The Silver Locke - And My Apologies

Recently, the Goodreads BDSM Group selected my early novel "The Silver Locke" as their "April's Book of the Month." One member of the group, an editor by trade, gave the novel a thorough scrubbing for grammar (it helps to be English I think), while I revised certain continuity errors, updates some language, and even altered a few minor points to help the overall flow of the book. Considering I started that novel when I was approximately 26 and still writing on college ruled paper, I'm surprised I just didn't throw away the entire thing.

So I uploaded the revised version to Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble's Nook site and voila - there it was, available for purchase, cleaned up and standing as a shining example of my early work - porn without plot - and unfortunately, missing Chapter 9.

Yep. It was missing an entire chapter.

To the totality of the story, admittedly the omission of Chapter 9 did nothing to affect the plot. Since the story revolved around my fictional rendition of Breanne, she still caromed from one sexual torment to another.

Still, readers should get what they paid for, right?

So it is with my humblest apologies that I announce that I've uploaded the corrected manuscript, with Chapter 9 included and they should be available for download by the time this post goes live. The book itself is only 99 cents, so if you find yourself in need of a book with absolutely no plot, but a sexually deviant girl who just can't get enough, then ... the Silver Locke might be the right book for you.

If you need an actual plot, or maybe romance, then Challenge of Love might be a better selection.

Yours Faithfully,

Michael Alexander

Chapter 9:  The Dungeon

Room seven was halfway down the hall, and they paused in front of it while Melanie knocked politely and opened the door. For a moment, the darkness in the room made it hard for Breanne to see as Melanie pushed her inside.  As the door shut, Breanne was able to distinguish the size of the room, along with several glass-encased lamps that flickered as if they were old fashioned antiques burning oil.

           

Dr Mason was sitting behind a heavy wooden table, roughhewn, draped head to foot in a brown monk’s robe. His bald head seemed entirely appropriate here. A bulky metal rosary was pulled through the hemp belt he wore, and his fingers were folded as if in prayer. 

           

“Breanne Erickson. You are brought here before our Lord to answer the charge of witchcraft and heresy, which has been made against you. How do you plead?” Dr Mason asked, his voice both sonorous and monotonous. 

           

Breanne hesitated. She barely remembered the stories she had heard of the witch trials of the dark ages, but she remembered that the accused seem to lose no matter which way they pled. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she was able to make out the rack, a wooden horse, a St. Andrew’s cross, and a wall full of whips and floggers, along with several other odd shaped instruments.

           

Suddenly smiling, Breanne decided to indulge Dr Mason’s little fantasy. She glared at him, getting into the spirit of the roleplay.

           

“I declare myself innocent, a true daughter of the Church!” Breanne said, her voice ringing righteously. She lifted her still bound hands and tried to make the sign of the cross.

           

Mason stood, his face angry, but his eyes betraying his pleasure at her response.  “Yet I, myself, have witnessed your heresy, as you have encouraged others to call you goddess. You place yourself above the Lord!” His hand swung, slapping her bare breasts hard. 

           

Breanne cried out, unprepared for the physical assault. Her left breast stung where Mason had struck her, and she bent over leaning away from her attacker. He reached out, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushed her toward the St. Andrew’s cross. She stumbled, but he kept her upright, twisting her around roughly and pushing her bottom up against the center of the “X” frame. A small knife appeared, and he slit the binding twine that held her hands. 

           

She could have resisted, but she didn’t, allowing him to bind her wrists in the secure leather cuffs that were attached to the top of the frame. It took him only moments to do the same to her ankles, spreading her legs and arms to match the outstretched limbs of the ‘X’.

           

The gag surprised her; a thick twisted rag of white cotton went around her head and was quickly tied, her teeth sinking into the spiraled cloth. Mason grinned at her, his eyes glinting with an evil desire as he removed a small metal object from one of the inner pockets of his robe.

           

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding it up in front of her eyes. She looked at the shiny metal fruit shaped item and shook her head.

           

“It’s called a pear,” Dr Mason said, unconsciously switching to his lecturing voice. “The original pears used in the medieval ages were gruesome torture instruments.  By turning the key, the pear opened up inside the victim, tearing their insides with sharp metal spikes. Since pears were rarely kept clean, infection quickly followed, then death.”  He looked at Breanne, checking to see if she were paying attention.

           

“Obviously, we can’t do that now, so part of my job was to change the nature of many of the medieval torture devices into non-lethal toys that could still inflict torment on the victim.” He grinned and leaned forward. “This one now delivers an intense electric shock while vibrating.” His hand moved down low, and Breanne cringed, feeling the cold metal applied to the slightly spread and very damp petals of her sex.

           

“Of course, I did consult with a gynecologist, to see how big we could make the pear, and what kind of spread we could give it before causing actual damage. I was surprised with just how much room is in there.” Breanne shuddered as he pushed it into her body, the coldness of it causing her to grimace. As the bitterly cold object seated itself, she felt Mason touching the small metal turnkey that stuck out between her legs.  There was a strange sensation inside her, and she felt the small object expanding. Then she cried out as the electrical shock hit her, followed by the vibration.

           

“Excellent,” Mason said, looking at her wild eyes as her hips began thrusting madly. Every few moments another shock hit her. He stood watching for a minute before pulling a wicked-looking switch made of some thin branches from a small barrel. 

           

“I noticed your friend, Melanie showing off her stripes. I think I’d like to give you a set that matches.” He pulled back his arm and swung.

           

Fire exploded across Breanne’s breasts, a deep pain that radiated upward from her bosom to her head. She screamed through the gag, her head rolling back as a thin red welt appeared across both breasts, perfectly centered over each nipple. Mason didn’t waste much time. He let loose another swing almost as soon as her scream ended, this time landing a perfect smack across the underside of both teats. 

           

Breanne pulled hard against the leather bonds holding her. If she had been free, she would have covered her body and fled. Her eyes flashed in wild desperation as Mason swung again, landing a third blow across the upper slope of her breasts. Three matching welts traversed her bosom, like latitude lines crossing a globe. She groaned, her breasts throbbing in time with the shocks and vibration from the pear.

           

Mason smacked her again, this time landing a somewhat softer blow on her right breast. She jumped, her body thrashing in protest to the painful line of agony. Several fast strikes against her nipple left her breathless, cheeks streaked with tears. In moments, both breasts were beet red, hanging like sun-ripened fruit ready for the plucking. Everything hurt.  Breanne’s breath came in ragged gasps, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks to soak into the twisted cloth that muted her screams. Her loins had taken on a life of their own, thrusting out in response to every new shock as her breasts throbbed with heat. But what really got to her was the dichotomy between what Mason was doing to her breasts, against what the pear device was doing to her sex. She could feel waves of pleasure, of desperate need working within her. But the torture applied to her top half kept getting in the way. It was almost as bad, if not worse than that Keel had done to her.

           

Dr Mason stepped back, admiring his handiwork as Breanne slowly began to calm down. He moved away, dropping the thin switch back into the barrel, much to Breanne’s relief. It wasn’t until he stepped up to a glowing brazier with a hot iron cooking inside it that she tensed, suddenly frightened for the first time.

           

Mason could sense the change in Breanne and held up his hand. “Don’t worry, Bre. I know the rules. See? This brazier is only iron charcoal with a red light underneath.” He reached down and put both hands on the burning coals, much to Breanne’s relief. He laughed and pulled the ‘hot iron’ out of the fire, as Breanne grunted with the pain of another electrical shock from the pear between her legs.

           

“The truth is, this was much easier to design than some of the other items. It’s just a black plastic stick that is thinner at the tip with a red light inside of it, to simulate the glowing heat of a hot iron.” He then grinned mischievously. “But there’s also two small metal tips on the end that can deliver another electrical shock like the one you are experiencing right now inside you.” He approached with his hot iron. “Except I can press this anywhere I want on your body.”

Breanne cringed, trying to shrink away from the approaching sadist. The glowing tip of the iron came up, zeroing in directly on her right nipple. It was as if she had been burned. A terrible jolt passed through her flesh, puckering her already swollen nipple, forcing a soundless cry from her lips. Her entire body tensed, her toes curling as Mason moved the hot iron to her other breast.

           

He stood there shocking her, moving the rod of hot iron from one point to another on her body. From her right nipple, he went to her navel, and then to her clit, then to her side, just under her arm. Her hands were next, then back to her nipples.  He moved down her body until he knelt and reached down, moving the tip of the hot iron under the soles of her feet, the last two shocks delivered to her delicate arches.

           

Breanne hung on the St. Andrew’s cross, her body twitching and sore.  Her breasts had lost none of their red tinge and beads of perspiration covered her body.  Mason put the hot iron back into the glowing brazier and moved once more toward his victim. Spinning some sort of wooden handle allowed the St. Andrew’s cross to suddenly rotate, Breanne barely noticed until she was upside down, the blood rushing to her head.

           

To her relief, the first thing Mason did was remove the pear. Its shocking and vibrating hull was turned off and slowly extracted. It was covered in the slick juices of her body.  Her thighs trembled as it popped out, once more contracted into its smallest state. As Mason leaned over her, she could feel the hard shape of his cock bumping into her cheek.

           

Mason evidently had the same thought, for in moments the front of the robe opened and his thick shaft was presented for her to suck.

           

“Suck on me, Breanne, or I’ll punish that little pussy of yours,” Dr Mason said, his voice urgent with need. 

           

Breanne opened her mouth but was too overwhelmed to do more than allow Mason to pump in and out. It was hard as well, not having her hands, and as he drove deeper and deeper, she gagged. 

           

“Use your tongue, witch!” Mason cried, one hand gripping her thigh while the other reached up to her clit. His fingers began toying with her nub, pinching, squeezing and sliding through the wet petals of her swollen pussy.

           

She did her best and was rewarded with the musty-salt cream of her former high school history teacher pouring into her mouth. She tried to swallow, but the position made it too difficult and some leaked out, dribbling from her lips in shallow trickles that ended up in her eyes and hair.

           

Finally, Mason pulled his limp member from her mouth, sighing lustily. He gave the cross another spin and moved her back upright. Breanne blinked away some of the white cream and moaned as her head throbbed.

           

Dr Mason stood admiring her body, his exposed member pulsing slightly. He lifted his left arm, checking a wristwatch that seemed oddly out of place in the dark dungeon. Then he nodded to himself, apparently deciding what would come next.

           

He moved forward, unbuckling Breanne’s dainty ankles from the heavy leather bonds of the St. Andrew’s cross. His fingers ran up her body, over the red welts on her breasts and up her arm until he was able to free her wrists. She sagged, and he was forced to catch her, holding her up as she dangled over his shoulder.

           

“Hmmm … I was going to put you in the stocks, but maybe the rack would be a better choice,” he said, dragging her across the floor. Breanne barely recognized the heavy wooden table she was being laid out on but groaned as Mason rolled her onto her stomach. His fingers lifted her feet and positioned them in the small circular retainers on one end, securing her tightly.

           

Once more he ran his fingers over her body, from heel to shoulder, lingering on her bottom, until he finally secured her wrists, outstretched above her head. It took only a moment to crank the winch, tightening her body and stretching it along the length of the rack. Mason stopped when she groaned, her breasts sore and tender as the weight of her upper body pressed down upon them.

           

“No doubt you are wondering why you’re on your stomach when usually you see prisoners on their backs when tortured by the rack. Well, that’s because I’m feeling the need to inflict some serious damage to that cute little butt of yours. The rack is just a convenient place to keep you secure.” He pulled out a multi-thronged whip and swished it through the air once. 

           

Breanne turned her head just as he raised his arm, bringing the cat-o-nine-tails arcing down upon her dainty bottom. She cried out, the gag still preventing her from letting loose with a powerful cry, her hips propelling her loins off the table. Her bottom rocked, thin red stripes streaking across the pale white skin. Mason swung again, forcing a repeat movement from the abused girl.

           

Four more strikes of the whip burned Breanne’s bottom until she sobbed, her chest heaving with the cries, her rump a flaming mass of crimson heat. Mason dropped the whip and quickly clambered up onto the rack, straddling her, the freshly hardened shaft of his cock pressed to the crack of her ass.

           

It stung, but she rolled her hips, allowing Mason to slide downward, the tip of his rod slipping.  For a moment, she thought he was going push it in her bottom, but it went lower, finding the wet and tender hole of her sex. With a groan, he moved inside her, finally fulfilling one of the fantasies of his high school teaching days.

           

“Oh yes, oh God, yes, Breanne …” Dr Mason moaned, his hips thrusting hard against her superheated ass. She was unable to move, secured into the rack as he took her from behind, her bottom cushioning the bony hips of the small balding man.

           

It didn’t take him long, and she felt his cock stiffen inside her, throbbing and then shaking. It was a familiar feeling, one she had felt many time before, but the knowledge she was being fucked by her very own tenth-grade history teacher sent a thrilling shiver of pleasure up through her body, causing her to tense around his shaft.

           

For a moment, they lay there, the heavy sound of their breathing filling the dungeon.  Eventually, Mason propped himself up, extracting his spent member from her depths. He slid off the rack, donning his robe before he moved to free her, savoring the sight of one of his favorite students lying naked, her buttocks crisscrossed with the tell-tale stripes of a whipping. He ran his hands up and down her legs, from the soles of her feet up to her buttocks.

           

“Breanne, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this.  I never expected to be able to have one of my former students in this manner, and I can tell you that it has been incredible,” he said as he helped her up, pulling her off the rack.

           

Breanne nodded. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, sir,” she said in a strained whisper, barely able to stand, much less walk. To her surprise, there was a knock on the door. Mason quickly opened the door. William Price was standing there, a long, fluffy terrycloth robe in his hands. Mason blinked.

           

“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself, Dr Mason?” Price asked. He glanced around the interior of the room. “We certainly have appreciated your work, Doctor.  I hope you have enjoyed the benefits of our arrangement.” He held open the robe, allowing Breanne to slip it on slowly.

           

Mason nodded. “Absolutely. Go on, take care of her.”

           

“Yes. Have a good evening,” Price said, taking Breanne and helping her down the hall. The door shut behind them.

“Well, you certainly have had a profitable night,” Price said, betraying his bewilderment. “Dr Mason isn’t a regular, but after seeing his session with you, I can easily say he is one of our most extreme clients.”

           

Breanne looked up at him confused. “You watched? I didn’t see you,” she said as they made it to the staff stairwell.

           

“I was watching on the security camera. We monitor all the sessions with the girls, to make sure that clients don’t go too far. There have been a few rare cases where a new client isn’t able, in the throes of passion, to distinguish what’s allowed and what is against the house rules. Since there are no safe words for the girls to use, we monitor the sessions.”

           

“How often does that happen?” she asked concern written all over her face as they walked down the stairs.

           

Price shrugged, “Oh, maybe once, twice a year. It’s actually pretty rare because clients who do that are placed on probation and their membership fee doubles. We charge a huge amount for the membership fee, so they pay attention.” He looked at her as she winced on the bottom landing. “Are you okay?”

           

Breanne chuckled softly. “Let’s see, tonight I’ve been sapped, iced, waxed, shocked, whipped, caned, clamped, and penetrated with the most evilest dildo in the world, one with spikes on it.”  She grinned and shook her head up and down. “Yes, Mr Price.  I’m fine. Sore, I admit, but fine.” She suddenly laughed. “Have I broken all the records yet?”

           

Price laughed. “Well, you’re tied for a few. Let’s see … you’re tied for best dancer, the number of auctions in a night, and experiencing the most amenities of the Locke in your first week.”

           

Breanne nodded.  “So I haven’t broken any records yet?” 

           

Price shook his head.  “No, but that’s not what it’s about.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a few minutes before midnight, and things are quieting down a bit now.  Most of the clients have already made their purchases, and only a few die-hards are still in the lounge. Why don’t you call it an evening? Get some rest and recuperate? Sade mentioned to me that you were meeting her tomorrow morning to train for the wrestling arena.”

           

Breanne grimaced.  “That news made its way around fast.”

           

Price laughed. “No, actually Sade had to ask permission first. We generally don’t open the Locke that early so I had to arrange with the morning crew to let you both in.  It’s not a problem. Don’t forget your gym appointment on Saturday, either.” He pushed open the door, leading Breanne out into the Administration Hall.  “So, are you going to head home?”

           

Breanne paused for a moment and then straightened.  “No, actually I think I’m going to find something thin and gauzy like Melanie did and hit the floor. I can do some private dances and according to Mel, the guests like girls who are striped like this.” She held her hand up to her bare breasts, the thin red lines still very visible.

           

Price nodded. “I admit that the stripes look fetching on you.”

           

Bre smiled.  “So, thanks for the offer, but I’m going to go get dressed now.

           

“Your choice,” Price said, spreading his hands and shrugging. “Just be careful and don’t push it too much, okay? The weekend is usually even busier, with lots more opportunities.”

           

Breanne smiled and gave him a wink as she pushed open the door to the ladies’ dressing room and went inside.