Our Night at a BDSM Club
Sexual adventure was part of our relationship long before Hubby, and I started sleeping with other people. We canoed naked in Vermont and fucked under a waterfall on our honeymoon before taking a naked nap on the beach.
One Saturday, during our daily days, when we were both uncharacteristically without kids, we spent the day hiking a state park along the ocean. We stopped several times to get frisky among the seagrass, or behind a giant rock that a glacier left behind.
We’ve always had an exhibitionist side, and shyness isn’t our thing. We never got caught, but we came close. Once we were married and working through IVF (which is a libido torpedo), our antics calmed down quite a bit, but we still enjoyed frequent, energetic sex all over our house (and the home of anyone we visited.
Shortly after we began swinging, I admitted to Hubby that I had enjoyed a Dom/Sub relationship with one of my former friends. In addition to teaching me about consent (sexy!) this man helped me learn how much I like my hair pulled (a LOT) and how I like to give oral (face fucking allowed!).
Hubby isn’t naturally dominant, though he does tend towards aggressive, which is certainly my cup of tea. I’m not into the Dom/Sub dynamic as a matter of course, but enjoy playing around with it from time to time.
After that conversation, we purchased some strappy tie-up systems, and Hubby bought a book about how to be dominant (I told you it doesn’t come naturally to him.) He’s always interested in learning new things and is certainly interested in anything that gets me off.
We played around with some of his new ideas until he discovered that there was a BDSM club near the same neighborhood, our favorite swingers club.
The bartender, Xenia, at the swingers club, is clearly someone who is involved in the kink world. She often bartends in full leather with a collar and leash. Xenia and Hubby were chatting about BDSM (as he fed her strawberries) while I danced with some friends. She lent him a riding crop to play with that evening and told him about a club where we could learn more about kink, and meet others who could teach each us a thing two.
”Just so you know, this place is a bit much for most people,” Xenia warned with a wink, “But you two are adventurous and open-minded so it might be a cool experience.”
The next week, Hubby and I made contact via FetLife with a member of the BDSM club who was willing to sponsor us for an evening. Our first night at the swinger’s club, we visit frequently involved sitting in the car for a while outside the establishment, evaluating the questionable neighborhood and nondescript building. This time, Xenia warned us, so we knew to expect the downtown warehouse with the red light next to the door.
A black curtain blocked the reception area from the rest of the club. They don’t want you seeing inside until an existing member has sponsored you, and approved. Our sponsor, Midnight, led us down a hall flanked by theme rooms.
The medical room contained vinyl tables, stainless steel surfaces, and directions for cleaning up blood if that happens to be your kink. The aftercare room was dimly lit and held a few couches. One couple curled up on the brown leather, a blanket wrapped around them both, faces buried in each other’s necks.
The bulk of the members convened in a lounge space playing board games. I’ll be honest, a group of twenty-somethings playing Secret Hitler was not what I’d expected from a BDSM club. The group widened the circle and invited us to join the game. We tried to follow along, but when I’m in a new space, my brain tends to zoom out to take in the entire scene, so focusing on the rules was challenging. At some point, I messed up, which intensely annoyed the game organizer, who was not shy about letting me know it.
Hubby and I excused ourselves when the owner announced the welcome session for newbies over a loudspeaker. There were a few couples and two single men scattered around the room. The people ran the gamut of the LGBTQIA+ spectrum, something that is missing from the swinger scene.
We received the rules which, to our surprise, precluded any sort of penetration other than digital. Essentially, in this club, it was acceptable for a woman to receive oral sex or manual stimulation, but a man could not receive oral. Penetrative sex — vaginal or anal — was not allowed.
The reason for this rule involves not wanting bodily fluids flying around and because the establishment is subject to public fornication laws. I found it interesting that the swinger’s club in our area was grandfathered in and could remain an on-premise sex club while this establishment required restraint.
Considering my supergasms, not allowing penetration doesn’t mean bodily fluids aren’t flowing. The owner specifically pointed out the waterproof pads they have available for women who are heavy comers.
After the intro session, a paddling class took place down the hall. A local craftsman who makes custom paddles with whatever design you’d like to leave on your partner’s behind taught it. The paddling lesson was our favorite part of the night, especially since being tied up, and a bit of paddling is about as much kink as I’m up for on a random Friday night. The class covered techniques for preparing your partner for paddling so that it is pleasurable, not just painful. The craftsman had his wife bend over a table and demonstrated alternately caressing her bare behind while gently swatting her with an unadorned paddle. He gradually increased his speed and then switched to a paddle with holes cut out that is significantly more painful. My behind is only interested in the beginner paddle.
For the grand finale, this man used a paddle with a smiley face that left a raised, red, smile across the woman’s cheeks. Upon the class’s conclusion, the craftsman spread a selection of paddles on the table, each one a slightly different shape and texture.
“These are complementary, please take as many as you wish. Try out some different styles,” he gestured toward the table.
Hubby and I timidly walked up and selected three. One is rounded, the other flat, and the third one is narrow and does a great job teasing smaller areas such as a woman’s vulva or clit.
After the class, we decided to spend some time in the play area. The rules required us to be quiet so as not to disrupt the scenes in which the groups were engaged. The space was open, with eight different sections containing different tables, benches, chains, and whips.
Of the three scenes playing out before us, only one was sexually appealing to me. The other two, I’ll admit, made me uncomfortable.
Chains, chains, and whips
To our left, a man strung his female partner from the rafters using heavy metal chains. Her generous curves were suspended high above a padded surface. Her partner flogged her, first with leather straps, but eventually moving to metal chains. He shouted at her, calling her useless, a whore, and a good-for-nothing cunt.
Spankings and orgasms
The scene to our right was a young woman and her slightly older partner. She wore a schoolgirl outfit and bent over a bench, hands, and feet bound while getting spanked and paddled. Her partner called her his good little girl. It was a Daddy Dom, Little Girl arrangement. Still, both were clearly consenting adults, and the way he alternated the paddling with gentle kisses, caresses, and digital and oral stimulation made it clear he intended to pleasure his young partner.
Kick me while I’m down
The scene directly in front of us was the one that I still can’t get over. I try to be open to other people’s sexual preferences — I certainly have some aspects of my sexuality that have raised more than a few eyebrows. However, I’m not perfect, so if this comes across as s judgmental, I invite someone with experience with this brand of BDSM to enlighten me about its value.
This scene took place in an area that was blocked off by walls on two sides, and a cage door closed in front. Outside the cage sat two women observers. Inside the cage was a man of about fifty and a very young transgender man. The older man whipped his younger partner while the observers encouraged him. When the young man fell to the ground after a particularly harsh whipping, the man kicked him in the ribs, back, and buttocks. Perhaps because of the violence in my sexual past, I can’t see something like this as erotic.
After observing for a bit, I told Hubby I needed a break from the scene. We retreated to another lounge area, chatted with each other about what we’d seen, and felt about the situation. Eventually, we decided that since we were there, and since we are both exhibitionists, we’d try out the play space.
Playing out a scene
I selected an area that had what looked like a massage chair in it and not much else. Hubby stripped off my skirt and top, and I knelt on the stool, my chest supported by the top. Hubby adjusted the leather straps to fit my wrists and ankles and bound me in place.
The stool angle meant that my bare ass was facing the club’s observation area, and I was aware of several people who turned to watch as we got started. Hubby and I reviewed our safe words (yellow means to slow down a bit, red is stop).
Hubby switched quickly into the dominant role he’d been practicing. He stroked my back and the curve of my ass while whispering about what he planned on doing to me. By the time the smooth paddle hit my ass, I was tingling, my pussy dripping in anticipation.
Hubby alternated between paddling my thighs and buttocks and fingering my pussy. I came so hard, and so much that I begged to stop fingering me (but not using the codeword). Knowing we had an audience only wound me up further.
After we played, Hubby cleaned up our area, and he and I retreated to the aftercare room, where we spent some time cuddling and whispering about our experience.
We agreed that the scene wasn’t something we’d seek out in the future. Xenia was right; it was a bit extreme for our tastes. However, we don’t regret trying it out for a few reasons.
Shared experiences strengthen our relationship
These firsts that we experience together — whether it’s hiking a new trail, or visiting a sex club — only bring us closer together. When a couple shares an experience that is new for them, both it builds connection and intimacy.
Going to a BDSM club together is the same sort of rush as when our canoe trip was interrupted by a thunderstorm. During the storm, you wonder what the hell you were thinking, but afterward, it provides fodder for stories and reminiscing. Hubby and I are adventurous, not just sexually, and these experiences bring us closer.
You don’t know your kinks unless you get out there
I knew Hubby and I shared an exhibitionist streak the first time a hiking trip resulted in animalistic fucking with me draped over a rock just off the trail. But, since we grew up never talking about sex, we didn’t discuss other things that we were or might be into until a few years into our marriage.
Through lots of trial and error and conversations, we’ve learned that I like butt sex more than Hubby, and that I’m a big fan of being tied up. We both like blindfolds, vaginal sex, oral sex, and lots of all of that. We are both into porn, though he tends towards the classic story of two girls and one guy, and I have a broader pallet.
There is no way for me to know that chains and hardcore whipping don’t get my vagina wet except experiencing it. No one there was forcing me to be chained to the ceiling and lashed with studded leather. A BDSM club is a safe space to explore everything from vanilla paddling to full-scale blood-play.
Hubby understands what I mean when I say dominant
I enjoy a bit of Dom/Sub play including (but not limited to)
being tied up and forced to orgasm (or orgasm denial)
paddling (I draw the line at anything that leaves a mark or causes a wound)
hair pulling, mild choking (with a very trusted partner).
Since our visit to the club, Hubby understands what I mean when I say I’m in the mood to be subby. Our visit prompted him to buy a book on the subject (he’s as big a nerd as I am). Our kinky play has gotten more realistic and enjoyable since.
Free paddles
The biggest highlight for us was the paddling class. I say the paddles themselves were the best part, but that isn’t true. In a world where no one talks about sex, ever, at all, it’s refreshing to be in a room with a bunch of people who want to learn about the proper paddle to use on the vulva Vs. a ball sack.
The absolute highlight of the trip was being in a room full of sex-positive people discussing sex like the normal freaking thing it is. Every one of us is a kinky, sex-crazed human, (except, perhaps, those who identify as asexual, )I see you, and you matter too)) even if we haven’t admitted it to ourselves.
Ultimately, I wish there were a place that combined the two worlds — the low critical sexy vibe of a swinger’s club, with the inclusive nature of the BDSM community — with penetration allowed. Our exhibitionist selves had a hard time getting all worked up in public and not getting to penetration (yes, I know that isn’t all sex is about, but I REALLY like it). We didn’t quite make it home, opting to pull our minivan over to the side of the road instead.
I asked Hubby what his favorite part of the visit was as I was wrapping up the article (he agreed that it was the paddling class). He surprised me; Hubby wants to go back to learn about ropes and how to tie me up properly.
