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- Kinky Dates
- NSA (no strings...)
- BDSM Lovers
Description
i want to suck beautiful cock(s) and maybe be fucked by one of them, but my virgin asshole needs special prep. i want your cum. personally, i cannot get hard any more, so DON'T expect an 8 inch boner.
Fetish.com gives you…
Fetish.com is like an appetizing smorgasbord in Fort Worth with lots of hot guys to meet up with. Have a look around first if you prefer to see who’s around, or if you know what you want, search by selecting the right category "Kinky Dating”. Nobody stays alone here for long! Fetish.com has tons going on!
Nights such as Fist and *** Garden used to attract kinksters in their thousands. But, with the rise of the internet and with fetish moving from the underground to the mainstream, the BDSM night club scene isn't what they used to be. But, as we explain, that might not necessarily be a bad thing.
In Read more… the long distant days of the 1960s and 1970s, there was barely a public side to the fetish scene. Club nights were organised by those who were eager to contribute to the BDSM scene or to promote their own particular predilection. Organisations such as The Firm, for example, were one of the first to fulfil the desire for fetish nights in London. But the scene, while vibrant, was not as organised as it is today.
However, the 1980s and 1990s brought about the rise of the BDSM super clubs. Nights such as *** Garden and events organised by Skin Two magazine attracted vast amounts of publicity and attention in the mainstream media. Readers of mass-market newspapers knew exactly what was going on in the fetish scene and may even have been tempted to attend a club night themselves. However, in many ways, the days of the mass fetish club seem to have gone away, perhaps never to return. There are various reasons for the demise of the BDSM night club, but some may consider that we do not necessarily have to mourn their passing.
*** changes everything
The early days of the BDSM scene were known for their DIY ethos, the desire for inclusion (when the scene was mainly rejected by mainstream society), and an idiosyncratic nature that attracted all sorts of perversions. Fetish clubs, particularly the big, super-clubs changed all of that. Tickets for BDSM night club nights became incredibly expensive, changing hands for at least a hundred pounds in some cases.
Added to this, the increasingly cliquey nature of mainstream fetish clubs meant that buying the correct clothing and sex toys became excessively expensive and beyond the means of most BDSM enthusiasts. Once high fashion got its claws into fetish, the cost of items that would have previously been available for low prices in sex shops became fashionable fetish-wear which cost a small fortune.
At the same time, the toys and equipment needed for BDSM play have become increasingly available in high street stores. This - along with the increase in knowledge on BDSM that spread through the internet - has brought fetish within easy reach of all. This means that more people are experiencing fetish at home instead of in a fetish club.
Staying in is the new going out
The demise of the fetish super-club is also associated with a general trend in clubbing. On the whole, people are not going out as much as they used to, and they're using technology to make staying in as comfortable as possible. The same applies to any BDSM night club. Although the expense and effort of buying tickets and dressing up may appeal to some, many fetishists are putting that hard work behind them and substituting it with their own fetish scene, behind closed doors.
This has many advantages. Firstly, the scene can be created to your own specifications without the interference of club bouncers or leering strangers (unless that appeals). Secondly, the domestic setting sometimes adds to the dynamic of BDSM. Getting your slave to clean the floor seems somewhat a waste of effort in a BDSM night club, but at home, it's practical as well as deliciously deviant.
A kinky scene from a BDSM night club.
Are you local?
London, like many capital cities, was at one time where most fetish activities took place in the United Kingdom. Of course, there was a thriving local fetish scene in other UK towns and cities, but you would not necessarily know where to find it. The rise of London as the UK fetish capital also precipitated the rise of the BDSM night club.
One factor that has led to the rise of local, active, fetish scenes is the internet and social media. Indeed, thanks to Facebook, Twitter and specialist fetish dating sites such as Fetish.com, it's possible to find kinky people in every part of the country. These web tools also mean that people can organise their fetish events with ease, and you can find fetish meetings, parties and fetish clubs in most locations all over the world.
The return of the BDSM night club?
We may not mourn the loss of the fetish super-club when we reflect upon what the scene has now become. Rather than being a centralised, exclusive and expensive BDSM sub-culture (which was becoming part of the mainstream) fetish and BDSM enthusiasts have, to some extent, gone underground, with a return to the delightful seediness of the early days.
Now that thigh-high leather boots, corsets and masks are seen on an average night out in most town high streets, there's something refreshing about knocking on a door in the wrong part of town to find a hidden BDSM night club in a basement. It's also now possible to find someone who shares your particular kink wherever you are in the country. The days of the sad, lonely, fetishist have gone. Things have, though, a tendency to move full circle in the BDSM scene. Fetishists may be focused on the objects of their affections, but they desire a change as much as anyone else.
Who knows, then. We could one day see a return of the fetish super-club, perhaps on an international scale. That’s one party we would all like an invite to.
Do you like spending the night in a BDSM night club? Do you prefer a kinky night in or a naughty night out? Let us know in the Fetish.com forum.
Images: via Shutterstock.com
I have no idea what to look for. A fetish item could be anything. I'm sure somewhere they is some guy or gal who has a peanut fetish and therefore a peanut butter and jam sandwich is a fetish item.
Meeting Mistress Cali
by ‘slut’ (formerly known as WR Maxwell)
The bus ticket was $109. Such a deal. i never realized ‘super economy’ on Greyhound was as bad as ‘coach economy’ on the airlines. As i took my seat, directly over the back wheels and with the Greyhound equivalent of a port-a-potty directly behind me. My duffle bag stored in the cargo bay beneath me and my knapsack on the seat next to me. Everything i own in cargo and everything i need beside me. Boy was i wrong, but wouldn’t realize exactly how wrong for 3 days.
My bus ride started at the downtown Fort Worth bus terminal at 1:30 in the afternoon on Wednesday, January 3rd. My actual trip started at 9, checking out of the Cloverleaf motel on Lancaster, hitch hiking to the TRE train station - it was more hike than hitch, but i expected that. Shoving a $5 bill into the ticket vending machine, several times before it was accepted, would buy a full round trip, but i would only use half. I boarded a west bound commuter train; destination downtown. I arrived with plenty of time to type is note on my laptop as i slumped on the steel bench with my feet propped on the duffle. Battery at 92% - not bad. i ate an apple as i tried to memorize my itinerary and figure out exactly when this lifelong flirtation with BDSM really began.
Boy scout camp 1962, tied to a tree all night long as initiation into the order of the green knights, a secret, unofficial group within the troop, where ropes and knot tying had taken on a whole new meaning. The test was this; if i could find my scout jack knife, hidden somewhere in the forest leaf litter, cut my ropes and make it to flag pole hill before revelry, i was in. If i failed to escape before the bugle sounded, i would receive 3 swats from all the other green knights. i only knew of 4 green knights in the troop, so either way, it couldn’t be too bad. Besides, if i didn’t find the knife, i could always untie the ropes - or so i thought.
As it turned out, my jack knife was hidden in the rusted tin can i found and discarded. This was very early in the evening. By morning every leaf, twig, and branch had been swept away from the tree i was tied to. While my hands were tied together behind a ***-cherry tree, my feet were not, so i kicked off my boots and searched the area with my bare feet hoping to feel the cold steel of the knife. At least that was the plan. By morning there was a 5 foot diameter circle completely cleared of everything organic - except me. As it turned out, there were 31 members of the green knights and i missed breakfast while, one by one, in the back of the woodshed behind the old abandoned cabin, my ass was thoroughly reddened. The leader added an extra seven to make it an even 100 swats.
“Now boarding bus 1620 to Texarkana and points east. This bus is nearly full, so if you do not have a ticket, step up to the ticket counter on the upper level.”
i had a ticket, so everything was cool. i forgot about boy scouts and got in line to board the bus. A porter weighed my bag before putting it on the bus.
“That will be $10. Your are over weight.”
i thought it a little rude, this 350 pound mountain of a man commenting on my less than trim physique, then realized it was my duffle bag he was talking about.
i paid him $10, and asked, “will i be charged another $10 for each leg of my trip?”
He said, “I don’t make the rules, and I can’t take cash. You gots a credit card?”
i handed over my VISA card, the only one that wasn’t maxed out and he swiped it on a portable reader.
“You’ll get a receipt by email. Enjoy your trip, mister Maxwell.”
i thought, that’s a switch. No body had called me ‘mister’ in over a year; not since my on-line training had begun. It was always ‘bitch’, ‘slut’, ‘worm’, or ‘slave’. Actually, i sort of liked ‘slave’. It implies that i am valuable enuff to be owned. So many of the ‘Domme’ i had met on the internet, assuming exchanging emails is the same as meeting, were thieves dressed in black leather costume holding a riding crop. Mostly, they want to infect your computer w/ a virus designed to steal banking and credit card info.
The trip to Texarkana was uneventful. I had to put my backpack on my lap to make room for a fellow traveler; a guy in a blue wind breaker who hadn’t shaved or bathed in a week. He did share some of his whiskey, in trade for a package of Hostess Twinkie’s. Old Crow and golden yellow sponge cake. How ironic that i would bring a box of phalic shaped, cream filled snacks on a trip to meet my Mistress. Don’t get me wrong, i love Twinkie’s, but my cock hasn’t been that long in years and as for the cream filling - nada.
I typed on the laptop and the bum next to me snored, stank, and asked for more snack cakes. His pint bottle ran out just as we pulled into Texarkana.
Next leg was to Little Rock. i had a 20 minute layover as Greyhound switched the bags to another bus. Thankfully, no added $10 overweight fee. The men’s toilet in the bus station probable smelled as bad as the bum i sat next to, but after 210 miles, my nose had been completely de-sensitized. After potty break, i charged the laptop as long as i could. it was down to 30%, and i’d need all the juice i could get to make it to Little Rock. We had a different bus, but same bus driver, and the bum in the blue wind breaker was gone - replaced by a kid w/ earbuds and an iphone game. He likes Twinkie’s, too.
The layover in Little rock was 40 minutes and the toilets were cleaner. Must be something the Clintons got right. I got a full charge on the laptop and found a wifi signal to check my emails. i promised Mistress i would check in with her when i could. She wasn’t on-line but had sent me an email with a tease; a naked picture of her, this time it was from the back. God does she have a nice ass, but before i could send her one of my self bondage photos, the bus was leaving.
The bus to Memphis was bad. No the bus was fine, i was the one who was bad, or at least my digestive track was bad. Ever since the surgeon removed my cancerous colon, my digestive system oscillates between constapation and dirrea. Good think most people were asleep and i was seated next to the toilet. i took 2 imodium and hoped for the best as well as hoped the bus had more toilet paper, because i was going thru this roll very fast. Eventually, i crapped in my panties. The bus’s toilet was occupied by someone as sick as me, only his was coming out the other end.
The bus rolled over the Mississippi at dawn. There was a 3 hour layover in the Memphis bus station, which was a hornets nest of activity. Buses coming and going every 10-minutes as well as the city’s mass transit buses. i tried to sleep, but the commotion was too much. i worked on my travel log - the story you are presently reading. No new emails from Mistress. i bought a large cup of coffee and a danish from the coffeeshop next to the bus station. Not smart. My stomach was gurgling just as the new bus departed for Nashville.
The one and only nice thing about the Nashville leg was there were only a dozen people on board, so the likely hood of me finding the toilet occupied was much lower. i took another 2 imodium and that stopped everything. What a wonderful medicine. i don’t care if they say it is habit forming, i can’t live in a toilet all the time.
It was 2PM when i arrived in Nashville. i had gotten some sleep and had another email from Mistress. Apparently, Tennessee is full of lots of wifi hotspots with little or no security. We chatted a lot between Nashville and Knoxville, or at least we tried. For a while, we would have signal, but then lose it, and after another 5 miles, i had signal again. It was rather frustrating - being interrupted so often. i could tell Mistress was not happy. She kept on asking me when i would arrive, and i kept telling her 11AM tomorrow, just in time for my collaring. i’d tell her how much i want to be her full-time slave, and how much i want to please her, and how much i want to suck on her toes, and pussy and anything she wanted - i don’t know if she got any of that. The signal abruptly died, and i was typing away professing my gratitude and devotion, but she may never have gotten any of my sweet words.
i crashed in Knoxville - i did - not the bus. Sleep was easy. Knoxville is a sleepy little town, compared to Memphis and Nashville. Someone in the station nudged me awake in time to make it on the bus. i guess i had told them where i was going and who i was going to meet when i got to Martinsburg, because as i boarded he said “you look like hell. No groom should look this bad even after the bachelor party the night before his wedding.”
It really didn’t sink-in at the time. i went back to sleep in the back of the bus and dreamed of kneeling at my Mistress’s feet. In my dream, she was wearing studded black leather and skin tight leather pants with a crop in one hand and my leash in the other. i was in a white see thru gown and presenting my ass for her crop as i licked her spike heeled boots. The next thing i knew, i was jammed against the windows of the bus and some screaming lady was on top of me and a crying child was on top of her.
There where men with flashlights pulling people out the sideways emergency door at the very back of the bus. There was 3 or 4 inches of snow on the ground and blue and red flashing lights. i heard someone say “black ice” and that was all. Some people were being packed into 4-wheel drive ambulances and some of them were bleeding. Apparently, somewhere near Roanoke, the bus had skidded into the median ditch and there we were. i didn’t see the driver. i hope he is okay.
After standing around, shivering in the snow, i started walking back to the bus. Short steps, because it was quite slippery and all i was wearing were tennis shoes.
A fireman stopped me saying, “where do you thing you’re going?”
“I need to get my computer and backpack. i’m a writer and i have 3 novels on that laptop - all ready for a publisher. i can’t loose my laptop.”
“Okay, once we get everyone off, i’ll send a fireman in to find it. Where were you sitting?”
“At the back. It’s an older model HP and has my name, Maxwell, etched into the bottom near the serial number.”
It also had several stickers with account names and passwords on the bottom, too, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“It might be in my backpack - dark green nylon with leather trim and a cardboard tag with my name. i think the tag was from American Airlines.” i said as he moved me into the warmth of a police car.
“Don’t close the door all the way. You’ll never get out.”
A police man handed me a handkerchief containing a snowball. “Lean your head back, put this over your nose and if the bleeding doesn’t stop, well take you to the hospital.”
The bleeding had stopped pretty much, but i did as the officer said. He didn’t ask for his handkerchief back.
After 2 hours, another bus came and took us, those of us who weren’t injured, on to Roanoke. They put us up in the fire station, which was comfortable. We took turns sleeping in the firemen’s bunks and on their couch. There were 30 of us - stranded travelers, which really surprised me since there couldn’t have been more than a dozen on the bus. Then it dawned on me - other accident victims. Travelers whose cars had spun out, were stranded, but not badly hurt enuff to need medical care. Eventually, a fire truck came and piled a mound of suitcases and luggage on the floor and an official from Greyhound started filling out paperwork for lost, stolen or damaged property. They found my laptop, but the screen had separated from the keyboard and was a complete loss. There was ***, probably mine, on the corner of the keyboard.
The man from Greyhound said, “company policy - we will get you to your destination. Of course, you are free to make other arrangements. Just let us know of your plans, but it’s just going to take us a little time for the roads to clear and find another coach.”
A little time that i didn’t have. It was 11 AM and i was supposed to be in Martinsburg, being collared by the most beautiful Mistress in the whole world and starting a new life as her #1 slave. To make matters worse, i had lost my cell phone in the melee.
i arrived in Martinsburg at about 8PM the next day - nearly 33 hours late. i found an old fashioned pay phone; complete with rotary dial and coin slots and called. She answered “Hello”
“Mistress Cali, i’m so sorry and so late. There was an accident and . . .”
The automated voice on the pay phone said ‘please deposit another fifty cents for the next 2-minutes.’
i found my last 2 quarters and fed the phone. There was buzzing and ringing, then Mistress said “Where the hell are you, slut?”
“Yes, i know i’m late, , ,”
“No fucking kidding. Just come to the Union Hotel on second street - the place where our, your collaring was supposed to take place - you know - like yesterday. It’s not far from the bus station. You can walk, if the bus didn’t break your leg. Ask someone for direction. Just get your ass over here as quickly as you can, or there will be hell to pay.” Click. The line went dead.
The clerk at the bus station pointed me in the direction of second street. i shouldered the knapsack and the duffle and if i had a parrot on my other shoulder and an eye patch, i’d have looked just like a pirate coming home from the sea.
Martinsburg hadn’t had the snow that Roanoke had had and what little there may have been, was all melting. It was, however, beginning to re-freeze so my progress was slow. i found the Union Hotel after 20-minutes and with help from a passerby. I walked straight past the front desk in the direction of the ballroom. The desk clerk said “They are expecting you, slut” as the doors swung open.
Yes indeed, they, whoever ‘they’ were, were having a big old party.
Mistress spotted me right away, embraced me, had me drop my duffle, embraced me again, then took a wine glass off the tray of a passing waiter and threw its contents in my face.
“You’re late!”
“Yes i know but it wasn’t my fault. There was this terrible accident. . . the bus turned over , , ,”
i was crying. Mistress slapped my face, and slapped it again for emphasis. Everyone was starring.
“We started without you. Leave your things, go in the kitchen and change into something more appropriate. Raoul will show you, won’t you my darling?”
“Of course, my Mistress.”
Raoul took me by the elbow and thru the double doors into the kitchen. He said, “The Mistress wants you to wear these,” and handed me a paper grocery sack.
The sack contained a steel neck collar chained to 2 wrist shackles plus a separate set of ankle shackles connected by a short chain. i started to put the collar around my neck when Raoul said, “No. Mistress wants you to wear the chains - only - no clothes.”
i swallowed hard and stripped. Once i had chained myself, Raoul locked them and tossed the key into the garbage.
“You stink. Go to the sink and wash.”
Raoul led me by the elbow to the kitchen’s commercial dish washing area and sprayed me completely, frontside and backside, paying extra attention to my bung hole.
“Is he ready yet? I want my new slave to meet the Masters and Mistresses of Martinsburg.”
“You heard the Mistress. Come meet your owner and her sadistic friends.”
Raoul snapped a dog leash on the ring thru my cock and lead me back into the ballroom.
Mistress Cali said, “there you are my darling. I see my number 1 has hosed you down. I hope the water was very, very cold. You have been a bad slave, even before being my slave. You need to learn to respect your Mistress’s wishes.”
i crawl to Mistress Cali, who is at the center of the room. my face is on the floor and my ass in the air.
“You, slut, are no longer William Maxwell, you are my number 4. You see, while you were delayed, 3 of my former slaves have returned to me and i have taken then into my stable - fuck, i slept with them, if you really must know. They were great. nice long, hard cocks which you will experience in a moment, slut. But first you need to meet my number 2, Demarcus. He is a black pearl and and former NFL linebacker. Then there is my number 3, Billy Ray. He is a good ol’ boy from up the road a piece and can make just about anything from spit, bailing wire and a welding torch. Billy Ray is my fixer, he is hung like a horse and made those shackles you are wearing. Of Course, there is Raoul, my number 1. He took your place when you didn’t show up. He is my favorite and I call him ‘the punisher’. You’ll see why, no, ‘feel’ why he is called the punisher.”
Mistress plays with my bottom before landing a sharp blow with her crop.
“Oh you do mark so well, my slut. You have no idea how many slave applicants ‘say’ they mark well, but not as good as you, number 4.”
Mistress lands another stroke on my up turned ass. This time i cry out from the ***. This gets a positive reaction from the crowd of guests in the ballroom. Beside the cat-calls, there was a smattering of applause.
“All my friends and extended family have been hearing so much about my new little perverted slut, they can’t wait to give you a nice collaring present - say 3 strokes from each of them. Would that be a suitable present for my new slut?”
“Yes Mistress,” i said, but was worried about answering rhetorical questions.
“There are 31 of them, so let me start you off with 4 good smacks to get the ball rolling. Oh, if I add another 3 at the end, that will make an even 100; just like in the woodshed at camp. Won’t you like that, slut?”
“Yes Mistress. You are so good to me.” A slave always needs to be compliant, without sounding sarcastic. I was worried i had crossed that line.
“Then, while the rest of my guest enjoy their diner, we can have Billy Ray, Demarcus and Raoul take turns ass raping you, slut. Wouldn’t you like that, my slut?”
“Yes Mistress, and thank you, Mistress Cali, for taking me. i am so lucky to be yours.”
“That should take us to the dessert course, which you shall serve to my guests, but now, count the strokes, slut.”
The crop whistled thru the air and landed with full impact on my other ass cheek.
“Two.”
Kemander, , , I am new here and not too sure what is normal and acceptable; but here goes.
To be completely honest, I didn't like your piece, as a story, but maybe it was cathartic for you as a confession. However, I was hooked by your setting - University of Michigan. I am a Michigan Alum and Read more… was wondering if you had ***ted over my signature in my old dorm room in 5416 Markley Hall.
Good luck with the writing.
WR Maxwell
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