My man and I were invited to a friend's birthday party in an Sm fetish club at the weekend. Frank didn't know what to expect being a new explorer of the scene. Like a lot of people he has previously got knowledge relating to fetish and Sm reality from second-hand sources so it was with hope that we both got ready for the event, with the wine flowing freely.
The rocket trip to Hedonist heaven we are embarking on together is flinging us both into unchartered territory much of the time. And it is absolutely leading to have someone you trust and feel safe with in any new and unknown environment to help you enjoy the bumpy ride!
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So with my giggling co-pilot at my side we navigated the u-bahn to the inexpressive club destination and rang the bell. (For 100 percent enjoyment of this story, at this point a sinister lone churchbell tolls in the background and the breathing of main character becomes shallow and quickens!).
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In real life a chirpy voice said "Are you here for the party baby?" and buzzed us in. The party was being held in a inexpressive apartment that has been transformed gradually over the last 30 years into a comfortable living space with en-suite playrooms.
The birthday girl and host were both welcoming and ushered us into the main party room to meet the other guests; a settle on few friends, along with couples, singles and a rather glamorous, long legged transvestite or two. With a wineglass in hand we were shown to a pristine kitchen resplendent with a lovely buffet. Plenty of hot and cold and very appetising food proved a sight for sore eyes with a stomach that is sloshing with wine and devoid of permissible nutrition! And as the kitchen face seemed to be groaning under the weight, we obliged in lightening the load!! I must point out that with my inherited British tastes of tradition I all the time found the combination of food in a sexy party atmosphere to be a bit misplaced, but in this case it seemed excellent for giving good hedonism!
A tour of the playrooms followed and Frank's eyes lit up at the sight of a Bondage Wheel (an indication of both a good class of playroom and an affinity of boys and toys!). Lots of kit, along with a queening stool, spanking bench, and St. Andrew's cross, plus a gazillion implements for use thereupon! And all tool was free to use throughout the evening. In short,it was a hit with the newcomer!
We tested out the wheel which was in excellent working order, although for the slighter of frame like me, cuffs are ordinarily too big which leads to a microscopic concern of falling and concussion!! The tied and tested rope formula is a good option if you are going to try this at home kids!
We meandered between the party and playrooms and Frank got to test out the paddles, floggers, whips, pinwheels and practise his art. We shared a lot of laughs and a few bruises and for the uninitiated had an evening reminiscent of playing at Cowboys and Indians as a child, minus the Tomahawk! The only discrepancy being that as an adult, the priority of mutual respect and comprehension remains all the time present. A great quote from a wise friend is to be "child-like but not childish".
Playroom etiquette can change depending on those present, but ordinarily for other people to be included in any situation and whether partake in, or watch the scene develop, the courtesy of asking for permission is ordinarily required. And at one point this query was posed to us, whilst I was tied and Frank was testing his aim! It was an keen situation when sexuality is usually kept inexpressive from other people in gentle enterprise and I think probably one of the harder taboos to defeat. We gave consent for people to look on, but didn't need to in the end, as no-one returned before we rejoined the rest of the party a microscopic later. And in retrospect a good outcome, as I think that it is leading to take your time getting to know each other absolutely well before along with others into the equation. In the past I have seen the results of ignoring a partner's needs. For example whilst in a club in England a few years ago a consolidate were at a swingers night and the female looked aghast whilst her partner was obviously living his dream. Maybe she ignored her own wishes in the hope of production him happy. Or Maybe he just selfishly ignored hers. whether way, the consequent was her calling a cab and leaving in emotional turmoil, when the situation got too hot to handle.
The party reached its natural conclusion when the empty bottles outnumbered the full ones and the thigh high boots were swapped for comfy ones on the journey home. We all left at the same time to let the resident host swap his party dress for apron and rubber gloves (also incidentally, suitable fetish party attire). It is a unique mark of this type of convention that on partying with a transvestite, you meet her brother on the way out of the door!
So back to Frank's happy house and instead of showing waves crashing to the shore, in the style of a fifties, heavily-censored movie, I will leave you with a reasoning photograph of how the place looked the following morning. A long pathway consisting of two discarded coats, then shoes and high heels. A dress, a suit and at the end of the path a tangled mess of underwear and hosiery, resembling an explosion in a spaghetti factory. Every trail tells a tale!
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