Kinky sex is not only shackled to your bed. You can take it out on a leash to the club scene. We asked Xpanded TV babe and resident kinky sex enthusiast Verity Strict of xpanded.com to tell us more about the sexy shenanigans taking place at fetish events in the big city.
I reflect fondly on my first time at London’s biggest fetish ball. My education of fetish clubs was limited to the small femdom gatherings where I learned my craft as a mistress, and the kinky sex in my personal life. I like things small and intimate, so when my photographer friend Richard called me about a spare ticket I actually took some convincing. I usually relegate myself to the kitchen during a party. The venue had a medical fetish booth, a vintage S&M salon and a main arena – But no kitchen to hide in!
Rich’s other half had cleared off and he isn’t the type that likes to be seen alone. So after some prodding I relented. I was doing a favour of course, as a friend.
“You might even find out that you’re into kinky sex.” Rich laughed. He’s been aware of my inclination towards the depraved for years.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen”.
Two days to go before the event and I made a trip into the city to find something to wear. I had lunch at Covent Garden and stopped by a favourite fetish store of mine. The routine is simple. Press the buzzer, look at your feet and shift your gaze from side to side until you are invited in, then sink downstairs into the underworld of London. The store’s wall is plastered with flyers for the many BDSM events on the London kink scene, the cellar filled with latex clothing. A cork board crucifix flanks a leather swing. A little abstract I think, but as this is a shrine to rubber fetish wear, I guess you could say there is some kind of worship going on.
A middle aged gentleman stands nervously at the counter, presumably ducking out at lunch time on an ‘errand’. The sadist in me enjoys making him feel uneasy so as he chatters away at me I make sure he feels my gaze analysing every nuance of this transaction. The store assistant rings up an extra small rubber corset through the till. DEFINITELY too small for him, so I deduced it was for someone else.
“Something for the weekend?” I ask.
His laugh is a little too high pitched as he fumbles with his Amex. His left hand slumps by his side and poorly conceals a wedding ring.
Not for the wife either.
The assistant greets me as a familiar, ringing up the red dress and stockings as I pour curiously over a cabinet of kinky sex toys that becomes increasingly unnerving from top to bottom. I glow on the way home, my purchase inconspicuous, reveling in a closely guarded dirty secret. I spot the gentleman drinking coffee a few streets away and we exchange a knowing glance but nothing more. The BDSM scene has taught me that in the world of kinky sex, discretion only heightens the thrill.
The evening of the ball rolls around and I join Richard and two porn starlets, Emma and Brooke in a rented apartment a few streets away from the venue. Rich lives in London but insists on renting a place in the city centre every time a major fetish event takes place. He’s confident he’ll get lucky and wildly enough his bravado usually enables him to get a girl or a guy or several to head back to ‘his place’ to continue the party.
Emma looked gorgeous. For business purposes, Emma is bisexual but recreationally only hooks up with women. We have met before, but the stars never aligned for us to fuck. A few drinks later and she’s telling me that she’s submissive when it comes to her taste in kinky sex (perfect) and in the cab on the way there she curls into my lap and slides her hand up my thigh. I joke to her that everyone seems to have conspired to hide their clothes or lack thereof underneath a mac. I ponder why this is the uniform of perverts. Speaking of the uniform, the fetish ball enforces a strict dress code and those not in fetish wear will be swiftly turned away. Luckily we seem to make the cut and we are ushered in by security. We disrobe in the cloakroom.
Rich swans off to chat to models ‘in the kink scene’; ever the social butterfly and I head with Emma and Brooke into the main room, the huge speakers already pumping out throbbing drum and bass. The crowd is an assault on the senses. It looks like every freak from every sub culture of the London kink scene is here in full splendor for their dose of kinky sex: rubberists, drag queens and slaves. Oh my. It’s positively fucking Bacchanalian.
The music dampens as the crowd fixes their attention to the night’s entertainment. There is a shibari and wax play performance, followed by fire eaters and burlesque dancers. The music thrusts the revelers in and out the carnival, and when the atmosphere just begins to feel like it will swallow me up, I take a walk through the salon playroom to play voyeur. On one side of the room players politely introduce themselves to each other in juxtaposition to a couple tearing each other apart. Still though, the etiquette is impeccable. It’s a rule of the scene to keep your distance when you are not involved and ALWAYS ask permission before you touch someone.
There are specific theme rooms at hand for those who have specific kinky sex fantasies. Personally my favourite is the medical fetish room. It harkens back to my days as a student: dirty, dark and lots of sex going on. I still look rather fetching in a lab coat. I was also rather impressed with the amount of props to play with. I thought my sex toy closet was intimidating, but this beat me hands down. Usually, it’s me dishing out the beating.
Brooke and Emma seem to have disappeared but I find them on a couch in the medical fetish room making a show of themselves for a group of guys who all seem rather… enthusiastic about their performance. My plans for lesbian kinky sex appeared to be scuppered for the night, however my optimism returned when I bumped into an old friend.
I met Stuart several months ago at an alt rock fetish event and from day one it was a power struggle. We had a mutual interest in weird music and rubber fetish wear. He told me he was an electrician by day and enjoyed getting shocked with electrostim toys at night and this made me laugh, hard. We went home together that night and fought to see who could tie each other to the bed first.
I won, because I always win.
I headed towards his smile. We had met up a few times, some of those times were dirty, others sweet but it was one of those relationships that would be based on sex alone. That was quite alright by me. I didn’t need fall in love with Stuart to love getting kinky with him.
“Can I touch you?” He asked. I nodded as he slid his hand up the back of my dress. That was certainly unexpected. I remember the heat of his palm on the top of my thigh, my face burned as the others looked on.
“That’s quite presumptuous of you” I nodded towards his hand.
“Well, you should do something about that”.
“I think I have something in mind”.
I led him away, mumbling a safeword in his ear, looking to find something to tie him to. It should be known that not all revellers engage in kinky sex at a fetish event. But, in this case… surely it would be rude not to?
I recalled a mirage of a taxi ride home. Rich, Emma, Brooke and I shared a bed and awoke very much worse for wear in the morning.
“What’s that?”
Rich pointed at my thighs. Opening them I still saw hints of stripes from only hours before.
“Oh that? You should see the other guy!”
I privately winced for Stuart. Needless to say, after ‘talking out’ his presumptions we both left on very good terms. I’ve booked my ticket for next time. It’s been a little while since I’ve seen Stuart, and a lot of slaves have licked my heels since then. I go to the fetish ball as often as I can, still in cahoots with Rich and his glamorous model guests dressed head to toe in their fantasy.
For those that dare to indulge there is plenty of kinky sex on the London fetish club scene. It’s waiting out there, somewhere in the dark, breathless and soaked with sweat on the dance floor.
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