4. SM-Discovery-Phase
In project-management “speak”, discovery is the phase you undertake once you have engaged with a client. During this time any “horrors” are supposed to be identified early so they can be resolved, or at least mitigated. I’ve hijacked this word to describe our early interactions with the fetish-scene as we knew diddly-squat about it, and it never ceased to surprise us. After discovery I’ve used the word “exploration” as a phase name because the general landscape is now known, but details need to be mapped-out. Finally comes the “research” phase, a tongue-in-cheek description where the detailed-map is used to exploit the fetish-scene for one’s own enlightenment (and enjoyment). I used to say its impossible to over-research a subject, but Marvella and I got damn close.
When we returned to Amsterdam it was late summer and still extremely hot. We dropped-in at DSM4 on the Friday to discover what was happening that weekend – a bit hit-and-miss. There were a series of events happening on the Saturday along the Reguliersdwarsstraat, Amsterdam’s gay street. That seemed to be it; we discovered the Crypt only convened once a month, and this weekend was not the one.
Although we were a little disappointed, we settled-on mixing with our gay sisters and brothers for the Saturday night. We’d be in safe hands, so to speak – what could possibly go wrong? We had no idea where Reguliersdwarsstraat was, but Gerry gave us detailed instructions on how to reach this pink-paradise located some way from the red-area. This reminds me some years later a group of lads in a car stopped by me and one of them asked for directions to the pink-area. As I was giving them the information the other lads in the car quickly corrected his request for directions to the red-area; shame I thought, they could have made so many new friends!
We dressed in the afternoon for that evening, and perhaps we overdressed-it. In the weeks between our previous visit, we had bought some proper fetish gear. There are shops that sell this. In London we found one in Kew of all places. Just a little bit of practical advice now. The key to a successful fetish wardrobe is that it looks and feels amazing, but it is also practical. What good is a rubber-catsuit that commands “attention” but is impossible to take-off quickly or have sex while still in it?
What you need is one of those zips in the crotch with two pull-tabs; one for the front/vagina and the other for the back/anus. Trust me on this; the sight of someone desperately-and-amorously trying to get out of a rubber-catsuit to engage in penetrative sex, is even funnier than seeing the many minutes it takes to get into one in the first place (all that baby-powder, getting your sub to help you pull the rubber over reluctant shoulders, etc.).
As for me, Marvella had selected the PVC trousers and a black tee-shirt rather than a dress. As my maternal-grandmother always used to advise, “leather is for sex, cotton is for socks”. Since we’re both veggies this translated into PVC trousers and a top. As for accessories, a few chains always work, as does handcuffs for your slave (me). This should get you past the bitch-queens fashionistas on the club-doors. The final touch is the perv-o-shine finish. By the way, always take care to keep your’ perv-o-shine separate from your lube. A mis-spray of one instead of the other is always embarrassing, especially on sensitive areas.
We popped into DSM4 on the Saturday evening before setting-out for the gay-street. There were quite some people there, most, like us, stopping-off before going to their final destination, whether that be a party, a club, or like us, to the Reguliersdwarsstraat. We had a couple of drinks, swallowed some hash, and were ready as ever we were going to be for a night of homosexual revelry. Not quite our scene, literally, but sometimes you just have to muck-in. We marched through the red area, crossed the river, found Koningsplein, then took the short walk up the Leidestraat to our destination. We didn’t even take a wrong turn, which is pretty unusual for Amsterdam, especially when you’re a little stoned (it took us five years to master Amsterdam’s geography once we had moved there).
It was almost dark now and the street was full of people. They all seemed to be having fun mulling-around while talking, drinking and smoking. We first went into the “Other-Side” coffee-shop. There was a lot-of “pressure” in the place, with many gay-men who were in their Saturday-best (leather, denim etc.) exposing lots of flesh to each-other. You could smell the pheromones, even above the cannabis. We seemed to fit-in quite well. We elbowed our way to share a bench, and began talking to the locals. It was a great place to be male, gay and on the lookout-for-sex. That ruled us out from the equation, except perhaps (subconsciously?) for the looking-out-for-sex thingy.
We moved on and into a bar/club. I seem to remember exchanging money for tokens on the door. It was packed, but far more balanced gender-wise. There were male-gays, female-gays, and quite a number of heterosexuals enjoying the vibe. I suppose we were in a small sub-set of attendees; SM-heterosexual-fetish, and dressed appropriately for that niche. Our fellow clubbers were mostly in flashy pinks and leather. I fought my way to the bar across the dance area and exchanged four tokens for two wines and two sparkling waters. These were served in clear plastic cups – no glass for safety reasons. I returned and we started to circulate. At that point we heard a familiar voice “hello – you’re back!”. It was Christine/Chris in a sparkling long dress.
We kind-of-communicated above the booming-techno, but it was difficult. Eventually you just go with the music; throw a few moves, try to look cool, or at least not to look demonic, and relax. The three of us migrated around the club, then up some stairs everyone seemed to be using. Upstairs was similar to downstairs, but without a bar area. In one corner there seemed to be quite a lot of activity, so we investigated. The whole window had been removed and replaced by a scaffolding walkway that stretched across the street to the other side. Two clubs had been joined for the evening – how inventive.
We climbed the three steps up to window height, then set-out across the planking. It was like those sky-walks you get in parks to admire the trees and the nature, but here it was populated by a heaving-mass of gays, some coming, some going, but most hanging-out and waving to the crowds below. When-in-Rome, or this case, Amsterdam, just do what the locals do. We put down the remains of our drinks, fought our way to the centre, leant over, and waved (we were all quite stoned and a little tipsy by this stage). We noticed some couples were being very amorous as they waved, so I and Marvella began to make-out in a similar way.
Well, you know how it goes, and after a couple-of-minutes I found it easier to position myself behind Marvella as she waved, holding her breasts. This seemed to elicit an enthusiastic response from our audience below. I then found myself rubbing her between her legs, before unzipping her from the back. Everything shot open. It was then just a few fumbles, first for the condoms in her handbag, and then for the lube. She gave a little shudder as I rubbed this generously between her cheeks and into her sensitive “bits”. A little lube on my penis, and the next thing I knew I was in. All on automatic really, and we both continued to wave as we enjoyed some slow-sex. I think people in the street assumed we were simulating this as the other couples were – oh no we weren’t!
After ten minutes or so I had shot-my-load, and withdrew. At this point Christine gave me a quick look, I nodded, and she took over. Team work at its best. She pulled-up her/his dress. I got the condom and put it on her/his member (chunkier than mine but perfectly formed), and liberally-lubed-it until it almost shone. A final little manual guidance to achieve entry, and then let nature do the rest. Perfect. I’m sure from below you could hardly see the changeover. This was fun, great fun, and all around and below us seemed to be joining in. Just as it should be.
It was only months later the realization struck us that we were being a little too-forward, perhaps even for Amsterdam (having public sex on the street). Anyway, we weren’t arrested, and it’s a hell-of-a-story. We left the club shortly afterwards and spent the night at Christine’s place just off the nearby Leidseplein. Which reminds me about first-class hotels and fetish guests. They don’t care a fig if you turn-up at Sunday lunch still in your fetish gear with only a vague recollection of what your room number may be (key cards were just becoming common in the mid 90’s. Its drunks they don’t like). Just give the impression you own the place, smile a lot, and everything will be OK.
I think it was our next visit to Amsterdam we discovered fetish pay-parties. These are commercial events where a large space is hired, acts and security arranged, and pricey tickets issued. It was just before the internet had changed everything, so you still had to buy these with real money from a real location, typically a sex-shop or similar. Most of these events would be one-offs with names like the “Winter-Fetish-Ball”, but some were repeating events every few months, like the “Wasteland” or “Europerv”.
Our now regular Friday evening “sighting” visit to DSM4 alerted us to them, and we were quickly on-the-case. So, on the Saturday evening back in DSM4 we were ready, and so were Gerry and Johanna after they had closed the bar early at about eleven o’clock. It was only a short walk to Centraal-Station, pick-up a Mercedes taxi, and off to Zaandam the four of us went. I had no idea where Zaandam was, but coincidently I ended up working there a few months later at Verkade, a chocolate/biscuit factory much loved by the Dutch (the equivalent to Hershey in the US or Cadbury to us Brits).
These events are always very arty. I know that sounds strange but “The-Scene”, as it’s called, insists on intertwining art and exotic-sex. This is immediately apparent as the taxi disgorges you at the entrance of the venue. Here we were met burning braziers, laser lights up into the sky, and of course, the obligatory bitch-queens. This group of perverted females inspects you, and your fetish gear, to make sure you are fit for entry into the event. As we were with two scene A-Listers, this was no problem, and in we went swopping our tickets for drinks tokens. In general, you should be let in if you are not wearing denim, you are wearing fetish clothing, and you look suitably depraved and sober. Some events will let you in totally naked if you fail the inspection. Others will let you in if you are wearing full dinner-dress clothes; tuxedo, ball-gown, that sort of thing. Its always a bit of a lottery though, but we were never turned away.
The event itself followed the norm for this sort of thing. If you view these from a kinky perspective they offer a world of exotic sexual possibilities. If your view is more traditional, the word “debauchery” comes to mind. However, this word must be caveated. The event and everything that happens in it are disciplined; disciplined-debauchery! There is no drunkenness; everything is consensual, and everyone and their fetishes are respected (however bizarre). Whether it be sadism, masochism, group-sex, bondage, or even our friends of the “splosh” persuasion, all are celebrated. A great thing is that you get exposed to new forms of “play”, and if they turn-you-on, well you can try-them-out in a caring and understanding environment (though I never did get the human furniture thingy – its Ikea for me!).
The venue was partitioned into areas. There was a stage, the main dance-area, a bar, a chill-out-room and a dark-room. The volume of techno in the main area was overwhelming which made it almost impossible to communicate using speech. Hand signals work quite well in this environment. It was full of people, perhaps even over-full. The lighting was low, but perfectly adequate for navigation, unlike the chill-out and dark-room areas. It was basically very similar to a “normal” rave-party, except for the fetish-dress, the dark-room, and the pieces of fetish-kit strategically placed (e.g. stocks, scaffolding for bondage, etc.). Let’s focus on the fetish-dress and the behaviour of the crowd. I’ll do this from my perspective as a submissive, masochistic transvestite as this comes naturally.
I was immediately drawn to the dominants in the space, both the men and the women. These, as you would expect, are in the minority to submissives by quite a factor – three, five or so? The men tended to wear leather tunics as per Roman-gladiators, which covered their “bits”, but made it easy for them to be taken-out and used, as appropriate. Many an impressive-and-secret “weapon” could be whipped-out at short-notice when circumstances demanded action.
The ladies tended to wear leather or rubber cat-suits, with quite a number having strap-on phalluses protruding at right angles from their loins. Both sexes would have accessories such as whips, handcuffs etc, and many would be trailing one-or-more naked-submissives in a slave chain (a chain would connect each slave to the next via neck bands, and their wrists would be in handcuffs). Depending on the dominant’s sexuality (gay or straight) their slaves would be of the same or opposite sex. The most slaves in a chain I ever did see was seven, a mix of cis-and-trans-girls belonging to the scene-scion, Master-Tommy.
The dommes really fascinated me, especially the ones with a strap-on. I particularly remember a lady with large breasts protruding outwards with a bright-green strap-on, totally out-of-colour with her black-rubber catsuit. I remember thinking “why green?”. Years later I’m drawn to the parallels with some species of monkeys who show dominance by mock-penetration of those lower in the pecking-order. Likewise, the green colour could be equated with the exotic colours of some monkey’s sexual markings. A coincidence, or serving similar function across species of demonstrating dominance? Certainly, when I did see a domme using her strap-on it would often not be penetrative, but just demonstrating her “ascendence” over a girl or a boy.
The stage acts started just before midnight. I can’t remember most of them in detail, but there were sex-acts, musical-sex-acts, lots of exotic dancing, fireworks, but above all I remember the angle-grinders. Guys would use these against stage-scaffolding causing walls of sparks to fly across the venue. Health-and-safety would not be happy, though this fine band of men-and-women. never seemed to feature much in the Dutch fetish-scene in particular, and in Dutch society more generally.
The dynamic seemed to be “you’re on your own, don’t come snivelling to me with safety concerns”. This was brought home to me a few years later after the Roxy nightclub burnt-down due to a firework during the wake-event for its founder, Peter-Giele. He fell out of his coffin while it was being lowered into his grave after he died of a brain haemorrhage. Not a good day. Amsterdam was never quite the same again.
After the acts the entertainment was left-up to the punters. This would tend to be dictated by time. In the early part of the night, say up to two in the morning, people would be on the dance floor. As the night wore-on, and exhaustion set-in, they would retreat to the chill-out-area where there were places to sit and relax to soft-trance in dim lighting. Even later, as pure-desire, and let’s be honest, the recreational drugs kicked-in and inhibitions evaporated, the dark-room would come alive. For that small-minority of readers not ofay with the dynamics of a dark-room, this is where the most “action” takes-place, in almost total darkness, hence the name.
This was our first experience of a dark-room, and it was all new to us. Here the doms and dommes would have sex with their subs, mostly slow, oral-sex, with the sub(s) on their knees “worshipping” their reclining dominants. Navigation was difficult with near zero lighting, so sound plays a vital part. The groans and moans of pleasure alerted you to the presence of a couple or multiple, moments before you would stumble into them. Occasionally you would discover a bundle of humanity, all arms and legs protruding from a ball of passion. This was group-sex-with-strangers, a very common fetish on “The-Scene”.
Trying to make sense of the assembly was almost impossible, but I do remember the eyes of the central lady connecting with Marvella’s and mine as she was probed by the throng. It was a far-away look, like one of those sepia pictures of people from the past, long dead and forgotten, except for that snapshot in time. It was a strange and haunting expression which I had never seen before, one that conveyed inevitability alongside sexual release. Strange and mesmerising, her head disappeared beneath the heaving-huddle, like a drowning-man going down beneath the waves for the third and final time.
The party wound-down towards dawn. Many people drifted away, but we stayed as we had little idea of where we were or even how to get a taxi. A characteristic of warehouse parties is that there is a sudden end to them, and this is when someone pulls the plug on the sound-system. This happened at seven in the morning as bright sunlight began to find its way into the venue. Buses had been laid on for those who stayed-the-course, and after retrieving our coats and valuables we had exchanged for tags on entry, we were soon whisked-back to Centraal-Station. It was all deadly quiet, and everyone avoided eye-contact. Bedraggled is the word that comes to mind.
On a subsequent visit to Amsterdam, we encountered the same issue as before; no pay-parties and little obvious suitable “entertainment”. We decided to go through the ephemera at DSM4, and settled on a small flyer. It announced that Maitress-Marianne was holding a soiree at her studio on the Marnixstraat on the Saturday night. It sounded intriguing and asked about her. Gerry replies “yes, a bit old-school, she drops is here occasionally”. Well, it was either that or traditional clog-dancing on Dam-Square (I am making-up that last bit, but its not too far from the truth). At nine o’clock we presented ourselves at the premises which was on a residential street, quite a walk from the red-area.
The lady who greeted us, presumably Maitress-Marianne herself, was of a certain-age, but very slim and fit looking, with a wicked smile. She wore a long, black and elegant evening dress which she wore with great confidence. We were early, as usual, but she ushered us in, took our entrance money, and suggested a quick tour of her premises before the “show”. How shall I describe it? It kind-of reminded me of a school-gym, with wooden bars on one of the walls. It was a little bit run-down, and had rows of wooden benches that had been assembled each side of a raised podium. Presumably there would be some kind of act or acts on this while we, the audience, sat on the benches. There weren’t even any cushions; this was going to be for a dedicated clientele.
We sat down, and immediately the doorbell rang and more guests entered. These, like us, were in their middle-ages; a lot older than the people we had been mixing with at the pay-parties. Then some more came, and within half-an-hour there were approximately thirty people, mostly mix-sexed couples, spread-out across the benches. Then Marianne took to the stage and welcomed us all, her regulars and newbies. She did this in Dutch, then English, with such a cultured/posh voice it sounded more like a welcoming to a classical-concert rather than an SM-show (FYI I’ve never been to a classical-concert, so I’m just imagining what that might be like). There would be two performances, “first Mistress “M” who would be doing her act, followed by a short interval, then Lady-Linda would do her”. At this point there was a short pause while she searched for the appropriate English word, then finished with “who will be doing her thing”. She closed-off with reminding us that private “consultations” could be arranged with both performers, Tuesday to Saturday.
Mistress “M” then appeared from stage-left towing a young lady on a leash behind her. I saw the Maitress fiddling with a CD player, then music filled the room. I’m no classical aficionado, but I did recognise it as Ravel’s-Balero. It was a lezdom act, quite well executed, but needed a little more polish. Although the young lady was a good mover, Mistress “M” was less so. However, she made up for this with a strong wrist-action as she whipped her slave to the music, finishing with an oral worshipping. The audience clapped appreciatively, as did Marvella and I. Quite artistic really, almost something you could take your mum to see. Well almost.
At the break tea and soft drinks were served. There were even some biscuits; all very civilized. Marvella got on very well with the Maitress, me less so. I think it was a hierarchy thing. The Maitress took her role absolutely seriously, and there was no role-play as there was with the younger crowd. I even suspect the Maitress thought Marvella should be more assertive, and I, as a submissive, should be there purely to ease her existence – the upstairs/downstairs servant dynamic of “spare the rod and spoil the sub”. Did I find this interaction exciting? Of-course I did. Anyway, I heard Marvella and the Maitress whisper a few sentences between each other before we settled-down for the second act.
The Maitress said a few words in Dutch, looked around, and I saw a younger couple put up their hands. They stood up, walked onto the podium to join Lady-Linda and the Maitress, a few more sentences in Dutch, and I saw them nod. Volunteers I surmised. This was going to be an audience participation act. Lady-Linda who was in all leather (top, trousers and boots), then instructed the couple to take off their clothes which they quickly did, giving them to the Maitress for safe keeping.
She then got them to stand facing the audience, feet apart, and hands behind their heads. The Maitress then said in English, “and also we need Andrew”, which was/is my name. I looked around, then received a dig-in-the-ribs from Marvella who said “that’s you”. She’d set-me-up with the Maitress. I had little choice but to immediately join the others on stage, and in quick-time my clothes were also under the control of the Maitress, who then left the stage.
I expected to be positioned the same way as the young couple, but no. In barely comprehensible English, Lady-Linda told me to put my arms straight out and together, and hold them like that. She then took from a bag a large silver-serving-dish which had been modified with two straps underneath it. Expertly she took my wrists, attached each-one to the dish, then got me to hold it horizontal at arms-length. It was a little difficult, but I managed. She then went back to her bag and loaded-up the dish with items from her bag; two whips, one a cane-type, the other soft-leather, paddles similar to ping-pong-bats but made of leather and in an oblong shape, two ball-gags, lube, condoms and a strap-on, and that’s just what I can remember. The weight of it all made me drop the angle from horizontal ever so slightly, at which point she took the soft-leather whip and gave me an expert flick right between my legs; it was unbelievably painful. She then instructed me to always look her in the eye, and never let the dish drop again.
She began using the soft-leather whip on the couple from the front. First on the lady, flick-whipping her breasts and fanny. You could hear the strikes and see the red-marks left behind. The lady coped with this quite well. There were a few whelps, but she kept her position; legs apart and arms behind her head. She then repeated the whipping on the young-man. He made a lot more noise than his girlfriend/wife, and Lady-Linda was not happy. She turned to me and the dish, took a ball-gag and skilfully secured it to him. No more squeaking from you was the implication. She then continued the beating.
After finishing from the front, she swopped whips from the dish, and set-to from the back. She got the young-woman to bend forward and touch the ground, then focused on her buttocks. You could hear the cane-whip whizzing through the air before connecting with her soft flesh with a “thwack”, followed by a slight whimper. After three-or-four minutes she stopped, came over to me and the dish, and took the strap-on. She expertly wrapped this around and between her legs before tightening and fastening the straps. Then she put a condom on it before applying a liberal amount of lube. She then went behind the young-lady, positioned her bum slightly upwards, and sodomized her. It was very aggressive; no lovey-dovey rubbish. When she was finished, she pulled on the lady’s hair so she stared at the audience, who the clapped loudly and appreciatively.
She then repeated the episode on the boyfriend/husband. The only difference was the noises and squeals he made even through his ball-gag. The young-man was obviously made of weaker stuff than his stoic girlfriend/wife. I stole a quick look at the crowd and saw Marvella who was looking pretty relaxed. Then I noticed a couple to her right, he had his arm around her shoulders as she was slowly masturbating having pulled-up her skirt. I supposed this behaviour was tolerated by the Maitress; well, it wasn’t a church-sermon, was it? Unfortunately, Lady-Linda saw me losing concentration and whipped me with the cane-whip between my legs causing me indescribable pain. After this he too was thoroughly and mercilessly sodomized, before she also pulled on his hair so he could face his audience, who rapturously applauded.
That-was-that really. The Maitress reappeared on-stage, thanked both acts and participants, and reiterated that private sessions could be had Tuesday to Saturday. She was a business lady and every bit of advertising and promotion helped. Finally, she said there was another pot-of-tea brewing and we could all stay as long as we liked. I and the couple put our clothes back-on, carefully, as we all had saw “bits”. We didn’t stay for the closing drinks. We thanked everyone and were led out. As a submissive-masochist, did I enjoy it? Of course I did – it was amazing. In just a few weeks I had progressed from reading fetish magazines to watching and participating, in public, in depraved fetish acts at the very heart of SM, world-wide. Marvella too seemed very proud of me. What’s not to like?
Lastly, I’d just like to mention the two acts and the host; Mistress “M”, Lady-Linda and the Maitress. Did they enjoy the proceedings as much as the audience and participants? Although I’ve never had a heart-to-heart with any of these three, I subsequently talked quite freely with other professional dommes on “The-Scene”, and yes, they do enjoy their job. Its strange really, if you want to understand something as “delicate” as this, how should you go about it? The answer is to screw-up your courage and ask; its amazing how accommodating people are if you are genuine. It’s the same finding-out if someone is gay; just ask them. Try it – it works.
One professional told me she particularly felt sexually-excited as she looked into the eyes of her clients as she whipped them, and could see the pain reflected by them. Then when she would take them to their limit, and just a little beyond, that was very special, very sexy. I also remember talking with another mistress and her experiences were almost polar-opposites of mine. She used to play cowboy-and-Indians with her little brother before tying him up, loved school, was never bullied (because she was the bully?), was good at sports, did amazing things in the girl-guides, and ended-up head-girl. Being paid for doing what you would be doing anyway – well again, what’s not to like?
On the Sunday-evening we dropped-by DSM4 as usual. We updated Johanna and Gerry on our experiences as they were quite interested in booking one or both of the acts for their mid-week entertainment. They also mentioned we might like to look through a glossy free-publication, Fetish-Lights, which gave details of up-coming events. This was a major breakthrough as we could plan our visits more scientifically. On the walk-back to the hotel we again lingered on the Skinny-Bridge over the Amstel-River at the heart of the beautiful city of Amsterdam, and talked.
I mentioned my rapidly-expanding company was opening-up an office in the Netherlands’ Silicon-Valley, Utrecht, just thirty short-minutes from Amsterdam, and perhaps I could “engineer” a position there for me and us; a relocation package sort-of-thing. Marvella thought, then replied “only for a short time, and only if we give-up alcohol for a bit – too much going-on otherwise”. She was right; the alcohol abstinence made sense; it was a small price-to-pay. I added “OK, I’ll make enquiries, and perhaps then we can explore The-Scene properly”. Our journey of discovery had now turned into one of exploration.