Freaky friday? Depends on your tastes ...
“We’ve got another Louie ... Vanilla,” purred a disciple who’d poured herself into a patent-leather corset and thigh-high boots for a Friday-night romp. Eyes were set on the bare-chested contestant tethered eagerly with leather wrist cuffs to a rectangular wooden “crossmember play-station,” ready for his spanking. In bondage parlance, “vanilla” refers to someone who isn’t “in the lifestyle,” per se.
“Fetish Fridays,” held at Bond’s 007 Rock Bar, is a new venue for BDSM (Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, and/or Masochism) enthusiasts throughout the city, cultivating a community within which to meet other like-minded folks — and maybe get in a flogging or two.
Organized in part by the Lady Norma of Fyrechylde boutique — specializing in custom corsets — the upstairs “play” room of Bond’s is a safe locus to satiate deep-seated appetites for domination and submission. The main tenet of BDSM is the barter of power; it infiltrates lifestyles, becoming a daily reality. Exploring the ceiling of one’s sexual desires can be intense, and those with an affinity for BDSM wholeheartedly welcome the surge, accenting the experience with tools, toys, and ample leather.
A burly gentleman in gladiator-esque garb, low-lights, profuse black vinyl, and fishnet stockings greeted my companion and me as we entered the densely erotic nest. Beelining to the bar for something familiar, we took our beloved “black magic” brew to a corner table, ready to be gracious spectators for the evening.
“Do ya’ll have masters?” an inquisitive member asked early on.
An abashed “No?” with furrowed brows was all we could muster in our confusion. We were obviously ill-prepared, lacking vinyl corsets.
Throughout the evening, our conversations were punctuated by the sharp crack of leather bullwhips, the light flap of cat-o-nine-tails against bare skin, and shrill yips like the barks of a terrier. Collared submissives and their dominant masters promenaded like peacocks, and at several points, “sensual spankings” — a warm lap beneath a bare rump with gentle slaps and soft touches to the cadence of any given techno song — were administered to a woman splayed across the knees of an older gentleman. For the more adventurous, the inevitable role-reversal abounded, as an unassuming domme (a dominant woman, in BDSM-speak) dressed in a pale-blue, ankle-length dress used a flickerwhip to flog a gentleman as he stood, legs shoulder-width apart.
Although the dance floor was empty for the majority of the evening — save for a few who writhed to the repetitive beats — it served as a forum for short tutorials on the correct use of the bullwhip, as well as how to execute the perfect angle to produce that unmistakable ear-piercing snap.
For no cover and free parking, “Fetish Fridays” is a worthwhile escapade (the cash-only bar helps you preserve anonymity while you wade through indulgence). You may even get a little help on your spanking technique, which can never hurt.
Well, maybe a little.
Francesca Camillo
