We walk down some dingy stairs which are very steep and dark and I’m wearing stiletto PVC boots and I’ve had two shots of vodka so it’s slow going.
This is a fetish club. And my outrageously brief and shiny black studded bikini, which looked incredibly weird on the street, under my coat, looks completely tame and a little pedestrian down here.
I’m here with some friends. Let’s call them Big Daddy and Baby Girl… because that is their names… and it’s my first time in a club like this. I’m a newbie, but I’ve decided that I want to get publicly whipped this eve, because when in Rome and all that.
The crowd is a mixed bag. It seems to be a fairly even split between the hot, gym-toned leather crew and the nerdishly cool Dungeons and Dragons fans. It’s like high school – the jocks vs the geeks. But everyone is high and cuddling. Fishnet tights are getting entwined in nose studs a lot more than you would think could happen in a short period of time.
Then there are a few club goers who don’t fit anywhere. The guy in the Jason mask with a hockey stick who just stands in the corner looking menacing (who is probably a Dungeons and Dragons guy underneath). There is also a gaggle of older gentlemen in leather strips who are not shy about having their full scrotum on show. There is a gorgeous 6’3” Japanese goth girl with white contact lenses, who at some point pashes me and swings me around her head.
Most people have gone to a lot of effort, but then there are a couple of drunk randoms who came in off the street and decided that stripping down to their worn Bonds undies could pass for fetish wear. We are not fooled.
The club is heaving, the music is predictably trance-like and the dancefloor a heaving mass of sweaty, shiny people in various shades of black.
There is an old-fashioned wooden whipping stock set up in the other room and men and women are taking turns getting shackled to it and spanked and whipped.
It is pretty interesting. People stand around chatting, as though we are watching a game of chess. Others stand in the shadows silently salivating, and you can tell it is being mentally recorded for the old wank bank. Save it for Ron.
I am getting more and more nervous waiting for my turn. I run off to pee several times. I can’t remember why this seemed like a good idea. But I like to push myself. And I’m a helpless exhibitionist.
Big Daddy had brought along a black leather paddle and it’s in his back pocket. He is shirtless and wearing black leather pants. Big D has over ten years’ experience as a Dominant. I’m in safe hands. We have a briefing and he reminds me of my safe word.
Then it’s batter up.
With my heart pounding, Baby Girl straps my wrists in and winks at me, we have a little giggle and I bend over from the waist, bum out.
The first hit is a hand hit, to get my bum warmed up. There are a few of these, and I do enjoy that. My eyes are squeezed shut because I feel shy, but I force myself to open them and look around.
There are people chatting, watching, drinking. Suddenly my inner show pony kicks in, I don’t want to lose them.
It’s paddle time.
Big Daddy takes his paddle out and hits one cheek, rather hard. It makes a loud snapping sound. I love it. Then he does the other cheek. He does this rhythmic slapping thing and then changes the pattern which makes me gasp.
There are some soft ones, some hard ones and I’m writhing around rather dramatically. It’s for my fans.
I have them right now. But we need to up the ante a little. Big Daddy comes over and asks if I’m okay and I really am. I tell him to do FOUR MORE REALLY BIG ONES.
He’s sweating and I’m sweating and he trails the paddle down the middle of my back and stops theatrically. I wait. He makes me wait so long and I’m holding my breath.
The audience is waiting too. He walks around me, deciding which part of my red bottom to work on next. I can almost feel the paddle rise in the air and then crack. This really does hurt and I cry out. I feel like Marie Antoinette or something. But I think she had her head cut off, so maybe I should channel someone else.
I get three more big whacks and Big Daddy comes over to my face and strokes my hair, tells me I did a good job.
Baby Girl comes over and releases me and I want to bow but it doesn’t seem appropriate. They don’t throw roses, which I think is a little rude. I simply mouth thank you at a few people, wave like the queen and exit, stage left, a little wobbly on my stilettos.
The rest of the night is kind of like a normal club night – vodka, dancing, chatting. I even get used to wearing only underwear and end up discarding the boots and dancing in my socks. It’s quite liberating.
And because nothing good happens after 3am, I actually go home then, which proves what a sensible grown up I am.
The next day though, as I survey the damage to my bum and decide that sitting down at any point during the next week will not be an option, I decide that I’m an extremely immature show-off.
And I kinda like it.
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