Club Rub - JanuaryReview: Event

Can a dom with a sub rather than a slave manage with an economy sized stick? Or is it the other way round, with a wayward sub justifying a bigger stick than a more well-behaved model? If you give a sub a stick does she metamorphose into a domme?

Armed with an arsenal of hitty things and in the spirit of enquiry, the Domly one, yours truly and a carefully chosen control group (Master and slave, Mark and elisa) carried out a series of detailed scientific investigations at last week's Club Rub.

Carefully avoiding any mention beforehand of men and their sticks, big or otherwise, I managed to shepherd the Domly one into a cab and up to the City where the night's festivities were to take place. After a brief diversion where due to the short-sightedness of a certain individual we managed to spend an hour at a table with a bunch of people we WEREN'T meeting (friends of friends... though very nice they were too..) we were spotted by Mark and slunk shame-facedly into the dungeon.

At about midnight, as it was, things didn't look entirely promising. Loud music and pretty peeps in rubber there were in abundance. The dungeon kit, though scant, looked fit for use. But in amongst the cunningly arrayed crosses and bench thronged a tumultous crowd of be-rubbered perves laughing and joking and generally undermining the mad and bad reputation we work so hard to establish. One particularly jolly bunch were experimenting with a teeny bit of bondage, though we felt they could do better if they tied the bondee to the cross facing IN for the purposes of gratuitous violence.

By about one am the craving to beat someone ferociously was running so high in our party that the urge was caught even by Elisa and I... I had my big boots on so there was no reason not to go for it... The Domly one strode off and carried out a few auditions, returning a few minutes later with a wriggling subby boy hanging from between his teeth. Ha ha! Said subly boy was wearing a domly hat which we confiscated for the duration.

Trousers down, bottom up and the class could begin. The Domly one demonstrated the fine points of whipping technique... I must confess I paid less attention than I should... and when I took control of the whip it was a little mystifying. The first swipe nearly took the poor lad's head off, but with remedial assistance and special needs support I managed a fair battering at his frail form. Elisa, the supposed slave-ish one suddenly reincarnated as a howling tiger and gleefully brandished her own baby whip until the Domly one stepped in to rescue our victim.

He had a big smirk on his face, and staggered off, promising to return, even despite my threats to try out the cane on him!!

We then repaired to a more central area, namely the whipping bench where we carried out a series of gymnastic exercises. The Domly one seemed to have collected a full dance card, and before long was whipping his way through a select list of eager bottoms (small b and big B). Elisa in particular wept, wriggled and wailed her way through her turn in a most edifying way as Mark held her down firmly and I teased her from time to time by reminding her just HOW many people were watching.

When that was over, Mark had put various things in her bottom and diddled the poor girls bits until she was screaming even louder... At this point the First team stopped for a breather. I laid my hands on another pretty boy (dressed as a girl...) and had my way with the cane. I managed to poke a few aggravating men with it as they got too close and I can report for sure... give a girl a stick and I'll give you a Domme (to paraphrase the Jesuits somewhat).

The Domly one must have started worrying about demarcation because I was still engrossed in a bit of fondling of my handiwork when s/he was whisked off the bench and I was upended. I spent my normal half an hour or so beaming beatifically around, although my peaceful meditation was slightly marred by an unrequired knight in shining armour attempting to rescue me because I seemed to be getting hurt.

I must say, judging by the bruises I had on Monday, there must have been some pain potential in there, but it never actually descended on me, rather hovering above like a visiting succubus, waiting politely to see if it was needed.

Gamely, it hung around for round 6 (or whatever) as the Domly one gave Elisa a brisk caning under pretence of soothing her earlier injuries (another thing about sticks... never trust a Dom who is holding one and promising you first aid!!) and got its chance as Elisa pouted and protested once more.

By now I was happy just to sit wrapped in a little blanket feeling dreamy, but Elisa and a passing domme took various instruments to the bottom of my second victim (that will teach HIM to hang around after). There was then a brief interlude as we watched a half-naked amazon attack a rubber-suited man with venom..and another man receive a cut-price percussive vasectomy while chained to the St Andrew's cross.

Before we knew it, our pumpkin was at the gate and we were forced to rush away, leaving nothing but a silver buttplug, tumbled to the steps, fitting only the beautiful princess.

So... Club RUB... big, busy, trendy... but KINKY

(this article first appeared on the LondonFetishScene website)

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Sign me up!#1

I've sent off for my information pack on Club Rub and I'll be going along to one of their future parties - it sounds like my kinda place...

Incidentally, although I don't have any interest in playing with dungeon equipment, I would never use it as a seat... perhaps those who do should be regarded as volunteering to be whipped etc?! :)


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Re: Sign me up!#2

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