Gym Shoe

by Ivana Chopski

  Perhaps the only thing more important than the toys is the fashions of S&M, which are often surreal costumes of intricate design. S&M parties are a form of theatre. A costume ball with their own designers and clothing outlets. At their best you see beautiful people in elegant erotic costumes fit for a sci-fi fantasy thriller. At worst, you find pasty old men whose bloated bellies roll down over their leather jock-straps and ballerina slippers.

  The theatrical aspects of S&M relate to more than just the fashions. The acts of S&M are themselves a form of performance. Rope tying is considered a high art and its devotees studyShibari and other complex knot-tying traditions from Japan and China.

  There is almost a new-age flakiness to it at times. Especially the ‘safe, sane and consensual’ contingent. Although, given the dangers involved in such activities, I suppose such a motto is a good thing, but once you announce to all that it is safe, then it becomes…well…safe. Without a little danger it all seems a little goofy. When you take away the sex, and then take away the danger, all that you are left with is the theatre.

  Being a culture based on dominance and submission, it also lends itself to some fairly neurotic behavior. I once had to deal with a burly biker man who spent the evening following Heather around asking her if she ‘wanted to join his leather family.’ There is little that is more irritating than the manoeuvres of small-time cult leaders as they vie for new followers.

  When I enter one of these scenes, I usually want to take some time to lie back and check things out. But in the BDSM scene there is always someone invading your space. Old men wanting women to hold their leash while they walk on all fours, or fat foot-fetish freaks who want to sit on the ground like overgrown children while they massage and kiss a woman’s feet.

  On the night in question, we arrived at Paddles and paid the $50 cover charge. Once inside we went from room to room checking the place out. The main room has a few booths and a bar with stools, as in an old-fashioned diner. No alcohol was served, just soft drinks and bottled water. There were assorted hallways and small rooms with a variety of furniture used for bondage. One large room held some complex contraptions that looked like medieval torture devices and antique medical furniture. There weren’t many people around. A few people wandered from room to room. There was a human-sized birdcage in which a muscle-bound man stood in waiting.

  I was trying to avoid socialising so we sat on a bench in a dark corner. We listened to a man and woman discuss the fine details of using ping-pong paddles for spanking. The conversation revealed an in-depth knowledge of different types of wood and their pro and cons for spanking. The man had a blue gym bag in which he kept his stash of toys. The woman was a muscular blonde dressed in black. After a bit he asked her if she would be so kind as to spank him a bit.

  After he took off his shorts, she placed his hands in leather cuffs that were attached to chains that dangled from the ceiling, leaving him standing, but slightly bent over. She began by holding a whip with thin flat strands of leather above his back, allowing the strands to tickle his ass. Then to warm him up she slapped his cheeks with the palms of her bare hands.

  By this time a small crowd had gathered to watch the proceedings. An attractive young couple who looked like they were new to the scene sat by the doorway, a scruffy but well-seasoned couple stood near the back of the room, and the unavoidable rabble of single men who haunt such dens of iniquity were positioned throughout.

  Slowly she began spanking him with the whip. Each slow lash gained in intensity. He took the pain with little more than a few muffled grunts. Her movements had a luxurious grace to them, like a ballerina with an axe to grind.

  The performance seemed to whet Heather’s appetite. I could tell she wanted to take part in some action. I, on the other hand, was feeling introverted. People came up and tried to initiate conversation and I answered in short, cool replies. Eager to send them on their way. A middle aged guy asked if we were new to the scene, obviously looking for fresh meat to play tour guide to. After he gave up, I tried to shrink into the corner so we didn’t have to endure another come-on.

  As the spanking continued and the room filled, I lead Heather out by her hand. We wandered about, taking in the sights. An obese man came up and asked me if he could massage Heather’s feet.

  ‘Not right now,’ I answered.

  We watched a young couple who were alone in a dark hallway. They kiss gently before he bends her over his knee and spanks her with his hand. It is a much more sensual performance, and is actually somewhat erotic to watch.

  As the night continues I feel like everywhere we walk some lecher is trying to pull us into his debauchery. Few of them are people I would want to interact with. S&M can be liberating both physically and spiritually, especially one’s first experiences, but often the action one sees looks as meaningless as doing the dishes.

  As we wandered from room to room, I was feeling pressure from all sides. I knew Heather was frustrated and wanted to play. On the other side, every freak in leather was trying to make our acquaintance.

  There was a troupe of about five single guys that had been following us around, as Heather was likely the most attractive woman in the place. Finally, sick of the whole scene, I took a deep breath and decided to give everyone what they wanted. First, I took Heather to the cage. The man inside was muscular and appeared to be a light-skinned Latino. I made her put her hand inside the cage and caress his chest. Heather seemed surprisingly nervous. The caged man stared straight ahead without speaking a word as Heather’s small hand stroked his chest and belly.

  This small action seemed to bring a wave of excitement to the gang of onlookers, and the sexual tension froze them into silent attention. I told her to remove her hand from the cage and put it back in through a lower rung so she could caress his half-hard cock. Heather seemed on the verge of shaking as she ran her hand across his abdomen and gently ran her fingers down the length of his penis. I stood watching, giving her ample time to give him the pleasure of her touch. Of her own volition, she removed her hand and placed it back in the cage so she could again caress his chest and shoulders as if to thank him.

  From that moment on, the crowd would not leave Heather out of their sight. The men had taken up positions around the room, but all eyes were trained on her. I moved Heather to the centre of the room and placed a blindfold over her eyes. Pulling a piece of clothes-line rope out of my pocket, I bound her hands behind her back. In that vulnerable position I gave her a slow wet kiss on the mouth. Then bound and blindfolded, and standing alone in the middle of the room with all eyes glued to her form, I lifted her half T-shirt allowing her small breasts to be seen by all.

  I moved to the sidewall leaving her to stand alone in her darkness with the knowledge that a room full of faces she couldn’t see were gazing at her body. No one spoke. No one moved. The room was taken by an awed reverence as if we were in the sanctity of a service of pagan goddess worship. With this tension in the air, I let the minutes stretch on.

  Finally, moving to her, I bent down and ran my fingertips from her ankles to her thighs. Her spiked heels made her legs appear luxuriously long. She trembled slightly at the touch. I placed my lips to her breast and sucked. Slowly moving my hand down her belly, I pulled her rubber skirt up high above her hips. Naked underneath she stood bare, knowing the crowd was viewing her, judging her, lusting after her.

  She stood dutifully. Like a soft Greek statue come to life. I returned to my perch against the wall and savoured the spectacle. Her lovely body exposed and filled with apprehension. I looked around the room at the tense expressions on the faces of the onlookers. As the minutes passed the tension was sickening. Everyone was excited and frustrated by the possibilities of what might happen next.

  When I thought she might collapse I went to Heather and, from behind, kissed her neck and shoulders. Guiding her by the shoulders, I moved her towards a twentyish-looking black man who was among the original five that dogged our trail and now had formed a half-circle in
the centre of the room.

  With Heather standing a few inches in front of him, I instructed him to suck her breasts. He bent down and put his mouth on her nipple and sucked. After a few minutes, I pulled her away and guided her to the next man who gently licked and sucked her breasts. I passed her from man to man until all five had taken their turn. Having had the blindfold on for some time, Heather had lost all conception of where she was and who was giving her such intimate touches.

  I guided her back to her spot in the middle of the floor. Only now I removed the blindfold. With her breasts still exposed and her skirt pulled up above her hips, she stood face to face with the crowd of lechers, both men and woman, all of whom stared at her as if she were a spectacle for their entertainment. Like a naughty child forced to stand at the head of the class; like in the dreams of being naked in public that many people have, she stood fully exposed. As she met their gaze head-on, her expression was a mixture of indignant embarrassment and haughty contempt. As if to say, ‘What are you looking at? Something you can’t have?’

  After about ten minutes I untied her wrists and led her towards the back wall. The wall was made of cold cement and covered with chafed black paint. She faced the wall with her palms against it; I took a small flat lather paddle from my pocket and began to slowly spank her.

  This part of the performance required some willpower on my part. While psychological games that provide someone with a new experience are one thing, giving someone physical pain goes so much against my instincts that I have to mentally assure myself that this is what is desired.

  It is strange how many women seem to want to be spanked. It seems to be a fantasy of every woman I meet. It is a mystery to me. Perhaps it is the stress of city life? The responsibility and regiment required of office jobs and the struggle for survival that makes women want to submit completely to such treatment? Or perhaps it is the dictates of feminism, which have made so many men into well-meaning wimps, that make women long for a man who will take control of their whole being? Either way it seems to be a rampant desire among 20-something females.

  Once at an Imperial Orgy art and poetry ball, a friend of Heather’s was dressed as a dominatrix and was giving playful spankings to the party-goers. This friend asked Heather if she wanted to be spanked. As Heather took her place, expecting a couple playful swats from her friend, a strange man came out of the audience and took the whip and began to lash her brutally. A group of about 50 people watched in shock. After a few minutes I left the room, not having the stomach for the brutality. After the spanking, Heather found me lying on some pillows on the floor watching experimental videos in another room. Her behind was covered in welts.

  In a strange piece of synchronicity, on the same night a close friend in Utah was given an even more brutal caning at a party there. I was a bit taken aback by it all. Who are these women in my life?

  Back at Paddles, I steadied my hand and delivered solid swats to Heather’s behind. The sound of leather on skin echoed against the dungeon walls, and seemed to make Heather more excited. As the blows got harder, gasps of pain began to slip out of her mouth. Finally, exhausted, she fell to her knees. As I helped her up I whispered, ‘Are you OK?’

  She nodded her head, but she was soft as putty, and unstable as a newborn calf.

  For one final act of humiliation, I led her to the main room and strapped her to a massive wooden contraption. She sat in an upright position with her arms spread out in a crucifix position. He legs were strapped in and spread wide open, leaving no secrets to the crowd of onlookers that had followed us to the new location.

  I left the room, leaving her alone with the mob. Not a single person came near or dared to touch her. When I finally returned and freed her from her bondage, I instructed her to go and thank the five men who had sucked on her breasts.

  Helping her to pull herself together, we walked out into the cold winter air. Heather seemed spent, but serene. As I drove she looked out the window. She seemed to feel a bit insulted, but was well aware that she got exactly what she wanted.

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