The thirty year walk
The 7 yard walk from the street to the front door of the ordinary looking terrace house in an inner suburb of the major city took me over thirty years to make.
The difficulty in making that short journey is almost impossible to describe.
But I’ll try.
After decades of denial and soul searching this was a very difficult experience. I’d been to a psychologist and for the first time I’d told someone about my hidden inner fantasies. She’d been puzzled as to why I had not done this before and said I should. Her acceptance of me, of this thing in me, began a path that was to ultimately bring me to an acceptance of myself that eased the huge burden I felt.
This was to be the first time I was about to actually venture into the hidden fantasy that had been part of me for much of my life. How many people can say that? How many people can claim that they have actually experienced their deepest and most closely guarded secret fantasy?
Also, that it was such a success.
My journey had started at age 14 when I discovered a hidden activity. At this age I was oblivious to what was happening and where it would lead but it did in some way fill a space within me that nothing else did. I knew my need was deep inside me and was something I couldn’t discuss, and in fact didn’t discuss for over thirty years.
I kept this ‘little secret’ to myself for all those years and denied myself the release that I was later to attain. What did denial give me? That is a common theme.
When I pushed the doorbell on that house I was middle aged and was fully cognizant of what I was doing. The preceding few years with the internet in its infancy had given me information, both hackneyed and actual as to what I was doing but that didn’t make it any easier. The internet was a source of information with much of it irrelevant or wrong.
Now and many years after my first time I still keenly remember the very first time I visited a dominatrix for bondage and discipline. It was a surreal time but also a deeply satisfying time that I was to relive regularly.
This first time was a time of contradictions, a time of anguish and turmoil but mainly a time of discovery and relief.
Facing the green front door of the “facility” with my back to street I was wondering who was passing, who would know that I was attending a bondage and discipline dungeon? Would they know this was (probably) a brothel?
Would someone who knew me drive past, see me then know what I was doing?
Even though these were irrational fears, they were real to me. Because they were irrational, that did not make them any the less real for me.
The place I was visiting did not have any signs that proclaimed what it was; it looked for all the world like a normal terrace house in a normal but busy inner suburban suburb. There were houses like it next door on both sides and some food type shops a little further up the street.
Just standing there for any time at all was embarrassing to me, a time I wished I was invisible.
After pressing the doorbell I waited nervously. Soon I heard the strong sharp echoing footsteps of a ‘definite’ woman in high heels striding along a tiled door. These sharp clacking sounds of her heels on the tile floor approaching, echoing slightly, added to the lead up and excitement which brought yet more nervous anticipation. This was a sound I would hear one way or another, just about each time I had a session, and it is a sound I relish as it is ‘the start sound’, the start of an experience that cuts to the core of my being.
All too soon the solid green door opened letting me indistinctly see the woman through the fly wire mesh inner door. I was hardly able to see any detail as it was dimly lit inside and the fine wire mesh tended to obscure detail but I was obviously presented with a tall woman. Years later when visiting a private house where a dungeon had been setup I of course went to the wrong address; luckily no one was home else the embarrassment would have been total.
This time however I had the address correct which was confirmed with the first words I heard.
I was greeted with, “Welcome Slave,” in an educated and somewhat sultry and definitely sexy strong voice. It was a voice ‘that knew’ and was very used to taking control; the voice of a dominatrix, a Mistress. “Hello,” was all I could muster and thinking back, it was probably a good effort for me at the time.
When she opened the mesh covered door I could see a tall very good looking woman wearing a pilot’s cap, a sheer tight blouse above a short black skirt and high heels. Just like I had asked her, she wore a wide leather belt round her waist. This was the first time I’d seen a dominatrix up close and personal, in the flesh. I’d never been to a sex worker in my life previous to this, never been inside a brothel, I’d never had any dealings with any of this at all so this really was a first in so many ways.
This truly was all very ‘out of body’ for me.
She told me to come in and go through the second door on the left.
On entry I saw that the nice tiled corridor ran the length of the narrow building down its right hand side. It ended (I was later to find) in a small kitchen area and there may have been another area out the back but I never saw past the kitchen. This building was just like many others on the street; terrace houses dating back at least fifty years and maybe double that.
I peeked through the first door on the left to see it looked like some kind of school room or similar as I remember a blackboard and an old school desk. I didn’t look all that closely, just a quick glance as the dominatrix was right behind me and my nervous tension was ramping right up. Over the coming twelve months that I came to this establishment before it closed, I never did look too closely in the first room. It was not for me, same as the cross dressing room which was the third room on the left. It featured wigs, large sized shoes, dresses, wraps and scarves. I glanced a few times but was never compelled to enter or ask. These really were not for me.
My First Dungeon
The second door on the left was the entrance to a dungeon, a room a little larger than a normal bedroom. However it was fitted out in a manner totally different to any other suburban bedroom, well most of them anyway – I was later to find a few suburban bedrooms that bore a striking similarity.
Anyway, this was my first and it was one of the better dungeons, or at least better than most as it suited my needs well. Suited my needs… doesn’t that sound odd in a dungeon context!
In front of me and the first thing I saw when I walked in the door was a stretching rack-bench against the far wall, something looking like it was straight out of medieval times though probably in better condition and nicely covered in black leather. The victim could have his feet attached to one end, the wrists to the other and a large winder-winch used to apply tension. Amusingly, some years prior I’d suffered some back pain and a physiotherapist had used a vaguely similar computer controlled device to stretch my back and relieve the symptoms (it didn’t work very well).
Hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room was a cable ending in a bar that could be (and later was for me) used to suspend a slave from. Looking round I saw a simple hand cranked winch that was used to raise and lower the cable and whoever was suspended from it. This I was later to learn was called ‘suspension’ and for all the obvious reasons.
Safety is a thing that I did not even consider on this first session however it is of vital importance of course. Because this is a fetish and somewhat taboo pastime, there is no reason why it can’t be as safe as any other hobby or pass time. A Mistress at a dungeon some years later told me about a suspension arrangement that periodically failed. If someone was raised up high off the floor, perhaps bent double, I could only imagine the consequences if it failed.
In the right hand corner of the room was the St Andrews Cross which is something that is given a lot of publicity on internet sites and TV shows. This was two large planks of wood joined at the middle then with the ends spread and leaning against the wall slightly making the shape of a cross “X”. The wood planks have eye-bolts at the ends of the cross so wrist and ankle cuffs can be secured to them, and straps can be wrapped round the legs, arms and waist to secure a slave tightly against the cross to keep them immobile and flat against the cross. I found this out the best way, it soon proved to be a very effective device for securing a victim for punishment.
To the left of the cross on the wall was lattice work board typical of what a home workshop would have to hold tools such as chisels and rulers and other hardware type items. In this case hanging from the hooks was a collection of bondage and discipline instruments just like I had seen on web sites but also some strange variations. There were various items on the wall I’d never come anywhere near previously; there were whip like multi stranded floggers, leather collars and cuffs, horse riding crops, some leather straps, chains, lead weights and ropes to name just a few. To complete the inventory was a collection of canes in a vase in the corner.
One look at this room and I knew I was in the stereotypical bondage and discipline dungeon. That one look took just a few seconds but it seemed to be everything I had imagined.
It was quite a shock to say the least and this is something that became normal; the contradictory feelings I was to experience. I was shocked and almost, well, awed by being in this room wondering what the hell I was doing there whilst at the same time I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Coming Home To A Dungeon
I felt at home. Instantly at home. Instantly happy to be there (but tense as hell).
That all felt so odd. And so good. Out of body good.
Suddenly I felt this “at home” really quite strongly, and that was the start of the conflicting emotions that were never to leave me.
After a decade and a half the same feeling returns each time. The rational part of me rebels at that, thinking how on earth an otherwise sensible, sensitive and caring person could have those feelings in such a place.
Even now, so many years later I feel a real happiness and a relief when I walk into a dungeon. I feel like I’m expanding. I feel like I’m already relieved, relaxed, released.
Of all the feelings, the relief aspect cannot be over emphasized; it is so real and so strong for me.
It is also a release knowing that I have been strong enough to accept my needs and now they will be properly met and there is no ambiguity or subterfuge or need to hide anything. This is exactly where I want to be. The waiting is over. I see all the equipment set out, I see everything and I feel ‘at home’, just where I should be. I’ve dwelt on this feeling for many years and that is exactly what it is, mixed of course with excitement and anticipation and the absolute relief.
Writing and re-reading the above, the absence of ambiguity and the actualization of this is strongly attractive.
It is maybe a factor I’ve underestimated in the past.
I am at last giving in to my need. My search is over. What had kept me from it previously is now no longer a factor. That is part of the relief. The internal struggle keeping me from this is now gone for at least a short while.
After only a few seconds I understood just what an amazing experience going through those two doors had been. For thirty plus years I’d dreamed about doing this and now I had done it.
For most of my life I had this hidden inner fantasy, or obsession, or need and desire and now I was doing something about it. I can appreciate just how an alcoholic or gambling addict feels, I know the “pull” of the need and its desire to be satisfied. For most of my life it had been my deepest and darkest secret lurking just below the surface, something that I had never told anyone else about. It was with me when I woke up in the morning, then at night when I went to sleep and often, oh so often, during the day.
Upon entering the dungeon I had immediately felt I had come home to somewhere that I should be, a sense of having returned. In short, I felt great.
How very peculiar! I felt completely relaxed, comfortable and ready and almost eager for whatever would come next. What a strange way to feel in a bondage and discipline dungeon! I felt release! Here I was in possibly the most peculiar situation of my life yet I was more than happy to be there.
The Pre Session Consultation
Mere seconds after I entered, Mistress entered and told me to sit on the sturdy small stool which I did immediately.
My first thought was that it was ridiculous, it was such a small stool and I am a grown man but there was a method to this. I now think Mistress wanted to seat me to start the control and submission process where I was lower than she was and in some way put me at ease with her. After all, it was my first visit and I was pretty nervous. I quickly came to learn that (this) Mistress was extremely perceptive as little was left to chance and very seldom was anything missed.
Mistress then asked me a lot of questions about what I was doing there, how I had found out about her and what my likes and dislikes were. For me it was initially quite confronting to suddenly ‘spill the beans’ in detail on myself after over a third of a century of secrecy and denial. I had to assure her that it was truly my first ever session and that I was a complete novice and not some kind of game or worse. I was indeed serious.
I had a feeling at the time that she didn’t believe me. I was in my early 40’s and a grown man – so why was this my first session? I did assure her that it really was my first session, a number of times.
This time of question and answer is the most critical part of getting a successful session; the negotiation and discussion phase. This is vital to describe expectations and outcomes and also, if at all possible, for the Mistress and her client to achieve some kind of at least basic connection or a basic understanding.
Session Preparation
When Mistress was comfortable with what I wanted and how it could work into a session I was told to strip, put on the dressing gown, and take a shower and return.
This posed an immediate problem. Stripping in front of another woman and clearly Mistress being a woman made this a challenge.
Thinking back, it is ridiculous. What did I expect to happen? Would it be remotely possible to have a session fully clothed? However at the time it did present a challenge. Also and until now it had been a somewhat acceptably deniable and normal time even though I was opening up about my darkest secrets and in a most unusual setting. At least I could rationalize it away by saying, “Well nothing has happened, I’m just doing some talking.”
Therefore the big step of taking off my clothes was a ‘crossing the Rubicon’ moment for me, there was no turning back, I was committed and by doing it I was affirming my presence there as being what I wanted and there were no excuses.
At that point I also realised that I was in her hands completely and dependent upon her. I had passed control to someone else. When she had greeted me as, “slave” I was just a normal person off the street. By stripping down and beginning the session I was to become truly her slave.
The other emotion I felt was guilt and at a number of levels. Simplistically I was thinking I was cheating on my partner. It didn’t matter that we had separated, I felt the moment keenly. Sure, sex was not discussed and I didn’t want it with the Mistress and she certainly didn’t offer it but still the guilt lingered. I also felt guilty in that I was spending a significant amount of money on myself instead of putting it toward the family. I’d spent the last many years caring for the family and putting them first. By doing this now and doing it just for me felt decidedly selfish and uncaring. In hindsight these are all silly emotions.
Anyway, stripping off was more difficult than it sounds or at least it was for me.
I put on the dressing gown, headed out of the room, turned left and went to the bathroom and had a shower. I took my time soaping up, rinsing and enjoying the feel of the water on my body. In the years to come I’d find this time to be rather pleasant – almost a ritual when I wash away the other person to now become the person in the session. It becomes a dividing-line moment, a moment around which I change from one person to another.
I remember calling it a “book end time” that separates the session from the outside reality.
I ran a towel over myself, put on the dressing gown and returned to the dungeon to find it empty and hence feeling a bit lost. What to do now? I was standing in a dungeon wearing just a dressing gown; the peculiar feelings were peaking, as was the anticipation.
I walked across to the collection of implements on the wall and was feeling the heavy leather flogger, running its hard leather lashes through my hands when Mistress returned. The whip itself was interesting as I’d never seen one up close before, only on television and the internet. It was a hackney item, stereotypical of BDSM play and dungeons. There had been a couple of these on the wall but this one had the thickest heaviest lashes which felt like heavy strap leather cut into strips instead of the thin soft suede that the others had. I guessed (properly) that the others were for warm ups and this one was a lot more serious.
When Mistress returned it took only a few seconds for Mistress to tell me what was expected of a slave in the dungeon, how I was to present myself, how I was to behave, how I was to address her. I was now “slave” and expected to behave as such.
For the past few years I’d been in management, used to giving orders to others and being in control. Now being told how to behave was challenging to my ego, being told to say ‘yes Mistress’ or ‘no Mistress’ and to kneel submissively on the floor were all out of body things for me. But as soon as I was told, I did them. Quickly and without thought.
It was about to happen.
The Session Begins
“Take off your dressing gown and kneel slave,” Mistress said reinforcing my new lowly position in life, so that was what I did. I looked down in the way I was told; I was to have my chin down on my chest not looking at the Mistress, totally subservient, and the backs of my hands laying my knees with the palm up.
This, and I can’t emphasise too much, was so very strange to me; I was stripped naked, kneeling at a Mistress’s feet, my head down and the backs of my hands on my knees. Mistress explained some more about what her expectations of a slave were so that I knew exactly what was required of me. I had to obey. I was a slave. I was to do what I was told. If something was too much I could use the word ’mercy’ and she would stop but until that time she was Mistress and I was slave.
Mistress then went to the equipment and took wide leather cuffs she strapped onto my wrists. The feeling of the tough leather circling my wrists was delicious and a small part of what I had come for. Each feeling, each sensation seemed to be drawing me inward to being the slave. Both wrists circled by tough and rough leather cuffs felt comforting.
Mistress had earlier asked me about being hooded and I had answered I had never thought about it much, so she laced a fine soft leather hood onto my head quite firmly. My sight was restricted by the small eye holes so I found myself moving my head from side to side trying to see what was happening.
Some people hate having anything over their heads and even find putting their heads underwater difficult. I felt none of that. I quite enjoyed the feeling of the constricting leather when she laced it up tightly. However I found it frustrating as I was enjoying being in the dungeon and I wanted to see what was happening, yet at the same time the feeling of the laced up leather hood round my head was good and almost comforting.
The overall feeling, after the initial surprise, was that it was easy to breathe and it felt almost comforting to be anonymously hooded. That feeling of anonymity was quite strong.
For so many years I had hidden my little hobby, covered up the feelings, denied myself and now here I was; the feeling of the hood disguising me was quite nice. One of my biggest fears was that I’d be somehow revealed to family and friends, and that they would find out I had this massive need for bondage and discipline and I’d be shunned or criticised. The hood helped. Someone I knew could enter the dungeon and I would not be recognised and that was a relief from a major fear for me. All in all, being hooded was an unexpected and pleasant feeling.
After only a short while like this I was told to stand up. It felt quite strange to be naked except for a leather hood laced around my head and I also felt a little unsteady on my feet. The leather cuffs were firm around my wrists and I was very aware of them at my sides just adding to the feelings. It was quite a nice feeling but the nakedness with my genitals on full display to another woman, Mistress and Dominatrix or not, was challenging to me. It was as if I’d suddenly become an exhibitionist, something I’d never been.
Seconds later I heard Mistress turn and walk to the rack of implements on the wall and then return to stand in front of me. She had possibly selected something and was going to use it on me right now but I was clueless as to what it was.
By turning my head from side to side I could get small glimpses of Mistress through the holes in the lightly laced leather hood as she moved, seeing parts of her body, seeing her standing in front of me. It was a very voyeuristic few moments. More than anything I liked the look of her waist with the wide leather belt wrapped around it leading down to her bottom and long stocking covered legs.
<to be continued>