My first session

 

The first time I ventured into an SM studio some 20 years ago was facilitated by two things: the emerging internet and a move to Berlin. Since long before that, I had used simple devices like ball-stretchers and buttplugs on myself, but actually taking the step from a situation in which I retained in full control over what I was doing to myself, to visiting a domme, took me a long time.

 

Berlin had much more of every kind of sexual service on offer than the place I had lived in before. Sex was everywhere: peepshows, prostitutes – and SM studios.

 

I had browsed through websites and, before the internet, through magazines advertising SM studios, but they all looked simply terrifying. “We demand total obedience”, that sort of thing. I was a newbie wanting to see if I could actually cope with it in the first place, not someone seeking to be flogged mercilessly by a cruel dominatrix. Finally, I found the website of the Avalon Studio, which said two very helpful things: a) it told me how much a session would actually cost, and b) it talked about the “Spiel”, the game. It also explained in detail what to expect: the welcome drink and talk with the domme, the possibility of still deciding against a session at that point, and important things like “the dominatrix will not be clock-watching” – I didn’t know it then, but this can be so important towards the end of a session when one is trying desperately to climax: worrying that time is about to run out doesn’t boost one’s libido.

 

The idea of a “game” resonated with me straight away. This was not the über-serious scary stuff found on some other SM websites. It implied a partnership between sub and domme, the inference being that both would have fun in their various ways, inflicting and receiving pain and humiliation. I regard myself as someone who works hard and plays hard, and a tough game in which we could both enjoy going to the limits was what I hoped for. Eventually, I summoned up 200 deutschmarks and plenty of courage, and trotted along one lunchtime to ask if I could have a half-hour session.

 

At that time, Avalon was at Kantstr. 40, across the road from a sex shop, so I popped into a video booth first to watch some porn, turn myself on and buck up my courage. And then I did it, I rang the bell and went up the stairs, and passed from the everyday ambience of a slightly run-down Berlin staircase and hallway into the breathtakingly exciting sights, sounds and smells of an SM studio. The impact of the so very different new world found immediate expression in the pure-sex-on-high-heels attire of the lady who opened the door to me. I’d never seen anything like it outside a porn mag. And yet here was a woman dressed in the clothes of a fantasy world. She sat me down in a small room and gave me a glass of water. I briefly explained my situation and she fetched a young domme to talk to me. I’m not sure the young lady was much more experienced than I was, but she was very kind and listened patiently to me to find out more details of what I was seeking. I had written everything down (a habit I have continued, albeit nowadays in an email rather than on a scrap of paper), as I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to get the words out of my mouth in any coherent form.

 

We then spent a very pleasant half an hour together in one of the dungeons. She positioned me so that she had good access to my cock and balls, and then played with me, tying my balls, stretching them, whipping them lightly, inflicting a little pain, before bringing me to orgasm. At one point the domme who had initially welcomed me popped her head in to see if all was well.

 

All was indeed well. I was excited to find out that, yes, visiting a studio is possible, that there are women who enjoy playing games with slaves, that these women are keenly interested in the well-being of the guest, and that I wanted to go back for (much) more.

 

Back in the hallway, after I had showered and dressed, I offered the kind young lady a 20 DM tip (10% of the fee seemed likely to be an appropriate amount), which amused her greatly – if I learnt one thing as I left the heady sights, sounds and smells for the drabness of Kantstr., it was that one doesn’t tip one’s dominatrix at the end of a session.