The dungeon (standard:horror, 4834 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: May 19 2010	Views/Reads: 3193/2374	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
[CAUTION. ADULT CONTENT] Welcome to the dungeon, where pain is pleasure, or is it? Calvin is about to find out.

It did not look to be a place of any significance. It simply resembled
the entrance to somebody's flat above a shop, but Calvin Lavelle  knew 
of what lay behind the dark blue door, sandwiched between a bakery and 
a charity shop. There were no signs, no notices indicating that it was 
a massage parlour, nothing to indicate the type of place it was. 

He knew also that the place gave more than a simple massage. For those
with extra funds, any whim was catered for. He knew as well, that the 
place had a basement, where more exquisite tastes could be indulged in. 
It was not the massage parlour, or brothel that Calvin was here to see. 
It was ‘The Dungeon', where, as far as he knew, it was a place of 
bondage and sado-masochism. There were plenty of massage parlours 
giving out extras across the country. That was of no concern to him, as 
people knew but chose not to say anything, and it had been like that 
for many years. No-one was being harmed. It was all consensual activity 
among adults, and was something that went unspoken, because people's 
prejudices were still active and strong. Many disapproved, but accepted 
that they were there. There were those that did not know, and would 
have disapproved, but doing nothing about it should they understand its 
existence. 

Calvin wondered about this place. Maybe they simply think it's a massage
parlour that gives special treatment to those with more money, but did 
not know about the dungeon, a place were pain became pleasure. 

He worked for an obscure magazine that not many people knew about or
bought, yet still remained in business. ‘Dominator' was a fetish 
quarterly, catering for all sorts of bizarre tastes, for people who got 
their sexual kicks from things that could be deemed ‘abnormal'. Still 
though, many individuals throughout the world showed an innocent façade 
to people who did not know about their sexual desires. Who knew that an 
innocent check-out girl at the local discount super-market enjoyed 
being blindfolded and having anal sex with complete strangers? Or a 
bank manager who could only get an erection when his penis was rubbing 
against metal? Calvin was one of those journalists who wrote complete 
exaggerations and downright lies when it came to his articles. At 38 
years-old, voluntarily bald with a white goatee beard, and a beer 
induced paunch, he was the type who would go and visit strange sexual 
customs and photograph himself in various poses and guises, always 
grinning at the camera, sometimes with thumbs-up in a ‘look at me, 
aren't I crazy?' frame of mind. For this issue's article, he had booked 
an appointment for the dungeon to see ‘Mistress Fox'. 

He was not intending to have a session with her, but to sit in with her
and a client, and watch and photograph them, maybe perhaps joining in 
where he would probably get the client to photograph him pretending to 
be whipped, his face in mock pain at the camera in his ‘I'm having a 
go' attitude. 

He checked the camera before leaving his Renault Laguna and crossing the
road. People passed by as normal, and Calvin guessed that many of them 
perhaps did not know it was there. You could pass by it everyday and 
not notice the door. 

With his Finepix digital camera around his neck, he stepped back and
took a picture of the entrance. No-one batted an eyelid, and he pressed 
the intercom at the side, waiting for it to be answered. It was 
answered by the door clicking open. He entered, and it slowly swung 
shut behind him. He was faced with a corridor. The walls were blank, 
and a threadbare carpet led to the reception, where a dowdy looking 
woman with curly black hair was reading a newspaper at a desk, sipping 
from a bottle of blackcurrant juice. As he approached, he passed by a 
white door on his right, and written in black felt-tip at eye-level 
was: ‘The Dungeon'. 

The woman looked up as he approached and smiled. He took out his
identification and showed it to her. “I've come for my interview with a 
Mistress Fox. I'm from Dominator magazine”. “Oh right, yes. I heard you 
were coming” She picked up a telephone and pressed one digit. The room 
was fairly small. Along both walls either side of him were several 
chairs, a potted plant in one corner, and over both shoulders of the 
woman were two doors, one closed, one slightly ajar. He could just 
about hear a voice coming through, but could not make any words out. 
“Jan,” said the woman, “Your journo's here. Shall I send him down?” A 
few seconds later, she pointed to the white door. “Just go through,” 


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