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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Monday, 2 March 2009

Going out - Part 1

A good night was had on Friday with one half of Mixed Doubles, The Photographer and myself. The dungeon room at Antichrist is small, but very well managed (folks attempting to sit on spanking benches were moved on in short order and those wanting to "have a go" were offered help and assistance). The crowd in the club proper were mostly there for the bands which meant that there was no problem finding space and no waiting for kit, the voyeurs were self-selecting and generally easy to be around. There was a different feel in drawing an audience who were not necessarily play-orientated: a lot of what was going on was new to them, they were quite chatty and there were a number of wide eyes alongside big grins, and a number seemed very keen to try or to find out more.

My own role in any form of education was confined to being an object lesson, which although not the point of the activity was certainly a nice outcome. Mummification and needles were the order of the day. I got to go first, whilst costume changes were done, but it was fortunate The Photographer had his hands free as it enabled him to help out with a very tight clear clingfilm wrap, which was overlayed with a number of bands of silver gaffer tape. I became a package or present a "rubber doll" in the words of a shocked onlooker surprised by my breathing. When the final set of wrap and tape went over the top of my head and eyes I was complete. Just my mouth and nose free. There was a delicious giddy feeling as I was lifted off my feet by strong arms, happily helpless, then laid out on a nearby couch and left to float for a while. And float I did, carried away on the rhythm of my own breathing and the pounding bass of the music. Snatches of conversation around me turn into incomprehensible noise, sound without meaning.

Then were sensations, warm and slightly tingly, a rasping vibration that travelled up and down my body. Hands certainly, but with something else. The pressure varied, and with it the feeling hardened and softened. It was never painful, but always present. Later my legs were raised so I was in an L shape on my back, and beaten on the legs and arse with another unidentified object, this time there was pain, but it was interspersed with something softer, each time I was never sure what was going to hit where, unable to wriggle or to feel cool air on my skin I was held firm.

Plastic film is an illusory barrier, the tight bounds feel strong but are very thin and carry the vibrations and blows further over my skin than would have otherwise happened, my skin held in tension. This, combined with being blindfold and unable to hear much made what was happening disorientating. Being unable to pinpoint what (or indeed who) was precisely acting on me added to this. And with this lack of knowledge came a lack of self, the feeling of being an object, an item was enhanced not only by my immobility but by my inability to comprehend what was happening. Insensibly sensitive. I was a toy, a doll, something to practice on, to play with. Almost more so when the film was removed, sticky layers clinging to my sweating skin and leaving me peeled and exposed, shuddering to the lightest touch. Still blindfolded I was moved this way and that, gentle strokes making me jump. I felt a little limp, the tight bindings were a sense of stability, a definite presence which was now absent, without them I drifted even further, totally without any moorings. Light as air.

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