Friday, 15 June 2012

The Secret Garden

I have a story to tell.

It’s a naughty story.

A slightly surreal one really.

It is the story of the night me and T went to a fetish nightclub. And what a night it was!

I suppose the story begins with my friend MG telling me about a club called Torture Garden. If you don’t know what Torture Garden is, it’s basically a night of bizarre burlesque, freaky fetishes and scenes of sordid sex. I’m not entirely sure how such a night passes health and safety regulations, but it does. After a spot of research, it didn’t take much convincing for the two of use to decide we had to go. So we bit the bullet and forked out the slightly extortionate ticket price.

Now Torture Garden has a strict dress code, so we majorly stepped out of our clothing comfort zones and donned some chest-crushing corsets and skimpy skirts. I can honestly say never in my lesbian life have I spent so much time getting ready for a single night out.

When we finally arrived at the club we were met by an enormous array of outrageous outfits, ranging from beautiful burlesque babes to steely strict soldiers to… well… one man who was completely naked apart from a pair of flip flops and a dubious looking towel in his hand. We quickly armed ourselves with a drink to ease the sight of more penises than I have ever seen (not my favourite part of the evening) and began to mingle. Within our first 10 minutes at the bar we were offered our first threesome from a drunk Spaniard in a police uniform, so quickly escaped him and fled to the dungeon.

Ahh the dungeon.

Where to start?

We were immediately greeted by a spread-eagled woman being caressed and whipped by half a dozen fervent fellows, one of whom soon approached us with his beltful of various whips. I couldn’t help but be slightly apprehensive, but we decided to go with it.

It would seem “going with it” leads to some intriguing situations. Cue 5 minutes later, when I’m stood behind a bent over Swedish girl spanking her bare arse and receiving my first lessons on whipping. Well, may as well gain some life skills while I’m here, right? T soon kindly took the place of my new Swedish friend, bravely baring her behind to the dungeon as I tried out my new talents.

But enough about that. Onto one of TG’s biggest features.

The Couples’ Room.

I think the name is self-explanatory. Ever been in a nightclub, getting a little frisky with your lady on the dancefloor, wishing there was a room you could slip into and be, ahem, affectionate? That’s the couples’ room.

It seemed apt to pay the room a little visit, and so we did.

We didn’t stay long.

After seeing too many naked man and having one gent shove his tongue at my face while another carelessly wanked at T’s face, we made a prompt retreat to the dungeon, which was apparently the safer part of the club. This would surely be the end to the outrageous occurrences of the evening and we would just sit and have a quiet drink. I thought this could happen, until we met the knife guy. A charming gent who attempted to introduce us to the wonders of “knife play”, grazing a rather sharp blade across our throats. Quite frankly, it just kinda tickled. Each to their own I guess.

T and myself ended the evening watching a slightly insane lady receive a cringe-worthy thrashing at the hands of two burly whip-yielders. At this point, our inner old ladies kicked in and it was time to seek our hotel and go to bed. Needless to say, we had a memorable evening. And who knows – perchance we will have a second instalment one day.

Perhaps we’re not the only ones who have stumbled into this bizarre BDSM world?

- R

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