BDSM: Into the dungeon I prance!

Hello Lovers!

Fantastic! Amazing! Eye-opening! Those are just some of the words that spring to mind when I think of my Saturday night. For those of you who didn’t read last weeks blog I was all set to head to an open night at a real life sex dungeon! Squee!

My level of excitement on the day was above extreme Lovers; what would I see? Who would I meet? What could I learn? As it turns out, quite a lot! Read on and you too could be privy to this most secret of sexual society’s.

I was prepared to go alone, I knew that all along, but the fact was I really didn’t want to. These things are so much better shared in my opinion. You can’t recreate the event with just words sometimes, you have to hear, see and smell it all first hand to really experience it. So I roped in one of the only people I knew who would really appreciate the ‘sights’ in all their leather-clad glory

My ex-boyfriend.

Well I say ex-boyfriend but really he’s one of my best friends who I just happened to date for a while. He was a great boyfriend; he just lacked the one thing I very much need in a relationship; passion.

I’d point out sexy lingerie in the shops and ask if he’d like to rip me out of it sometime, but his idea of a sexy night in was roast chicken and a glass of milk.

Dairy kind of kills the mood in my opinion.

We kept dating for a while but eventually I called it quits. He didn’t love me and I was forcing myself to make things work when they were never going to. However, from that flop of a relationship came a flourishing friendship. After some time apart we realised how much we could rely on each other in times of trouble or when we needed advice. I must say it’s nice to have a male friend you can be so comfortable around. We have sleepovers and spoon, sometimes naked (if it’s hot) and although at times it’s frustrating to have a perfectly good penis resting against my leg, knowing I can’t do anything with it, (unspoken agreement of no sex between mates) I’d much rather have an amazing friend rather than a lacklustre fuck-buddy or angsty ex-boyfriend.

Ok, enough about my failed love life, let’s get to the good stuff!

After careful preparation and planning, we arrived at the venue at exactly 6.30pm, when doors were due to open.

What a cue!

There were at least one hundred people, all huddled under the meagre awnings attempting to escape the rain. It was only with supreme effort that I managed not to high five them all as I walked past. I felt like we were all partners in crime, partaking in something the ‘normal’ people of the world would never understand.

The demographic of the crowd was fairly similar to that of the sex party I attended last year, with most people being in their thirties or above, with the occasional young one or naughty grandma and grandpa milling about. Once the doors opened we were led into an underground parking lot where there were a few mats and tables set up. As we all formed an orderly line once more, a leotard-clad lady took her place on one of the mats, followed by what I can only describe as her rope master.

Anyone reading this hoping for a bit of fluffy Fifty Shades of Grey action should probably stop reading now and go make yourself a cup of tea. This was no Christian Grey I can tell you that right now.

It was like a million times better!

I watched, awestruck, as he slowly began to tie her up in intricate knots. First he pinned her arms to her side and looped the rope around her, before lifting up one of her legs until her knee was touching her ribs (her leg was bent, not fully straight. I don’t know if anyone’s that flexible!) Then he proceeded to attach the rope to a hook dangling from the ceiling and lift her off the ground, trussed up like a sexy chicken.

I had just walked in and already I was getting suspension action.

Best. Night. Ever!

It wasn’t just the complex knots and his deft hands that fascinated me so much, it was the way he would pause and slide the rope slowly over her bare skin at random intervals. It was so sensual, just a red piece of rope. By the time I’d reached the front of the cue my mind was already calculating the shipping costs of bondage rope by the metre.

I had to get me some of that!

But there was no more time to think of mundane pleasures such as rope, as I was at the threshold of the establishment, about to take my first steps into the wickedly wonderful world of kink.

Sorry Mum and Dad, I’ve crossed over to the dark side!

I stepped through the door to be confronted by a masked man in a cage. I waved and said hello, then quickly stopped. What if he wasn’t allowed to say hello? What if he got punished? The thought sent a fresh tickle of excitement spinning down my spine. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going to say no to a good spanking.

Passing the caged fellow, we entered the first room. It was basically a dress up area, with wigs lining the shelves and a wide assortment of naughty outfits hanging above a pretty badass looking chair.

I asked about the chair and before I knew it I was lying face down, ass up as the mistress displayed and explained the straps that would protect my kidneys if I so wished to be whipped into submission.

You really had to admire their safety procedures. This place was all about the SSC (Safe, Sane and Consensual). In every room there were showers or spas of all different sizes. At first I assumed this was just for customers who were interested in sploshing (a type of food play) but it was pretty much always the hygiene factor. Well, almost always. Turns out a guy had asked to be ‘drowned’ just the week before. After a chat to the manager he let me know that some of the rooms were specifically designed for those in wheelchairs or with other disabilities, which I thought was awesome. Why should having a disability stop someone getting their jollies?

Equal rights for all!

Once I’d checked out all the pretty costumes, it was time to move onto room two. The manager had advised me that room three was the most popular, so I was eager to see it, but room two certainly had it’s perks!

Whips, floggers, canes, paddles, this room had it all! As we walked into the ‘whipping room’ as I like to call it, the mistress was demonstrating some different implements. A leather clad girl waited patiently in the middle of the room as the mistress dished out advice on how and where to hit a willing and eager sub. Well I say patiently, but she was chained up so I suppose choice didn’t really factor into her decision.

I tentatively put my hand up to ask a question, feeling incredibly shy next to the saucy mistress. Luckily she was super nice and when I asked which of her implements was most popular, she happily answered by pulling down a ferocious looking paddle from the wall.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I yelped, taking in the size and weight of the wooden utensil she held, which was basically a chopping board with a handle.

She assured me it was not very painful at all, as the size of the paddle meant the blow was distributed evenly across the butt cheeks. I nodded appreciatively and added a paddle to my mental shopping list.

But that wasn’t the only thing in the whipping room. Oh no, there was an actual St Andrew’s cross! I’d been crossing my fingers hoping I would see either one of these or a Catherine wheel, so to see one in my second room sent me running towards it.

A St Andrew’s cross is pretty much exactly what it sounds like, a metal cross that someone gets shackled or tied to and then tortured in whichever delicious way their master or mistress deems fit.

I was never sure if they were just a prop movie makers used when they wanted scenes to get kinky, but seeing one in the flesh certainly dispelled that myth!

I oohed and aahed over the buckles and ties and all manner of ways someone could be tied, suspended and secured on just one piece of metal.

I was so in awe of the cross I almost didn’t see the table right behind me. Luckily I bumped into and almost fell onto a lovely lady next to me with bright green hair, so there was no way it was going to escape my notice after that.

It was a long, padded leather almost hospital like bed, with attachments at each end for the clients hands and feet to be secured before they…

Omg, people were getting stretched! How insanely cool!

I must say I can see the appeal, up to a certain point anyway. I imagine it would be like when you have an amazing stretch and you can just feel all your joints and muscles popping into place.

I’d have to tap out when things started popping out of place however, that’s for damn sure.

Underneath the table however, was a cage. The cage was situated beneath a strategically placed hole in the table. Let’s just say if you were lying on said table, the hole would start just after your bellybutton and ended at the top of your thighs. That’s right, a butt hole in every sense of the word.

By this point my adrenaline was off the charts and I blurted out, “So what happens there?”

The mistress smiled at me and my obvious ignorance.

“When they lie down like that the hole has perfect access for a little CBT.”

Now Lovers, I’ve been studying counselling for the past year and a half, and a phrase that gets drummed into my head constantly is CBT, CBT, CBT. It means Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.

So you can imagine my confusion when this abbreviation was used in a sex dungeon.

CBT? Why on earth would people come here for counselling?

I just had to ask the question.
“What does that stand for?”

“Cock and Ball Torture.” Answered the mistress succinctly.

I was so surprised by this turn of events my brain did a little fart and I squeaked, “Oh how lovely!” much to the amusement of everyone in the room.

Although there was one guy who chuckled under his breath and said “Oh, it can be!”

Not to worry ladies, I asked if there was a girl version, which of course there is.

Cunt Torture.

There’s those equal rights again!

But what about the legendary room three? What could be better than what I’d already seen? Come back next time to find out Lovers!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: I don’t need a spoonful of sugar to swallow you.

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Where have all the good men gone?

Hidey Ho Lovers!

The key word there my friends, is hoe. I have been the complete opposite for the past several months and it is legitimately killing me! Not to mention my honey pot, which is starting to get that film around it that the tomato sauce bottle gets after you haven’t used it in a while.

Gah, what a situation!

Luckily Lovers, I pulled on my big girl pants and went hammer and tongs at every dating website I could find. And after days and days and goddam days I finally found myself a bloke who was attractive, could string a sentence together and didn’t set my creepometer senses off the charts.

His name is Steve Lovers, and boy have I slutted it up with old Stevo! I haven’t even met the guy yet and he’s seen me completely naked! We’re talking X-rated stuff here peeps, like almost every hole!

I’m normally very against sending naked pics before meeting a guy. What if I get myself all turned on and then I meet him and he’s a total freak? It’s happened before sadly, and trying to talk yourself out of that one can be hard!

“So, you want to come back to my place?”

“Uh, no sorry, I’ve got… stuff I need to… things that need my attention.”

“What? I’ve seen you naked, you’ve seen me naked, whats not to like here?”

It’s very difficult to tell a person they have a godawful personality and not hurt their feelings. I had to fall back on the centuries old, always trustworthy,

” Sorry mate, it’s that time of the month. I’m surfing the crimson wave and this board wasn’t made for two.”

That being said, when in a relationship I have gladly had sex whilst Aunt Flo was in the vicinity. It’s so much fun to pretend you’re a virgin again! Ooh be gentle with me sir, I’m a delicate flower!

Good times.

Anyways, shark week aside, I am just going crazy with Steve! I have literally seen his penis more times than I can count!

It’s great.

(Omg, as I was typing this, Steve video called and gave me a wonderful one man performance! Great to watch but now I want sex and there’s no one home but the cat and my gay house mate, neither of which are keen to satisfy my needs. Selfish bastards.)

The thing is, I tried to play it straight with Steve, pretending I was just some normal chick who studied during the day and worked at a random chicken shop at night.

But no, he totally called me on it (I think I overdid it by telling him not to send dic pics about seven times.) He basically told me not to be such a prude. If he did indeed send a dic pic and I was uncomfortable with it, I could just delete him. This was true, but I found myself liking Steve more and more with each conversation and I didn’t want to ruin it with an ill-timed penis.

Still, I decided to throw caution to the wind and tell him about the real me. A girl with sex on the brain 24/7 with the sex drive to match.

And once I started, oh God I couldn’t stop Lovers!

I let my saucy side take the reins and before I knew it I was blatantly asking for dic pics, agreeing whole heartedly to receive cum shot videos and sending my own saucy snaps back.

I must say,being sexy is so much harder in winter, so many layers to take off! And once those layers have been peeled off, the goosebumps swarming all over your skin tend to mar the smooth complexion you once had. Although, handily enough the cold makes your nipples so hard you could split rocks with them. Guys see hard nipples and they see a turned on girl!

Luckily I was already turned on, so the cold was just an extra nipple nudge.

I’ve arranged to meet up with him on Thursday (hopefully anyways, he’s kind of hard to pin down) and I can’t wait!

I’m finally going to have sex Lovers!

(Applause)

Anyways I’m going to go and attempt a creative shave of my pubes (star, lightning bolt or love heart? Oh the choices!) But stay tuned to hear all about what will hopefully be a fantastic fuck! (Or three.)

Squee!

Claire xx

Instead of the usual pickup line of bonking song,I thought I’d let you in on what I’m doing this Saturday Lovers. I’m going to an open house dungeon! So excited! It’s basically an event where regular peeps get shown around all the awesome different rooms of said dungeon. I’m so looking forward to seeing the medical room! Don’t worry Lovers, I’ll take many notes and report back to you ASAP!

 

 

Return of Strangling Jack

Alrighteyroo Lovers!

I promised you one day I would eventually get back to Jack the Strangler, did I not? Well today is that day! Excited much? Don’t worry, it’s Monday. I know how hard it is to get particularly enthused about anything on Monday’s. But let’s get through it together shall we?

Now where did we leave off? Ah that’s right, I was on the couch with Yanky McHairpull attempting to keep my hair attached to my scalp.

“Argh!” I cried, pulling back from Jack abruptly and pushing him hard in the chest as I did so.

“Back up the truck dude!” I said angrily “ There’s quite a difference between a sexy tug of the hair and your crazy man hand grip!”

Jack laughed.

“You’re so cute.” He cooed patronisingly.

I simmered inwardly with a deep unrelenting rage, imagining all the different ways I could separate his balls from his body in sixty seconds.

However, as most of those options would have resulted in jail time and possibly a place on the sex offenders register, I decided to do the complete opposite.

“I think it’s time for dessert!”

I sprang off the couch faster than his meaty hands could catch me and ran to the freezer. The deal was that he cooked dinner and I would supply dessert.

Chocolate ice-cream and rice! Rice-cream!

Don’t knock it till you try it Lovers, it’s delicious and filling!

Make sure you cook the rice first though, that’s a big one.

I stirred up a massive bowl of my dessert concoction and proudly placed it before Jack, expecting him to grab a spoon betwixt the hairy sausages he called fingers and dig in.

Not the case at all.

I was instead met with a sentence that will forever and always be a deal breaker for me.

“Sorry, I don’t eat carbs after six.”

Christ on a bicycle! Could this guy get any worse?

I refrained from stabbing him in the eye with my spoon and instead sat next to him and attempted to eat my weight in rice-cream.

Let’s just say by the end of that marathon dessert I was not feeling in the least bit sexy.

So when Jack suggested we go for a walk I was more than happy to oblige. All that milk in my stomach was not cooperating so well with the three beers I’d had before hand.

We walked slowly (thank god, as I could feel the splish sploshing of milk in my stomach with every step) and he told me about his life interstate.

At least, I think he did, I wasn’t really paying that much attention as the milk was now making its final decision whether to head north or south.

When we stopped walking I realised with a start that we were in front of a chinese restaurant.

What?

I looked at Jack, non-plussed and queasy.

“It’s ten o’clock.” He said, as if that explained everything.

When I stared at him blankly he explained that he had to eat every four hours to help him bulk up.

Urgh, I was with a total meat head. Kill me now.

No, wait, he actually might.

I waited patiently, happy to be sitting down as he ordered. (Garlic chicken. No rice obviously.)

The food took about twenty minutes, which luckily gave me enough time to digest the rest of my dessert in peace without any untimely milk explosions.

We headed back home and Rambo bolted down his chicken before I could say prawn cracker.

I thought about leaving. I really wanted to, but those damn beers had put me over the limit.

There was nothing for it.

I was staying the night.

Once Jack realised I was his for the night he went total cave man on me, picking me up and slinging me over his shoulder before striding confidently towards the bedroom.

Luckily for me my spidery arms and legs were able to latch onto any nearby object, slowing his progress considerably as he pried me off the couch, the fridge, the door frame, the linen cupboard and countless lamps.

Honestly, you’d think the guy would’ve got the message.

But no, it was a fantastic (if not incredibly one sided) game of wrestling for him, and when he finally flung me onto the bed he let out a manly hoot of victory.

Dude, you’re literally three times the size of me, I wouldn’t call it much of a win.

After I’d been unceremoniously flopped onto his mattress, Jack leapt onto the bed beside me.

He gave me another lip-bruising kiss before pulling back and saying “It’s cool, we’ll just do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I was comfortable with sleep sir, sleep.

“By the way I think your bra just fell off.”

Oh dear.

It was time to bring the actress out. I sat up and stretched, yawning over-dramatically.
“Gosh, it’s late isn’t it?” I asked, blinking sleepily.

“No, not really.”

“Oh, I must be a morning person then, I’m always asleep by now.”

He was yet to know that this was a blatant lie, but by the time morning came and he witnessed the demon snot monster next to him, it would be too late.

It must have been my lucky night, because he bought my outrageous lie and with a sigh began pulling the covers up around us.

Once he was settled I cosied up next to him and readied myself for my reward; spooning!

To my surprise though, every time I got close to him, he would shimmy away. Finally, when he was so close to the wall he was practically humping it, I asked what was up.

“I don’t like touching people when I sleep.” He said bluntly.

Oh.

Well that was a bugger.

I batted my eyelashes at him and slowly traced my finger up his arm. “You don’t even like this?” I asked seductively.

“No.”

I stopped abruptly, surprised by his brusque tone.

“I don’t cuddle.”

No shit Sherlock.

“I hate being tickled.”

That’s pretty clear Captain No Fun.

“I can’t sleep with anyone touching me.”

This guy has issues.

“Actually, I can’t sleep when there are other people in the house.”

What the actual fuck dude?

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

“So… do you want me to sleep in the other room?” I asked, half hoping he would say yes.

“No,” he said regretfully “I guess I can put up with it.”

Put up with it? Put up with it? You have a half naked girl in your bed and you’re just, PUTTING UP WITH IT?

That’s fucked up on so many levels.

I glared at him in the darkness, silently mouthing all the things I wanted to do to him once he fell asleep, none of them particularly pretty.

Just as I had finished my soundless monologue the monolith next to me decided to pipe up with, “By the way, don’t surprise me in the night.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“You should stay on your side of the bed. Don’t ever surprise me. I mean it.”

I laughed, “Isn’t that a little bit over the top? I mean what if I just-“ I went to boop him lightly on the nose but he grabbed my arm in that now familiar iron tight grip and hissed “Don’t fucking touch me.”

This is it, I’m going to die. In the bed of a hulk with a stomach full of beer, milk and lamb cutlets.

What would my Mother say? Hell, what would the coroner say?

Jack’s grip loosened and he apologised.

“The army, it makes you super sensitive, you know?”

I nodded mutely. I mean I didn’t know, not at all, but I clearly got the message.

Ok, no touchy.

To ease the uncomfortable tension I asked about the first thing that came to my mind, other than the multiple ways he could kill me and make it look like an accident.

“ So when was your last relationship?”

Turns out old Jacky boy had just come out of a long-term relationship about six months ago.

Huh, I wonder where she slept when they were together; must have had a bloody comfortable couch.

I asked why it didn’t work out and Jack replied, explaining that she wanted to get married and have kids. Things were getting really serious really quickly.

“Oh wow, so how long did you date?” I asked, guestimating a year or so.

“Four and a half years.” He replied nonchalantly.

I was shocked.

“And you weren’t even thinking of getting married?”

“Nah. No way. I never want to get married. Plus I hate kids.”

Well there’s a shocker. Chokey McViolent didn’t like kids. Who would have thought?

After that wonderful conversation I decided I had to either sleep or smother him, so I called it a night and rolled over.

Or at least I tried to.

Those damn cutlets he cooked had been so tasty, so well basted in herbs and garlic that I ate them all without question.

But I forgot to ask my butt.

Lord the smells that were coming out of me!

Every time I moved another fart would squeeze its way out, sidling easily past my tightly clenched butt cheeks.

I lay flat on my back for hours, squishing my ass into the bed in an attempt to crush my fluffs into submission.

I had to do this all the while making sure I didn’t make physical contact with the snoring pillar next to me, a difficult task when the bastard insisted on sleeping diagonally across the bed.

Suddenly, with a snort and a grunt, said pillar shot upright in bed.

I yelped with surprise, emitting another air biscuit in my shock.

“What is it?” I asked.

Jack got up and walked out of the room without a word. Was he sleepwalking? Did he need to pee? Was it time for carbs?

Turns out my last guess was pretty accurate, as a few minutes later Jack returned with a bowl of yogurt.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

“I told you,” he replied “I have to eat every few hours.”

“It’s four am!” I cried

“Yogurt time.”

Fucking crazy bastard.

I rolled over and went to sleep. He could marinate in my farts for all I cared at that point.

The next morning I was awoken by the gentle tinkling of the ensuite shower.

I blinked sleepily in the sunlight, praying last night had all been a dream.

Then I heard a colossal honking from the shower and I knew it was all too real. Oh my God, the guy was hacking up a hairball in there!

I covered my head with a pillow as I tried not to listen to his constant guttural, phlegm filled heavings and gaggings, followed by insistent snortings as he cleared his nose with the old bushmans blow technique.

When he finally finished and turned the shower off I was about as unattracted to him as I had ever been to any human being.

Like ever ever.

Jack entered the bedroom in nothing more than a towel. I assume it was an attempt to  show off his ‘rig.’ I groaned inwardly, unimpressed by the gun show.

“I’m going to make some soup. Want some?” he asked.

“Ah, no thanks. I’m not really a breakfast soup type of girl.” I replied

“Pfft, breakfast was hours ago!” And he laughed and laughed at his own fabulousness as he walked off down the hallway.

I feel very sorry for the pillow he’d lent me, which took the brunt of my vicious attack. Once I was done pummeling his poor pillow into submission (wishing the whole time it was his head of course) I realised I was alone.

Perfect time for an unfettered fluff!

Ah the joy of not having to hold the old bottom burp in! I lay back and let a cheeky one rip, safe in the knowledge that soup man was still preoccupied with his breakfast, lunch, brunch whatever.

And thank God he wasn’t around! Turns out a nights sleep had intensified my anal salutes! Phoar! What a stinker!

I giggled to myself maniacally, secretly wishing I’d had the foresight to fart on his pillow instead of wasting my ammo in the air.

Then I heard a sound that sent a cold chill of dread running straight down my spine to the source of said fluff.

Footsteps.

He was coming back!

No no no! This wasn’t happening! With the stench of my tepid ass musk still hanging thick in the air and only seconds to spare, I did the only thing I could.

I flung myself off the bed, ripping the top sheet off with me as I did, before flying into a crazy windswept whirling dance, trying desperately to dissipate the smell with deft flaps of the sheet.

Then when his footsteps were mere centimetres away, I threw myself back onto the bed so hard I flew straight past my intended landing spot and slammed head first into the opposite wall.

Just as he walked into the room.

Nailed it.

His reaction was not unwarranted, as returning to one’s bedroom one rarely expects to see a bedraggled, out of breath, slightly smelly girl ruefully rubbing her head and glaring intently at the wall.

Let’s just say he stepped out of the room and gave me a few minutes to collect myself.

Which I did in record time I must say. Dress on, zip done up, hair pulled back and shoes in hand, I was ready to go!

When I walked back out Jack looked up suprised. “You’re leaving?” he asked dolefully.

“Yeah,” I sighed ruefully “lots of stuff to do today like… Well you know, just stuff.”

“You want to go home and play with your toys?” he said angrily.

Wait, what? I hadn’t told him about my vibrator last night had I?

“What?” I asked, completely blind sided.

“Well you’re acting like a child, so you may as well just go home and play with your dollies.”

I could have done many things at this moment. I could have yelled at him. I could have told him what a complete and utter head case he was. I could have kicked him in the balls for being such an arrogant self absorbed fuck face. But instead I did something which to this day I am still proud of.

I looked him dead in the eye for a moment, then sarcastically saluted him and said

“Good day sir.”

And I never saw Strangling Jack again.

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: I want our love to be like pi, irrational and never ending.