Other Bizarre BDSM beginners guides

What to wear and prepare before going to your first club

What to expect in clubs and how to find one to suit you

House rules – how you’ll be expected to behave when visiting your chosen club

Spanking! How to beat and be beat! And how to cope with the bruises afterwards…

BDSerm…what? A Bizarre writer who’s never had their buttocks thrash-bang-walloped in front of a crowd? Impossible! Surely all the staff at the UK’s leading alternative culture mag have been flogged so hard that their rear ends are concave, right? Wrong.

It’s true that Team Bizarre are a very open-minded bunch of fruits. Provided the activity that gets someone’s rocks off is conducted safely, sanely and consensually, it’s exceptionally rare that we’ll have any objection to it, and we champion individuals’ rights to pleasure and self-expression. But while we have no issues with folk getting felched, fondled and frigged in custard, cow sheds or coffins, and we love to investigate and report on it, that doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve tried it ourselves. In fact (now try not to laugh too heartily) some of us are actually quite innocent in our personal lives. And though you lot love to read about all sorts of perversion, I wonder whether many of you - like me - have your unexplored sides or secret questions too.

We’re all familiar with the notion of BDSM almost to the point of being blasé about it: our Ultra Vixens site is awash with images of luscious ladies trussed up with tape or brandishing bull whips, and even the most mainstream underwear shops seem to sell fluffy handcuffs. The assumption is that everyone’s up to it. But how many of us have truly tried much more than a mild bit of bedroom-bound spanky hanky panky? And of those of us that have been to fetish clubs, what percentage actually get involved with the dungeon action?

BOTTOMS UP

Until last October, I had never been spanked in public. When it came to S&M, I was fairly vanilla – like one of those posh ice creams made with bits of pod, that’s mostly virginal white with a sprinkling of darkness in the mix… Or maybe raspberry ripple: largely pure, but with a ribbon of seediness running through it. In private, I’d used blindfolds and cuffs plenty of times, enjoying both restraining and teasing my partner and being tied down tighter than Rolf Harris’s kangaroo myself. I knew I had a thing for having my bottom slapped during intimate moments – a sharp, shocking smack when I was on the edge of bliss could cause my muscles to clench and provide just the hand I needed to push me over the brink. Yet I’d not really explored the idea of spanking beyond this little trick; I’d only ever asked my boyfriend to practice his Fun House high five on my butt cheek while we were in the final straight of making love, and hadn’t focussed on spanking as something I might want to incorporate in foreplay, let alone indulge in with other people outside of the house.

The riding crops I owned were solely for fancy dress purposes too; my bum had only ever experienced the impact of Mr Palm and his five sons, and never hard enough to leave a lasting mark. Plus, despite being a ‘switch’ – someone who’s happy to alternate between being submissive and dominant as the mood takes them – I’d certainly never flogged anyone myself.

IT’S WHACKADAY!

My first taste of being spanked by a stranger at a club took place in Domination Corner at the Bizarre Ball. Previous visits to events like Torture Garden meant I’d seen what went on in clubs’ BDSM rooms, but never played; I used to attend mainly for the dressing up and dancing, and when it came to thwhack-tivities I was happy just to observe and enjoy the highly-charged atmosphere. That evening, though, I found myself bent over what appeared to be a posh gymnasium horse (a thoroughbred, surely) and at the mercy of a catsuited vixen by the name of Mistress Slide - motto: ‘Slide rules!’.

What followed provoked as many puzzles for me as it did revelations. Using an acrylic cane, Ms Slide delivered a series of blows which she asked me to rate from 1 to 10 in order to ascertain my pain threshold, 1 being “I’ve endured more challenging farts” and 10 corresponding to “Are my legs still attached? Because I think you just hacked into my ass with an axe.”. The problem was, I found it hard to grade her strikes because I had no point of reference; having never done this before, I didn’t know whether a tap that felt like a 3 at the beginning of our session would register more like a 7 or 8 after repeated slapping had made my cheeks sore, so I was wary of declaring that I could easily cope with a blow that I might later struggle with. Moreover, I didn’t know what I wanted, what I liked; did I wish to push myself, to test my ability to receive pain all the way up into double figures? Or did I just fancy being pleasantly tickled? And how long should the thrashing last? My mind was whirring ten to the dozen as Ms Slide delivered a dozen of the best to my backside.

Amid the wonderings, I also made several discoveries – not least that, rather than being sexual, I found my public spanking experience strangely meditative. In the same way that a massage from a partner can be a turn on but a back rub at a spa is relaxing, being slapped by a mistress provoked different emotions within me than smacks from my boyfriend. It felt almost like a beauty treatment. Concentrating on the stinging in my buttocks and trying to anticipate the timing and force of the next impact, I zoned out and was barely aware of the clamouring crowds around me. I felt sharp and alert, yet simultaneously oddly sleepy, floaty and ‘zenned out’ – a sensation S&M fetishists refer to as being in a ‘subspace’, that’s caused in part by your brain releasing pleasurable chemicals called endorphins into the bloodstream in order to counteract pain. For some people, this subspace proves addictive, and as their body acclimatises to the endorphins, they can crave increasingly intense experiences in order to attain the same high - although this is by no means always the case.

CANED AND DISABLED

The next day, my ass had come over all patriotic: with a thick dark violet stripe running across it, it looked like a puce St George’s Cross, or a hot cross bun. A hot cross bum, if you will. I was shocked by the bruises that throbbed when I walked and made me flinch when I sat down, and even more shocked by my reaction to them: guilt. I didn’t feel at all ashamed of having done something ‘taboo’; what I felt bad about was having voluntarily inflicted damage upon my healthy body. I was so lucky to be fit and able, yet I’d hurt myself on purpose. My remorse about this came totally out of left field, and really shook me.

As the marks faded, however, I found myself going through a strange mental process; from feeling unexpectedly sinful about wilfully wounding myself, I became proud of my body’s ability to heal, and, pampering my skin with lotions, I experienced a growing sense of appreciation for my strength (and my butt) as something sexy. Perhaps if I played more dangerous sports and bashed myself on a regular basis, I’d be familiar with watching my body fix itself, but I couldn’t remember having such a visible injury since being a child. This was the first time I’d watched my woman’s body cure itself, and it felt empowering.

I’m not sure whether this is a common train of thought, as I’m only describing my personal experience, but via experiencing controlled pain and injury associated with BDSM, my connection with my own body had definitely deepened. Intrigued, I got to wondering about having another taste of public cane sugar, to answer some of my lingering questions, explore my budding body philosophies and refine my ideas of what worked for me and what didn’t. To this end, myself and fellow BDSM beginner, pictures editor Tom Broadbent, headed to a ‘Births, Deaths and Marriages’ themed night at S&M club Subversion, to become new kids on the whipping block…

WHIPPING UP A FRENZY

While some clubs have a ‘see and be seen’ vibe, Subversion is famously friendly, run by dominatrix Mistress Absolute – star of DVD ‘The Beginner’s Guide to BDSM’ - and ‘girly-boy’ photographer Bobette, who also runs LondonFetishScene.com. I’d explained my status as a flagellation fledgling to Bobette before my visit, and he introduced me to a gent I’d guess was in his fifties, who I’ll call Charles.

Charles had been on the fetish circuit for years, and was known as a champion spanker. He was present with his wife, who he obviously adored, and this put me at my ease; since I suspected that public BDSM was more about sensation and self-exploration for me rather than sex, and I’m in a committed relationship, I would have felt unsettled about playing with a singleton.

Charles didn’t strike me as a sadist who got off on inflicting pain; his buzz seemed to come from knowing he had the skill to pleasure others. Of course, this potentially gave him the power to make them beg, had he so desired, but he didn’t act the ‘traditional’ ball-busting, lick-my-shoes-you-snivelling-wretch, demanding dom character…at least not with me, yet I got the impression this wouldn’t ever be his style. Instead, he was warm and calm. We didn’t role play at all; we were very natural and honest with each other, which I found reassuring, although the difference in our ages and experience lent the exchange an air of ‘mature teacher educates naïve young pupil’, and I reckon Charles got a kick from being the one to ‘break in’ a youthful initiate.

As I kneeled prone on a leather bench, cheeks in the air, Charles talked me through each instrument he was going to use, how many strokes I’d receive, and how I could expect them to feel. He told me it was good practice to always begin a session with hand spanking; it gets blood flowing to the buttocks to increase sensitivity for the spankee, and gives their head time to adjust to the reality, as opposed to the fantasy, of being hit – to soak up how it truly feels in real life, and ensure they’re sufficiently self-aware to take care of themselves. His remarks about how this ‘warming’ was crucial to get both the body and the mind to the right temperature struck a chord with me; just like plunging into icy water can send you into shock, sensory or emotional overload caused by diving unprepared into a full-on S&M session can cause a freakout. Stoked with party adrenaline and on a mere whim, I’d unthinkingly rolled headlong into my Bizarre Ball adventure cold, which explained why it had left me somewhat reeling. Having chatted to Ms Slide since, she’s said that she would never have used so harsh a tool as an acrylic cane – nor left me with so purple a booty - had she known how green I was. Being a responsible domme, she had asked me before we began whether I’d been spanked previously, but through innocence, not bravado, I’d said ‘yes’; unaware of the intensity of what was about to happen, I thought my boyfriend’s pat-a-cake slaps were in the same league. No siree. If I’d known then what I know now, there’s no way I would have told Ms Slide I was experienced, because when it came to club-standard BDSM, I really wasn’t.

THE VIRGIN TRAINS

Charles advised me that beginning with palm-based punishment is useful for the spanker too, as it gives instant feedback as to how fleshy or firm a rump they’re dealing with. The way he outlined well-honed techniques to ‘work with’ a tight tush versus a blubbery bottom, the affection with which he described each of his tools (he had a veritable golf caddy of ‘em, ranging from rulers to paddles to flashing LED drumsticks), his precise anatomical knowledge, and the satisfaction he seemed to gain from landing a stroke in exactly the right spot reminded me of a craftsperson’s professional passion; he was like a potter, entertained by the skilled process of creating a masterpiece and as chuffed to produce a perfectly beaten botty as he would be a neatly thrown bowl. I half expected him to pull a handmade china vase out of my ass at the end of our session.

When it was my turn to spank Charles under the instruction of Mistress Absolute, my suspicions that he approached whacking sessions like a professional at work were backed up by how I found myself behaving. I didn’t get any thrill from dishing out pain; neither did it charge me up to be in charge of someone. Overwhelmingly, I felt I had a job to do; I was gratified when I did it well, and disappointed – almost angry with myself – when my slaps were dull instead of crisp or my aim was off. I thought that placing my bare hand on an unfamiliar older man’s hairy arse would be embarrassing or intimate, but no; I found myself considering it much like a gynaecologist must a stranger’s vagina. I wonder whether dominatrixes’ brisk, businesslike, detached attitudes are part role play, but also a product of concentrating hard on the task in hand; I was sometimes so focussed on Charles’ buttocks as a target that I found I naturally slipped into objectifying him. At moments, he was just an ass - and my job title was Trainee Asskicker.

CARE IN THE COMMUNITY

That’s not to say I’d forgotten about his wellbeing; when not momentarily absorbed in lining up my crop so that it was perfectly perpendicular to his crack, I was obsessive about checking Charles was safe and happy. While I didn’t feel any erotic connection to him, I did care for him, as he for me when our roles were reversed.

In fact, I found BDSM to be a whole lot about care, empathy, and acute awareness of others - and oneself. When I put my hot seat back in the hot seat and let Charles spank me a second time that night, he concernedly chastised me for becoming distracted by the (consensual but very real) screams from a hardcore player undergoing cock and ball torture on a winch nearby, telling me it was crucial that I concentrate solely on my own situation, as if I didn’t pay close attention to my feelings, I might accidentally let our own games go beyond my limits.

THE BOTTOM LINE

The following morning, there was none of the guilt about my bruises that I’d suffered before. In fact, attending a posh dinner in polite company, it made me smile to myself, perched gingerly on my chair, to feel my heart beating along the tender lines Charles’ crop had left; the contrast between the restaurant’s refined soundtrack of chinking glass and cutlery and the swooshes, swacks and moans that had surrounded me just hours before made me feel deliciously naughty.

So, would I indulge in public pummelling again? I’m not sure. When it comes to spanking someone myself, I’m not that bothered; it was invaluable to do once to understand better what might go through a dominant BDSM partner’s mind, but didn’t push my buttons. I’m content to express my dominant side through role play and light bondage, though if a partner wanted to be spanked now, I’d embrace his desires confidently. As for volunteering my bottom to join the crop circle once more – perhaps, yes. I’ve learned that I’m unlikely to be someone who finds it erotic to be clobbered in a club, as sexual pleasure for me is a lot about context; in addition to physical factors, the best sex I’ve had has been inextricably linked to having a deep loving connection with my man, as well as a strong attraction to him, and this isn’t something I could get from a stranger. However, entering subspace is a separate kind of high altogether; one I’ve not managed to replicate via any other means, and which, without exaggeration, has revolutionised my relationship with my own body.

My BDSM beginnings have spanned many emotions, from mindfuck to epiphany. I’d recommend that everyone try the dungeon for themselves, as it potentially offers an opportunity to make incredible discoveries about yourself and interact with others in an inimitable manner. However, I cannot emphasise enough the need for education, awareness and to treat both yourself and the art of S&M with respect. Do it right, though, and you could well achieve flag-elation.

BOX – I learned a vast amount from my BDSM initiation – far more than could be included within this article. In fact, I struggled to write it because I had so much to say! Thinking of attending a fetish club for the first time yourself? Check out my list of 46 Essential Tips for BDSM Beginners at BizarreMag.com. Want to ask me a question? Mail alix_fox@dennis.co.uk. I’m genuinely interested to hear your opinions and stories: or share them at our community site, YourBizarre