All of us had paid for the event in advance.
Orientation was simple and clear.
At 21h00, the scene began...

The group of friends and acquaintances stood around the party, looking apprehensive. The party had started awhile ago, but there were only five or six of us in total; where was everybody else? Maybe the rain stopped them from coming out.

We were hanging out in the main room and chatting. At least if this was it, it was a good crew of people to spend the night chilling with.

The door swung open with a bang. Men and women in bandannas and masks came flooding into the room.

"Everybody on the fucking floor!" One of them yelled.

All of us dropped to the ground, laying as flat as we could.

They chuckled amongst themselves as they surrounded us. "What we need..." One of them, I don't know if it was the same one, said, "is a sacrificial lamb."

I watched, helplessly, as they picked up my wife and hoisted her to her feet. They ripped the clothes straight off her body. I never knew clothing could be gone so fast.

I watched, still as death, as they hauled her away, into another room. The hostage takers that remained filled out the rest of the room. From down on the floor, I watched as another woman was picked up by the hair and taken away. A guy was picked up and taken away. Then I saw, first heard, then saw, a pair of deep red leather boots walk into my field of vision.

"On your fucking feet," he growled, grabbing me by the hair and lifting me up. He took a look at my member card- the badge all "hostages" were wearing, that outlined what our hard limits were.

"n/a." It read.

"Is this true?" He asked.

I nodded my head, quickly and sharply.

He grabbed me by the hair again. "Get the fuck over here." He pulled me into the center of the room and ordered me to strip. I had barely gotten my blazer and shirt off when he pushed me to the floor. I don't really remember the order of what came next. There was the pressure points. The kicking. The stepping. The punching. The knife, across my gut. The knife, at my throat. The knife, so close to my eyeball that I could feel the tip digging into my eyelid. "Stay with me", him telling me, as I faded, faded. Being stepped on by another hostage taker to stop me from writhing so much beneath the blade. Screaming. Being kicked and beaten in the same spot. The same spot. The same spot.

When he had finally grown tired, and tired of playing with so thoroughly broken a toy, he picked me up by the hair again and threw me in a cage.

The cage had a cushioned leather bottom. It was a wonderful cage, and I was happy to be in it. He threw my shirt in on top of me, and I held it close, like a pillow; and for awhile, I was in bliss.

Time passed. A hostage taker came by and kicked the cage. A reminder.

Time passed. I phased in and out.

Time passed. A feminine pair of boots came over to my cage. The splash of cold water, pouring on my head.

Time passed. My face in a pool of water.

Maybe I was taken out, and used again by the same brutal assailant; maybe I wasn't? Did I just imagine that?

Another man pulled me out, a man in a black shirt and tie. We did a consent check-in. He told me it was time for me to be interrogated. I complied with everything.

I was forced to remove my skirt. He strapped me to a chair and tied my wrists to it with rope; pulled out a crop and whipped me across the legs, to make sure I was paying attention. Then, he asked me,

"Where's the fucking money?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I swear I don't know."

He proceeded to show me a variety of whips, explaining their individual properties as he demonstrated them across my thighs. The same thighs. The same spot. The same spot. He put on a set of claws, and danced them across my flesh, trying to extract information that I truly didn't have. Each implement was crueller than the last.

Taking a step back and leaving me panting, eyes half lidded, he looked at me quizzically. "And what do you think of me, right now?"

I laughed, a short, broken laugh. "You're just doing your job."

He seemed to gain mirth out of that. He beat me less intensely from there on.

Though he seemed mostly convinced that I genuinely failed to know what he wanted to know, he informed me that he would have to do a cavity search, just in case. We did a consent check-in; I agreed. I was untied and handcuffed to another chair, bent over. He put on a glove, put on some lube ((thank GOD)), and shoved a finger inside me, invaded me, wrought me from the inside. Though there was certainly nothing in there, he shoved in another finger, just to be sure, and I- I- I moaned. I moaned out loud. He started fucking me with his fingers and I just took it, I craved it and I needed it and I took it.

Certain, eventually, that I was of no further use to him, he ordered me to put back on what of my clothing I had left and threw me in the cage.

All around me, the sound of screaming, sobbing. My wife, crying, in the other room.

I was happy for the leather-padded cage, and time passed once more.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes when the next person came, a woman with the voice of a devilish trickster. She took me to a couch and whipped the insides of my thighs with canes. Then she took me back down to the chair I had been in before, ordered me to keep my legs spread, and utilized an array of canes on them. She whipped me over, and over, and over, teasing me, taunting me, and ensuring that both the insides and the outsides of my thighs were thoroughly devastated. I screamed, I cried, and laughed maniacally.

She checked in with me to see how close I was to my limit, and I gave her the green light. So she kept fucking whipping me, until I went blank and offline, and then harder, and harder, until I broke the surface of wakening once more. She asked me if I was enjoying this and I could only say yes. She asked me why, whipping me, beating me, until the only answer I could give was that we deserved to be abused. "We, or you?" She asked me. And I gave in.

"Because I deserve to be abused," I spoke between sobs.

She whipped me some more, and I screamed, and screamed. She gave me the option, then, of getting to choose where I would be beaten next. I chose my shoulders. When she ordered me to stand, I had to keep my knees bent inward, to keep from falling over. She planted me in a chair, backwards, and proceeded to mark my back.

Once finished with me, she threw me back in the cage. My wife was there. We held each other, cheek to cheek, immensely grateful to be reunited. She was wearing my shirt. It had been left in the cage when I was last removed, and she had found comfort in it as I had.

Time passed once more. My wife grew restless. I lay on the floor of the cage, barely there.

Eventually, someone called out that the scene was over. It was 00h00. My wife and I were allowed out of the cage, and all of us were allowed to go about the room and collect our attire. Snacks were served, an array of sweet and savoury foods, that I and the others gobbled down gratefully. I thanked the dom(me)s I was with for such wonderful scenes, and thanked the organizers for putting together such a great party.

10/10 Will Do Again