There has always been something that makes a Fetish club a little appealing. In this high paced and stressed life we are continuing to go outside the bounds of society.
Today I want to share with you an article first published on Whimm by Nicola Crosley.
My First Time At A Sydney Fetish Club
“I let him hit me harder and harder. I’m testing myself to see how much I can handle, so bite my lip and wait for the next blow.”
In fact, I’ve never done this before.
My safe word is “red” and although I have the pain threshold of a senior citizen, I let him hit me harder and harder. I’m testing myself to see how much I can handle, so bite my lip and wait for the next blow.
Hanging by my head is a smorgasbord of leather whips and wooden paddles. The man keeps switching them out, flogging me with one, two, maybe three, at a time. He’s coming from behind, so I have no idea when the next lash is coming, or how hard it’ll be.
It’s both sexy and unsettling.
The handle of one whip is a vibrator. As he slides it up my leather skirt, a current of pleasure shoots around my body.
Can he touch my breast? Of course, I oblige. His hand reaches inside the harness-bra I’m wearing and strokes my nipples.
Tonight’s theme has an ‘asylum’ twist and the place definitely looks like a madhouse. The dancefloor is packed with people dressed in the most intense outfits. Many of them are jaw-dropping because they’re so elaborate and creative.
There’s a woman dressed in shiny black latex bodysuit – even her face is covered. Several gimps hang out by the cloakroom; a unicorn leans against the bar; a couple dressed as a surgeon and mental patient are tying each other to ropes that are hanging from the ceiling. Arse-cheeks are being spanked everywhere.
More strangely, a few guys are wearing collars, leather harnesses and dog masks. A fellow club-goer explains that the submissives in a dominant-submissive relationship are always marked in some way, usually in the form of a collar, to show that they’re taken.
Then I notice that they’re actually being led around by their dominants – chains running between dogs and owners.
One thing I’ve learned tonight is that men love to wear dresses. Not even in a particularly kinky way. Some are just regular blokes who seem to enjoy throwing on a nice dress and downing a few beers. And good for them. That’s the interesting and really cool part about this place – people can dress however they want and be whoever they desire without any judgment.
My friends and I try to imagine what these people do in their “normal” lives. There are men in wigs who could be anyone’s dad; a dominatrix who might be a librarian. Then there’s us: a writer, a preschool teacher and my mum (yes, you read the right. The dirty old lady insisted on attending), all dressed as skanky nurses.
Imagine if the outside world was like this? A world where we didn’t have to be in an underground club to freely express ourselves. With that in mind, I try not to judge when a man fingers his dance partner right next to me.
People being whipped, tied-up and fondled in dark corners. However, it all seems fairly PG and harmless. Maybe it just takes a lot to surprise me these days, but this kink night doesn’t appear to be overly . . . kinky. Not according to my (possibly overblown) definition of kink, anyway. Tonight feels like some kind of sexy, living art show.
I ponder all this while strapped to the A-frame, my arse now raw and my self-consciousness taking over. Turns out, being hit with paddle brings back memories of the cranky nun who ran my Catholic primary school, instead of getting me wet. Still, tonight has been enough to pique my curiosity to explore this world a little further.
Earlier in the evening, my preschool teacher friend joked that seeing a school parent tonight would be the cruelest form of torture. Seriously, we told her – what are the chances?
So, imagine her reaction when she spotted a man, who two days ago was doing story time with a group of four-year-olds, standing half-naked at the cloakroom hitting on a gimp.
Her worst nightmare realised, it was our cue to leave.