I just could not believe my luck when my editor asked me to do an article on "alternative lifestyles". Having an ongoing curiosity about BDSM, I decided that research should be first hand, and dressed in over the knee black leather boots with six inch heels, a short, tight black leather skirt and a red lace push-up bra under an open black leather jacket, I fit right in with the crowd at The Dragon's Nest, a fetish club in the heart of the city. Although nervous, I had gone alone, afraid that a companion might distract me.
I wondered what type of people would go to a fetish club and was somewhat chagrinned to see the cars outside and the "regular" people entering the place. But inside, just past the change rooms (yes, that's right! Guests dressed in their street clothing and brought their outfits with them!) I was amazed! Wow! People were dressed in all sorts of strange and wonderful clothing. Like me, many were in black leather -- some in full gear from complete helmet to boots while others wore much smaller pieces. There were lots of people in rubber or latex, so tight you could count the body freckles, and there were even adult babies and guys in drag. I saw several naked bodies go by, both male and female -- a few wearing dog collars being led by leashes. I was fascinated! Listening to the gothic music, so loud with a primal beat that seemed to cause my heart to thump faster and the blood to pulse in my genitals, I felt invigorated! Dim lights and dry ice offered a wonderful, smoky atmosphere, which swirled with each passing body and the place was crammed with people. So, I was not the only curious one!
At intervals around the room, there were "stations" set up, each offering a different voyeuristic look at BDSM. At one, a young woman was strapped naked to a large wooden X, known as a St. Andrew's cross. Facing it, she was attached by a leather waist harness, which also tightly held her wrists. Her ankles were cuffed to the device but kept apart by a metal rod, known as a spreader bar. On a side table lay an odd assortment of devices -- leather whips, paddles, riding crops and other instruments of torture, being reviewed by a man in black leather.
He chose a heavy multi-tailed whip, and approaching the girl, he let the tails gently caress her back and buttocks. Whispering as he walked around behind her, he touched every inch of exposed flesh with the softness of the leather. Stepping back, he raised his hand and snapped it, just letting the tips of the whip touch her ass. She flinched slightly, but the touch was so light that it could not have done more than sting a little. He continued, but I noticed that each "caress" was administered with a little more effort until finally, he was using the full brunt of the flogger. Occasionally, he would stop and feel between her legs, then bring his fingers up to her lips, allowing her to taste her nectar, which seemed to flow so freely. The captive's ass was turning a lovely shade of pink, and I could feel my own wetness as I watched and secretly longed to trade places.
A tightly packed crowd of gawkers and onlookers gathered around, and soon, my view was obscured. I could barely see the top of the cross over the broad shoulder of the tall black gentleman in front of me. I stood on tiptoes, but it didn't help one iota. Just as I was about to give up, the man in front of me looked over his shoulder at me. His eyes caught mine for a moment, and they held me still with their raw power. A smile spread across his dark handsome face, and he said in a deep gentle voice, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to block your view." And then he took my hand, and nudged me in front of him, where I could see the show unhindered. The girl on the St. Andrew's cross was moaning in equal measure of pleasure and pain, as her Master cruelly flogged her ass.
I turned back to the man who had so gallantly let me stand in front of him. "Thank you," I said, still holding his hand, "my name is Morgan."
"Dominick," he said with a nod, and kissed my hand. I felt my skin flush as he did this. He was quite the attractive man, with close-cropped hair, and a thin mustache and goatee. His skin almost as dark as the black leather vest he wore, and he exuded power and sex. "And this is Sinclaire," he said, indicating the lovely woman to his right.
She was about my height, five six, with pale skin and jet-black hair, cut pageboy style, heavy black eye-makeup around hazel eyes, and bright red lipstick. Her small, perky tits were bare, as she wore nothing but a leather bikini bottom, and a studded leather collar, clasped with a tiny silver padlock. She spoke in a heavy French accent when she smiled and said, "It is nice to meet you. Have you been here before?"
"No, this is my first time," I answered. We made small talk, while the man in front of the cross delighted his bound lover. He discarded his flogger, and unchained her from the cross, only to turn her around, and shackle her again, with her back to it. Taking a lit candle from a nearby candelabra, he began dripping the molten wax over her breasts, as she fought feebly against her bonds, moaning loudly the whole time. My panties were soaked by the time he picked his flogger back up, and resumed the whipping. Keeping the leather tails in constant motion, he struck her thighs, belly and breasts in a criss-cross pattern, leaving little pink Xs behind.
"Oh, that looks like fun," I said between sighs.
Sinclaire smiled broadly, "It is fun. Have you never been whipped?"
Shaking my head, I explained that while I'd often thought about it, I'd never had the opportunity, or a willing partner.
"Oh, Dominick, ask her to join us," she said excitedly, her nipples getting visibly harder.
Turning to me, Dominick grinned. "You are more than welcome, if you'd like to try it out."
"Well," I said blushing, "it would certainly help my research."
