On Monday night I attended the "Serious Bondage Exploratorium" held at GLINT; my favorite kinky community center. I've gone on here about what a great place GLINT is in other posts but Yin has really created a friendly, safe, fun haven for kinksters of all stripes to meet, share, and learn. From rope bondage and writing to chit chat and pervy show and tell; GLINT for me is an extraordinary sum gain that has far more value than any of its enchanted individual parts.
The evening was part extreme bondage demo and part try-it-on-for-size. Yin presided as chief conjurer and was ably assisted by a coterie of experienced sous-wizards among them the legendary Erin Houdini and the dashingly dominant Sir Tony. The Exploratorium began with a demonstration by Yin of serious bondage technique. Erin, an immensely talented escape artiste served as the quite comely canvas for Yin's handiwork.
As she expertly ensnared Erin, Yin shared useful and facinating tips which were at once focused on the safe, the salient, and the oh-so-sexy. Meanwhile, at every turn, Erin tested the technique of our host. They were a fine pair; punctuating the lesson with laugh out loud humor. Fists wrapped in ace bandages were entombed in beautiful black leather, over the elbow, restraint sleeves. Brilliant red rope left a hog-tied Houdini to struggle in glorious, wriggling, gallantry in her never ending effort to valiantly free herself. This memorable demo went on for the better part of an hour.
Then Yin bought out her boxes, and crates, and steamer trunks full of gorgeous, custom made bondage gear. I swear it was Christmas morning for kinksters! For some strange reason, despite the fact that I've never really played seriously with it, I was magnetically drawn to metal. Dangerous and deeply sexual, metal just is and won't move.
I had come straight from the office and was wearing my slim cut Hugo Boss navy suit made of space age fabric that magically never wrinkles, a crisp white Charles Tyrwhitt dress shirt, and a dark blue bow tie with little sky blue dots on it. Yin had earlier pronounced me "dapper".
Sir Tony rigged up a steel head bondage globe thingy on a chain hoist and suspended it at the exact point my neck meets my shoulders. He locked my head into its menacing darkness. It was hot and humid in there instantly. There were little holes to let tiny shards of light in; or more ominously to allow the dominant to insert a prod here or a poke there. Tony maintained a running dialog with me about how everything felt. He pointed out that my sense of feeling would instantly be enhanced as my sight and hearing were now impeded by this perverted Diver Dan hat. He took a sound and ran it down my chest and then up my inner thigh. Oh yeah...
Then I was free. For the moment.
As I loitered by the gag box leering at the inflatable funnel gag, Yin came up to me and grinned.
"You know, you look so good in your bow tie. But I know what would just perfectly accessorize your outfit."
"Really?", I sputtered, barely disguising my glee.
"Yes, I think my iron mask would compliment your bow tie beautifully."
She grabbed a striking piece that I had noticed earlier. Made of matte silver colored cast alloy strips welded into a wide, cross hatched, head piece; the mask, complete with a nose and neck taper, looked like a full metal head. I followed her into The Pit.
Now I've read about The Pit. In her writings, Yin has described how she uses The Pit in session. It's a small, confining, dark little holy space separate from the rest of the studio. As she lay the mask on the floor and told me to kneel she described how she has playmates she knows well simply strip and lie back, placing thier heads into the iron mask. She then leads them in, attaches a chain to the top of the mask and fixes it to the point where The Pit's wall meets its polished hardwood floor.
And then in pitch black darkness she simply leaves them; the cold echos of her heels click clacking away.
She locked my head into the mask. At first my left ear didn't want to cooperate and was pinched by the hinge. I yelped and she calmly told me to just place my nose on the mask's schnoz. The bite of the metal reminded me that it held the unmistakeable allure of danger. Yin explained she was going to leave me, but this was not a scene. I should just yell, "Hey You, come get me!" if I was uncomfortable.
A second later I was in the dark, on all fours, with a heavy metal mask locked on my head. The weight of my steely captor was chained to the floorboard and though I could move around, I felt a little like a junkyard mongrel - kept around only for an owner's hidden purpose.
Periodically Yin would breeze in to check on me. Once she brought a foam pad for me to kneel or lie on, as the length of chain would not even allow me to sit up. Her form of mercy she said as she swept back out into the bustle of the well lighted studio.
I swiftly rejected her kind offer of lenity and went back to communing with the shiny, unforgiving wood. I experimented with the range of movement and the heaviness of the iron mask. I slid around, lay on my side, sprawled on my back. Gradually, I went somewhere else and in the religious alchemy of The Pit lost track of all my troubles and cares.
When she came in to let me go I was in full Child's Pose, head and mask against the floor. Yin gently knelt next to me and whispered that I'd really gone into full submissive mode.
A gesture of respect for the room, for her, and for all the wonder she had brought us that night.
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