My first visit to Cries and Whispers was on a Friday at noon in September. The dress code was imposed on me, precise and succinct: delicate high heels, black stockings, a lace bra that revealed and displayed my nipples and breasts, a submissive collar, and a black blindfold. I had carefully and excitedly prepared my outfit and added a thin black leather braid to my waist to make it look "more dressed up." I had tried to negotiate wearing lace panties, at least initially, to get into the swing of things, but I was put in my place. My genitals had to be visible and available from the moment I arrived.
As soon as I stepped through the narrow doorway, my husband D. urged me to get ready. The place was dark and cramped, so we slipped into the bathroom. I undressed completely, put on stockings, shoes, and a bra. D. slipped the collar around my neck and attached the leash, then tied the headband around my head. I was ready.
D. guides me, holding me on a leash, towards the stairs leading to a first room in the basement. The young woman at reception, rather amused by the situation, offers to help me not to trip. I'm very tense, a mixture of fear and excitement; the stairs, the blindfold, the slightly acrid smell of a stone basement, the near-nudity, what awaited me in this unfamiliar club…
Despite everything, wanting to play and feeling completely at ease with D., I eagerly awaited what would happen next… Time stood still. Once on the "solid ground" of the basement room, D. led me to a sofa, where he asked me to sit with my legs apart. The rough fabric wasn't very pleasant to the touch. The tenderness of my husband's kisses, the warmth of his caresses on my body, and the white wine on my lips and palate allowed me to relax. I don't know how many men and women were in the room…
He asks me to get on all fours on the sofa, my head down to accentuate my curve and make my buttocks protrude. He plays with the straps of his leather riding crop, tickling my skin until I shiver. Yet I'm not cold.
Shortly after, I recognized Miss M.'s voice, greeting D. and, it seemed to me, congratulating him on his submissive's submission and beauty, adding that she would return once she was dressed. I understood at that moment that D. would not be my Master today; it would be Miss M.
Loving the touch of women, their sensuality, the softness of their lips, I was immediately delighted. A Domina, what a wonderful first experience! I had imagined that Mr. R. would also be present. Not hearing him, I now assume he will come later or that he simply couldn't make it.
The waiting begins, allowing me to completely disconnect, to concentrate, and to absorb the place, its sounds, and its smells.
Upon her return, Miss M. caresses my body, flatters me, expresses what I cannot see but project onto each of my fantasies: the spectacle we are about to put on, and me in particular. It seems to me that she is caressing me with a different riding crop than D.'s, noisier (and therefore more frightening), with wider, flatter, colder blades that remind me of bat wings. She plays with the instrument before whipping my thighs, buttocks, and lower back, the intensity increasing. D., who offers me his fingers to nibble and suck, feels the blows becoming stronger. My teeth nibble at him, then bite him outright. Miss M. congratulates and rewards me with a kiss that is both greedy and tender. An encouragement for what is to come.
I was asked to stand up (something I had dared to do earlier without permission, a fact Miss M. was quick to remind me of) and escorted to a sort of platform, which I climbed onto. Miss M. lifted my right hand and hooked it onto a handcuff with a handle attached. The same was done to my left hand. I found myself with my hands bound, my body exposed, every inch of skin offered to the gaze and blows of my dominatrix. She made me spread my legs to better reveal and expose my body and my genitals. Sensing my tension and apprehension, M. caressed me with a vibrator. An immediate sensation of heat, excitement, and a desire to go further, arching my back and exposing my buttocks even more. I received blows from the riding crop on my thighs, my buttocks, my back, my stomach, and my breasts, which I felt immediately harden and swell. All my attention is focused on those few square centimeters of skin, feeling the heat on my nipples after each stroke of the cane. I hear Miss M. pick up the whip again, play with it before delivering blows harder than on the sofa. Simultaneously focused on my sensations and in control (tensing) of my body, I anxiously await the crescendo of blows.
Miss M. whispers in my ear that she's going to hand it over to an expert, a Master… I realize then that Mr. R. is present. Since when? D.'s presence and words sustain me. I know he's proud of me, excited by my exhibition, this time without limits.
Mr. R. takes the lead. The blows of the whip rain down… Tense and rigid, I struggle to feel pleasure. Nevertheless, I am very proud to be there, to not falter, and to respect the rules of the game. I have never been struck so violently. And imagining the effect I am having on D. and the other spectators (how many are there? Men? Women? What are they doing?) allows me to transcend the pain. Mr. R. moves closer to me for the first time. I am immediately captivated by the notes of his refined and powerful perfume, a blend of scents reminiscent of earth, leather, and forest. Perhaps Guerlain's Habit Rouge? His warm hands caress my stomach, his sensual voice is reassuring, and the use of the informal "tu" creates an immediate intimacy. Mr. R.'s sensory "discovery" fills me with joy and reassures me. His advice is very valuable: “relax”, “let go”, an invitation to live in the present moment.
I'm turned around on the platform (for a different lighting effect? To expose my body from another angle?), I release all the pressure I'd been holding onto the handles my hands had been gripping, and I let my body relax to better enjoy the blows of the whip. The bite, broad and each time amplified, the heat immediately radiating from my skin in reaction, and the well-being it brings before the next, more forceful bite. A man observing the scene comments on the invitation to spank my white buttocks. I'm flattered… At the end of each crescendo, Mr. R.'s comforting words, the caress of his large hands on the violated parts of my body, and the gentleness of Miss M.'s gestures accompanying the blows arouse me; Miss M. kneels to lick me, Miss M. kisses me, my husband, whom I feel very close, caresses my arms and encourages me.
Gradually, I let go in this maelstrom of sensory impressions that assail every tiny part of my body: blows from the whip, spankings…
They untie me, my head spinning. They lead me to a piece of furniture where they tie me down, wrists, ankles, stomach. I feel like Vitruvius's wife! It's a wheel. My back is in contact with a cold, metallic surface that makes me shudder. Quite quickly, I lose my sense of up and down, offering myself up to the stares, the blows of the whip, and the spankings. Mr. R. alternates the blows with caresses that warm my lower back, preparing me to start again. Upside down, I feel like the restraints on my ankles are going to slip, unable to hold me. I complain. The game stops. They release me.
I am supported and guided toward what appears to be a leather-covered piece of furniture, on which I am laid face down. There is space to position my face for a relaxed posture. My legs are attractively spread, tied with ropes to what look like leg warmers. Miss M. kisses me voluptuously, while Mr. R. alternates strokes with a riding crop, spanks, and words of encouragement and reassurance. My buttocks tense, my vulva opens even wider, ready for penetration. A dildo is inserted. It is painful. I cry out. Immediately, the object is removed, and I very quickly feel the warmth of a familiar shaft, my husband's, which excites me tremendously. Mr. R. delivers firm spanks to the tops of my thighs, which crave more, while my husband delivers his valiant and rhythmic thrusts. I become a female dog at will, letting go and listening only to my pleasure, reinforced by the exhibition I offer to the spectators whose panting breaths I can hear.
Mr. R. removes my blindfold. The game is over for now. Miss M., Mr. R., D., and I return to the sofa where I had been introduced to Miss M. at the beginning of the session. I get to know Mr. R. and Miss M. over a platter of charcuterie and cheese, accompanied by red wine. I'm still floating. It will take me a very long time to truly come back down to earth on this special Friday afternoon.
