Thursday 02/28/2019: The Main Event

Thursday nights, the evening we host Bondage A Go Go, are my favorite.  It’s the time when we are able to show up for our beloved BDSM community.  Though there are always at least a few curious new attendees, many are regulars from one week to the next.  This is fun for us, especially when they are in the habit of playing.  As we get to know a person, we can better tailor their experience to suit their preferences, and of course that’s always a good thing.

One such person is a young woman we’ll call Daeva.  We see her frequently, and most of the people who join us for the event are familiar with her.  She’s friendly, sociable, and on almost always in the mood to play.  Our event photographer managed to get quite a few pictures of a recent play scene, so I thought you’d enjoy seeing some of them.

53369489_2331524346880250_2577392441057345536_n

As with any scene, we devote the first few minutes to lighter play, also known as a warm up.  Daeva is partial to sensory play for this initial phase.  I might use toys with different textures, such as furry or scratchy.  Occasionally I’ll deliver a lighter impact spanking.  Daeva pretty much gives me license to express my creativity and I take advantage of this.

53289805_330485057597223_7341838463244697600_n

One of my favorites is the **vibrating glove (pictured).  It’s a loose fitting nylon glove with little vibrating pads in the finger tips.  It has two speeds and requires three AA batteries. Everyone loves it.  It’s great for warming up, or for cooling down …. and incidentally it is great for a scalp massage.

Once I had a little fun with Daeva, I turned her over to Master Hawke for a bit of rough treatment.

53435370_533173267174794_3505348669710794752_n

Master Hawke is an expert in manual domination.  He uses a combination of percussive impact and pressure points.  He also isn’t afraid to subject a person to a bit of rough handling.  This is a good way to let a submissive know they are truly taken in hand and at his mercy.

53165082_246835346260576_3801191467372773376_n

An experience with Master Hawke is bound to get your endorphins working.  Endorphins are “feel good” chemicals, such as you might feel after a workout or a night of dancing or a few thrill rides at an amusement park. Getting a spanking (for instance) is just another way to chase that dragon.  It’s a natural high.  People usually feel pretty good after a corporal session.  Energized, mood elevated. Some people report a heightened sense of well being, lasting for days after some rough use.

With an intense corporal session, the goal of course is to hurt, but not to harm.   Hawke is really good at taking someone just to the edge, then maybe a bit farther.  There’s art, science, and skill involved.

After Hawke finished up with Daeva, we took a short break.  I had a shot of tequila and said hi to a few people.  Then I met Daeva back in the play area for an encore.  She was stripped down and dancing in her skivvies by this time, waiting for me to return.

53268245_2061157920627079_6994108109845168128_n.jpg

That is not an opportunity you want to waste.

53057837_332246614077825_4298286493970989056_n

Since she was pretty well  spent from her time with the Master, we kept it fairly light.  Just more sensory play.  Dripping wax and ice, then scraping the cooled wax off her skin with the edge of a blade.  Though this is on the less intense end of the spectrum, it likely felt fairly intense as her body was still riding the wave of the endorphin rush.

53169311_378896892942690_2265217158373965824_n

Though Daeve was used, she was far from spent.  I ordered her across my lap for an OTK spanking.  Just a light one.  I wanted to give her a prolonged cooling down period.  Besides, we had quite an audience of onlookers so why not give them a show.

53390460_511581546036944_7709451156560281600_n

We host Bondage A Go Go every Thursday except for the 3rd Thursday each month.  All play is consensual.  The event begins at 10pm.  There’s no cover for midnight.  Join us for a drink, some dancing, and a good beating.  Or, just watch.  It’s a pretty good show!

 

If you have never been and are curious about what to expect, here are a couple articles I wrote as primers on the event:

https://dommedeplume.wordpress.com/2016/07/17/bondage-a-go-go/

https://dommedeplume.wordpress.com/2017/04/09/bondage-a-go-go-at-exit/

*photos by PJ Weingart

41qoqT8jgeL

**The Fukuoku Five Finger Massage Glove.  It’s pretty easy to find a retailer.  The price seems to range from $60-100, give or take.  There’s a right hand and a left hand version, and it comes in black or hot pink.

at my mercy, at my feet

I’ve been playing with *David for about a year.  He comes to see me every few weeks to be subjected to various indignities.

I remember our first session.  David illustrated the nature of his fantasies in elaborate detail.  He wanted to feel out of control.  He wanted to throw himself at the mercy of a Dominant woman.  He longed to be degraded as I saw fit.  He admitted to loving feet, particularly if they were sweaty.  Mine were because I had been wearing my leather boots all afternoon.  Upon hearing this revelation, he begged for a chance to prove himself worthy to worship my feet.

He described his limits: no insertions, no marks, no blood.  I told him the safe word and ordered him to strip.  I gathered rope, a blindfold, a ball gag, and a pair of panties made of lavender satin and trimmed with lace.  I handed him the latter, instructing him to put them on.

I lit a few candles and put on a CD while David busied himself with the task I had given him.  When he was finished he said “ok, Mistress.  They’re on.”

“What’s on, David?  I don’t appreciate vagueness.  You will need to learn to be more specific.”

“I put the panties on, Mistress.”

“Oh, good,” I answered.  “That’s excellent.  Now you may kneel.”

David obeyed.  I fitted the blindfold over his eyes and fastened a collar around his neck.  I ordered him onto all fours, then added that he should lower his chest to the floor and place his wrists behind him.  I used a piece of rope to bind his wrists behind his back.

“I’m going to gag you in a minute, so if there’s anything you’d like to say this would be the time.”  I showed him the ball gag, which I had wrapped in plastic during my preparations.

Of course he had something to say.  “I have a question.  Why did you make me put these panties on?”

I answered him slowly and succinctly: “I’m in charge of you, right?”

He answered: “yes, Mistress.”

“And you  mentioned that you hope to be allowed to worship my feet, did you not?”

“I did, Mistress.”

“There you go.  I told you to put the panties on because it entertains me to see you wear them.  I suspect that you buy your underwear in a twelve pack, and probably always have.  Now, you’re wearing a pair of bargain bin panties.  Think of it as a short walk on the wild side.  If you hope to worship my feet, you should thank me because those panties are a step in that direction.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

I told him he was welcome, then I popped the ball of the gag into his mouth.  I put a few keys in his hand and told him to jingle if he needed to get my attention.

Once David was gagged I sat on the floor in front of him and removed my boots.  I rested my foot on the back of his head and slowly lowered my right stocking, taking pains to not snag it.  I left the stocking draped over his head, the toe right by his nose, damp with the sweat of my sole.

His nostrils flared as he recognized the scent.  He imbibed the bouquet in deep gulping inhalations.  Spit seeped from his stretched mouth and dribbled down his chin.  He gurgled and drooled as he drew in my essence in desperate snorts.  I removed my left stocking, noting that it had a run.  Damn.  Oh well.  I guess it was David’s lucky day.  I wadded the stocking into a tight ball and without announcing my plan, I removed the gag from my subject’s mouth and replaced it with the stocking.  I used pallet wrap to hold the gag in place, winding it around his stuffed, half open mouth several times.

David slurped on the stocking, sucking the flavor of my sweat from the sheer nylon material.

“You’re drinking my sweat, David.  No more drooling, now.  Make sure you get it all.” I grasped his hair and tugged, lifting his head.  I edged my toe under the blindfold and lifted it, sliding it up his forehead.  He nudged his face toward the sole of my foot.  I gripped his nose between my first and second toes, cutting off his breath for a few seconds.  I moulded my arch to his forehead.  I rested my heel against his chin and sprawled my long toes across his brow.   I flexed, arched, and pointed my foot just out of his reach.  He flailed toward it in an earnest attempt to feel my sole against his face again.  I’ll say this much: he was motivated.  He heroically struggled forward, crawling on his shoulders.  Now and then I let him reach his target, only to inch backward and withdraw his hard won prize.  I admired his dedication.  He would have crawled around the block for a chance to bury his face in my feet.  In fact he seemed content to merely exert himself with no guaranteed outcome.

I often will allow a scene to reach a plateau so I can observe my subjects in these moments..  It is no small thing to overcome your self consciousness and acquiesce to your desires.  My view is from a different angle.  From where I sit, submission looks like liberation from convention and constraint.  I know the degree of trust and confidence and sheer guts involved.  For me, this comes into sharp focus through a degree of detached identification with my subjects.  That’s what I take away from my sessions: the gift of an entirely different perspective.  This is the vision that guides my hand as a Dominant.

I untied David’s wrists.  Next I used safety shears to cut through the plastic wrap that secured the stocking gag.  I held out a baggie for him to put the spit soaked stocking into, then I said: “Ok, David.  It’s your choice.  You can have my feet in your face and go home with blue balls, or you can jack off.  One or the other.”

He didn’t even need a minute to think about it.  He automatically answered, “I want your feet, Mistress.”

I told him to lay on the floor facing upward, with his head right at the foot of my throne.  Once he was in the prescribed place I rested both of my bare feet on his flushed face.

He still wore the knickers.  His hair was damp with perspiration.  His breath was humid and hot against my soles. I knew this was all he wanted or cared about at that moment.  Nothing else mattered, just as it should be.  I made him lie still under my feet until it was time for him to leave.

He asked if he could keep the stocking.  I certainly didn’t want it back.  I told him he could have it on condition that he wore the panties home.  He agreed to this stipulation and left with blue balls, as was the contract.

 

*name changed

 

 

 

 

it was an accident

“There are no mistakes.  Only happy accidents.” -Bob Ross

 

Once a month, sometimes twice, *Junior comes to visit me.   I have trained him to follow a protocol upon arrival: first, he undresses quickly and silently.  Then he silences his phone and folds his clothing.  Finally he puts on a pair of women’s panties that he carries in his briefcase.  They’re pale pink, with a floral print.  The waistband and leg holes are trimmed with ivory lace.

Junior likes it when I treat him like crap.  I don’t mind obliging him.      Today I was feeling feisty and sadistic and Junior, being somewhat of a bonehead, never fails to inspire my most sadistic tendencies.  In fact before he even arrived, I had my mind made up that today was going to be especially hard for him.  Not that I had anything specific in mind, but I was certain that Junior would hand me a gift wrapped excuse to hand him his ass.

First things first, I made him stand for inspection.  Right away, I could see the reason for the punishment I would mete out: Junior’s balls were squishing out of the leg of his panties.  I smacked them with a crop.  He made a squeaking yelp sound.   “Stuff them in unless you want to lose them,” I told him.  He did as told.

“Do you think I want to see your sloppy balls hanging out of your knickers?” I demanded.  “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“No ma’am, but it was an accident.  I didn’t mean to.”

“An accident?” I smacked his groin with the riding crop.  He moved his hands to protect himself, but I wasn’t having any of that.  I seized his arm and abruptly dragged him to the St. Andrew’s cross.  I fastened the leather cuffs around his wrists.

“You’re gonna get it today, Junior.  You’ve been begging for it for a long time and today I’m going to give it to you.” It wasn’t an empty threat.  I was ready to dig in and ruin his day.

The panties left the lower portions of his buttocks exposed.  Two pasty white hemispheres of butt meat, sparsely populated with a few hairs.  I smacked his left cheek just to watch it jiggle.   Then I pulled his panties down, dragging them down his legs until they rested around his ankles.

Junior has a bad habit of clenching his ass on impact.  This makes it hurt worse.  I have certainly told him this, and I have advised and admonished him to avoid clenching.  He never absorbed these lessons, and now his butt paid the price as it absorbed the impact of a medium sized, solid wooden paddle.

He groaned and braced his upper body against the cross.  Rather than wasting the moment, I swung the paddle again, landing a good one squarely across his butt.  He cried out and arched backward.

“Oh, does it hurt?  Sorry, Junior.  It was an accident.” I used a rope to bind his upper body to the cross, passing it around his waist and anchoring it to lead screws on either side. Then, I used leather straps to secure his thighs to the lower portion of the cross.   He struggled just enough to test his newly imposed restriction.   I was satisfied.  This would do.

Of all the toys I use for discipline, there is a leather strap that I love.  It’s a dense piece of hide, about 14 inches long and nearly two inches wide.  It’s smooth as glass from years of use.  It slices through the air with a low hiss.  It hits the skin with a thick, satisfying slap.  That sound is one of the things I love about it.  It’s a rich, skin on skin thud.

It also leaves beautiful marks.

I grasped Junior’s earlobe and inclined his head to his right side, where I stood with strap in hand.  “See this?” I asked, holding it up for him to see.  He winced, gulped, and nodded.  “I’m gonna use it on your ass in a minute.  You probably won’t like it.  I don’t really care.  Do you understand?”  Junior nodded.

I took a step backward, lined up my aim, and swung the strap forward.  It sailed and landed on Junior’s in a straight line across the middle of his buttocks.  I landed another lash directly below it.  Two perfectly horizontal lines began to redden.  I ran my fingertips over my handiwork.  Junior was biting his lip to keep from making noise.  Screw that.  I wanted to hear him.  That way I know he appreciates my efforts.

Clearly, it was time to cut to the chase.

I attached a collar to Junior’s neck, then untied the ropes, and liberated him from the straps and cuffs.  Clenching the back of his collar, I forced him to the floor in front of the cross.  He lay there sprawled on his stomach.  I kicked his thigh.  “Roll over.  On your back.  Now!”  I punctuated this command with another kick.  Junior scrambled to obey.

Luckily the toy drawers were in easy reach.  I found a box of spring loaded clothespins.  Perfect.

I pried Junior’s thighs apart and put on latex gloves before attaching the clothespins to the skin of his scrotum, one by one.  I took my time, drawing it out, tugging and twisting the clothespins to maximize the torment.  Just a tiny, nearly transparent nip of skin.  That’s all that was needed.  It hurts more that way.  Also it makes it easier to apply more clothespins.  More clothespins = a more painful experience for Junior.

He made so much noise, you’d think I was sawing his leg off.  What a baby.

“I’m so sorry, Junior!  It’s an accident!” I gleefully rubbed it in, enjoying his moans of pain.  They paired well with the contorted grimace.  I used the riding crop to target individual clothespins.  Just the slightest tap with the crop caused him to writhe in agony.  It was an entertaining spectacle, but I was ready to raise the stakes.

“You lie there and keep still.  I need to get something.” I peeled off the gloves and went back to the toy drawer where I found a drip candle, a book of matches, a roll of duck tape and a pair of nipple clamps.  I put these things on the floor between Junior’s splayed thighs.  Then I dragged the heavy wooden spanking bench to where I wanted it, which was about a foot away from Junior’s head.  I again fastened leather cuffs to his wrists.  Then I clipped the cuffs to an eye bolt  near the base of the spanking bench.  Good.  Now his hands were out of the way.

First, the nipple clamps.  I attached these and tightened the adjustment screws.  I didn’t want to draw blood, but I did want to make him suffer, so I tightened them with a few careful adjustments.

Next, I ripped off a few strips of duct tape.  I slapped one of them across his mouth.  Not because it would dampen his screams (well, not much), but because it would hurt when I yanked it off.   Then I taped his cock to his stomach just to get it out of the way.

I stationed myself between Junior’s legs once more.   His face was flushed.  His arms tensed against the restraints.   The steel jaw clamps bit into his nipples.  His stomach rose and fell with his inhalations and exhalations.

I put on another pair of gloves and lit my candle with a match.  The matchbook came from a diner that probably closed twenty years ago.  They probably had a hot meatloaf sandwich on the menu and a waitress named Flo or Vera or who knows.  I wondered if they wore support stockings and called patrons “hun”.  I wondered what they’d think if they knew what I was about to do to Junior.

The clothespins were still in place.  Twelve in all.  I held the candle about twelve inches above them, tilting it slightly so the wax could flow as it melted.

The first drop dripped down the side of a clothespin, so it was practically cool by the time it hit his scrotum.  The next drop was a different story.  I held the candle upright to let a little melted wax accumulate.  It hit his skin and poured over his balls in a tiny clear rivulet, hardening almost instantly.  Junior screamed.  He turned almost purple.  His body twisted in a rigid, jerking motion.  His arms tightened and veins bulged out from his neck.  His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched.  I enjoyed watching this.  Meanwhile, the wax was melting and accumulating, so I let it flow again.  It rolled over his stretched skin, matting his pubic hair as it solidified.  Junior thrashed and struggled but he was unable to avoid the wax.  “Oh my, Junior!  I hope you’re ok!  I’m having an accident!”  I giggled as I poured the melted wax.  His back and ass lifted off the floor.  Sweat rolled off his forehead.  He made a muffled, whiny grunting sound from behind the duct tape.  I yanked the clothespins off one at a time.  Junior rolled from side to side, bucking and twisting and screaming.  This made it a bit more difficult to apply the wax accurately, but I managed about a 90% success rate, which is pretty impressive, considering.  Finally I snuffed the candle out on his stomach.  He yelped a little bit.  “Do you whine about everything?   Do you have any pride or self respect at all?”  I removed the clamps from his nipples.  The pain set in about 5 seconds later.  Junior straightened like a plank and managed to stifle his cries somewhat.  It sounded like a growl.  In one swift motion, I tore the duct tape from his mouth, revealing his bared, clenched teeth and red raw skin.  Finally I liberated him from the wrist restraints.  I figured he might want to be the one to remove the duct tape from his cock and the wax from his balls.  I was correct on both counts.  It was Junior’s wish to perform these delicate procedures in the comfort and privacy of his own home.  I wonder how he managed.

I hope it hurt.

Silence

“It’s very important in life to know when to shut up.  You should not be afraid of silence.”  ~Alex Trebek

 

*Dylan talks too much.  He likes to run his mouth during our play sessions, filling up the quiet spaces with nervous chit chat about sports teams he follows, concerts he plans to attend, and other mundane topics.  It breaks my reverie and interferes with my enjoyment of our play time.  I also think he could get more out of our sessions if he knew when to be quiet but the problem is that he doesn’t know when to be quiet.  Idle chatter is his default.

My solution was to impose a gag rule on him.  No talking without permission, excepting his safe word if he needs it.

Of course he objected to this innovation.  I gave him two minutes to voice his displeasure.  He used it to full advantage.

“Why the gag?  If you don’t want me to talk I can be quiet.”

“No you can’t,” I replied.  “Last time we played I asked you to be quiet twice and each time you barely paused before starting up again.”

“Seriously?  I did?  Wow, I didn’t know that.” Dylan looked genuinely puzzled, as though he were trying to recall these details.  Then: “but seriously, I can be quiet.  I like to talk but I really don’t have to.  Especially if it bothers you.  I can be annoying.  Whatever I have to say can wait.  Except if I have to use my safe word, or the rest room.  I’ve never had to use the rest room during one of our sessions because I always go before we start.  But I imagine you’d let me use it if I asked.  It would be too distracting to have to wait, especially if we still had a lot of time left.  Do you know the other night I went to see a movie and-”

I didn’t wait to hear about Dylan’s cinematic adventure.  I’d already heard enough.  Without another moments hesitation I slapped a piece of duct tape across his mouth and instructed him to get onto the bondage table.  I put a ring of keys in his hand and explained the new rules as I applied the cuffs his ankles and wrists.  “You can jingle or drop the keys in lieu of saying your safe word.  But be forewarned.  That duct tape is gonna hurt when it comes off.  So whatever you have to say, you should think twice about whether it’s worth it.”

Dylan nodded.

I put on some classical violin music.  My supplies were already arranged close at hand: clothespins, some clothesline weight rope, a tongue depressor, a small rubber whip, latex gloves, duct tape, a candle, lighter, and bowl of ice cubes.  There were no further preparations to be made.  I was free to enjoy my subject in peace, and this fact gave me a newfound sense of liberty and empowerment.  My first act in my newly empowered state was to attach clothes pins to Dylan’s nipples.  The wood gripped his skin with a firm pinch.  I tugged it slightly to test it’s stability (and I’ll be honest: also to inflict a bit of torture on my subject).  Dylan stirred and issued a muted groan of protest.  I ignored this, as it didn’t require a response.

I continued my petty torments.  After donning gloves, I used the lightweight rope to bind Dylan’s cock to the tongue depressor, much like a splint.  Dylan watched with a curious expression as I completed this task.  Beads of sweat gathered on his furrowed forehead.  I knew he was more anxious about being under rule of silence than about anything I’d done up to that point.

Why waste that energy?  I decided to give him a few reasons to squirm.  I lit the candle and set it aside in a holder, so some wax could accumulate.  Dylan glanced fearfully at the candle.  I decided to blindfold him.  I explained: “you’ll be a lot less anxious if you stay in the here and now.  You don’t need to watch and worry about what I’m going to do.  Just let your body respond.”  I stood still at the head of the bondage bed and watched him breathe for a minute, until he was noticeably calmer.  Soon his breath was steady and regular and his face showed no sign of stress.  Good, because I was about to fuck that up for him.

I mounted the bondage bed and revisited the improvised cock splint.  It was still securely bound.   I seized the candle and poised it about eighteen inches above his splinted digit, tilted to allow the wax to flow.    It poured over his skin and ran downward toward his body, hardening in his pubic hair.  He groaned and stiffened, fists clenched and feet pointed.   Meanwhile, the wax was melting and accumulating, so I lowered it to about a foot above my target and let it flow again.  It rolled over the bondage cord, landing on his bare skin.  Dylan groaned with more force and fervor but lay still and tense.   I smiled as I continued to pour the melted wax, this time letting it hit the tip (just the tip) of his member.  His back arched off the mat.   He made a whiny little grunting sound from behind the duct tape, almost like a dog who wants to go out to pee.   While he continued to register the effect of the wax, I twisted one of the clothespins earlier applied to his nipples.  Then I decidedly yanked it off.  Only one for now.  The beautiful thing about nipple clamps or clothespins is that they hurt more when you take them off than they do when you apply them.  Why not increase the fun by letting him suffer twice?   Obviously, I had to drip some wax on his recently liberated nipple.  It just seemed like the right thing to do.  Dylan obviously agreed, as his face was red, his jaw clenched, and the tendons in his neck strained.    I set the candle aside and picked up the little rubber whip, aiming right for the wax coated nipple.  Yes.  Spot on.  A few flakes of wax chipped off and flew as the whip landed home.  My subject howled from behind the tape, so I knew he appreciated it.  Again, I aimed and lashed the whip, breaking more wax each time, and leaving a constellation of little pinpoint whip marks where the wax broke off.  Not the most efficient method of wax removal, but definitely fun for me.

Next I turned my attention to the still clamped nipple.  That clothespin was still there, just daring me to inflict more pain.  I gave it a smack.  Dylan whined a little.  I tugged it, causing his pinched nipple to distend.  His whimpering became more insistent, and his already strained neck cords bulged visibly.  I twisted the clothespin and he made a sound like a balloon with a slow leak.  Every motion I made was cautious and deliberate because I didn’t want to remove the clothespin prematurely by accident.  I had plans for that clothespin.  My plans involved the candle, which was still lit.  A considerable amount of wax had melted.  This gave me the idea to apply the wax to his nipple and the clothespin simultaneously.  I did this by carefully maneuvering the angle of the drip, while manipulating the clothespin to one side and then the next.  Dylan was whining a lot during this process but I tuned him out, focusing instead on my task, making sure to capture a few nearby chest hairs.  The hairs were the point of this exercise.  Just to add to the fun, I was hoping to remove wax and hair at the same time I removed the clothespin.   I kept dripping the wax until I had a good thick layer of it.  Then I held an ice cube to the newly dripped wax, just to help it harden.  Dylan shivered a little as the ice melted but he didn’t make any noise.  I tapped the surface of the wax to test it.  It was solid.  I carefully gripped the clothespin near the bottom and pulled it off in one motion, taking the wax with it in one solid piece.  I was pleased to note that my plan worked, as the hairs came off too.  Then I yanked off the duct tape over his mouth.  It made a little ripping sound as it came off.  Dylan moaned, strained, and struggled against nothing but the pain itself.  I let him have this moment.  I know when to be quiet.

After he settled down a bit, I untied his cock.  Most of the wax came off with the bondage cord, which I discarded along with the tongue depressor and gloves.  A little of the wax remained in his pubic hair but I decided to let Dylan sort that on his own time.   Maybe that will teach him to trim.  Either way, it’s sort of a bonus lesson for him.

 

*name changed

 

 

the rough use of subject #2

“A picture is worth a thousand words.” ~proverb of unknown origin

 

We’re lucky to have a dedicated photographer for Bondage A Go Go.  With the participant’s permission, he captures scenes for posterity.  From time to time, I like to look back on the pictures and reminisce fondly on moments we’ve been privileged to be a part of.  Looking at the photos takes me right back to the moment.  It’s easy for me because I was there, and I remember the intensity and drama of each scene; many of them unfold like a play in one act.  Still, I feel like a lot of the narrative is missing for those viewers who weren’t present for the action.  So I will present the story of subject #2 along with  the photographic highlights.

 

bagg24I refer to him as subject #2 because he was our second subject of the night.  He told us he likes it rough. He likes having his hair pulled, and being knocked around.  I’ve played with him before.  I remember his preferences, he enjoys a really intense play scene with lots of rough contact and physical force.  I decided to take matters in hand immediately by forcing him to his knees to crawl to the play area.

 

bagg26My lady friends and I took our turns subjecting him to rough use.  Miss Serenity began a warm up with the leather paddle.  Subject #2 stayed on his knees as ordered, and submitted to the rhythmic slap of the thick, smooth leather.

 

bagg27After Miss Serenity had a little fun with our subject, Miss Janna had her turn.  Her tool of choice was a miniature truncheon made of rubber.  I won’t even try to describe how much this thing stings.  It’s not just sting, either.  The thing is heavier than it looks and so it’s a combination of sting and weight.  It is one of the most intense corporal toys in the arsenal.  Nevertheless, subject #2 took it without complaint.

 

bagg29After Serenity and Janna took their turns, we raised him to his feet and clipped the leather cuffs to the fence to secure him.  I wanted a piece of the action.

 

bagg28I don’t get many chances to use the braided leather cat o’ nine tails.  It’s a heavy, abrasive whip and it is usually best saved for a true masochist, which aptly describes subject #2.  Being the smartass that I sometimes am, I couldn’t resist smiling for a picture before getting my pound of flesh.  By the way…if you examine this picture closely, you will see evidence of Janna’s application of the rubber truncheon.

After we had our fun kicking him around, we handed him over to Master Hawke to finish the job.

The next photo isn’t the greatest quality, but it’s going to be one of my eternal favorites.

baggwowNote our expressions, especially mine.  I am a skilled, seasoned sadist.   It takes a lot to make me look like that.

Here’s the inspiration behind our expressions:

bagg31Master Hawke gave subject #2 the BUSINESS.  His hands flew.  He pummeled and pulled flesh.  He struck repeatedly and rhythmically.  Subject #2 took it all and begged for more.  He gave a token struggle, just to get Hawke to bring it harder.  A few minutes into the action, Master Hawke took off his jacket and the crowd erupted in spontaneous applause and cheers.  Everyone knew what was coming: Hawke was about to go Full Metal Jacket on subject #2.   It was one of those rare, fine climactic moments when the spectators are watching, riveted and at attention.  It was the most epic, elegant beat down I’ve witnessed in many moons.

 

bagg38

We ended the scene by making subject #2 lie on the floor so I could use his head for a foot rest while my companions enjoyed one final round of sadistic fun with him.  Miss Janna dripped hot wax all over the punished flesh of his back, and Miss Serenity used a steel knife to scrape the wax off.

bagg68

Bondage A Go Go is at Exit on Thursday nights.  If you haven’t attended, you should.  Here is a link to an introductory article I wrote about the event:

https://dommedeplume.wordpress.com/2016/07/17/bondage-a-go-go/

Photos by Chuy Hernandez

 

*bondage and freedom: letter to a servant

“The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.” ~Vince Lombardi

 

You asked me what I was thinking the other night while you were bound.  I didn’t have an immediate reply, because it’s not an easy off the cuff answer.  The topic of bondage invites me to wax philosophical.  I’ve been thinking about it, and I would like to share this with you.

For me it begins as I am preparing for our session.  I know you want to be bound.  You specifically asked for restrictive, containment bondage that allowed you little to no freedom of movement.  I prepared a variety of items:  immobilizing leather wraps, cuffs, and straps, rope to anchor you in place, leather hood, and steel chains for their weight.  I take my time in applying these, watching the layers and locks add up.  At that point I am thinking about your safety first and foremost, but also what will make you feel physically contained.  I cinch the straps, buckle the buckles, knot the ropes.  This is the most fun part for me personally, but also where a lot of the groundwork for the whole session is laid.  I want to get it right so I don’t have to cause distraction by adding this or that, or correcting mistakes.  I am deliberate about my work.

Once you’re safely bound, I clasp my hand over the leather hood to obstruct the breathing holes, this being our customary signal that you may begin.  It’s satisfying to watch you struggle.  That’s my role at that point: to witness your struggle, your helplessness.  To be present.  To be vigilant.  To stand at the ready in case you decide you need to use your safe word.

During these moments, I envy you.  Bound by leather and anchored by rope and confined by steel and strap, you are inviolable.  You are completely safe, struggling against something of no consequence.  There is an end in sight.  This too will pass, though you are invited to imagine otherwise.   You are not in any jeopardy.   You are free to labor against the chains and straps and leather and rope.  You are at liberty to feel whatever you need to feel…and this is a good time to let yourself react, because I’m not there to judge you; I’m there to keep you safe.  None of this matters.

It isn’t always safe to give voice to protest; the real world deals out real consequences for dissent.  We don’t immediately perceive the effect our silence has on our own mental health, relationships, or work.  Subjugation must be endured in silence unless we are in a position that allows us to shrug at the potential aftermath.  In so many ways, so many symbolic whips held over us, so many chains binding us.

My whips and chains are real and symbolic at once.  Certainly I could devise a “punishment” for your outward rebellion but that sanction would be little more than a distracting token, and would deprive you of the value of independent compliance.  I discern and respect your need to struggle, even in vain, against these bonds you voluntarily chose.

I watch as you acquiesce to your newly prescribed perimeters.  In spite of the initial resistance, you give up easily.  Your muscles relax.  Your breathing slows.  Your jaw loosens, your brow unfurrows, these being replaced with an expression of serenity.   You are at ease and I daresay comforted by your perimeters.  Acceptance within your bounds gives you paradoxical freedom.  Your body is contained and immobilized; your mind is someplace else.  Your flesh is under my command but your mind, your limitless consciousness, is aloft like a kite.  I am holding the string.  Our harmonic efforts are the wind keeping you aloft.

My chains mean nothing unless you are fighting against them.   Surrender equals freedom.

Acceptance is not always passive.  Sometimes it’s an active state of reminding ourselves to be still in whatever state we are bound.  It often requires a great deal of will power, struggling against our nature to accept that which enslave us.  For some, it requires greater strength to accept chains than it would to break free.  Literal physical bondage is a good tool for learning how to let go.  Think of all that could imply, because it’s pretty awesome.

 

*shared by mutual agreement

 

it was an accident

“There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.” ~Bob Ross

 

Once a month, sometimes twice, *Junior comes to visit me.   I have trained him to follow a protocol upon arrival: first, he undresses quickly and silently.  Then he silences his phone and folds his clothing.  Finally he puts on a pair of women’s panties that he carries in his briefcase.  They’re pale pink, with a floral print.  The waistband and leg holes are trimmed with ivory lace.

Junior is a masochist.  He likes it when I treat him like crap.  I don’t mind obliging him.      Today I was feeling feisty and sadistic and Junior, being somewhat of a bonehead, never fails to inspire my most sadistic tendencies.  In fact before he even arrived, I had my mind made up that today was going to be especially hard for him.  Not that I had anything specific in mind, but I was certain that Junior would hand me a gift wrapped excuse to hand him his ass.

First things first, I made him stand for inspection.  Right away, I could see the reason for the punishment I would mete out: Junior’s balls were squishing out of the leg of his panties.  I smacked them with a crop.  He made a squeaking yelp sound.   “Stuff them in unless you want to lose them,” I warned him.  He did as told.

“Do you think I want to see your sloppy balls hanging out of your knickers?” I demanded.  “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“No ma’am, but it was an accident.  I didn’t mean to.”

“An accident?” I smacked his groin with the riding crop.  He moved his hands to protect himself, but I wasn’t having any of that.  I seized his arm and abruptly dragged him to the St. Andrew’s cross.  I fastened the leather cuffs around his wrists.

“You’re gonna get it today, Junior.  You’ve been begging for it for a long time and today I’m going to give it to you.” It wasn’t an empty threat.  I was ready to dig in and ruin his day.

The panties left the lower portions of his buttocks exposed.  Two pasty white hemispheres of butt meat, sparsely populated with a few hairs.  I smacked his left cheek just to watch it jiggle.   Then I pulled his panties down, dragging them down his legs until they rested around his ankles.

Junior has a bad habit of clenching his ass on impact.  This makes it hurt worse.  I have certainly told him this, and I have advised and admonished him to avoid clenching.  He never absorbed these lessons, and now his butt paid the price as it absorbed the impact of a medium sized, solid wooden paddle.

He groaned and braced his upper body against the cross.  Rather than wasting the moment, I swung the paddle again, landing a good one squarely across his butt.  He cried out and arched backward.

“Oh, does it hurt?  Sorry, Junior.  It was an accident.” I used a rope to bind his upper body to the cross, passing it around his waist and anchoring it to lead screws on either side. Then, I used leather straps to secure his thighs to the lower portion of the cross.   He struggled just enough to test his newly imposed restriction.   I was satisfied.  This would do.

Of all the toys I use for discipline, there is a leather strap that I love.  It’s a dense piece of hide, about 14 inches long and nearly two inches wide.  It’s smooth as glass from years of use.  It slices through the air with a low hiss.  It hits the skin with a thick, satisfying slap.  That sound is one of the things I love about it.  It’s a rich, skin on skin thud.

It also leaves beautiful marks.

I grasped Junior’s earlobe and inclined his head to his right side, where I stood with strap in hand.  “See this?” I asked, holding it up for him to see.  He winced, gulped, and nodded.  “I’m gonna use it on your ass in a minute.  You probably won’t like it.  I don’t really care.  Do you understand?”  Junior nodded.

I took a step backward, lined up my aim, and swung the strap forward.  It sailed and landed on Junior’s in a straight line across the middle of his buttocks.  I landed another lash directly below it.  Two perfectly horizontal lines began to redden.  I ran my fingertips over my handiwork.  Junior was biting his lip to keep from making noise.  Screw that.  I wanted to hear him.  That way I know he appreciates my efforts.

Clearly, it was time to cut to the chase.

I attached a collar to Junior’s neck, then untied the ropes, and liberated him from the straps and cuffs.  Clenching the back of his collar, I forced him to the floor in front of the cross.  He lay there sprawled on his stomach.  I kicked his thigh.  “Roll over.  On your back.  Now!”  I punctuated this command with another kick.  Junior scrambled to obey.

Luckily the toy drawers were in easy reach.  I found a box of spring loaded clothespins.  Perfect.

I pried Junior’s thighs apart and put on latex gloves before attaching the clothespins to the skin of his scrotum, one by one.  I took my time, drawing it out, tugging and twisting the clothespins to maximize the torment.  Just a tiny, nearly transparent nip of skin.  That’s all that was needed.  It hurts more that way.  Also it makes it easier to apply more clothespins.  More clothespins = a more painful experience for Junior.

He made so much noise, you’d think I was sawing his leg off.  What a baby.

“I’m so sorry, Junior!  It’s an accident!” I gleefully rubbed it in, enjoying his moans of pain.  They paired well with the contorted grimace.  I used the riding crop to target individual clothespins.  Just the slightest tap with the crop caused him to writhe in agony.  It was an entertaining spectacle, but I was ready to raise the stakes.

“You lie there and keep still.  I need to get something.” I peeled off the gloves and went back to the toy drawer where I found a drip candle, a book of matches, a roll of duck tape and a pair of nipple clamps.  I put these things on the floor between Junior’s splayed thighs.  Then I dragged the heavy wooden spanking bench to where I wanted it, which was about a foot away from Junior’s head.  I again fastened leather cuffs to his wrists.  Then I clipped the cuffs to an eyebolt  near the base of the spanking bench.  Good.  Now his hands were out of the way.

First, the nipple clamps.  I attached these and tightened the adjustment screws.  I didn’t want to draw blood, but I did want to make him suffer, so I only made a few careful adjustments.

Next, I ripped off a few strips of duct tape.  I slapped one of them across his mouth.  Not because it would dampen his screams (well, not much), but because it would hurt when I yanked it off.   Then I taped his cock to his stomach just to get it out of the way.

I stationed myself between Junior’s legs once more.   His face was flushed.  His arms tensed against the restraints.   The steel jaw clamps bit into his nipples.  His stomach rose and fell with his inhalations and exhalations.

I put on another pair of gloves and lit my candle with a match.  The matchbook came from a diner that probably closed twenty years ago.  They probably had a hot meatloaf sandwich on the menu and a waitress named Flo or Vera or who knows.  I wondered if they wore support stockings and called patrons “hun”.  I wondered what they’d think if they knew what I was about to do to Junior.

The clothespins were still in place.  Ten in all.  I held the candle about twelve inches above them, tilting it slightly so the wax could flow as it melted.

The first drop dripped down the side of a clothespin, so it was practically cool by the time it hit his scrotum.  The next drop was a different story.  I held the candle upright to let a little melted wax accumulate.  It hit his skin and poured over his balls in a tiny clear rivulet, hardening almost instantly.  Junior screamed.  He turned almost purple.  His body twisted in a rigid, jerking motion.  His arms tightened and veins bulged out from his neck.  His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched.  I enjoyed watching this.  Meanwhile, the wax was melting and accumulating, so I let it flow again.  It rolled over his stretched skin, matting his pubic hair as it solidified.  Junior thrashed and struggled but he was unable to avoid the wax.  “Oh my, Junior!  I hope you’re ok!  I’m having an accident!”  I giggled as I poured the melted wax.  His back and ass lifted off the floor.  Sweat rolled off his forehead.  He made a muffled, whiny grunting sound from behind the duct tape.  I yanked the clothespins off one at a time.  Junior rolled from side to side, bucking and twisting and screaming.  This made it a bit more difficult to apply the wax accurately, but I managed about a 90% success rate, which is pretty impressive, considering.  Finally I snuffed the candle out on his stomach.  He yelped a little bit.  “Do you whine about everything?   Do you have any pride or self respect at all?”  I removed the clamps from his nipples.  The pain set in about 5 seconds later.  Junior straightened like a plank and managed to stifle his cries somewhat.  It sounded like a growl.  In one swift motion, I tore the duct tape from his mouth, revealing his bared, clenched teeth and red raw skin.  Finally I liberated him from the wrist restraints.  I figured he might want to be the one to remove the duct tape from his cock and the wax from his balls.  I was correct on both counts.  It was Junior’s wish to perform these delicate procedures in the comfort and privacy of his own home.  I wonder how he managed.

I hope it hurt.

The Master’s Hands

“I sing the body electric” ~Walt Whitman

If you have been in the habit of attending Bondage A Go Go in recent weeks, you have probably noticed we have a new companion working with us.  When you meet him in our company, you may address him as Master Hawke.
alan1

We asked Master Hawke to join us because he is a consummate Dominant, a highly skilled sadist, and a gentleman.  Those who approach him respectfully will be welcomed and put at their ease.  Your gender doesn’t matter.  Neither does your orientation.  This isn’t about sex or attraction, it’s about submission.  It’s about learning where that edge is.  It’s about pushing the threshold.  If you want to do that, if you want to feel alive in every part of your body, if you want to be tested to your core, Master Hawke will take you in hand.

bagg278

Master Hawke is a Dominant of considerable skill.  His particular area of expertise is martial arts, and he often uses elements of this discipline as he works.

I watch him work.  Master Hawke’s approach to physical domination includes a combination of leverage, physical force, percussive impact, and pressure point manipulation.  I’ve never seen anything quite like it.  As you watch, you will observe that Master Hawke is completely focused on his subject, on their responses and reactions to his methods.  He is well aware of the capabilities and the vulnerabilities of the human body and he excels at taking a person to that razor edge, where there is nothing for the submissive to do but to submit and surrender and ride the tidal wave of endorphins.  You can withstand some rough handling.  Your body is a wonderful machine and the Master knows how to push your buttons.  Aside from being remarkably skilled, his form is impeccable.  He moves with the elegance of a trained dancer, and his hands never miss their mark.

bagg2726

Rest well in the knowledge that there are forces greater than yourself, among them Master Hawke.  If you want to find the perimeters of your endurance, he will accompany you and show you the sights.  You are in the hands of a Master.

bagg273

*Master Hawke is also available for private sessions in a discreetly located, fully equipped BDSM dungeon.  Submit inquiries to continuum411@gmail.com.  ATTN: Master Hawke

Bondage A Go Go at Exit

“Freaks are the much needed escape from the humdrum. They are poetry.”
― Albert Perry

Many people in Chicago are first introduced to fetish at Bondage A Go Go, and it’s important that they receive messages of tolerance, acceptance, and inclusion.  This applies to people of every race, creed, and orientation.  It applies to Dominants and submissives alike.  It applies to everyone, regardless of their gender.  A respectful, inclusive, safe play space is our number one priority.

We believe that BDSM is for everyone who wants to explore and learn and play.   As your Dominants and hosts of the event, we want you to feel 100% safe in our capable hands.

We welcome you, regardless of your orientation, color, creed, gender, or kink.  You are welcome.  Period.  If you are being harassed or made to feel uncomfortable, we want to know about it.  Approach one of the Dominants, or talk to a member of the bar staff.    Even if you decide to leave, we want to deal with the person who made you feel unsafe or uncomfortable.

We want to answer your questions.  If you are new to BDSM, you may have questions.  About everything.  Ask them.  The trained, lifestyle Dominants at Bondage A Go Go will be happy to answer your questions.  Of course, the bar environment might not be the best place to have an in-depth conversation, so we may ask you to contact us via phone or email if you require more elaborate information.

We want to help you explore.  Some people know what they are into right away.  Others might not know immediately…they need to explore a few things to find their niche.  That’s fine, too.  If you’re brand new and have no idea what to ask for, tell the Dominant.  We deal with new people all the time.  Most people need a little help figuring out what they like.  It’s ok.  We’re really good at what we do, and can start you off at a good place.  The best thing about Bondage A Go Go is how *accessible it is.  You don’t need a secret password or a membership card.  It doesn’t have to cost a lot of money.  If you are 21 or older, you can attend our event and participate in the activities.

All activities are consensual.  That means nobody is going to start beating you (or touch you in any way) without your permission.   You will discuss your preferences and limits with the Dominant before you begin playing.  You will be given a safe word that you can use at any time if you need to stop playing.

It’s okay to hang back and watch.  Watching can give you some idea of what sort of activities to ask for.  You will see everyone having a good time.   Just remember to keep a respectful distance.  Everyone is entitled to their personal space.  Please also note: the Dominants need space in which to work.  Getting too close to the “action” can compromise the safety of the submissive, or cause you to get hit in the face by an errant whip or flogger…and nobody needs that.

No photography without explicit consent.  If you are seen taking pictures or capturing footage without permission, you will be asked to cease.  You will be asked to erase the pictures and footage.  Chances are, you will be asked to leave.  There are signs posted throughout the play space, reminding everyone to obtain consent before they shoot.  In order for participants to feel safe, they need to know they can remain anonymous if that is their choice.  We do have an event photographer, and he asks permission before he takes pictures.  You are free to give or withdraw consent for photos at your sole discretion.

No disrespectful, abusive, or threatening language or behavior will be tolerated.  There will be no gay bashing, no racial slurs, no woman hating.  There will be no “outing” of anyone.  No fighting or physical assault.  There will be no second chances.  Anyone who can’t abide by this, is clearly not evolved enough to participate in consensual, respectful play.

THERE IS NO DESIGNATED BATHROOM POLICE.  Trans people have the right to use the bathroom they feel most comfortable using.  Mind your own damned business and let them pee.  If we learn of bathroom policing, harassment, or intimidation of any sort, the offender will be removed and barred from future attendance.

We want you to have a good time.  Have a drink.  Enjoy the music.   Dance if you feel like it.  Talk to the hosts and hostesses.  Feel free to be yourself.  We want you to feel safe and welcome.  We want you to be able to scratch that itch that you’ve finally been able to name and define.  We are honored to be your guides.  The journey can be really amazing.

*regarding access: there are stairs.   

**featured photo by PJ Weingart