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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