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I had two new experiences last weekend, to add to my collection of 'steep learning curves'.
I went to a members only play club, and it was both terrifying, yet reassuring; alarming, yet comfortable; strange, yet familiar.
I remember when I was 15 years old, and I went to my first goth club. I'd always been on the outside looking in - until that day. I grew up in a small town, where I was, literally, 'the only goth in the village' before I even knew I was a goth my own self. It took somebody yelling 'oi, fuck off, goth' to even make me consider maybe I was one of them funny goffick types.
The main rock/metal/alternative/goth club in those days has long since disappeared, but still conjures up a thousand cherished memories for many people who used to go there regularly. The first time I went there was the first time I'd ever been to a nightclub, and the first time I ever felt a part of anything, instead of being separate; included instead of excluded. I'd found my family - and even now, I love those moments when you walk past someone in the street who's a bit alternative, and there's a little twinkle; not even so much as a nod or a look, just a silent acknowledgment that yup, we're in this together.
Even though I was nervous, and feeling a little flaky, faint, even... that same buzz filled me when I walked into the room at the members' club. There were knockers and willies everywhere, I hardly knew where to look, but at the same time it all felt very natural and un-intimidating. I found it hard to meet anyone's eyes - but at the same time, I felt they were all On My Side. I was with the ever delightful N, who took me round the room to look at the equipment. I felt a little like a large but nervous dog with a very long tail - I was suddenly made of Tense and convinced I was going to blunder into someone/something and knock them/it over, which would in turn cause some kind of domino effect leading to everyone and everything in the club falling over, and glaring at me before sighing and rolling their eyes...
I was really starting to feel a little odd by this point, which may or may not have been exacerbated by a tight corset, choker, two large cocktails with lots of booze in, and a residual 'I've not been well, you know'-ness left over from a lurgy.
N flexed her domme muscles and inserted me into the strange suspension lattice with leather straps, which wraps around you and lifts you off the floor. Unaware that I was ailing in a consumptive fashion, she over-ruled my reservations and popped me inside. I get a bit claustrophobic at the best of times, and this damn near finished me off. Fortunately, alerted by the clammy state of my forehead, she removed me swiftly before I Came Over All Peculiar in a more spectacular fashion. I can see myself trying again at some stage when I'm feeling more myself, but it's never going to be a favourite. Unfortunately, she likes it lots, so I could find myself spending quite a lot of time in it when I inevitably misbehave...
Once I'd recovered to her satisfaction, she hauled me off to try her next toy. Oh gosh, how I was protesting...
She borrowed two fine young men to firmly strap me onto the table. I was facing forward, and my legs were spread, and tied at ankles, thigh and waist. My arms and wrists were cuffed onto the table also - it was supposed to be impossible to escape from. Even before the first cuff went on, an anticipatory warmth rushed through me. One thing that frustrates me is that I have to behave until I'm secured down - I would really love to be dragged (preferably by my hair), kicking, biting and screaming, over to a piece of equipment, able to lash out and fight even while I was being securely strapped into restraints. This would probably require a few burly types though. I'm stronger than I look and it wouldn't do it for me unless I could really writhe around without hope of escape.
Once I was safely lashed down (and I managed to get in a few verbal threats to the crew members helping N - something I later regretted...) I felt free to thrash about wildly. I was really unsure about flogging, beating, caning etc when I first stepped onto the scene, thinking that it would be just the d/s dynamic that would really do it for me, along with liking it rough. Turns out - I really REALLY like being hit with things. My body says 'yes, YES, YESSS!!' even when my mind says 'no, please, don't - you're hurting me...whimper...'. I wouldn't describe myself as a pain slut - although I like a bit of pain - but there's something about the feel and sound of something thudding into my flesh, or stinging my skin, that just sends me a little crazy - especially when I can let loose because I'm tied up. The fact that the implement in question is being wielded by a well fit bird who I happen to adore insanely, is nothing to do with it, of course
It was while cutting loose in the above fashion that I managed to disentangle one leg from the straps on the table - several times. N was already on the verge of unleashing more severe discipline as a response to my accidentally calling her a bitch a few times, and my refusal to hold still so she could tether me back down led to her calling over the guys to pivot the table - who were more than happy to do so after my offer to punch them in the balls, earlier. I suddenly found myself upside down and screeching my head off. It was either behave and let her strap me back in, or stay upside down until I fainted. I chose the former option. Even I'm not that stupid.
With the straps pulled really tight, and the table back in the upright position, I still felt as if I was falling - but this time it was into a pit of moral depravity that I just wanted to roll around in until I was covered in dirty, perverted filth. MMm, that's right, grab me by the hair at the back of my neck and rub my face in it. Yum.
After being upended twice, all the fight had gone out of me, and I submitted meekly(ish) to further torment. Because I'd been a bit naughty, she finished off by offering me 20 seconds of nipple clamps (which I HATE) and 20 strokes of the cane. Well, actually it turns out I am that stupid, because I chose the cane. As she undid the straps and helped me down, where I slumped onto the spanking bench to take my punishment, I wondered what was wrong with my brain that I would choose the worst of two options. Even though I knew it would make her hit me even harder, I couldn't resist yelling a little, and smacking my hands into the bench, it just hurt so much.
My social reserve had pretty much disappeared by that point, having just shown my knickers to everybody in the club whilst upsidedown, so I relaxed enough to chat and talk rot with some lovely people. I peeked out from under my eyelashes at the delicious MT. Sitting next to N and MT and watching them interact was so much eye candy that I Came Over All Wrong. So much so that N had to take me off to play AGAIN! God, it's like I've become INSATIABLE! Damn that woman, she knows she only has to look at me and smile and I'll have a serious incident of Wrongness In My Knickers. Which will be shortly followed by showing said knickers to everyone in a five mile radius. Thank god all my underwear is so pretty. My husband said to me the other day 'I can tell you've been going out a lot, you've got all your best underwear on the washing line'. Damn straight, mister!
There were a couple of men who I liked the look of, but I am completely incapable of approaching assertive men without going all girly and blushing. One day soon I would like to play with a man, as long as he could stick to my limits. But I would much prefer someone to approach me, anyway. I quite like the idea of a man grabbing my wrist and dragging me off, protesting, to play, without even asking me. Realistically though, I could never allow this to happen, but the illusion of it would be delicious. N and I discussed how she would make the perfect intermediary for this, clearing play with me first by subtly checking whether I found someone attractive, and using her judgement to decide whether they were a safe player and if she was happy with it. I would never play with anyone I didn't want to kiss. In the case of men, I'm not going to kiss them anyway, as I'm married and that's a hard limit for my husband and I. But the hypothetical acid test still applies. And I would expect any woman who liked me enough to hurt me, to want to kiss me.
My final play of the night was the one that I enjoyed the most. My favourite St Andrew's Cross, being spread and shackled...pulling and tugging against the restraints enough to leave bruises on my wrists, but never able to get free. Able to cry out, without fear, yet at the same time knowing she would hurt me more because of it. Safe in that knowledge.
I crashed out afterwards into serious sleepy mode, and we left soon after. We'd both been up early, and although we checked into our hotel at 3pm, we hadn't got any rest because we'd spent all afternoon and evening fucking, playing, then fucking again. We barely made it to the club at all..
The next morning, we were virtually thrown out of our hotel where we'd overstayed past the checkout time. Ahem.
A medium sized drive later, made longer by a stop in a pub for lunch in the middle of nowhere, and my inability to perform basic functions such as putting water in my bag without leaving the top off, we arrived down south for what would be my first private play party, conveniently situated in a surburban house with its own dungeon.
The host and hostess of the party are such lovely people, it was very easy to relax and enjoy the rather strange ambience caused by having a cup of tea, whilst watching a naked man have clamps attached to his balls whilst lying on a table being beaten until he bled. I found his pained cries rather difficult to take, so removed myself to the kitchen, where my empathy was rewarded by seeing the host play with his sub. She was tied up with rope, and it looked so pretty, it made me envious. He touched her so tenderly, I found myself both aroused and moved. In the lounge, our hostess continued to give Mr Naked Man what-for. And again, despite his agonised yells, she touched him with huge compassion and gentleness, when she wasn't actually hurting him. There's something so beautiful about watching play like that, it makes me feel very privileged to witness it.
As much as I love watching others play, the highlight for me was being taken into the dungeon, stripped, tied up and beaten. The only clothes N would let me keep on, were my hold-up fishnet stockings and my bondage shoes. On the wall of the dungeon is the most solid cross I've ever seen, made of huge chunks of wood, and attached securely to the wall. A system of ropes and pulleys keeps the cuffs in place, so my arms were over my head and spread apart, and she opened my legs and cuffed them to the bottom of the cross. Opposite me was a huge mirror, and my vision was filled with the site of myself displayed and bound for her pleasure, and on the other side, N herself holding various implements of torture and beating me with them - across the breasts, on my thighs, and between my legs. I kept opening my mouth to swear and then catching her eye, and for once in my life doing something clever and thinking better of it. I managed to kick my way out of the restraining ropes a few times, but resisted the temptation to boot her in the leg. Even though I'd been extraordinarily well behaved, I still got punished though - this time I had to choose between nipple clamps, or her. I chose the clamps. Ow ow ow ow ow. I do believe my lower lip actually wobbles when those horrible things are put on me. But she can do far more hurty things to me than any piece of equipment, so I reckon I made the right choice, that time.
She let me out of the cuffs and shoved me roughly onto the oversized spanking bench in the middle of the room. Her hand in my hair, grinding my face into the leather, caused my buttocks to automatically thrust towards her. She mashed my face into the surface of the bench, as little moans escaped me. She put a mindfold on me (like a blindfold but you can open up your eyes, although you can't see anything but black). She alternated a beating with stimulation from the hitachi magic wand, which just fucked with my mind. I heard the door open and several people came inside, whispering, but I had no idea who, or how many, there were. My cries grew louder as she beat me with a toy made from little stainless steel balls, I wriggled and writhed under her hand and would have cried if she had carried on much longer, or if we'd been alone with no-one to witness my disgrace. She took pity on my whimpers and ended it with two loud, hurty thwacks from the flogger.
After a come-down from the experience, and a chat with some of the other partygoers, she took me home, all sated and satisfied and happy. The next day at work, a colleague accused me of looking so pleased with myself, I was dribbling smug all over the table. Every time I have had to deal with something frustrating this week, I let my imagination fill with beautiful images from the weekend, and think 'if you could just see what was going through my mind right now...or if you could see the bruises...!'
I would thoroughly recommend it as an anti-stress technique
