In the Dungeon

This was my third week in a row attending a play party at Denver Sanctuary, and somehow each visit has felt completely different from the last. It was also the quietest night I’d experienced there. Only a handful of people had come, which, honestly, suited me perfectly. Smaller crowds have always been more my pace. The space felt calmer, more intimate, and I found myself relaxing almost immediately.

I put on a hot pink lace bodysuit that was well outside my comfort zone but looked far better than I had expected. I paired it with a black skirt covered in pink florals, pink fishnets, and a pair of pink kitten heels. It felt playful, feminine, and just bold enough to make me nervous.

As soon as I walked through the door, I saw his expression change. His eyes immediately settled on my outfit, and before I had even reached him, he began complimenting me. I’d spent the entire drive rehearsing a conversation in my head about how much words of affirmation matter to me and how sometimes I simply need to hear the compliments. Within moments, that carefully practiced speech became completely unnecessary. Somehow, without knowing, he’d already given me exactly what I needed.

We settled onto one of the couches, falling into the easy rhythm that has become familiar between us. We curled into each other, talking about our day, laughing about little things, and simply enjoying the comfort of being close. Those quiet moments have become just as meaningful to me as anything else we do. I’ve realized over the past few weeks that physical touch is something I once believed I could easily live without, but now I find myself craving it. Just sitting beside him with an arm around me has become something I look forward to.

Eventually I excused myself to the restroom before meeting him in the dungeon. Only a couple of scenes were taking place, both on the crosses we had used last week. The room was feeling surprisingly peaceful compared to previous weeks. Instead of returning to the large wooden crosses we’d used before, he led me toward a large cage tucked into one corner of the room where he’d already set his bag.

As always, there was something comforting about watching him prepare. Everything had intention. Every buckle was checked, every piece of equipment tested before he grabbed my hand and pulled me inside the cage and secured my hands overhead to the strap. He then placed the blindfold before beginning to secure a pink ball gage harness around my head. I bit down as he pulled my hair from my pony tail and finished securing the buckle.

I head the cage door close with a deafening vclick. I waited listening for any sound as to how the session would start.

Once everything was ready, the outside world gradually faded away. My attention narrowed until it became less about what was happening around me and more about following his voice, his instructions, and simply being present. Even when something surprised me or challenged me, I found that a reassuring touch or a few quiet words could ground me almost instantly. I continue to be amazed by how much difference simple reassurance makes.

One thing that surprised me was realizing how often my expectations are wrong. Before the scene began, I had convinced myself that one particular implement would be the most difficult to experience, but it ended up becoming one of my favorites. It’s funny how often anticipation creates more fear than reality ever does. I’m slowly learning to approach new experiences with curiosity instead of assumptions.

Throughout the evening he continued weaving hypnosis into the scene, dropping me in and out of trance so naturally that sometimes I hardly noticed the transition. His voice has a way of becoming the center of my attention until everything else simply fades into the background.

One moment didn’t go the way either of us expected, and I found myself becoming frustrated with my own response. I had built expectations for myself that I couldn’t meet in the moment, and afterward I felt overwhelmingly disappointed. It wasn’t disappointment directed at him—it was entirely directed inward. I wanted so badly to succeed that I forgot I wasn’t failing anyone by simply being human.

As the scene ended, he immediately shifted into aftercare. My restraints were removed, and he guided me back to the quieter room with the lockers and beanbags. He asked if I wanted a blanket before returning to clean up, leaving me with space to collect myself. I remember feeling unexpectedly vulnerable, suddenly aware that my carefully chosen outfit no longer felt quite as confidence-inspiring as it had earlier that evening. I even considered pulling my oversized sweater from my bag, not because I was cold, but because I wanted something familiar to wrap around myself.

When he returned, he stretched out beside me, and I instinctively curled into him. The room around us slowly disappeared again as we talked. Before long he smiled and quietly told me we weren’t quite finished yet.

The trance that followed felt different from any we’d done before. There was no rush to get anywhere. Instead, he took his time, patiently guiding me deeper than I’d ever gone before. It wasn’t dramatic—it was gentle. Layer by layer my body relaxed, my thoughts became quieter, and the constant chatter in my head slowly drifted away until all that remained was the feeling of being completely safe.

I always wish I could remember trance more clearly. Every session leaves me with fragments rather than a complete story, like waking from a vivid dream and desperately trying to hold onto it before it slips away. There are moments that stay crystal clear and long stretches that dissolve almost immediately. The feeling remains far longer than the memories themselves.

One thing I’ve noticed is that even when other people are nearby, they somehow fade into the background. I’m aware they’re there. I can hear conversations and movement around me. But when I’m in trance with him, my attention naturally returns to his voice. It becomes an anchor that everything else quietly circles around.

What continues to amaze me is his ability to create entire worlds with nothing but words. He can speak continuously, weaving ideas together so effortlessly that I find myself completely absorbed despite saying almost nothing in return. Sometimes all I can manage is a nod or a quiet sound of agreement when something resonates deeply.

Last night, one theme seemed to echo throughout everything he said: control.

It’s fascinating to me how deeply that word affects me. Months ago I probably would have described myself as fiercely independent, someone who always needed to be in charge of my own life. Yet here I am discovering that, in carefully negotiated moments built on trust, there is something profoundly peaceful about intentionally setting that responsibility down for a while. It’s less about losing control than it is about choosing who to trust with it.

He began slow but it wasn’t long before the stings on my ass elecitec a squeal around the ballgag. I wanted to remain stoica and for many of the implements I did. But a few caught me off guard and the sting forced a response.

I could feel him circle me And he made sure to caress me as needed which calmed me and allowed me to take his chosen implement all the better. I was nervous about the bundled canes, expecting them to hurt the most but they may have been my faviorate. Swishy and a little thuddy, I liked when he used it to tap other parts of my body such as my inner and outer thighs.

He would whisper in my ear, calling me good girl and occasionally putting me into trance telling me I would become more senestive.

I have been in denial for over a week and he eventually built it up. Using a stinging implament he said he was going to count down from 10 and with each spank I would edge and feel it more intensely. I already knew the pressure of on the spot orgasm with no clitorial stimulation I was not going to able to give him what he wanted. He counted down as I tried to protest over the ball gag trying to say I can’t. Hhis voice got louder as he demanded “cum.” He lifted me up while also positioning me on his knee I humped his leg as he counted down to one but at the final countdown I could not cross the threshold. He commanded it several more times but with each I did not feel my myself able to cross that point. He threatened that I must like denial so much he may have to keep me that way. I nodded yes but instantly felt defeated, I wanted to cum, more the anything this week I have wanted to cum but my moment came and I got too in my head about it and without my clit being vibrated I was not going to get there. He stood in front of me as my face became crestfallen. I felt so fissapointed in myself. I want nothing less then to orgasm on command but the fact I couldn’t get there led to a sense of dissapointment. I wanted to cry as I leaned into him. The scene coming to an end he released my arms from the strap overhead and guided me to our ususal room with the lockers and beanbags. He asked if I needed a blanket then went to clean up our station. I tried to keep confidence in my outfit which now was skirtsless as that and my heels were left in the dungeon. In my bag I had a black cotton sweater that I fought the urge to pull out and wrap myself in.

when he returned he laid down beside me. A couple was on the beanbag next to a cute poly couple that talked enthusiastically but only seemed interested in cuddling.

I curled into him as he talked but it wasn’t long before he stated we weren’t done. He dropped me into trance. I felt more deceptive.

He eventually spent more time getting me into a deep trance then he ever has before. It was slow and focused on relaxing. He took me deeper and deeper as my thoughts dissapereed and my body sumcame to ultimate release.

I wish I could write out my full expierence with trance but it gets so fuzzy and moments blur together so I can only ever recall snippets.

He got me so far down and eventually built up my neediness and desire, I rubbed my legs together, the tight lace bodysuit riding up my crotch and creating friction on the plug in my ass. I was consciously aware of the couple in the room who now had to listen to my increasingly loud moans. When I am with him especially in trance, I am aware of other people, registering their presence and their conversations ringing in my ear but Ultimately I always feel like it is just me and him. He becomes my focus as I eagerly wait to hear what words he will say next.

It amazes me he can talk so much and keep up a whole scenario with little input for me. It’s seriously an impressive talent. I can feel myself occasionally nod in agreement or when he says something I resonate with I can’t help but moan. Last night it was whenever.he mentioned control. It’s crazy how much giving up control turns me on, how deeply I crave it.

He also mentioned putting all the sensations I had been feeling in a box. A box that only he has access to, at this point I was really deep into trance and am pretty sure I was suppose to forget this part and while so much is hazy I do remember the box and it belonging to him and that it excited me.

at the end he would make statements about his words