He had never before felt such trepidation about entering a taxicab. The cab ride, he knew, would be short and uneventful. However, it marked the end of a long journey and a rendezvous with reality — where years of fantasies would turn into real experience. He worried that the experience would not match the fantasy. He worried that, after all the fantasy, he would not like the experience or, worse, that he would prove to be inadequate. The butterflies in his stomach became more restless as he settled into the cab’s seat. Though the weather was cold, he felt almost ready to break into a sweat.
He felt he’d been hardwired from birth for BDSM, but the realization had taken years. As a boy, he’d always been attracted to punishment and torture scenes in movies and books. As a teenager, he’d fantasized about being erotically tortured by beautiful women. He had concluded, however, that he probably was the only person on Earth who felt such an attraction or had such fantasies, and never spoke about them to anyone.
With the advent of the Internet, that changed. He stumbled upon the Usenet group “alt.sex.bondage” in its early days, when the discussions were lively, informative, and friendly, and the spammers had not yet arrived. Reading that group, he was startled to realize that not only did others share the kind of fantasies he’d had, but they actually did such things to each other. He wasn’t alone on the planet!
As the World Wide Web evolved, he joined BDSM sites and read voraciously about all aspects of the scene. He learned about the common tools and practices of the dungeon. And all along, he knew instinctively that his place was on the cross, or the bench, or otherwise positioned to receive the torments.
With his newfound knowledge, he practiced giving himself pain, and found that he could not only tolerate, but enjoy, what he considered reasonably intense play. He could feel endorphins begin to dull the pain and provide a slight high. It took a long time, however, before he decided to take the next step and actually allow someone else to inflict the pain.
That time had arrived. The cab was taking him to a dungeon where he would meet a Domme who’d agreed to play with him. The thought nearly overwhelmed him. He had decided to do his first scene in a large dungeon in a city he was scheduled to visit. He’d contacted the Domme online before his trip. She was a member and regular attendee of the dungeon, and after a few emails and online chats, had suggested they meet at the dungeon. As the cab wound through the streets, he still found it difficult to believe this was actually happening.
He also was filled with questions and apprehensions. What would the place be like? Would the people be friendly? Would the Domme actually show up? Would she still want to play with him? Would he have the guts to actually do the scene? Would he like receiving pain inflicted by someone else? And would he be able to endure or would he wimp out early and embarrass himself?
As the cab drew closer to the dungeon, he tried to put aside all these questions and steel himself to walk in and go through with the rendezvous. He told himself that, after all the years of reading and fantasizing, he had to learn, once and for all, what the real experience was like. He was determined, but the butterflies still stirred in his stomach.
The cab arrived at the address. He paid the driver and got out. The building was a warehouse-style structure in a business/industrial part of the city. Recalling the instructions on the club’s Web site, he walked toward the rear, and found the door marked with a small, discreet label. Entering, he met a staffer and checked in. The staffer, a friendly male, welcomed him and struck up a conversation, putting the visitor a bit more at ease.
Always the punctual type, he was one of the first to arrive for the evening. Quickly scanning the room, he saw no one in the small crowd who resembled the Domme with whom he’d been corresponding. He took the opportunity to walk around and look. The club was a single large room, with a play area, a social area with couches and chairs, and a bar, where soft drinks and snacks were available. Somewhat self-consciously, he ventured into the empty play area.
There, for the first time, he saw in person the dungeon furniture he’d read about and seen in a multitude of photos. He recognized it all, but felt slightly intimidated in its presence. Slowly walking from piece to piece, he touched the wood, the chains, the leather, of the crosses, benches, tables, frames, and other items. He noted, again with some self-consciousness, that all the items were easily viewable from the bar and the social area. He realized that if he played on any of this equipment, he would be in full view of everyone present. The thought gave him some pause, but he gradually adjusted to the idea.
A few people began to arrive, but still none resembled the Domme. He joined a couple of brief conversations, then resumed his examination of the play area and the equipment. No one was playing yet, but a few were socializing. He focused on reinforcing his determination to actually put himself on display in this room for the scene he’d agreed to do.
After a wait that seemed much longer than it was, a pair of women entered, greeted the door clerk, and made their way to the bar, where most of the small crowd had gathered. Taking seats, they chatted with the staff, and obviously were familiar faces in the dungeon. One of them definitely looked like the Domme, and after a few minutes, he heard her introduce herself to someone at the bar, confirming the fact. She already was engaged in conversation, and he was reluctant to interrupt, instead trying to catch her eye from the side.
When that didn’t work, he summoned his courage, walked to the bar, and joined the group in conversation. One of them was the staff member who’d checked him in, who began to introduce him to the rest. When he was introduced to the Domme, he identified himself as the one with whom she’d been messaging about playing. She greeted him with a friendly smile and began chatting.
After a few minutes, she asked him to come aside for a more private conversation, and he followed her to a quiet area. There, she questioned him about his expectations for the potential scene, and his limits. The dialogue was friendly and unhurried, and after covering the essentials of the play, she concluded with, “Do you still want to play with me?”
He realized this was it — his last chance to bail out. With momentary hesitation and a slight gulp, he answered, “Yes.” The butterflies in his stomach were in full flight.
With this, he accompanied her to her car to retrieve her toybag. Bringing it back into the dungeon, she placed it on a table in the play area. Undoubtedly sensing his nervousness, she continued the friendly, lighthearted conversation, giving a description of each toy and what she liked about it as she removed it from the bag. She had a very diverse and impressive collection of pain-inflicting implements. After a few minutes, he found himself considerably calmed, and much more comfortable with the idea of playing.
His final psychological barrier came from the fact that no one else was yet playing. He’d expected that his scene would be one of many, giving him some anonymity, not the only show in the house. As the last toys came out of the bag, the Domme pointed to a nearby St. Andrew’s cross, indicating that it would be the station for their scene. They discussed some final details, then he went to the restroom. Emerging from the restroom, he noticed to his great relief that another scene had begun at the other end of the room — an extremely good-looking young woman was naked, restrained, and beginning to be flogged by her Dom.
He approached the table where the Domme waited, with her toys laid out and ready. She nodded. It was time for him to strip.
This was another prospect that had made him pause when contemplating the evening. He was not ashamed of his body — in fact, the opposite was true. An avid amateur athlete, he was proud of his fitness and quite comfortable exercising in minimal clothing. However, the dungeon was a new and unfamiliar environment, and almost everyone else was clothed. Also, of course, he would not retain even the minimal clothing in which he normally exercised. He had decided before departing for the dungeon that he was going to do the scene, so had prepared himself for the moment when he would strip. It helped greatly that the other scene had begun, with the young lady already naked before the crowd. In as matter-of-fact a manner as he could muster, he methodically removed his clothing and stowed all the items neatly beneath the table.
That done, he stood naked before the Domme. He tried to ignore the feeling that every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on him. She held a pair of leather wrist cuffs, and he held out his arms. She placed the cuffs on him and buckled them, testing them and asking to make sure they were not too tight. When the cuffs were securely fastened, he felt to his surprise that the feeling of nakedness diminished greatly. It seemed that the cuffs made his nudity feel somehow more normal.
She gestured toward the cross and they walked together to it. She attached his cuffs to chains hanging from the top arms of the cross. Now, for the first time, he truly was in the position he’d imagined for so long — naked, restrained, and helpless before a Domme equipped with implements of torture. He breathed deeply.
This, he realized, was the moment of truth. The first blow, he was convinced, would tell him if he really liked BDSM. The fantasies of years hung in the balance.
He would, however, have to wait just a bit longer. The Domme donned a pair of fur-covered gloves and began to gently stroke his body. Speaking softly and reassuringly, she calmed him with her voice and the exquisite touch of the fur. As she covered his body with the feathery strokes, he felt himself relaxing and becoming glad to be naked.
She finished with the gloves, replaced them on the table, and returned with a pair of nipple clamps on a chain. With a smile, she secured the clamps to his nipples. He’d used clamps on them himself, so this was a familiar feeling. She watched his reaction, and when he accepted the clamping without protest, gave him a friendly rub on the shoulders.
She then returned to the table. Now, he knew, she would choose an implement and deliver the fateful first stroke. She walked directly behind him and instructed him to slightly reposition his feet and adjust his stance to present his butt for her. He complied, then waited.
The crucial moment had arrived.. He forced himself to keep his gaze straight forward. He felt as if every nerve in his body was twitching with anticipation. He heard her move, and sensed her presence behind him. From the slight swishing sound as she returned from the table, he presumed she had chosen one of her floggers to start the scene.
With a distinct crack, the leather tails struck his ass. The sound arrived before the sensation. When the impact registered on his skin, he summoned all his consciousness to analyze how it felt.
It felt good!
He noted with relief that the sensation — at least from this gentle, warm-up stroke — was one he enjoyed. He exhaled strongly, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. He was nearly overcome by a sudden release of tension — all his fears seemed to simply drain out of him. A slight smile crossed his face.
After a pause to gauge his reaction, she delivered another stroke. Again, he felt the sensation as pleasurable. He relaxed even more. His growing relaxation must have been obvious to her, as she slowly picked up the pace, aiming strokes at his ass and moving up to flog his back as well.
She slowly increased the intensity of her blows. He noticed this, but also noticed that he was adjusting to it, and the sensation still was not unpleasant. After a few minutes, she stopped, walked to his side, and asked how he was doing. He assured her he was fine. She then switched to a different flogger and resumed, again starting out more easily and building the intensity very slowly. He found, to his relief and somewhat to his amazement, that the more she flogged him, the more he relaxed. It was as if each new stroke confirmed that this was indeed the experience he had craved.
She paused again, returned to his side, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Ready for me to step it up a bit?” she asked with a smile.
Without hesitation, he nodded assent. “Yes.”
Once he had said it, he thought how strange it seemed that he’d just asked her to beat him harder. The thought made him smile. He was getting into this.
She smiled, too, took her hand off his shoulder, then patted him gently. She stepped back.
Her next blows were distinctly harder than the earlier ones. He definitely felt pain from each one, then felt the pain melt into a warm glow that flowed across his ass and back. He remembered a line he’d read: Relax and let the pain sink in. He relaxed as much as he could and felt the warmth grow more intense. More quickly than he’d expected, the pain seemed to subside, though the blows were not weakening. He realized his body was producing endorphins to dull the pain.
He was surprised at how loudly the leather struck his skin. The sharp cracks reverberated strongly through the room. The noise reminded him of fireworks, and his attention focused on the sounds.
There were other loud cracks bouncing from the walls, too, coming from where the Dom was working over the young woman. For a while, he noticed that the sounds were alternating, first a crack across his body, then a crack across hers, as if the two tops were taking turns. He couldn’t see the other scene, but suddenly felt a sense of kinship with the young woman who also was on the receiving end of the leather. He imagined the spectators’ heads turning from one end of the room to the other as the alternate blows fell on the two naked bodies.
After a few more minutes of steadily-paced blows, the Domme ceased flogging him, and placed her implement on the table. Returning to him, she again asked how he was doing. Hearing his assurance that he was OK, she removed the nipple clamps, giving him another friendly rub on the shoulder before placing them, too, back on the table.
She released the clamps securing his cuffs to the cross, turned him around, then reattached them. He now was secured facing outward from the cross, fully exposed for all to see. The predicament bothered him far less than he thought it would, for now he was much more focused on the Domme and what she had in mind.
She produced a length of cord and began artistically tying a pattern around his balls and now-erect shaft. When done, she stood back and smiled at the sight. She then proceeded, to his considerable surprise, to begin deftly untying her handiwork with gentle strokes of a flogger. He winced silently each time the leather tails struck his delicate orbs, more from the thought of what was happening than from the actual sensation.
It took a few minutes to complete this part of the scene, and when it was done, she took the cord away, then turned him back around, re-securing him to the cross for more attention to his back and butt.
She quickly returned to delivering the level of pain at which she had left off before the interlude with the cord. After the first few blows, she again checked on him, and he happily assured her that he was fine. She then began to steadily increase the intensity. In addition to her floggers, she switched regularly to other implements from her toybag. Focusing his gaze straight forward and concentrating on processing the pain, he no longer was sure exactly what was being used on him at any particular time. He remembered that she had crops, paddles, straps, and whips, among other tools. She had assured him she would use them all.
As the pain increased in intensity, he could feel the endorphins continuing to keep up, allowing him to handle whatever she delivered. Each new stroke stoked the growing fire that was making his whole body glow with a stimulating warmth. As he felt this effect, he was surprised to feel himself relaxing more, settling into an increasingly pleasant state of mind. With the continuing rise of intensity, he settled ever more deeply into this warm mental haven.
Having used all the other toys, she returned to what he presumed was her favorite, a heavy leather flogger whose tails were cut to sharp points. It delivered a strong mix of thud and biting sting from the combination of its weight and the sharpness of the tips. Wielding it strongly, she began a methodical series of heavy blows, moving from his ass up to his shoulders, then back again, several times. Each blow struck with a loud report that reverberated throughout the room. The sound was so loud that when the blows fell on his shoulders, his ears hurt.
His endorphins, however, kept up, and he began to feel a sense of pride at being able to take what he now felt anyone would consider a serious beating. This added to the warm glow suffusing his body. He lost track of time.
He was surprised, then, when the blows stopped, and the Domme came close, and with a broad smile, announced that the scene was over. She returned her flogger to the table, came back to the cross and put a hand firmly on his shoulder. She asked again how he felt, and he replied, “great.” Still smiling, she unhooked his cuffs from the cross and walked him back to the table, where she removed the cuffs from his wrists.
Standing face-to-face with her, he said the only thing that came to his mind: “Thank you.” He had not felt such gratitude in a long time, and the words were deeply genuine.
She smiled even more broadly, and thanked him in return. Taking him by the hand, she walked him to a nearby mirror, telling him proudly that “you’re going to have some nice marks.” She had him turn around in front of the mirror and pointed out where his skin already was showing prominently the effects of her work.
As they walked back to the table, she spoke words that filled him with pride and satisfaction: “You did great.”
He began to dress as she returned her toys to their bag. They talked, but his brain was reeling from the sensations, the endorphins, and an overpowering feeling of accomplishment. The questions, the doubts, the apprehensions he’d harbored for years were gone. He’d turned fantasy into reality, and was almost deliriously happy.
Soon it was time to leave the club. They thanked each other again for the scene, hugged, and said goodbye. He found a cab and returned to his hotel.
Back in his room, he quickly headed for bed. It was quite late, and he needed sleep. Surprisingly, however, he could not sleep. He was alert with an unfamiliar sense of excitement, as if he were floating slightly in the air. His brain seemed to crackle with electricity. He kept replaying the evening in his mind. He felt intoxicated. After an hour or so of this, he finally realized he still was feeling the effects of a powerful endorphin high unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
He also felt an overwhelming exhilaration that would not subside. The exhilaration was constantly renewed by a single repeating thought that summed up this amazing night:
“I am a BDSMer.”