The Old Guard Dungeon

The Old Guard Dungeon

TheEdge​(other male) • Nov 14, 2017

Domina strummed her fingers slowly along the side of the crimson velvet armchair, shifting her gaze slightly from person to person and enjoying the observations she silently made on the back of her mind. Her nails would tease the material and pinch, extending outwards and letting it sap back in place with ease. At the end of the day if she destroyed it, she would just buy another one; this wasn’t the first time, nor will it be the last. She often tore open what she owned, and extracted everything she needed.

Leaning back in the antique chair, her weight moved to the left-hand side where she rested her elbow lazily on the black leather fabric of the decoration cushion. It was an odd pairing but in the dimly lit Dungeon, there was a sheen to the cushion and the velvet seemed to envelope the object with perfection.

Tonight, was no different than any other evening, she ordered the same as she normally did, a blood red aged Muscat in a glass far smaller than a normal wine glass. The version, something you would have expected one to use centuries beforehand, for administering medicine or the like; the liquid’s capsule, being of small sizing, must indicate the contents to be potent, or perhaps that’s just how it had always been served.

A girl dripping in PVC attire, and matching heels that looked unnatural and certainly uncomfortable, approached the chair and extended the glass to the her. Her eyes flickered across those seated in chairs and sheepishly stood to the left-hand side of the Domina.

Domina ignored her entirely, fixated on the activity on the other side of the lounge. The girl had no other option but to place it on the small side table and move away; the mere interruption of the act causing Domina to tilt her head to the left and crack the tension in her neck. She did tend to dislike any interruption when it came to viewing the activities within the Dungeon, and she less than entertained the lack of formal recognition. At times she wondered if the manners and expectations of general service were due to diminish entirely as the years passed; the reality was, there was no expectation as a Domme, but plenty as the co-owner and employer.

The Dungeon was an interesting mixture of traditional and new sentiments, relatively spacious, with the ability to hold both a stage for activity, a small bar and a lounge area. The couches were all in the same velvet red, very matching, and the cushions complimented the black wall paper that covered the brickwork. The gallery of artwork, BDSM infused, with select pieces from Madame Red was one of her favoured pass times. She enjoyed spending minutes, arguably hours entertaining herself in the message behind the art, and drifting off in thought whilst the gentle murmur of ongoing conversation served as a settling background noise. The dungeon smelt smoky but pleasant, remnants of the fireplace that was often lit on wintery nights, and due to the Dungeon’s placement underground, it was generally a blessing to have the heat waft through the main room. Until activity proceeded, and then the fire was nothing more than an accomplice to one’s body heat.

Many people came in and out of the room, acknowledging herself and Red as the owner’s and of course Peyman who often greeted the guests personally. She smiled to herself, noting that the two were in deep conversation about something, but she could not quite make out the words. She did have a slight knack for reading lips, but it was sometimes a hit and miss. Peyman and Red often jumped between conversations and she enjoyed slipping into the chat where possible, tonight they were nearer the bar and she was quite comfy where she sat; perhaps later.

Domina was an attractive yet thought provoking and confident woman, she certainly was not obnoxious or arrogant about the fact that this often extended across the room she was in. Where possible she would stay relatively down to earth and approachable, tending to only prompt any need for action or words when it was necessary. She was notoriously known for her blunt attitude and equal control, and she acknowledged this attribute with complete consciousness, both her and Madame Red often joked about their contrast as individuals in public. Where Domina, like a viper would cut down a negative situation in a matter of minutes, and remaining often void of creating depth of friendships, Madame Red often softened the harshness to allow the requesting participant their dignity, and usually was the life of the Dungeon. She had no issue with this balance, in fact the two complimented each other in many similar ways, but her dismissal of Madame Red’s sentiments was only present if someone demonstrated disrespect in the room. Her room. By this point, Domina’s normally calm and relaxed composure would instantly change. To disrespect Madame Red, Peyman, or the room itself, was worse than disrespecting Domina herself. And she really, became creative when someone disrespected her.

She stood at 5’7, but with her preferred knee-high leather boots, this made her 5’11 easily. They were feminine right down to the curve at the toe, and the thin heel, in the shape of a dagger. She had specifically sought these boots out for her personal collection less than a year ago, and she instantly fell in love. She was curvy and toned, with strong thighs, the thin black leggings that crept under the boots and fit her silhouette tightly, sat over her undergarments. Much the same as the top she adorned; however, this was less feminine. A nude tank top with black straps crossing left and right across the breast and lower back, hugged her torso, and leather armbands that tightened over the flesh of her arms, her title Domina adorning the fabric in steel lettering. Not many recognised that her title was not Mistress, Miss, Ma’am, Madame or so forth. She had always loved and utilised the title Domina as it was not only unique and commanding but settled a Roman fascination that she had had for many years. She would forgive ignorance for calling her anything bar Domina, but to purposely choose another title once informed; well this was often quite the entertainment for the Dungeon, once upon a time.

Her hair was slicked back in a loose wet look, jet black hair tumbling down her shoulders and reaching the small of her back. She loved long hair and the femininity that associated itself with it, even despite her attire and attitude, she would never cut her hair shorter, like a lion, she was quite attached to her mane. Her nails were long and black, coffin shaped at the tip and against her paled skin, they looked perfect. When she lingered in the Dungeon, her makeup was darker around her eyes, smouldering and taking the intensity to a higher level when she made eye contact, eye liner and mascara to match her hair colour. Her lips were often a dark maroon and the contour of her cheekbones and jawline were a result of her resting bitch face and the makeup she placed in all the right places. Her body language and appearance would at times put people at arm’s length away, her barriers often only broken down when her fiancé’, Red or Peyman was within company. Whether or not people liked to admit it, they had a version in their minds of what this Domme, and Trainer would be like and she would depending on her mood, at times entertain the perception.

Her mouth moved to a slight smirk and her tongue rolled along the back of her teeth, focusing on Madame Reds lips as they formed specific words she was finally able to make out. An interesting subject, perhaps it was worth it after all.

Domina rose from her chair and knocked back the liquid from the glass, the warm burning sensation dragging down the back of her throat and hitting her chest like a blow from a belt. She laughed to herself before throwing the cup down on the side table, the last few drops spilling onto the table and the glass bouncing until it fell to the ground. She shook her head and licked the spillage from her bottom lip; how she loved the taste and the sensation of that burn. Her boots, one in front of the other, clicked against the flooring and echoed through the Dungeon as she made her short journey towards the bar. Reaching the two, she signalled to the male behind the bar for a drink before turning to face Madame Red and Peyman, winking as they acknowledge her attendance.

‘So, it sounds like tonight is going to be fun in the Old Guard Dungeon’…


You can find The Old Guard Dungeon in the chat room.