6. SM-Exploitation-Phase

Our SM/fetish path was now emerging from the exploration to the exploitation phase where all the effort we had put into research could now be recouped. Or as it says in the old-testament (first book of Knackerdemus, chapter one, verse three), “And loathsome creatures of the seas shall rise from the depths, and fiery-brimstone will rain from the skies, and…” – err, sorry, some mistake here. Ah yes, that’s from his second, more visionary/apocalyptic book. What I meant to convey was “To reach the land of Caning, where milk and honey abound, the God-fearing, guided by Aaron’s rod, must first exodus the desert of the damned”. Marvella and I had pretty-much made that journey, and now was our time to enjoy the simple pleasures of life (a walk in the park, mug of cocoa before bed, and kinky-chem-sex in Amsterdam's all-night SM-clubs-and-parties).

In practical terms this meant concentrating our time in just three directions; our monthly visits to the Crypt, high-quality SM/fetish pay-parties, and day-to-day activities (at home and shopping, etc.). Sadly, DSM4 closed, not because the authorities were unhappy with the action there, but that they were an illegal(ish) bar. Also, it probably didn’t generate a profit (a dedicated but small clientele). I remember during a chat there Marvella and I were just mentioning our fetishes (top, bottom, masochist, transvestite, rubber, chastity et.), perhaps a little nervously, and the man of a couple we were talking to replying “wow, what took you so long to get here?”. That was quite affirmative for us. We sometimes went to Henny’s-Place instead, but the clientele was different and it was never quite the same again. 

Crypt-club was going up-market, and we tagged along for the ride. They decided that there would be a permanent membership to keep numbers down, and for just a few hundred guilders each, this was a good investment. This restricted attendees to international visitors and sophisticated local players. How on earth did we get away with it? Sheer chutzpah I suppose, and our “exotic” south-London accents no doubt helped. It was good to rub shoulders, and occasionally other bits of the anatomy, with these guests. 

We also had a good story to tell. We had left our native country behind, all to be part of the scene. By this time, we had decided to go-it-alone business-wise, and had set-up our niche IT supply-chain consultancy based in Amsterdam, which was going very well. My previous US employer helped us greatly, so we’ll always indebted to them; never leave a company on bad terms, if you can. It consisted of me and some ex-colleagues who worked/sub-contracted for us at the front-end (customer-facing stuff), and Marvella looked after the back-end (financial and tax stuff). Additionally, our familiarity with sensible(ish) use of recreational drugs meant we successfully conveyed the impression of being in-control and trustworthy (naïve rich-bastards – no, I’m being too cruel, they were and are, good people to hobnob with, at least the ones who were not disciples of Ayn-Rand). 

The first SM-fetish pay-party-gig after our little wobble/crisis-of-conscience was Europerv at Amsterdam-Zoo. This choice of venue was inspired, but never repeated as I doubt the zoo authorities fully appreciated what this entailed. It was a warm autumn/fall night and the building used for the event opened-out to a pond area where cushions and loungers had been placed for “play”. This proved a very popular alignment with party-goers dancing to the techno inside, then coming out to relax and engage in unconventional sex outside. We were no exception. As you get to understand and control the cannabis/ecstasy combination more, your thoughts become as interesting as your deeds.

I had this silly theory-of-mind revelation, sitting by the pool and looking at the pink-flamingos in the pond. They were quite quiet and huddled together, and the whole flock was watching us. I started to wonder what they were thinking about, and then I got-it. The flamingos had just seen those weird humans having sex, something they’d never seen before, and they were just as intrigued by us having sex, in the same way as we would seeing them having sex. They must have thought they’d been extremely lucky to catch us humans “getting-it-off” in the mating season, “Perhaps we mated only at night, and maybe just once in the whole year, and they felt a little sorry for us because of that. A little breakthrough then, of cross species understanding. 

This pay-party at the zoo was followed by others over the months and years. One I particularly remember was the Fetish-Boat. The flyer for it was wonderfully colourful, being all art-deco. It showed in a poster-style one of those 1930’s transatlantic steamers with two funnels, boldly pushing its way across a calm sea. The reality when we rocked-up was a little different. It turned out to be one of the ferries that shuttles between north and south Amsterdam. It had been converted as much as was possible into a fetish space. Well, two small spaces actually; a dance area and a chill-out area. All the usual kit had been loaded though; sound-system, fetish-furniture, benches and loungers. At midnight we set-off, chugging into the darkness. 

We dropped our pills, and settled in to a similar but restricted pattern to the big pay-parties. Instead of circulating around dance, bar, chill-out and dark-room areas, it was ping-pong between the two spaces (bar-dance-and-play, and chillout-and-dark-room). As usual in the early hours I left Marvella to dance-and-play while she suggested I chilled on the other side. As a subby, there’s always a thrill of not-knowing what your partner is doing, and with who. These are mind-games, and are another subversive-and-delicious-fetish, if you are wired that way. Imagine wrestling-simultaneously with the following conflicting emotions: humiliation, lust, envy, embarrassment, curiosity, sorrow, even a little-anger etc. Also imagine these emotions being amplified/turbo-charged by the ecstasy. 

As it began to get light at about five in the morning, the spectacular autumn/fall sun shone over the landscape at a near horizontal angle, in a cloudless sky. The night had been cold and there was a layer of light-mist, one metre thick, spreading across the flat landscape of fields and water-ways. Through the haze you could make-out the shapes of cows, and even herons, posing in the dawn light. It was truly fantastical, and a memory that will stay with me forever. An hour later we had chugged back to the old-docks, from where we walked-back home. 

At one pay-party I remember the host declaring on her microphone not to be alarmed, but they had allowed two psychologists to “monitor” proceedings. I remember a previous report conducted by a psychologist who when asked what his main observation was, simply said “sex, lots of sex”. My God, these people have amazing insights, and I won’t hear a word against them (two words maybe). Many pay-parties were distributed around the outskirts of Amsterdam. Usually the taxi-drivers would know where the event was, but sometimes it evolved into a geographical expedition where the poor drivers would be on their radios pleading for directions, and/or stopping other taxis on their way back from successfully dropping-off their car-loads of SM/fetishists, to tell them the way. This was all part of the enjoyment. 

It was at one of these remote venues I had an “interesting-interaction” with a young lady. But first I must explain a little about what “tools” a subby-tranny brings to the party. If you think about it, and I’m sure you don’t, what are the six things a human-body uses to indulge-in and enjoy sex? The first and foremost is your brain, that strange organ at the top that directs you to do stuff that you find pleasurable. To me it is the most intriguing-and-fascinating of the lot, and the one I try most to explore and comment-on, as it is obviously wired differently across people. A fetish that excites one person to dress in rubber would only induce feelings of constriction and overheating in others.

After the brain you have five other organs that do the sensing and doing. Depending on your sex these are your penis-or-vagina, you bum, your breasts, your fingers and your tongue. For a subby-tranny such as myself these are ordered in the following sequence, least important to most important: breast, penis, bum, fingers and the most significant, my tongue/mouth (I’m sure you can order these five according to your sexuality). In practical terms this meant I seldom got to use my penis in any play, and even if I did, I wasn’t that good at it. 

But when it came to my tongue, well I do have to say I was quite good at it, and really enjoyed pleasuring people, especially females. Nothing wrong with the occasional plonker, but the intricacies of a vagina, the folds, the clitoris, the lips, the tastes and smells, all these attributes I found exhilarating on their own. But combine these with the communications going on between tonguer and tongee; the little gasps signalling approval, the little shakes and pushes signalling a change in direction or speed, well, its like two people perfecting their dancing; the sexiest show in town. 

My giving of oral-sex, and ladies receiving it, reminded me of something I had read or heard-about much earlier, perhaps even at college. I’m not sure it’s entirely-true, but from an erotic standpoint it presses all my buttons (the fantasy is often better/sexier than the reality, so I haven’t researched it). It was about Japanese oral-sex-slaves of the nineteenth-century. Supposedly, high-class Japanese ladies would visit establishments where slaves would lick-out their vaginas and relieve them of their “pressures”. I try to imagine what the conversations and chit-chat must have been like (did you see that wonderful public execution yesterday…). I suppose not that dissimilar as today when you visit the hair-dresser or beaty-parlour. 

In the western-world this was considered to be treating “hysteria”, where medical-intervention was deemed necessary to combat this dangerous condition. Being the late-nineteenth/early-twentieth century, and the age of invention, mechanical devices were produced to reduce the physical efforts required by doctors to perform this necessary procedure. These were the early vibrators. I often wonder whether there is a business opportunity here akin to traditional mechanical Swiss watches. Rather than spending a small amount of money on a contemporary electric vibrator, why not spend a large amount on a hand-crafted mechanical marvel? Leading brands such as Swatch, Rolex, Patek-Philippe and Bretling could expand their portfolios into vibrators, and keep those cheap electrical far-eastern imports at bay. Quality vibrators that would appreciate in value and be passed-down across the generations. Just a thought. 

Where was I? Ah yes, the young lady. I had been “informed” of her favourite-fetish, but being the kind of person I am (an idiot), I had completely expunged it from my mind. She took my hand and marched me into the centre of the dance-area. She pulled on my hair so that I was on my knees, then pulled my head so that I was in contact with her crotch. She lifted her micro-skirt a little, pulled on me again, and her intentions were clear, and I was happy to oblige (FYI nine-out-of-ten psychotherapists say if someone asks you to perform cunnilingus on them, you should agree). I began licking her with my tongue, working it around her partially-shaved pussy, before probing her dark-passage.

As I micro-boasted above, I was now very adept at doing this. She responded well, pulling on my hair to fine-tune the action. Slowly, then more quickly, I could feel her responding. After five minutes she was, ready, and began to orgasm. Simultaneously she opened-up with her bladder, covering my face in that warm yellow liquid – I’d been golden-showered! It wasn’t horrible or anything, just an almighty shock, and one that went a little against the fetish mantra of consensual-sex-acts. Hey, but we were big girls-and-boys, and we played big girl-and-boy’s games. In the absence of a SM/fetish-police-force (now there’s a sexy idea to toy-with), it was all self-policing, which usually worked just fine. But as a word of warning to the reader, if a person whispers in your ear that an individual has a pee-fetish, just bear it in mind if before innocently following them onto the dance floor. 

Other activities we settled-into were upmarket fetish-shopping. These came in two forms; events and bespoke-clothing. Fetish-shopping-events are great fun and are an ideal way of dipping-your-toe into this lifestyle. They tend to be held in exhibition halls, and we’ve been to many both in the UK and Amsterdam. Its just like a DIY event being held, but with a fetish theme instead. The event-space is partitioned into separate cubicles where all kinds of fetish-kit-and-accessories is on show, ranging from sex-machines costing thousands of euros, down to simple whips and paddles costing little. There tend to be SM-fashion show running continuously, and many people who are on-the-scene will be there in attendance. Just Google “upcoming fetish events”, and away-you-go. 

Marvella decided she needed a proper fetish wardrobe to go to parties and clubs. So, we found a local fetish dressmaker on the Brouwersgracht and started the process. This being her first interaction with high-end, almost couture fashion, some mistakes were made. Her first tailored-made-dress experience turned-into a leather-dominatrix overkill which she only ever wore once. That was a thousand euros well spent! However, we got to know the seamstress quite well, and we would always chat to her at the parties and clubs. She was an impressive sight on-the-scene; short-cropped-hair, and immaculately dressed in one of her own creations. She always had a dildo strapped-onto each of her calves, on which her young-black-girlfriend used to bounce up-and-down, first on her left calf, then on her right. 

Away from pay-parties and the Crypt, domestic SM/fetish continued as ever. Being a submissive-transvestite, the natural progression is towards becoming a uniformed sissy-maid. In a few domme/sub relationships this is a full-time dynamic, but like most, this was a part-time thing for us. For me, what made it especially fulfilling was when Christine/Chris used to come to our flat. As part of my duties, in addition to the daily ironing and making the beds etc, I would ready Christine for sex, then help throughout the interaction, whether this was getting drinks for them, or holding Marvella’s legs apart high in the air as she lied on her back being serviced. What I found interesting was the more often I did this the more natural it became for all of us; hardly a sexual thing at all, and I didn’t even get an erection any more. This is just as well as wearing a steel chastity belt can make this unwanted arousal discomforting, or even painful. 

For information and educational purposes, I’ll just share the received wisdom on this. If you are a male sub/slave it is quite OK to be in permanent chastity if everything is kept clean (i.e. daily washes etc.). The great benefit of permanent chastity is that all your efforts are naturally diverted to oral-worship, so your dom-or-domme can be continuously satisfied by you. If your subby is female, then they do require sexual relief, once a week being the average time between releases. I can’t validate this from personal experience, but I’m told if you don’t allow this, your subbie can go off sex altogether, and no-one wants that. 

It had now been a number of years since our first-contact with “The-Scene”. We had left our country, our jobs and social-circles to be part of it. We had even set-up our own niche IT-consultancy, calling it AGD-Research in honour of our adventures, in a country and culture we had no other links to other than the SM/fetish connection. I guess you can say we were pretty committed. It was at this time, just into the new century, that we were walking through Amsterdam, our adopted city we had come to love so much. It was the Skinny-Bridge again where we always stopped and admired our adopted town.

As the sun was setting, Marvella said the words “it’s over, I hoped it would last forever”. Then she added “I don’t want to go to the parties or clubs anymore”. That was it pretty-much. I asked “what are we going to do now” to which she replied “run our business, and run it well”, and that’s exactly what we did. The two-of-us both felt drained, like sometimes you see in Amsterdam where repair-work is being done to the walls of a canal. They empty the water, and instead of that wonderful sloshing ribbon of liquid, all that is left is a muddy-bottom, strewn with the occasional rusting bicycle and shopping-trolley. It wasn’t a complete “bang” ending; we did go to a couple more events, and this was the “whimper”. But the memories last, of Marvella and I dancing forever at the very edge of time. 

At our very last pay-party Marvella announced it was the end of the ecstasy too, and alcohol and marihuana were all we needed. She was right of-course. I went to get some more drinks, and thought since this was our last “E” fuelled night, we might as well drop the last pills between us. I suggested this, but she smiled and said she had already taken the last ones herself; all four of them. That’s my lady I thought, that’s my Marvella through-and-through, and smiled.