Most of you have read this, but some didn't catch it over at the other blog. Soooo due to persistent demand for your reading pleasure I give you....(drum roll) my personal experience at an LA BDSM club.
Almost three weeks ago I was in LA for the RT convention, as most of you know. What you also might have guessed is I made a special fieldtrip along with three friends to a BDSM club. Yep, you read right. I went to a D/s playroom. If you want to hear it all continue to read. If you’re afraid I’ll spill some freaky stuff then definitely read on.
First off I will admit to having a few martinis before we grabbed our cab to head out. The drive took around twenty-minutes or so before our sweet driver stopped. Since we didn’t see a sign for the club nor could we find a plaque for the address our driver hesitated to leave us on our own in North Hollywood. The ever-adventurous Desiree Holt took matters into her own capable hands and walked straight into the nearest business. It just happened to be another club that advertised in bright neon colors NUDE GIRLS LIVE GIRLS NUDE. Yep, Des walked in grabbed the bouncer by the arm and pretty much sweet-talked her way into finding out where we needed to go. Poor guy looked like he didn’t know what hit him. Most people are that way after a Des-attack.
Turns out the club was tucked in behind this little white brick facade. You’d never find it if you didn’t know where you were going. No loud music, no shrieks, no blood flying, no sounds of whips, chains or whatever else you might be thinking. After promising our driver we knew what we were doing (LMAO) we turned to go in and found a little black gate that we unlatched and walked through.
The first thing I saw was two smiling, perfectly normal looking people. They were very gracious, courteous and friendly. We each handed over our ids then there were some forms we had to initial and sign. Thankfully we had a lawyer in the group. I waited until she read it, nodded her head and I happily scrawled my signature along the numerous lines. Why the forms? Because the owners want to make sure people know the reality of what they’re walking into. This isn’t a yuppie bar or some goth/vamp dungeon. This place was about understanding and catering to a special need of some people. Not a bad, evil or wrong need, just different. My philosophy of life? If you’re over twenty-one, single, consenting then go for it, baby. So long as you respect your partner’s boundaries and needs it’s all good.
So we past the gate, sign our forms, hand over our money and follow our guide into a very new world.
The ride side of the courtyard is taken up with a long portable table. The kind people use is church or bingo halls. Plain, serviceable and easy to clean. On top of the table sits duffle bags, suitcases and leather satchels. Having my first and last intelligent thought of the night, I immediately understand (it’s later confirmed) that these bags are brought by the members. They contain whatever toys or props they intend to play with at the club. No one uses or borrows anyone else’s stuff, I think it’s considered bad form. Can’t say I blame them. I’ll keep my cooties and you keep yours…it really works for me.
A bright cheery fire was the focal point as a group of people sat around, sipping water and chatting about the cold weather and the Lakers. Major point of interests No alcohol or liquor is sold here. Nothing to impair anyone’s judgment. However bottles of water, Diet Coke, Coke, Sprite and that type is free to anyone who wants it. I grabbed a bottle of water and wandered. Remember I lost my voice so I couldn’t talk to these people.
This was not my brightest idea and it wouldn’t be the last stupid thing I did this night.
So I wandered around while my so-called friends deserted me. We all made a bathroom trip when we arrived then BAM it’s Allie: party of one.
I, umm inhaled tobacco, while wandering. Listened to a few conversations and wondered why these people kept looking at me. Doing a quick body check, made sure everything was tucked out of sight, zipped up or buttoned, I couldn’t understand why these people were staring. Thought it might be my flaring tobacco so I moved to the other side of the white brick wall. Nope, all eyes followed me. Now I really started to get self-conscience. I’d showered before we came so I knew it couldn’t be that. Finally the genius that I am turned to look over my shoulder at the brick wall & low and behold there was the answer.
Turns out they used the wall as a movie screen. My butt was placed smack in the middle of their adult content film show. When I looked up my head ended up perfectly placed beneath the actor’s ‘happy spot’. Talk about being an idiot. Needless to say I scooted away from the wall and to the safety of a nice iron table.
Meanwhile I kept looking around thinking this is nothing like I thought it would be. Where’s the shouting, the pain, the blood, the black leather? I found out, but that’s later in the story.
I need to backtrack here a minute. Thursday night as we all sat in the bar together and talked about coming to this club. One of our members said “You know, if anyone gets hit on or invited to play I bet it’ll be Allie.” As this person knows more than I do about the scene I merely laughed, drank and wondered if she’d share whatever drugs currently pumping through her system.
She was RIGHT. As I sat outside by myself, after being cruelly deserted by my no-longer-good-friends, a man comes up to me. Again, perfectly normal looking, good looking even. Older than me, but still well dressed in slacks, button down shirt and leather shoes. He comments on the weather. I, having no voice or almost no voice, nod my head like an idiot and manage to whisper “Uh huh”. He tries to talk to me, poor thing, and I’m sitting there nodding because I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. Finally something he says catches my attention away from the porn flick playing to the side of me.
“Do you play?” the man asks me.
Several things run through my mind.
No, I don’t play an instrument. I have no musical talent, as my second grade piano teacher will attest to.
No, I’ve never gotten the hang of basketball. Too many people running after me is not my idea of a good time.
No, I suck at poker because I have no poker face.
Finally I manage to mutter, “Depends on the game.” Thinking maybe he had Battleship, a craps table or even bingo cards hiding somewhere.
My sign “I’m a moron and lick bus windows” will be arriving shortly.
This poor man just shakes his head, sends me a wink and tells me I can find him later.
Yeah, I know it’s amazing they let me out of the house at all.
When reality dawns on me I take off to the last place I saw my so-called friends before they left me. The first room you enter is called a private room. There are two entrances and one bathroom. BTW everything is lit with red or blue light bulbs, including the bathrooms. Weird I know, but I think it helps set the mood and give everything a surreal factor.
So I enter the private room, thanking every deity known to man that’s it’s empty. ‘Cause my luck…I’d walk straight into another situation and proceed to lick windows. In this room there are several tools. A large six or seven foot piece of wood drilled into the wall about six feet up with sets of rings on each side. A queen size bed is position in the center with nothing but a fitted sheet. Across from the bed is what looks like an old fashioned holding stock. You know what I mean two large pieces of wood the top lifts up so you can put you hands in the holes then locks down. This way your body is bent over and you cannot move anything but you lower, most likely naked half.
All the while I can hear erotic music playing or at least sometimes its erotic. At other times it’s Nine Inch Nails pounding out a beat you can feel thrumming through your skin. When you try to take a deep breath you inhale the spice of incense burning. Mix that with the low mood lighting and you have a very potent combination.
This place not only is looking to seduce you body, but the rest of your senses as well in a very intense way.
Three steps leading to the big playroom are to the left of the bed and I make my way over there. I open the door, step through and stop because what I’m seeing is nothing I’ve ever experienced.
A man is strapped to a cross with his back to me, naked. While a woman lashes at him with a very scary looking whip. He cries out, but instead of moving away from her he arches back to her.
Another woman is lying face down on leather padded sawhorse, naked, getting spanked by an equally naked man with a very large paddle.
During all these observations I’m frantically looking for my ship deserting friends and not seeing a single one of them. This makes me very very edgy ‘cause remember I can’t really talk and I’ve had two very good, but potent Lemon-Drop martinis.
The music continues to pump out, loud but not so loud I can’t hear the murmur of conversation around me. I stand there, trying to look like I know what I’m doing when out of nowhere I feel a hand wrap around my arm and tug me backwards. Back into a dark corner I didn’t see and where I’m not sure I should be going.
Then I’m pulled back into the dark and pushed into a lush leather chair with Samantha Cayto’s confused face looking down at me.
“Everything okay?” The hussy had the nerve to ask me.
Remember NO voice.
I gave her the evil frog eye death glare, which she promptly shrugged off and turned her back to me. Scanky bitch (now said with love) I thought, but took the illusion of safety to finally look around me.
This is where I found the screams, moans, leather, bondage and everything I expected and a hell of a lot more.
Desiree Holt, looking way too interested for my sanity, sat directly to my right her eyes glued to the center platform of the club. The wooden floor covered a roughly ten by twelve area and was so currently occupied.
Two women, one in nothing but her underwear lay on a flat table, arms above her head, legs straight down. The other woman, older with her hair in a high ponytail, played a flogger with such expertise I knew years of practice had gone into it. She wielded the flogger, whips, feathers you name it with skill. Sometimes she managed two whips at the same time, each flying through the air so fast you could hear the leather sing through the air, above the erotic rhythm of the music.
The sub only moaned when the tools were applied to her skin. No skin broke under this mistress hand, only the blush of heated skin appeared wherever the leather landed. What surprised me the most in this D/s interaction were the touches of the Mistress. The ponytailed Dom frequently ran a gentle hand along her sub’s back, shoulders and would lean down to whisper something in the other woman’s ear. Sometimes they’d share a laugh or look, but you could tell there was a connection between them that went beyond the games played in the room.
A man’s loud scream broke my concentration away from the duo in the middle. Looking to the left of me I saw an older man, naked, manacled by his wrist and being flogged by a woman dressed in a black leather cat-suit. This wasn’t the same give and take of the last couple. What I was looking at boggled my mind. The Mistress was waylaying on this guy’s ass…well not just his ass but you get my meaning. The harder she hit him the more he screamed and the more anxious he was to get closer to her.
As I said before I’m all for whatever floats your boat, but OUCH. Not so much for me. If I’m getting spanked it better be because I’m losing a game, not having a four inch paddle taken to my bare ass. Hell I even glare at my doctor when he sticks a needle in my booty. Me and my ass say thanks, but I’ll pass on that experience.
Determined not to look, but like a train accident, my eyes keep drifting back there I see one last thing that I’m determined to never see again.
A big ass knife. The kind you always picture being mugged with is now in the Dom’s hand. Granted I knew knife play sometimes came into the picture, but never in a million drugged out fantasies would I have come up with this.
BAK (Big ass knife) held in the, please dear God, steady head of the female Dom stroked down this man’s very happy penis. It trailed down over every rigid vein until it stopped at his happy tip. Then then….oh my eyes…
She put the BAK right into the happy hole & PUSHED! Hell yes you read right. The sub let his Mistress put the sharp blade into his only hope for urinating naturally for the rest of his life. And that was it for me and the happy scary couple from hell.
Time to focus on action closer & less scary with no knives. And what do you know I found our own Lynne Connely into the middle of a ménage.
Brief overview so you can get the picture. I’m tucked in the corner chair with Sam sitting in front of me, a wall behind me & to my right, Desiree Holt directly on my left and Lynne right next to her on her left. These are big comfy chairs we’re sitting in. The kind you can curl up and sleep in on a rainy afternoon. It never, not once, dawns on me why these chairs are so plush or so big. (Told you I had my last smart thought of the night.) Until I see what’s going on over at my partner in crimes corner.
To Lynne’s left a woman in more black leather, bustier & short short short skirt with thigh highs. She’s got one man on a leash & another in her lap. Much kissing, touching and groping are going on. Fine by me, my retina’s are stilling burning from the whole knife issue. OUCH!
Anyway I’m looking at Lynne, Lynne is looking anywhere, but at the threesome next to her. Me, I love to stir things up. So when I happen to catch the eye of one of the Gropey McGrope, I give ‘em a wink and tilt my head Lynne’s way.
LMAO…Hey they left me. It’s only right I get a little vindication out of all this. Yes, I am that kind of girl.
The next thing I know the two men have spread the Dom’s thighs WIDE open, her skirt rides way too high and their heads are buried in her lush woman’s heat (snicker). Remember the legs wide open part? Yeah, one leg is now over Lynne’s chair pretty much in her lap. The longer this goes on, the more excited the Dom gets, the more action her leg give Lynne. It’s tossing, turning, flapping and generally all over the place.
What does the plucky Brit do now, you ask? Simple she ignores it. Meanwhile I’m snickering behind my water bottle and mentally rubbing my hands in glee. Paybacks are such a bitch.
And so is karma because the next instant Sam looks back and me then motions for me to follow her. Umm okay, didn’t we just do this and I got in trouble. Yes, we did, but since I’m a window licker I follow her.
Seriously folks, I’m not stupid. My parents had my iq tested as child just to make sure. Apparently I’m just one of those people that’s so smart their a dumbass. Either that or the incense was getting me high.
Sam led the way through the big playroom. Sounds of moans, screams, groans and wet sucky noises I refuse to identify follow us. We wind our way through various couples engaged in D/s play. Some tied up, some leaning against walls, others bound with cuffs, rope or chains.
Once we make it to the other side of the room there are only two seats left. We grab them, sit down and take in the new action going around. Too bad I didn’t know the action would happen right next to me.
The middle floor had cleared of the two females, now more props were being brought in. A very large man with a beard and ponytail took various whips, floggers, chains and other things I’ll never be able to pick out in a police line up, out of his personal case. He hung them on a rack, stroking them with gentle caresses that made me cringe. Something about it had me thinking I’d be safer outside, mute with the porno flick playing across my forehead.
A table was set up in the middle but to the right of the beard man. A curvy woman walked up to it and sat down. A nice looking guy, older than me, maybe his early forties, followed. Next thing I know her clothes are coming off and he’s locking her down. This guy’s kit looks like a fishman’s tackle box on crack. The thing is huge. A few minutes later I found out why and my poor little brain went SPLAT all over again.
When the sub on the leather table had no clothes left to take off, the Master open his case, pulled out a bottle of clear substance and rubbed or squirted it on the sub. The next thing I know the woman’s boob is on fire and her Dom wipes it out with a stroke of his hand. The sub jolts off the table as much as her restraints allow while the Dom soothes her with gentle strokes and some whispered words. Oh but hell no, if I want to set myself on fire I can think of easier ways to do it that with a mini blowtorch while naked. And I sure as hell would start with my breasts. Umm OUCH!
The fire play continued and without being able to stop myself I kept watching. The thing of it is the sub never got burned. From what I understand NOW she could feel the heat of the fire, but whatever substance her Dom used prevented any damage to her skin. Later I was told this takes a lot of trust between a Dom and his submissive because face it one wrong move and say goodbye to any body hair and I do mean any ‘cause he didn’t stop with just her chest. The fire, literally, went lower.
Next up for my education two woman walked past me. One could have been a model so I naturally hated her on site. The other was an older woman dressed in a nice business suit. No clue what the hell these two were going to do so naturally I had to watch them.
Lucky or unlucky me the set up shop two chairs down from me. The model’s hands were bound and looped through a steel hook coming down from the ceiling. Once the sub was in place the older woman stroked her sub’s skin in such gentle motions I wondered what the hell these two were doing here. Two seconds later I knew. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK the Dom proceeded to open palm slap her sub’s body. Breasts, thighs, ass, stomach the Dom hit them all and her sub moaned in pleasure with every strike. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was louder than any of the whips, floggers or chains. It sounds weird I know, but very very true.
Remember when I said karma would get me. Well, she did in the form of the couple who sat right next to me. The man wore a kilt and made his sub sit at his feet. No biggie I thought. I have a friend that loves anything in a kilt. She would have loved this because I can now officially say from personal experience I know exactly what is worn underneath a man’s kilt.
NOTHING.
Oh and he was circumcised. Yep, I was that close and he was that happy. How do I know this because he fisted his hand in the woman’s hair and shoved her face in his crotch? Oral fixation abounds in this place. Someone always had his or her head in someone else’s business all the time. I pulled a Lynne and desperately tried not to look, but hey a guy’s getting head right next to me, sometimes you can’t help but give it a quick glance over.
When I did he made eye contact with me and sent me this slow sexy wink. OMG, this is THE guy from outside. The one who asked if I played and the one I made an ass out of myself with. And the window licker that I am didn’t realize it until that wink. Aughhh! He tilted his head to his lap, asking if I wanted to join the love fest going on between his legs. Ummm, that would be no. You know thanks for the offer, but nope not going to happen.
I now know he grunts when he comes then hisses out a long loud breath all the while able to keep his eyes wide open & staring at me. My education is growing by leaps and bounds.
Where is Sam Cayto in my time of distress (again) you ask? I’ll tell you. She wandered off to go look at another man being dominated with a very thick looking leather whip.
I have got to get friends with better Allie attention-spans. Left to my own devices I’d be strapped down, ball gagged and set on fire and not as a compliant sub. Mostly because my smart mouth wouldn’t know how to stay shut.
The happy couple next to me started getting louder, the spanky couple next to them kicked their Smacks and moans into high gear then we had the knife couple really screaming out across the room.
In the very corner almost to a point where I couldn’t see, but of course, being me, I strained to look. I heard a woman’s voice crying out and not in a good way. When I looked beyond kilt man and his one-woman suction machine my jaw literally dropped. I closed it just as fast not wanting to give the winker any ideas about what I was offering.
A tall thickly built man hovered in the shadows with a woman on her knees naked before him. He had lengths of rope in his hand. My first thought, what a weenie that woman is. The rope isn’t barbed, knotted or bladed. What the hell is she making all that noise for?
I should have stuck to kilt-man and the Hoover.
Rope, I know now, leads to binding. Binding leads to pain. Pain leads to well…pain. At least to me because remember I’m seeing all this for the first time as an outsider, graciously let into a private world most people will never see. Personally for me pain, burning, whipping, smacking, flogging, gagging don’t flip any switch I have. However, to some there is a certain security to handing over all control to another person.
I’ve been told the rope binding is the most technical and difficult ability among Doms. It takes years and years of practice, not to mention butt-full of trust from your submissive. You are restrained in such a way that there is no free movement for any part of your body. You are bound, not just hands and feet, but pretty much everything in between. It’s such an emotional as well as physical experience that when it was over and the Dom removed the bindings he had to secure his female in a cage to recover.
I watched to see her reaction once the male left her. She never moved. Not a twitch, foot tap, nose pick, not anything. She lay there so relaxed as if no one else existed in the room with her. It truly blew my mind. How do you get into such a headspace? Why do you want it or need it, as sometime is the case?
I’ll never know because that’s not the type of person I am, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering.
Pretty soon I was told it was time to go. When I looked at my watch I couldn’t believe how much time had gone by. The dungeon seduced a person with the sheer eroticism of passion and raw alpha power flowing through the air.
The four of us ended up outside by the fire while we waited for a loyal taxi driver to show up again. This time the owner came over to talk with me. Don’t ask! I’ve given up trying to understand why these things always happen to me.
She asked me not to leave. Her Beta Master was on his way. She wanted to me to see his style and mastery. Only ten minutes until he arrived so couldn’t I hold off until then? He was complete alpha and she’d love to introduce us before they started their play.
Honestly and politely I said I had to go. I came with my uh…cough…cough friends so I needed to leave with them as well. She gave me her card and told me we’d always be welcome if we were ever back in LA.
Thankfully Sam showed back up. She’d been searching the kitchen for homemade cookies the owner makes. Once Sam said her thanks and goodbyes we left their world and walked back into the reality of Los Angeles.
The moral of this story, girls and boys, is to never drink before going to a BDSM club, never lose your voice and most of all use a buddy system. Or else bring better friends than I did!
Those hussies thought I was off ‘playing’ or being played. Oh well I’d probably have left their asses too if they were dumb enough to wander off in a strange place.
So there ends the tale of a nice Texas girl in a BDSM club in North Hollywood. I didn’t even get a t-shirt. But I’ll always remember my time there, not to mention the tendency to blush anytime I see a man in a kilt.
