but, instead, nodded. He had made that mistake before as well. He was relieved when he wasn’t revisited by the hose.

His penis was no longer erect, but rather scared into a nearly inverted position. At the moment, fear and cold were conquering his still present but timid arousal.

He wondered what the scenario would be today.  Would he be the bad student? The patient? The slave? The bad, bad baby? Her tone sounded harsher than usual, but this wasn’t always indicative of what he was in store for. He had just come from his inauguration, such as it was, and was hoping for something a little more celebratory.

Still wearing the blindfold, he stood silently and just…waited.

He heard the multiple locks and latches on the door to his cell being unfastened, and his arousal began to take over once again.

“Come with me,” a male voice said, as if he had any choice. He relinquished any freewill once he stepped through that front door and it closed behind him.

He reached out and the man placed a rope into his hands and started walking, Donald falling in step behind his chaperone quickly, and they headed out into the corridor, Donald making sure not to drop the rope which was his only lead to his destination.

They walked across what felt to him like a cobblestone floor. The building he drove up to for each event he was invited to was old, dating back to the mid-1800s, with necessary updates for aesthetics and structural integrity but not much more. He often imagined what this part of the house was intended when it was originally built and occupied, but often settled on the belief that it was built entirely for the purpose of captivity and sexual deviancy, hidden away from the more tasteful expectations of the outside word.

The walk today seemed to be longer than usual. He knew it was about 30 steps to what Ann referred to as her “room of punishment”, the room with the riding crops, whips, paddles – spiked and un-spiked – were kept on a wall behind various structured used to bind him in positions that each “story-line” called for. He was usually allowed to remove his blindfold once inside the playrooms, though, sometimes he felt this wasn’t necessarily a positive thing.

The next room down, only another 10 steps or so, was the room he considered the jungle room – fur carpets, blankets, stuffed animals (actual stuffed animals, shot and mounted during expensive safari trips to Africa and so on) and lush vegetation that was grown and nurtured in a damp, artificially lit room. There was a man-made waterfall in this room as well.  Some vile things had gone on within those walls, but it was the room Donald liked the most.

They kept walking…past the nursery, the classroom, the barn…and rounded a corner. Donald was mostly positive he hadn’t previously been led to this part of the dungeon, and the newness excited him.

After about 10 more steps, he heard a door open, and he was shoved inside by his escort, causing him to stumble and fall to one knee on an uneven, rough surface. The door slammed behind him, the sound of a bolt mechanism and 2 more locks scraping and clicking behind him.

“What the fuck…?” Donald tried to keep silent for obvious reasons, but this particular “welcome” took him a bit by surprise for some reason.  He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and this stumble hurt in a way he didn’t find titillating. He groaned as he pulled himself back to to his feet, removing his blindfold with one hand, and with the other, rubbing his sore kneecap where the skin had been stripped, pulling his hand back to see blood.

He stared at his hand for a bit, surprised at the level of intensity, for lack of better words, that this event was starting out at. Then, his eyes now adjusted to the light, he took in the room around him.

No, Donald had never been in this room before, of that he was certain. This room, even in comparison to the punishment room, was stark. The floor was a combination of unmaintained cement and gravel. There was a solitary chair in front of him, and, against the wall at the back of this room were what appeared to be feeding troughs, somewhat like what he saw in the “barn” room, but filthier.  And the smell…

The room was dimly lit, so he tentatively walked on the unforgiving floor – he was barefoot, of course – and surveyed the rest of his surroundings.

There was a garden hose – probably not the one that was used to assault him a while back, not long enough – and, next to that in the corner a large canister of what looked like oats or some other sort of animal feed.

There was a sink next to what appeared to be a cabinet that held medical supplies and a variety of sizes of bottles filled with liquid…medicine? He was unsure. He walked over and took a closer look, opening drawers to find syringes, tubing he couldn’t quite identify, foil packs of tablets, capsules, and so on.

He had been in the “Infirmary” room before when he was to play “the patient”, but this was different. And suddenly he realized that he was probably being too nosy…he was sure Ann had cameras in every room, she had made reference to her videos more than once.

As if on cue, he heard a brief tone from the com system.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Donald?  Back to the center of the room, you know the rules.”

He reacted immediately and quickly but gingerly padded over to the center of the room and stood underneath the overhead lighting.

“I’m sorry, Mistress, I was just intrigued. I haven’t been here before…have I?”

She sighed through the speaker, clearly annoyed. “No, Donald…you have not been here before. Are you going senile among everything else?”

“No, Mistress. I…I just wanted to make sure, none of this seemed familiar, but I thought maybe…”

“No, Donald, you didn’t “think maybe”. That’s the problem, Donald…for such a “yugely smart man”, you just don’t think sometimes.  It’s becoming a problem.” He could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

Donald stood there with his mouth agape. It’s not that Ann wasn’t harsh with him, quite the contrary. That’s why he kept coming back. She was the one woman in his life that WAS harsh with him, that didn’t kiss his ass, roll over and let him just do whatever. That’s what he loved about her. He loved her, hated her, feared her, and wanted her more than anything. He knew he couldn’t have her, and that’s why he allowed her to “have” him. This was on her terms.

But, again, this was different.

“I don’t know what to say, I…”

“Well isn’t that something? The Donald doesn’t know what to say. Alert the media. Tell me, Don…is this a first for you? Not that you are crisply eloquent during your Twitter Tantrums, those are just embarrassing. But have you ever THOUGHT that you didn’t have something to say about anything? Jesus, Donald, I’m starting to wonder why I bother with you and your tired dick.”

He stared down towards the ground, focusing on the tip of one toe he could still see after years and gravity had unkindly shifted things, and waited. He knew she wasn’t done verbally emasculating him.

“Are you going to ask me what this is about, Donnie? Unsurprisingly, you appear to have no idea, or you are at least doing a magnificent job pretending to be clueless” she snorted

Donald started to shiver. It was no longer from the cold.

“Ann, let me explain…”

“Bed-pissing hookers, Donald? Really? You know how I feel about that shit, and we have discussed how filthy it is at LENGTH in the punishment room after your accident in the infirmary. And don’t you dare give me that “urine is sterile” bullshit, Donald, I swear to god I will buttfuck you with a hammer if you so much as utter that crap.”

He cringed at that last statement. “Mistress,” he pleaded, “don’t believe a word of it, Mistress, it’s fake news! It’s a smear campaign!” His quivering bottom lip most likely gave him away, but Donald tried to sound as calm and steady as he could

She scoffed again, “Spare me. I know you’re into some sick shit. OBVIOUSLY. You’re not going to talk your way out of this one. Honestly, Donnie, next I’m going to find out that you filmed some sort of scat-snuff porn on your last trip to Hamburg, and I’m going to lose my shit, pardon the pun.”

Donald didn’t know what to say. He knew if he kept on like he was, it was going to sound like pathetic excuse making and she wasn’t going to believe a word of it. She was was as perspicacious as she was gaunt. And he was a terrible liar. He had tells, and Ann knew them all.

“I’m sorry. I was just so angry at the thought of those people in a bed together at a hotel I was staying in that I…I hired those girls…it was just to watch, Ann…I wasn’t…”

“Stop talking, Donnie. And never call me Ann again, you know better than that, you ridiculous child.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked. His knee was throbbing unlike his member, which was hanging there sad and mostly unperceivable unless you were “nose-to-nose” with it.

“That’s better, you sick animal. Which leads me to why you’re in this room today, Donald. This is the room where I house my sick animals, hence the smell. My goat, Marco, who you’ve become acquainted with during our “barnyard weekends”, came down with some sort of virus and was pissing everywhere. I figured, given the circumstances, this was the perfect room for our next adventure. ALSO given the circumstances of your little pee-pee adventure that has been exposed to public view, you’re probably going to fucking LOVE what I have in store for you, you disgusting pig-man.”

Ann chuckled. “And, for obvious reasons, I will not be joining you for playtime this time around. Maybe next time, though your lack of discretion is concerning me, so we’ll see what happens after today.”

….to be continued.  

 

 

 

 

Disclaimer: This is satire. This is parody. None of these events actually took place with anyone real that you may be picturing in these stories. Unless they did, then that is a bizarre coincidence because how the hell would the author of these pieces of fan-fiction even know? But seriously. Believe me. These are bigly pieces of fiction. The biggest. The fictioniest. I’m telling you. We know fiction. And this is it. The best fictions and satires and parodies. And if we’re being honest, it’s all the weird shit that plays out in the heads of writers that very well could have happened with those writers on some level. Writers are masters of projecting their own sick shit into fictional characters, aren’t they? They’re the bigliest. Also, this is satire, parody, and otherwise fictional. Had we mentioned that? Because…it totally is. So much satire, parody and fiction.