The events that this story retells occurred around twenty or so years ago, and neither the relationship or the setting have survived.
The club was in the East end of London, between the Commercial road and Cable street, and the whole area got a makeover (turned into yuppie flats) in the run up to the 2012 London Olympics.
As for the relationship, well, that's a whole other story.
This one begins at a dinner party with our friend Max. Max was a colourful character, and had an equally colourful love life (so he would have us believe), although how much was true and how much existed only in his mind, you could never be sure.
What was certain was that he was always good for an entertaining story.
The yarn on this occasion involved an underground sex club - literally underground as it turned out - in the East end of London that he had recently been introduced to.
He went on at great length about the lurid goings on there, live sex shows and the like, and I got the distinct impression that he provided too much detail for it to be pure fabrication.
It certainly made an impression on my other half, who seemed to hang on his every word, and frequently interrupted in order to ask a question or clarify a detail.
Indeed, over the next few days she brought up the subject on several occasions, to the extent that I eventually approached the subject head on and asked her what was going through her head.
She reluctantly admitted that she had found the story fascinating, and couldn't seem to put it out of her mind. Moreover, she said, she hadn't just found it fascinating, but really arousing too.
This was a bit of a revelation, as arousal wasn't a common feature of our marriage at the time, in fact it was almost an alien concept.
We had got to the point a lot of couples arrive at where any form of sex is likely to be routine, dull and unexciting, and anything that was likely to instill a little spice was an avenue worth exploring.
"Are you seriously suggesting that we should follow this up?" I asked.
"Why not, couldn't do any harm" she replied.
I thought about it. It bloody well could do some harm, and I knew it.
I also knew that I kept my brains in my balls, and common sense and judgement would have little or nothing to do with it.
Decision made, I contacted Max and asked him for more details about how to find this den of iniquity.
Thus armed with location details and suggestions for dress code, etiquette etc. we laid our plans.
I suppose at this point, some kind of description of Nikki - for such was my wife's name- is required. Suffice to say that she was around forty at the time of these events and was frequently compared to Jamie Lee Curtis, which is a pretty good approximation. Fit, good figure and short platinum blonde hair about sums it up.
She was struggling to achieve what she thought was an acceptable look for a sex club without looking like either a hooker of a cast member from the Rocky Horror Show.
Finally she settled on a simple black sheath dress with a scoop neck, showing a bit of cleavage but still leaving something to the imagination. She was helped by the fact that her boobs were still in pretty good shape, so she didn't need to bother with a bra.
The ensemble was completed by a skimpy black thong, so as not to show and lines and a pair of stylish black patent stilettos.
We arrived at the "venue", a Victorian warehouse off Cable street, at the appointed time feeling more than a little anxious. Turns out we need not have done, as a fair few others were turning up at the same time, in get ups varying from the full goth look to black tie.
We had anticipated some difficulty in gaining entry, but actually, it couldn't have been easier. We knocked on a wicket door in an arch in the side of the building, which was marked with a "V", ( the place was known as The Vault).
Once inside, we were asked to pay the entry fee, then shown where to deposit our coats.
The interior was down a flight of steps which opened into a vast basement with vaulted brick ceilings supported on huge cast iron pillars every twenty or so feet.
The whole place was heaving with people. The squares formed by the pillars were used to support screens to section off different areas, the first one being a bar.
We collected a couple of drinks and set off to explore. Everywhere we looked there was an example of something erotic, perverse or just plain bizarre, from cavorting gimps in rubber, to people being tormented on whipping posts, or just plain old couples fucking. The latter were performing on a platform that exactly fitted between four of the iron pillars, and looked exactly like a boxing ring, but without the ropes. At the back of this platform there were nine large digital TV screens mounted in a square. There were evidently a number of cameras set up because the display alternated from a giant image of the performance to nine different close ups from various angles, all to the background of a pumping techno beat.
As we watched, neither of us said a word, but I had an enormous hard on, and Nik's nipples stuck out like corks from a wine bottle. I got the distinct impression that she was regretting the absence of a bra.
To be frank, we were loving it, but had absolutely no idea where to look or what to do.
My attention was attracted by a guy on the other side of the bar area. He was tall, muscular, had a shaved head and was covered in tattoos - head, face, hands, everywhere.
He was wearing leather jeans and waistcoat, and there were four others dressed like him, but he was clearly the Alpha. As he walked around, it was clear that he was in his element, and people moved out of the way as he approached.
As we were watching him, he clearly became aware of our gaze. He stared for a moment, and then turned and said something to one of his companions, then nodded in our direction. They all looked our way, then, slowly, steadily, the Alpha raised his arm, pointed at me and crooked his finger in a beckoning gesture.
Immediately I felt the heat in my cheeks and my stomach turned over. I pointed to myself and mouthed "Me?" He shook his head and beckoned again, and then pointed.
"Jesus H. Christ" she said, "He's pointing at me! What the hell should I do?"
"Go and see what he want I suppose, it's a public space, what's the worst that can happen?"
