So what little visual or aural remnants are left from the sights and sounds of our Saturday evening adventure with Aisha and D?
More than just a few:
The sound of thwacks, moans, cries of anguish in a 360 degree quadraphonic arc as Mistress and I sat watching D wrap his web of ropes around Aisha before suspending her. All very distracting, and some a little disturbing too.
The strange, unanticipated costumes. Who knew that women would get a buzz out of dressing up as “sweet” little girls, all pig tailed and dressed in short little see through “nighties”, watching their peers get whacked while sucking their thumbs? That was a kink I have overlooked.
The full sized coffin, sitting in a corner.
“Do you think they rented the place out for a wake earlier today, and they forgot the guest of honor?” I asked Mistress.
D explained that some folks are into “coffin play”.
I think I’ll save that experience for much later.
Actually, I opt for cremation.
Wonder if anyone has a fetish revolving around that?
D warned us to be careful not to invade other folks’ play space, and we were careful to keep our distance.
(BTW, Aisha, I think D enjoyed being very directive when it came to Mistress following dungeon protocol. “Molly, Don’t point!” he corrected her in that dom-ly voice. I suspect it made her sub side perk up and take notice, but who’s to say?)
But sometimes our “voyeur’ space was invaded by kinksters intent on their own play.
As we were sitting along a wall – not exactly minding our own business – but clearly fixed and stationary, a man and a woman, both fully dressed in street attire, hauled a rather full figured woman - dressed in fishnet hose and nothing more - up to a post right next to us. They bound her face forward, hands around the post, then proceeded to wale away at her with palms and paddles.
It seemed they were mo more than 2 feet away.
Hard not to stare, at those bouncing tits and huge ass, but then monitoring D’s progress in trussing up Aisha so skillfully, then sending her into flight was much more … rewarding.
“I’m a little afraid I might get smothered by those giant breasts, Mistress.”
She just laughed, trying to ignore the somewhat exaggerated cries of anguish, or the perverse delight in the eyes of the fellow doing the thwacking with a rather theatrical swagger.
Would it be rude to just stand up and walk away from all that vibrating flesh?
No matter, we stood and moved a little closer to D and Aisha putting on their far more loving demonstration.
In the days that followed Mistress and I have had plenty of time to absorb and discuss our little expedition.
Was it interesting?
Of course.
Was it educational?
Certainly gave us some new ideas.
Was it amazing to see first hand the magic that D and Aisha create and that she describes so cunningly in her blog?
Absolutely.
Was it a turn on?
Well …. That’s the funny part.
I think we both learned that watching other folks enmeshed in their own kinky scenes was not really a sexy turn on for either one of us. Though I was all caged up, I had no problem keeping my cock under control. (I guess that’s the ultimate test, isn’t it? The “Youch” factor.)
We are more participants than watchers. And, as our readers have probably noticed, our interests trend more in the direction of sex than pain.
Does that make us weenies?
Could be. Or maybe we are just more into sex.
So…. Does that mean we are disinclined to make a return trip?
Uhhh. No.
I can see the turn on in stepping out of the audience and becoming a more active participant.
I did like the part of Mistress leading me about in my collar and leash.
And I think she enjoyed flexing her Domme in public.
And what if she took it a step farther: lashed me to one of those St. Andrews’s crosses, arms above my head, feet spread. A crop in her hand. Her hands teasing and tormenting me. With an audience egging her on, giving her pointers. I would be pulling on those implacable bonds, but unable to escape.
The “youch” factor would definitely come into play.
(Mistress asked the other day why they call it a St. Andrews’s cross. I deployed my primitive Catholic school education and described it as an alternative crucifiction device that one of the minor saints made infamous. Though maybe it was just bad carpentry. You can see the derivation here:)
And what if, after Midnight, with the advent of our Switch Day, Slave turned the tables, and I put Mistress up on that cross.
My Ingredients: A flogger. A feather. My palm. Her Hitachi. An extension cord.
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.
It was a rich and full day for us. And a long night. So be understanding if I dribble out parts of our day - and night – over the next few episodes here at UCTMW.
Lots of material to work with.
And Slave is a bit groggy. Mistress is still snoozing on the other side of our room.
For the moment I will simply slide past our Saturday morning sex, and the entertaining conversation Molly had with our Western Correspondent on the drive down here to meet Aisha and her Sir D.
But it was clear he wanted to stay in touch as long as he could. M was living vicariously, and maybe a little anxious that his loving little slut might fall under the spell of a more accessible Dom.
Cute. And who could blame him.
So when we got to our hotel room here, a bit on the seedy side, romantically reminiscent of Molly and Mick’s “forbidden affair” days, M was in the mood to play …. With himself and us. He was exercising some authority.
Molly me read her text message from him and laughed.
“He wants to have a sex chat with us, Slave. In about 45 minutes…. And he says no coming until then.”
“Of course, Mistress….”
I offered to step out with the newspaper in the event Mistress wanted some private time with her long distance Master, but she demurred.
“No Slave…. It’s our weekend together. I’m sure M won’t mind if you join in. And by the way, he says ‘ditch the cloths’”.
We both did. Soon I was naked, and Mistress was down to sexy black panties.
We took a brief nap, then I got Aisha on the phone to firm up our rendezvous time. And I was talking to her, M called Molly, all ready for action. And Mistress was too.
“Slave, help me off with my panties.”
I fumbled with my phone, abruptly signing off with Aisha as I focused on preparing Mistress and her supplies for her slutty little session with M.
Sorry, Aisha. It seems we have cut you off this way more than once.
Following Mistress’s direction I found the Hitachi (be prepared!), and plugged it in. Mistress was laying back, legs spread, Hitachi already buzzing.
“M says you should worship my feet as I play with the Hitachi, Slave.”
Easily done. So as Mistress listened to M’s guidance, Hitachi pressed against her succulent folds, I knelt on the floor laving her toes and the smooth and sensuous arch of her foot with my tongue.
Yum.
Soon Mistress was begging M for permission to come. And he was no pushover. I loved the increasing desperation in his voice.
And when she finally persuaded him, she exploded, writhing and moaning on the bed, before flicking off her power tool, she was in the mood for my cock, that was certainly in the mood for her.
The fucking seemed to go on quite a while, and I could hear the faint sounds of M’s own release through the I-phone pressed hard against Mistress’s ear.
And of course this was just our warm up act.
Soon Mistress had signed off with M, and she was primping for our evening.
My get-up was simple and at her direction: cock cage, jeans, blue shirt, black cowboy boots.
Mistress had layers and accessories to shed or add as our evening progressed.
And yes, it was all in black. (The photo above is Mistress after the night was over. No photos in the dungeon, of course.)
We hooked up with Aisha and D, as arranged, at a lovely Italian restaurant in a funky urban neighborhood.
As you can imagine, Aisha and D are charming and great fun to be with. I worked on my deference as dinner progressed, modeling my behavior after the lovely Aisha. It was interesting to let D and Molly carry and guide the conversation. Though Molly noted more than once.
“You’re not talking much Mick!”
I guess I can be a little dominant in the typical social situation. But exercising my will to take on a different role in the company of folks who are clued in on our “situation” was, to tell you the truth, kind of …. hot.
I wonder if Aisha gets the same vibe.
At some point during dinner she was required to disclose that D had tied her into some type of crotch rope …. Something that required adjusting when she went to the lady’s room. It made her blush …. And blush some more when D gripped her hair from behind.
I so wanted to see it, but such a request would have been rude.
And of course I made full disclosure about my cage, which seemed to grow just a bit tighter when I acknowledged it.
Our dinner was filled with the mundane personal geography lessons, and more colorful talk about our little band of bloggers.
Were your ears burning? I assure you it was all good. It’s clear we love this odd little community we have created. We wish you all had been sitting around the table.
After dinner we followed D and Aisha to the local munch. We found a robust and diverse crowd of more than 130, above a local wine pub in an old warehouse district along the River. Maybe more on that later, but suffice it to say it was like a Kinky Kiwanis, with old friends catching up, new ones introduced, and announcements of upcoming events that had Molly and I suppressing our grins and raised eyebrows.
A Master / Slave duo made an oral presentation on creating and maintaining that type of relationship.
It was more Dale Carnegie than kinky, but emphasized the need to “write it down.”
“We’re ahead of them, Slave….”
True. Maybe we should offer a CLE course on Slave contract law at some future Munch.
Then …. Drum roll …. It was onto the play party.
The local dungeon is an expansive place, in a 70’s era warehouse. D clearly is a leader in the local community, and introduced us to an intriguing cast of characters as the evening progressed. He and Aisha gave us an initial tour, describing how all of the various devices and furnishing worked: the pillories, stocks, rope beds, etc.. So many possibilities.
There was a vendors area with all sorts of leather goods and implements of punishment.
And both public and more private play and meeting spaces.
This was clearly a big investment for the local community in their particular “pursuit of happiness”. Is that what old Tom Jefferson had in mind? He did have his needs, as Sally Hemmings might testify.
As play began, Mistress and I got into more appropriate attire. She stripped off her skirt, down to those lovely black tights (with the discrete opening) and Black leotard. She had my slide on her long black leather gloves.
And I buckled on my collar. Mistress attached the leash, and kept me close at hand through the evening.
It was show time.
It felt good, and we really did fit in better that way than if we had gone with vanilla.
I’ve been at this for a while now, and there are far more details to share.
But I have to mention the last part of the drama, before we excused ourselves at around 1 am.
D was waiting some time for access to the suspension rig.
He gently reminded a “supervisor” that the current users had been there for a while. Word was passed. “Don’t bogart that suspension rig, my friend.”
You could see D’s mind churning with his plans. And you could also see Aisha mentally preparing herself for what was to come.
The three matching sorority sisters were finally unbound by their older master who alternatively had been flogging and fondling them (Don’t worry, we’ll go into that tomorrow).
And then D went to work.
He clear is a world class master when he gets out his ropes.
He spent a good but of time unpacking and sorting all the ropes and carabineers required for his demonstration, all the way whispering softly to a very attentive Aisha who was intently focused on his every word.
D was tutoring a younger man – a guy who seemed no more than 25 and looked eerily like my son-in-law – and explaining the process to him each step of the way.
At D’s direction, Aisha was shedding her skirt. Then her top. Then her bra. But she seemed oblivious to the crowd milling about, or the surround sound of implements slapping flesh all around her.
Amazing focus, Aisha!
Soon D and his assistant were wrapping Aisha up. Bands of colorful soft rope wound around her- above and below her breasts, around her waist, hips and thighs. Binding her ankles too. But her arms remained free.
And then she was in the air, suspended parallel to the ground, in her own gravity resistant world. That song from Peter Pan came to mind. “I’m Flying.”
And she was flying, and spinning. And D was on the ground, lying in a blanket underneath her, playing with her, talking to her, coaxing her through it all.
Some very intimate communications in a very public setting.
At about this point, as we stood and watched, I pulled Mistress close to me, in a tight embrace. We kissed long and deep. And my fingers found the opening between her tighted thighs.
I was not sure if the “no sex” protocol covered what I was doing, but it seemed that folks had much more interesting things to look at than Mick and Molly. I slid my fingers into, between and against those sopping folds until she was shuddering against me, still clinging to my leash, her hips grinding against mine.
By now, D had undone all that complex rope work. And Aisha was slowly being lowered to the ground. His Assistant found her a chair, and D wrapped her in a blanket, to warm her after her “ordeal”.
AS we thanked them and said goodbye, I could tell Aisha was in that zone she describes so well to us in all those wonderful blogs.
And now I’m going to go look and see how she describes the wonderful evening we shared.
That is, if she is up yet and has the energy left to type.
