Time to share some of those memories of our evening with Aisha and D while still freshly marinating.
If you are experienced in this scene, then you might want to pass on my naïve reportage. Mistress and I may talk a good game, but we are really just pretenders, not contenders, when it comes to hard core rope work, or the administration or receipt of serious discipline and pain. Sure we have read about the subject, enjoyed ‘Nilla’s fantasies, and Aisha’s first hand accounts, but we’ve never found ourselves confronting it first hand the way we did on Saturday night.
And while my snarky sense of humor is hard to suppress, please be assured that the fact that Mistress and her Slave found a little humor in the night’s festivities should not be taken as disapproval. God knows folks who spend their time the way we did Sunday evening, getting bossed around by our Western Correspondent from the Mountain Time Zone, hardly have standing to be judgmental.
To each their own kink, even if it might cause Molly and Mick to choke back an occasional giggle, or stifle a raised eyebrow.
That said …. Here is our report, as seen first hand through the eyes of your humble Eastern Correspondent and his compelling Mistress.
From the munch we followed Aisha, D and the other cars to a rather seedy neighborhood south of their downtown, to an old warehouse with a parking steward suavely dressed in a Three Musketeers’ hat, feather and all.
He pointed to a good location after determining that we had no plans to spend the night. We parked and toted ourselves and out bag of tricks to the entrance where ID’s were being checked. Some of our fellow travelers clearly came prepared for an overnight with sleeping bags in hand.
Down a hallway, and past a kitchen stocked with soft drinks, water and munchies was a a large, high ceilinged L shaped space, packed with all sorts of devices conducive to the detention and discipline of deserving (and undeserving) Subs and Slaves.
A rope bed (an elevated surface with criss-crossed ropes as it’s surface)
Pillories and Posts.
Stocks.
Several St Andrew’s crosses.
A Barbar’s chair.
(I wondered if there were some Sweeny Todd re-enactors on hand… my hand instinctively covered my throat.)
And that cunning suspension set that Aisha found herself flying from later in the evening.
There were flashing lights, a little stage, and soft ambient music with a techno tilt filling the room.
Other rooms, off an upstairs balcony and down hallways weren’t furnished yet, though the Kinky Kiwanis was planning a contest to furnish and decorate the side rooms. I can imagine a fundraising event focused on a contest for the kinkiest themed play spaces on the not too distant future.
And as we learned from the MC at the munch, the Dungeon is not just used for these periodic play parties. You can for rent it for special occasions too. Wish we had thought of this for an upcoming birthday bash we have planned. A wedding maybe? How about a Bar Mitzvah with the Village People providing the music.
I can almost imagine all the kids waiting for turns to tie their high school crushes to the rope bed, or maybe play spin the flogger.
But back to the facts….
Molly stripped away her skirt and sweater, getting down to those sexy black tights, her thigh hi boots, and black strapless top. I slid and zipped up her long black over the elbow gloves.
With my chain leash clipped to my black collar, we seemed to fit in well. We ventured away from our courteous guides to take in the startling sights and sounds on our own.
Mistress found a bowl of Halloween candy, and I was instructed to stuff my poclets with little morsels, to feed her as the evening progressed.
“Be careful not to smear my lipstick, Slave.”
“Of course not Mistress…. I don’t want to earn your wrath with all these opportunities for torture so easily at hand.”
The room soon filled with lots of watchers, like us, sashaying about in various states of dress and undress, taking in the strange, compelling and / or (in some cases) repelling sights and sounds.
And there were plenty of participants, too, who clearly enjoyed the audience as they either endured or imposed their perverse will on their “victims”.
And the body types! A cornucopia of combinations: Skinny guys with large women. Large women with extra-large women. Large guys with slight women.
One tall, slender guy was naked, but for his tattoos and a steel cage containing his cock. His rather full figured Mistress had a chain choke collar around his neck as they strolled about taking in the mini-dramas unfolding around them.
Another man, who seemed more the Dom-ish type at the Munch – where I noticed him arrive in a local sports team pullover – was now being led around on a leash with nary but sheer black panties, ivory stockings and a rather ill fitting white bra. His Mistress soon was tying him bent over to a low bench, where she proceeded to whack him with some sort of cane as he squirmed in response to her discipline.
Afterwards, when she released him, it seemed he had to readjust those tight panties to cover his cock, much to her amusement.
There was a large man with an impressive collection of floggers, working his way through said collection as he methodically worked over an equally large woman standing against a post, her arms bound around it.
“That actually looks like it might feel good, Slave…. He’s not really hitting her that hard….”
Maybe so, but after thr first 30 minutes or so…. All bets are off.
Remember that skinny, naked guy with the cock cage? We soon discovered him bound to a bench, on his stomach, knees bent forward, face down, his ball sack presenting a rather obvious target of convenience as his Mistress thwacked him with a mini-flogger over and over again.
Ahhh… a little CBT.
He was so well tied that there was no squirming he could do that could help him avoid those repeated blows. His cries of anguish did not seem to be overly dramatized.
“Glad you’re not into that, Mistress….”
“You should be glad, Slave.”
Her hand felt for my well caged cock through my jeans. But nothing it had seen so far had tested the hard metal restraints.
We heard more male moans and screams of agony emanating from a little alcove as we sat watching a skilled Master work over his well endowed female slave as she squirmed, spread eagled on a St. Andrews’s cross.
A crowd was gathered at the opening of the alcove, but the sounds were so disturbing neither one of us felt compelled to stand and crane our necks to satisfy our curiosity. When we asked D what was up, he told us he knew these two, and that the Male slave had finally agreed to submit to a procedure involving a tool inserted up the little channel on his penis and electric current.
The thought of that made Mick and Molly squirm, and not in a good way. To us, a very big “Yuck”. But, as we reminded ourselves, we were not there to judge.
We found out what the barber’s chair was for: bootblacking, not faux throat slitting. Sub service via polishing the boots of others. A guy thing, so it seemed. But I did not offer up my boots.
One of the more overtly sexy scenes involved a woman tied to the rope bed, spread eagled, various electrodes attached to key body parts – nipples, tummy, cunt. And she was squirming mightily, and rather sensuously, as two masters controlled the flow of current from one spot to the next.
D explained the process to Mistress who did not seem interested in being the next “subject”.
“Seems painful to me”.
But D disagreed.
“Believe me, she’s enjoying it.”
I could believe it.
One of the more entertaining displays was the Master who had tied three young 20 something types side by side with wrists raised above them to the suspensions set Aisha and D so lovingly used later in the evening.
“They look like refugees from a local Sorority, Mistress”
D seemed to think this fellow was a bit of an amateur when it came to applying his ropes. But I must say I was amused when, once he finally had them tied, he wrapped big bands of duct tape around them, and proceeded to alternate fondling, kissing and cropping them, front and back, to their apparent delight.
One had to imagine what would happen when the girls and their dom left for the evening. I had in my mind that they might turn the tables on him – a sort of “Three in the attic” scene, but with duct tape remainders stuck to their bellies.
I;ve been going on a while, and Mistress calls. Better post this now, and resume with a few more details tomorrow.
All have a good day out there!
But Mistress did come home, for a whirlwind few days back in River City before we "loaded up the truck" (well really the Subaru) and headed west for a summer at our SW hideaway. And while Mistress informed the WC when we drove through his home state, we kept our arrival "under wraps".
