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Private Scenarios

October 12, 2021 by Tim Woodward

Sarah at my Office

Years ago, I had a building in an industrial centre in North Kensington, where I used to publish Skin Two magazine. One day, there was a hand written note on the mat among all the letters. It was from a woman called Sarah, who said she wanted to report to my office after dark to be caned. 

Obviously, no woman in her right mind would contact a total stranger and ask to be caned on a dark night! Clearly my staff were playing a trick. They were a great bunch, we were always having a joke. Well, I wasn’t silly enough to fall for that one. However, they all insisted it was nothing to do with them.  So maybe it was the Sunday papers setting me up; I had experience of that. They would send a young reporter who looked the part and the photographers would be hiding nearby, ready to jump out with flashguns blazing.

So I was ready for them. I made a date with Sarah, for one evening after work. I was going to pretend to be fooled, but then tell her to get lost. 

On the night, there was a tap on the office door. A pretty young woman in a short dress stood there. No flashguns, no reporters leaping from behind cars, just Sarah.

OK, I played along, led her up to my office told her to lift her dress and bend over my desk, ready for the cane. Sarah was naked under her dress. Not something she would do if it was a set-up. I told her to spread her legs, as I swished the cane through the air.  

Now, the cane hurts. If you love to be caned, you go into a mindspace like the fakir who walks on fire. Then it doesn’t hurt. For anyone else, it hurts. You can’t fake it. This was the moment for Sarah to jump up and say she was from the News of the World. Her last chance.

Then I saw, from between her legs, a thin silvery trail of liquid snaking down to the floor. Sarah was absolutely not faking; To my surprise, she was very excited.

I caned her, taking great care to judge her reactions and make it hard enough, but not too hard. Then, a peck on the cheek, she thanked me and she was gone.

I had no clue how Sarah knew that she would be safe. Maybe a close friend of hers knew of me; I will never know. I was thrilled to have been trusted and very pleased that it had clearly worked well for Sarah. 

They say the test of a good dominant is whether the submissive asks to come back another day. If so, I must have passed, as Sarah contacted me again a few weeks later.

**************************************************************

Sarah at Maida Vale Underground Station

Sarah was instructed to wait outside Maida Vale underground station on a warm autumn evening, totally naked except for a raincoat and heels. She stood against a wall, her raincoat tightly belted, looking like a spy from a 1960s spy movie. Or possibly a hooker.

My Jaguar glided to a halt. I was not inside. Instead were my two friends Julie and Louise, both wearing full military uniform, army caps pulled low over their eyes. Julie was driving, Louise in the back. The window slid down. “Get in the back” said Louise to Clare. 

The car swept away toward the West. Lisa opened Clare’s raincoat, exposing her breasts. Then, Louise handcuffed Clare and slipped a pair of wraparound ski glasses onto her. The glasses had been spray-painted, so the victim was totally blindfolded, unable to see a thing.

The Jaguar glided through the streets of West London to a large secluded house, where Julie and Louise led Clare without a word down the cold stone staircase into the cellar below, their heels clicking on the hard cellar floor. Clare’s raincoat was stripped away and she was blindfolded. Then, wearing only her high heels, she was chained naked and sightless to the wall. 

Louise and Julie left Clare on her own, looking tense, nervous and excited, while they came upstairs, where Louise’s husband and I were relaxing with a coffee, watching everything on hidden CCTV. Clare had no idea that Robert and I are nearby, but she trusted me and knew that, although nervous, she would be safe.

Maybe Clare felt a bit too safe when Julie and Louise went back down the the cellar and took off her blindfold. Standing with them was a man she had never seen in her life: Robert, dressed in black leather.

Robert, Julie and Louisa worked on Clare for a few hours. I watched her orgasm time after time. Finally she was blindfolded again and I entered the cellar. Another man, unseen, never speaking…

Finally, Clare was driven safely home to her flat in Maida Vale by Louise and Julie, who saw her to the door. Clare was covered in sweat, her makeup all over her face, tired and smiling broadly. Her boyfriend opened the door and she fell into his arms. 

The next day, Clare called me to say thanks. Her boyfriend had waited anxiously all evening and asked her “How was it”. She had replied “It was fantastic!!”

**********************************************

Sarah at Belgrave Square

My friend Amanda had a job which gave her access to to a fabulous house in Belgrave Square, one of the most exclusive addresses in London. Nobody actually lived there; it was the headquarters of a large organisation. However there was a private flat that senior executives were allowed to use when they needed to stay in town. 

Sarah had been instructed to present herself to this impressive address at nine o’clock one evening, long after everyone had gone home. Everyone except Amanda, who dressed in an expensive tailored suit and gleaming high heels, looking for all the world like something from a James Bond movie. 

Sarah had no idea what was waiting for her. She had never met Amanda. All she knew was to knock on the door and do what she was told.

Peeping from an upper window, I watched Sarah park her car and walk towards the big front door. She glanced left and right at the various embassy buildings around the square. Then rang the doorbell, as instructed.

Amanda stood before Sarah, looking fabulous, and said only three words – “come with me”. Amanda strode down a long hallway, her stilettos clicking on the polished floor, towards a massive boardroom with a long table and lines of chairs on each side. Amanda bent Sarah over the table, where a soft leather flogger was lying ready and lifted her skirt.

Sarah was never allowed pants or tights, only stocking and suspenders. I think Amanda was as excited as Sarah as she started the flogging, gently at first. After some time, when Sarah’s backside was pink and warm, Amanda led her over to a leather sofa in the corner.

Amanda used her tongue then her fingers, as Sarah moaned and orgasmed. Then, Amanda blindfolded Sarah as a strange man entered the room. Sarah never saw him and was never told who he was, although she may very well have guessed…

**********************************************

James and Karen at the Reliance bar in Hoxton, with Sophie in my flat in Fanshaw St

James and I had been friends for a while, but I had not met his new girlfriend, Karen. In fact, James had not mentioned me to Karen at all. She had no idea that I existed. James said this was because he had a plan to introduce us.

Karen was told to wear a very short skirt with thigh boots, go to the Reliance bar in Whitechapel and wait there. Nothing else. Not a thing. that’s all she was told.

I parked my old Jaguar outside the Reliance and walked purposely inside. Sitting at the bar was a woman on her own, in a short skirt and thigh boots, with a bottle of lager in her hand. I look the half-full beer from her, placed it on the bar and simply said “Come with me.” Leading Karen gently by the arm, I put her into the car and, still without a word, drove off.

My apartment in Fanshaw Street was a few minutes away. Just time for Karen to feel apprehensive and yet, at the same time, start to experience a mounting excitement. We entered the flat and I led Karen into the soundproofed dungeon room. Her eyes widened as she saw the black whipping bench with leather straps. They widened further as she noticed my girlfriend Sophie, in a corner. Sophie was wearing only stockings and heels. She was gagged, unable to speak and helpless, strapped into a black leather chair, looking fabulous; I loved her long red hair and piercing blue eyes.  

I gently stripped and blindfolded Karen, staying totally silent all the time, using one of my special Skin Two blindfolds.They work really well, with soft foam padding keeping all the light out. Karen was bent over the whipping bench, naked, legs spread apart, and left to wait. Her excitement was visible.

At this point, I turned on the music, stepped out to the hallway and closed dungeon door behind me. So Karen could not hear John very gently slide my spare door key into the lock and slip silently into the flat.

At this point, Karen is restrained naked over a bench, legs apart, in an apartment she knows not where, under the control of a total stranger, with a gagged redhead watching her. Where is her boyfriend John? She has no clue. I can tell that she is excited.

Karen is gently flogged. She moans with pleasure. She is used sexually. This goes on for some time, But it’s not me – I am making tea in the kitchen. The man pleasuring Karen is in fact her own boyfriend, John.

Finishing my tea, I re-enter the dungeon. Karen starts as she suddenly realises that now there are two strange men in the room with her. All is revealed as I untie Sophie and John removes Karen’s blindfold, then releases her from the restraints.

Karen has not at any time been touched intimately by me. But she is touched by John all right, as Sophie is now touched by me. All’s well that ends well.

**********************************************

Rachel as a birthday present

At a party some year sago, Rachel and her husband entered the room and greeted a few friends. I had never met them, but was immediately struck by Rachel. She was dressed in a business suit, wearing glasses, looking very much like a lawyer – which was exactly what she turned out to be. 

After only a few moments, Rachel stripped to her stockings and lingerie, hung her formal suit neatly – on a hanger! – and was restrained by three men, who proceeded to flog her. I was transfixed – whoever this woman was, I had to know her.

It turned out that Rachel was very friendly with a couple I knew, so we did indeed get to know each other and soon became good friends. In fact, Rachael became my regular birthday present…

Every year, around the time of my birthday, I would get a call from Chris, who was the very epitome of the upper crust city gent, complete with pin-striped suit, cut glass accent, a love of being caned, the lot. Now, Chris is a very kind man and every year he would call to suggest we have a drink to celebrate my birthday.

I would be invited to Chris’s lovely house in Kensington (he also has a place in the country) and he would pour us a birthday drink. Then, out of the blue – and a total surprise – Chris would say “actually, I have a little surprise for you”. He would show me into a side room, where a pretty woman was tied to a chair, blindfolded and wearing only stockings and heels.This was my present.

Happily, it was always Rachel, every year. She had simply been invited over to Chris’s place and told it was just for a drink and chat, nothing more. Being a highly educated lawyer, Rachel realised what was going on after the first couple of years… However, she played along and pretended to be surprised every year when I removed the blindfold. 

Rachel is married now and moved away from London. I think of her often and hope she is well and happy. 

* This scenario was organised for me, rather than by me. However, I though I would include it, as I remember it with such affection.

**********************************************

Helena as a pro dominatrix

Helena and her husband Bill arrived at our meeting in Covent Garden on a powerful motorcycle, both dressed from head to foot in black leather. Either they had replied to a personal ad of mine, or I had responded to an ad of theirs – I can’t remember now. I knew at once that were really nice people and couldn’t help but notice that Helena was strikingly beautiful.

Helena and Bill didn’t seem too impressed with me and they didn’t want to meet up again, so that was that. But we ran into each other at a party not long afterwards and things seemed to click this time. We quickly became friends. Then I moved to North London, very near their home and they came round with a bottle of wine on my first night there. We started to see quite a bit of each other.

Helena was very ‘North London’, clever, elegant, sophisticated and well connected. I once met a cabinet minister at her house. Her friends included famous actors; she and Bill were very much part of the ‘Cool Britannia’ Blair years. Unknown to their influential mates, Helena and Bill would often attend the Skin Two parties I organised. Bill helped me out with a scenario once at Miss Kim’s dungeon in Hackney. (He entered the room silently which a sub was restrained over a bench, then entered her via the ‘tradesman’s entrance’, as you do.)

Helena looked fabulous in a catsuit and heels and was quite the stunner at Skin Two. One day, she agreed to a request from a submissive guy – she was going to be a professional dominatrix for the afternoon. In the basement of my house, I had a large dungeon space, with a rack, whipping bench, prison cell, suspension harness, the lot. This was where her client was instructed to report.

We watched from my bedroom window as the taxi drew up. Helena looked gorgeous in her shiny rubber catsuit and heels. She went to the door and led the client downstairs. I had rigged up a baby monitor, just to be sure that Helena was safe. Helena’s performance was faultless. She was imperious and ruthless. The submissive could have had no idea that she had never done anything like this for money before. 

After a couple of hours, the client was shown the door. Helena kicked off her heels and bounded upstairs to my room, ripped off her catsuit and flung the money into the air, delighted with her one-off experience as a professional dominatrix. She phoned Bill, who was on tenterhooks to hear how she had got on. Later that evening, she treated Bill to the most expensive dinner in North London. 

**********************************************

Sinead at the Wicked club with Alex Cobra

Sinead is a distinguished civil servant. I picked her up just round the corner from parliament a few times. Sinead has a happy family and a responsible job. The desire to indulge herself sexually surfaces only occasionally. Far be it from me to argue with that.

One one of these occasions, when Sinead had an evening free, I said I would take her to a bar I knew in Southwark. Just that. Nothing more.

I parked and we strolled to a cobbled alleyway near London Bridge. It was quite dark and here was no sign of a bar. It was a misty evening, atmospheric, like something out of Jack the Ripper.

Sinead imagined the bar must be just around a corner; we would soon see the place. What she didn’t know was that a particularly eccentric fetish club promoter had set up a club called Wicked in this dingy alley. (It was in fact just beside Southwark Cathedral, which is why it didn’t last long, but that’s another story.)

Wicked was closed at this hour, but I knew that. My friend Jonathan was the Manager and he was prepared for Sinead and me. The door was open and in we went. Down a dark corridor and Sinead realised that something was up – this was not just a drink. She looked excited. We turned into a spartan room with bare brick walls. A single rope hung down from the ceiling, lit by a spotlight, with soft leather handcuffs attached, about six feet above the ground.

I instructed Sinead to remove her clothes, save only for her heels, and locked her slim wrists into the handcuffs. There she stood, arms above her head, naked, waiting.

Sinead knew well that she was safe under my control. So she was relaxed, though excited. She was quite a bit more excited as a total stranger strode into the room. It was Alex Cobra, a fit younger man, stripped to the waist, wearing leather trousers, carrying a bullwhip.

Time and again, Alex flicked the whip gently around Sinead’s naked body. She moaned with pleasure as it caressed her, leaving pink marks across her ass. (Alex is an expert.)

On my signal, Alex disappeared out of the room and into the night. I released Sinead from the leather handcuffs and she fell into my arms.

**********************************************

Sinead at my flat with Michael

I picked Sinead up near parliament, where she had been in an important meeting. Unknown to her, I had arranged a treat at my apartment in Hoxton. We cruised through the streets, Sinead looking more and more relaxed at the thought of a glass of wine and a cozy evening in.

At the flat in Fanshaw Street, I gently stripped Sinead, laid her down and spread her legs wide apart, strapped into a spreader bar. She was naked, exposed and vulnerable, feeling excited and happy.

Suddenly, a loud buzzing sound. It was only the building’s entry system, so that didn’t bother her. But, when I picked up the handset, what I said came as a bolt from the blue. “Oh yes Mr Carlton, she’s all ready for you.”

Sinead had forgotten that, ages ago, she had mentioned a fantasy of being sold as a slave girl. But I had not forgotten and I had made secret and careful preparations.

My apartment was on the third floor and Sinead had plenty of time to squirm in anticipation, naked and legs spread, wondering what Mr Carlton was going to do to her. I blindfolded her.

My friend Michael is a younger guy, handsome and experienced. Unknown to Sinead, I had given him detailed notes of what she liked. As he reached my door, her excitement mounted. He entered. Sinead, blindfolded, could hear but not see as he looked her and and down, just  as though she was a used car he was thinking of buying.

“Hmm, she looks OK. Fifty pounds, we said. Tell you what, I’ll give you sixty and I can do what I like?” I agreed and Michael handed me sixty pounds. By this time, Sinead was so excited, I thought she might orgasm before he touched her.

Michael bent down and gently removed the blindfold. Sinead told me later that she was thrilled at the sight of him. After some initial foreplay Michael released Sinead from the spreader bar and, to put it bluntly, fucked her senseless for ages. And ages. I watched closely, making sure that Sinead was safe and happy, her limits respected. (They went at it for so long that I did slip out to the kitchen and make a cup of tea though.)

Some time later, we all fell into a bar off Hoxton Square and spent the sixty pounds on some particularly nice wine.

**********************************************

Kandi in Hoxton

“Kandi” sent me three pages of A4 notes, explaining in detail what she liked, what worked for her and what did not. I assembled a team of trusted guys. We all studied her script carefully, noting her safe words and getting the feel of what turned her on and what didn’t.

A couple of days later, “Kandi” posted this online (all the words are hers, not mine)…

“A very hot Daddy arranged a private gangbang for me and 10 men showed up… when I walked in the whole venue was full of guys eyeing me and I was actually nervous. 

I was forcibly stripped naked and the whole group crowded around and called me a stupid cunt and dumb whore while they held me up in the air and spread my legs spread wide open, my bare pussy on display.

 I was led around naked in a collar and made to jiggle my tits and bend over and spread my ass. Then there were hours of being restrained legs open on a bed and fucked relentlessly in all my holes. 

They pinched my nipples and my clit while I screamed and writhed around. My pussy was flogged. I had to get down on my knees and kiss all their cocks while they spat on me. I deep throated cock after cock while they came on my face and in my mouth. 

By the end I begged to suck the organiser’s dick and he generously let me. It was so hot.”

**********************************************

Katrina at the BMFC

My friend Katrina like to be fucked by handsome black men. No romance. She’s doesn’t need to know their names; just fuck and go. The ideal place for this is The Black Man’s Fan Club, which meets at selected venues around the UK. The men are all vetted by Helen, the lovely organiser, and they are all polite, respectful guys. 

Many women go with their husbands, who like to watch. For them, it’s a couples thing. Katrina is single and a good friend, so I was happy to take her along. I took her to a BMFC evening at a favourite venue, the Old Hellfire Club, just to the West of London, near Heathrow. This venue has side rooms with windows, so onlookers can watch what’s going on. It’s ideal for what Katrina has in mind.

I take Katrina into a side room and close the door. I sit her down on the bed and unbutton her shirt, exposing her. She is very pretty and has fabulous long legs. Her skirt is very short. She is naked underneath. I spread her legs, so she is on display, like an expensive watch in a jeweller’s window. All may look, but few can touch.

By this time, a crowd of fit young black guys has gathered at the window. Katrina looks down submissively, not making eye contact with them. I scan the men and pick out two of the best looking ones. I don’t refer to Katrina at all; I don’t look at her or ask what she thinks – that would spoil it for her.

i take my time. Katrina is breathing heavily, full of anticipation. Then I ask one the guys “Would you like to fuck my friend?” Then a second guy. I let them into the room. Katrine takes down their trousers and sucks them slowly. They fuck her hard and long. 

I observe closely, staying cool but always making sure that condoms are used and Katrina is happy. When the two guys are exhausted, I thank them politely and we go the bar, where Katrina gets her breath back with a glass of wine. 

After a few minutes, we do this again. I choose three guys this time, still picking them myself, without even looking at Katrina. 

Later, we wander downstairs to an orgy room, where there’s a big double bed. Katrina wants a gang bang. I undress her and a crowd gathers. I pick out some nice looking guys, two or three at a time, and invite them to join her. Katrina’s long legs are soon flying. She is filled at both ends. One guy is fucking her so hard that his head is banging against at the wall. I spot a cushion and toss it over to him. He catches it with one hand and slips it behind his head, never stopping his thrusts into Katrina for a moment.

Later, I drop Katrina at her house in Richmond. She is exhausted, her hair and makeup is all over the place. She is smiling broadly. A happy girl.

**********************************************

The Spanish girl at the Porn Cinema

Out of the blue, I had an email from a woman saying her master had told her to contact me and ask me to take her to a porn cinema. I had no clue who she was or who her master was. It sounded like some fantasist – probably a sad and lonely man. However, I agreed to meet for coffee and a chat, half expecting it to be a waste of time. 

There used to be a very private porn cinema in a dingy basement in South London, hidden behind an anonymous shopfront. You pressed the buzzer and a little hatch opened. If they knew you or you seemed kosher, they let you in. I was known there and was let in free, having entertained them all a few times.

I arranged to meet Sofia at a coffee shop nearby, wondering whether she would turn up. A charming, attractive and polite Spanish girl showed up precisely on time and sat down to chat. She was confident and didn’t seem at all nervous. Apparently, her master had instructed that it was fine for random strangers to have sex with her, but he wanted one thing above all; she was to be sent home splattered with cum on her tits. That was their thing.

So we drank our coffee, walked over to the drab secret shopfront and pressed the buzzer. Inside, we descended the narrow stairway to a dimly lit dank room with a big screen showing porn. Through the murk, a few men could be seen, mostly wanking slowly to the porn. When a woman arrives, the etiquette is strict; the men show an interest, but do not crowd around unless invited. 

A handsome couple were fucking while the men watched but did not touch. We watched too and, after they had finished, I removed Sofia’s raincoat, undid her shirt and lifted her skirt, giving the men an exciting view. They gathered round, keeping a few feet away, stroking their cocks. I turned to the guys and said “we would love it if you’d like to cum all over her tits.” 

Sofia played with herself while eight or nine men walked over her tits, shooting loads of cum all over them. I let a couple of the men fuck her. Sofia orgasmed loudly. 

After Sofia got her breath back, I mopped the cum from her face, which was covered in it, but left it all over her tits, as her master had requested. Her shirt stayed open, loosely covered by by raincoat. Outside, I hailed a black cab and Sofia disappeared back to her master. 

I never heard from Sofia or her master again. It was strictly a one-off. I wonder whether they will read this.

**********************************************

Sarah at Chiswick bandstand

My friend Sarah is a surgeon, a wife and a mother, so she is always responsible. Whether at work or at home, there is no respite. OK, a wife and mother can make mistakes now and then. A surgeon simply can’t; there is just no room for the smallest error. Not that Sarah is complaining. She loves her life. She just needs to step away sometimes, just for an evening, and let her hair down. 

Knowing what Sarah likes, I organised a treat for her. I didn’t tell her the details, just that I would pick her up and take her somewhere – and to wear an old dress, nothing delicate. The old dress always gives a clue…

It was late on a warm Summer night, starting to get dark. Perfect. I drove down a narrow lane to a park on the outskirts of London. Sarah felt a tingle of excitement, but had no clue of exactly what was in store.

We parked near the deserted bandstand, where the Salvation Army sometimes entertains the families in the afternoons. Sarah was in for a different sort of entertainment. We strolled over to the bandstand in the gathering darkness and sat down.

Hidden nearby, waiting quietly, were my friend Christina and four trusted men. They pulled balaclavas over their heads, looking like bank robbers. All you could see was their eyes. Suddenly, out of nowhere, they strode into the bandstand. Sarah gave a start – surprised, but not entirely surprised…

Christina sat facing me, as if to chat, but her eyes scanned the darkness behind me, looking out for any late-night passers-by. I scanned the park behind her. A little dog – a Jack Russel I think – did scamper into the bandstand wagging its tail. It’s owner called from far away and it hurried off. Otherwise, we were not disturbed.

The four hooded men lifted Sarah’s dress, laid it down and fucked her senseless, again and again. They had been carefully briefed and knew exactly what she liked – and what she didn’t (which is even more important)

Much later, the men melted away into the night, taking Christina with them. Sarah never saw their faces or knew their names. To this day, she has no idea who they were. I drove Sarah home to her door, her hair and make up all over the place and a happy smile on her face. She fell into her husband’s arms and I daresay got fucked again, as off home I went.

Postscript …

Sarah received an experienced tailored carefully to suit exactly what she loved. Not what I loved, not what my little team loved, but what she loved. That is the one vital thing to remember when you do this stuff.

**********************

Carol, the Scottish Doctor at Clapham

Jerry invited me over to his place off Clapham Common, to help with his girlfriend’s fantasy. I had never met Carol, which was important to them both; they wanted a stranger she would never know in real life.

Jerry explained that Carol was a doctor working in an intensive care unit. She loved her job, but it was stressful and she occasionally liked to just let go and indulge her fantasy. Apparently, this involved an older man, a sort of uncle figure. So I put on a suit and headed to Clapham…

Carol must have been in her mid thirties, but in her fantasy she was Little Julie, a schoolgirl of thirteen and a half. In fact, I never met her as Carol; I only ever saw her as Little Julie. When I rang the doorbell, I was greeted not by Carol but by Little Julie. Every detail was perfect, the school uniform, the shoes, the hair in pigtails and most important of all, the girlish way of speaking. I greeted her as Uncle Tim. She never knew me as just Jerry’s friend Tim, not even for a second. The mask never slipped.

As Uncle Tim, I sent the evening chatting with Jerry, while Little Julie made the tea and served biscuits. It was explained to me that Little Julie had been a bad girl and, sadly, needed to be punished. It was for her own good, as she meekly agreed.

After tea and biscuits, Little Julie was punished. For quite a long time, in fact. After that, with a very pink bottom, she was allowed to thank Uncle Tim. 

As I left the apartment, Little Julie demurely said goodbye, her eyes cast down. Every detail of her clothing and her behaviour remained exactly that of a schoolgirl aged thirteen and a half. There was never the slightest hint of Carol, the highly professional doctor in her thirties.

The details can be so important. My favourite detail was Carol’s Scottish accent. I have no idea why.

**********************

Dina and Amir

Dina and Amir are a wealthy Lebanese couple with business interests in several countries. We met several years ago, when they attended one of my formal fetish dinner parties. They are a handsome couple, highly educated and charming. We became good friends and they shared their fantasies with me, thinking to act them out for real when they are in London.

Dina is educated, elegant and pretty, so it was no problem to find two handsome black guys to entertain her at her apartment off Sloane Square. (She has a thing for black guys – can’t think why…)

Soon, Dina, came up with something as a treat for Amir, who enjoys the cuckold role. For this, I enlisted the help of Mistress Elita Darling, a top-level, sophisticated and beautiful dominatrix. You can see her interviewed on my internet TV channel at https://kfstv.net/  

Dina and I didn’t tell Amir where we were going. He had no idea. I drove us to Elita’s place in Kensington and he was pretty impressed when Elita opened the door. She looked lovely.

Immediately, Elita instructed Amir to strip, which he did. Elita locked his cock into a chastity gadget, led him to her boudoir and put him, naked, into a cage. We left Amir there, helpless, while Elita, Dina and I had tea.

Elita took Dina gently by the hand and led her through to the boudoir, where there was a big double bed with silk sheets. Elita gently teased Dina with a soft suede flogger as Amir could only watch from the cage, his cock firmly locked. The two women pleased each other for an hour or more, while I left them to it. (I slipped across the road to read the paper in a coffee shop.)

They texted and I returned to the apartment. Dina was a bit breathless, but very happy. She unlocked Amir’s cage, undid the chastity lock, threw his clothes at him and ordered him to dress. 

I dropped Dina and Amir back at Sloane Square. I could tell that he was pretty desperate to orgasm, but I have no idea when Dina allowed it

***********************

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Doxy Die Cast 3R, the Rolls Royce of massagers…

September 14, 2020 by Tim Woodward

Do you remember the famous Hitachi Magic Wand? Launched in the USA in 1968, it was supposed to be for relieving muscular tension, but very soon became the world’s most famous sex toy. Women discovered that they were far better than any man for powerful orgasms any time you like and bought them by the truckload all over the world. Now, you can buy similar “massagers” in hundreds of different designs and very shape and size you can imagine. There’s even one shaped like the rubber duck in your bath. Most are plastic, made in China. Millions of women have tried several of them, with varying results

The Doxy is different. For a start, it is made in Cornwall, England, using parts sourced from around Cornwall. Yes, Cornwall. If you need to claim on your guarantee, if you fancy adding an attachment or if you have a query, you won’t have to go to China

Click on the photo to order your Doxy

Doxy massagers are very powerful and very well made; they are far superior to the cheap Chinese products. I have had a couple of them for years and they are very popular at my Chardmore Society play parties.

Now, although the Doxy is powerful, it is totally adjustable, so you don’t have to use it at full strength if you don’t want to;. Sometimes, less is more – but the power is there when you feel the need. That’s why the Doxy was originally mains powered – so the full oomph is available when you want it. However, advanced technology now means you can also get a rechargeable Doxy and mine has arrived…

Click on the photo to order your Doxy

The top of the range is the Doxy Die Cast 3R. It is rechargeable and forget crappy plastic – this is made from die cast metal. The people at Doxy have sent me one in metallic electric blue. It looks fabulous. (You can choose matte black if you must.) The Doxy even comes in a silver metal storage tube – how cool is that!

Click on the photo to order your Doxy

Your Doxy Die Cast 3R can be fully charged in just four hours, using the USB cable provided. When the red light on the power button disappears, you’re ready to go for up to one hour at the highest setting. (Just keep it away from the bath; the Doxy is not waterproof.) You can experience a gentle 3,000 rpm speed or go right to to a powerful 9,000. Or just hold down the power button for three seconds for an exciting pulse setting. Do you know a man who can do this? Didn’t think so…

Click on the photo to order your Doxy

The Doxy Die Cast 3R is not cheap – it’s £147.99. However, you can spread the cost, making only 3 easy payments of £49.33. There is no charge for the credit , which is a no-brainer, surely. Just choose the ‘Klarna’ option when you check out. Buy yours here

So, whether you’re off to one of the big weekends in Berlin, London or As well as the vibrator itself, there are several extra attachments. I have the rabbit and clitoral stimulator for women and there’s also a prostate stimulator and masturbator sleeve for men. Find them all on the Doxy website here

The mains powered Doxy is still available, in plastic or metal in two sizes and some cool colours, from only £89.99

Click on the photo to order your Doxy
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What Happens at the Play Parties?

December 17, 2019 by Tim Woodward

The Chardmore Society Play Parties take place in an old vicarage in Sutton, South London, currently on Thursday evenings and Friday afternoons. We are a friendly little group – many of us know each other socially, outside of the parties. Newcomers always find us very friendly and they quickly feel relaxed. There is definitely not a hardcore atmosphere and there is never any pressure to play. So what exactly does happen at these parties?

When you arrive, one of us (usually me) will show you around the vicarage and introduce you to a few people. There’s a kitchen, where you can store any booze you have brought along. (We don’t sell drink, so please bring your own.) You can also make tea and coffee – we do provide that! There will usually be people socialising in the kitchen, just as they do at any party. 

Then we will show you to a big lounge, where people sit and chat. There will be a suitable DVD playing, but no loud music. A hallmark of The Chardmore Society is that you can chat without having to raise your voice. You can actually meet and make friends with people.

There is a dungeon, with quite a lot of BDSM equipment, including a whipping bench, cage and St Andrews Cross, etc. Soft atmospheric music plays. You can practise bondage, spank your slave, put them on the cross or in the cage. If you need it, help and advice is available from us. Otherwise, we are happy to leave you alone.

These play parties are open to all sexualities, submissive or dominant, male or female, straight, bi or gay. We are a very mixed bunch and we like it that way. Expect around 20 people.

Then there are four other rooms, which would originally have been bedrooms. I usually put some item of BDSM equipment into these rooms. My favourite is the motorbunny, which is like a superior version of the sybian. Women love the motorbunny; you can see it here https://kfsmagazine.com/motorbunny/  If you bring a smartphone, you can download the free app and find the right rhythm to send your partner into ecstasy.

There’s also a changing room. These parties have no particular dress code. You can come as you are, by all means. Having said that, quite a few people like to change into a fetish outfit, which I encourage. It’s fine if you like to dress up, undress or cross-dress. T-girls are welcome, as are dominatrixes, adult schoolgirls with their hair in bunches – whatever you like. There’s a shower that you are welcome to use and plenty of clean towels. Just in case you get a bit sweaty…

You can wander around the rooms, chat with other couples or singles, just generally hang out. You may want to play with people you meet, but that’s up to you – there is no obligation to do anything at all with anyone. Just relax and have fun.

What else? Well, there are rules…

* No smoking or vaping in the building, of course.

* No drugs of any kind at all – don’t even think about it. 

* No photography. (The photos here were taken at the vicarage, but after the party had finished) 

* If you want to play with someone, feel free to ask politely but, if they decline, no means no. 

* If you are playing in one of the rooms, don’t lock the door. Someone might like to come in and then it’s up to you to wave them away, or allow them to watch, or even invite them to join in if you like. Your choice.

If you would like to go onto my “Chardmore Society” party mailing list, or if you have any questions. just email me at  chardmoresociety@icloud.com

Tim Woodward

  • Danni & Tim
  • Danni Having Fun
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BDSM Guidelines for Play

September 14, 2017 by Tim Woodward

59748

BDSM Guidelines for Play

These are a few notes intended primarily for the submissive, who wants to play with a new partner and needs to feel safe. It might also be useful for the dom who wants to give their sub a great time, but would like a few tips.

Let’s say that you have met a new BDSM partner – or someone you hope will be a BDSM partner. If you like to take the submissive role, you want to make sure you will be safe. If you like the dominant role, you want to make sure your new sub knows that they will be safe with you. Here are a few suggestions, which I hope will help you avoid disappointment or disaster…

When meeting a new potential play partner, always meet in a public place, just for a chat. A noisy fetish club doesn’t count – even if you played a little there. You need to communicate properly. Don’t meet in a dingy pub down a dark alley at night. Meet in a quiet and well lit public place, in daytime. (Lunchtime is good, as it gives you a good excuse to leave if you need it.)

Make it clear that you won’t play on first meeting. If you feel you need to be careful, don’t give out your phone number yet. Use an anonymous form of contact, like kik. Otherwise, create a private email address just for this sort of thing.

If you then agree to play at a subsequent meeting, you need a form of contact that is not anonymous. Make sure you have each other’s phone number and email, so you have proper ID.

Subs must have a friend to act as a safe call for the first session at least. Tell the dom this. If they are not OK with it, walk away. Call your friend before you play and tell them the address. Tell them exactly when you will call again after you part company with the dom. If they don’t get your second call, they should alert the police. Never be embarrassed to call the police. If you need to do it, do it.

Before you play, your need to communicate frankly with each other. Sub and dom need to  have a good idea of what is going to work and what isn’t before you start a play session.

Subs please note – your dom is not a mind reader – they need to know what turns you on. So tell them. You might find it easier to do this by email, rather than face-to-face. Be honest and specific. Do you love being spanked? Have you always wanted to try rope bondage? Do you absolutely hate needles? What if the dom suddenly produces some sharp needles while you are restrained?!  Don’t hope your dom will guess these things – always tell them.

Send your dom a few ideas of your own – the sort of thing you would love to do. If it is practical and if your dom also also likes the idea it might happen. It might be fun.

Doms – interrogate the new sub. Get them to tell you freely about the stuff that thrills them – and the stuff that really turns them off. (They might even enjoy being interrogated.)

On the day, don’t worry if you try something and don’t like it much – that’s allowed. Share this with each other. Likewise, if something works really well for you, say so. Your partner will love to hear that.

Always agree and remember your safe words, which might be…

Green = I love this. More please!

Amber = No need to stop, but just take it easy.

Red = STOP!

Always play safe. Use latex gloves, lube, condoms, etc. Clean surfaces before and after a session with anti-bacterial spray or wipes. If you have any medical condition, or just a strong preference, always tell.

Remember that your agreement may well change according to the setting or circumstances. You might have one set of rules for your primary partner and another set for a casual play partner. You might have one set of rules for a discreet private scene and another set for public play at a party. So make sure you both understand any changes before a new scene.

OK, here are some specific questions for the dom to ask, or the sub to tell even if they are not asked …

Do you prefer total privacy, or are you OK to play in a semi-public setting, like a BDSM clubs or party?

What about involvement with other people – do you like your dom to offer you to other doms, or to have you play with other subs? If so, are you bisexual? To what extent?

BDSM does not necessarily mean that you have sex with your partner. Do you want to have sex with them? Or just blow jobs? What about anal sex? Make sure the dom knows this!

Do you like to be led around on a collar and leash?  Naked?

Bondage? Japanese rope bondage? Or leather straps?

Butt plugs, strap-ons, nipple clamps? Blindfolds?

Fucking machine? Sybian?

Electrics, TENS unit – what exactly?

Sub naked, while the dom is fully dressed?

If you are a female sub, do you like to be taken to special BBC clubs and given to selected fit young well hung black guys, while the dom looks on? (Just thought I’d ask…)

Watersports?

What are your fantasies? Some might be great left as fantasies – but others might be suitable to do for real. Tell your dom. It will give them an insight into you. You might find they share some of them. You might even find that they will act some of them out with you.

Staying Safe

I never do drugs, knives, needles, blood or unsafe sex. If your dom suggests any of that and you are not totally OK with it, walk away. If they drink alcohol before or during play, walk away. If rope bondage is involved, make sure that the dom has suitable scissors to hand for quick release if needed. If you just simply feel uncomfortable, walk away. Don’t feel you have to go through with something if it doesn’t feel right. You don’t.

As for breath restriction, inhaling gas, or anything even potentially dangerous, well, some things are best left as a fantasy…

All this might seem a bit boring. Maybe you think taking the spontaneity out of the thing will reduce the fun. Not so. When you know you are in safe hands, you can really let yourself go. If you like it rough, a good dom will be able to play-act convincingly, which will be much more fun than the real thing…

P.S. These tips are purely personal. They are based on decades of experience, but I bet you know something I don’t. Maybe you have a useful suggestion, or you spotted something I should add? If so, please email to tim@kfsmedia.com

Tim Woodward

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Safe Dogging

September 7, 2017 by Tim Woodward

I had often liked the idea of dogging. Going along to a dark car park in the woods, having sex with random strangers – there’s something deliciously rude about it.

Once, I even went to a secluded car park near the river in West London that was supposed to be a dogging spot. At least, that’s what I found on the web. I was full of anticipation. It was late at night and pretty dark. A car cruised in slowly and my girlfriend grabbed my arm. “That looks like a couple. What do you think? Is that a couple?” The car parked up. Two elderly gentlemen got out. They had big bags of something with them – what on earth was that? The two fellows went over to the riverbank, set up little chairs and started to fish. They were anglers, not doggers. We went home.

Much later, I was at Richmond BDSM, my local kink meet-up, for drinks at a pub near me. Catriona was amazed that I had never been dogging and offered to take me in hand. It was summertime and quite warm. A few days later, off we went to a car park in Surrey that Catriona knew. This was not new to her…

There were a few other cars already parked, with a couple or two and several single men. Just sitting in their cars, listening to the radio or reading a paper. It all perfectly innocent, unless you knew. I sensed an air of waiting for something hanging in the air.

Briefed by Catriona, I had brought condoms and a dogging blanket. This latter item is sold in hardware stores as a “picnic blanket” and it has a waterproof side that you put down on the ground, with a soft side that goes uppermost. They fold up into a handy roll, with handles, for carrying. Best not to ask for a “dogging blanket” in the shop.

We chatted by our car for a minute, so that Catriona’s miniskirt and my dogging blanket were not lost on the inhabitants of the nearby cars. Then we strolled slowly into the woods, pausing to make sure we were easy to follow. Sure enough, two men decided that was the very moment that they also fancied a stroll.

As soon as we found a fairly secluded spot, we spread our blanket and Catriona made sure that she looked suitably alluring. The two fellows approached, then paused at a polite distance. (I came to learn that this is correct dogging etiquette.)

I gave them a friendly wave and gestured towards Catriona, felling rather like a car salesman pointing out a nice convertible with low mileage, in a fetching shade of blue.

Catriona was enthusiastically“spit roasted” by the two guys, who went at it like two dogs at a particularly juicy bone, pausing only for a few moments after I warned of an elderly lady passing by with her spaniel. As soon as she had gone, play was resumed.

My first dogging trip was an experience and a success. All the same, the obvious downside is that you have absolutely no idea who is going to emerge from the woods. Maybe some nutters, maybe a rapist, some one out of his head on drugs – how do you know? So I left it as a one-off experience. Until, a year or two later, Gary and Emma asked whether I fancied joining them one sunny afternoon.

Now, Gary and Emma are friends, nice people and always up for fun. Emma wanted to try dogging and they needed someone to hold their hand. It would have been churlish to refuse. Off to the woods in Surrey again.

Emma is lovely and had no trouble at all attracting admirers. She entertained three guys in the woods while I kept watch, then paused for a rest before taking on another two. Great fun, although I had the same misgivings about safety.

My fears were amplified soon afterwards, when another couple attracted quite a crowd of random men one dark night. The woman was very obviously having a great time, but was her husband certain that condoms were being used by everyone? How did he know that there would be no trouble? I mean, this was a dark night in the woods. Again, how safe was all this? Hmmm, food for thought…

How to keep the excitement and yet make everything safe? Of course, that’s the very essence of safe, sane and consensual kinky sex. So I came up with a plan.

Safe dogging is when you assemble a crew of anything from three responsible people upwards. They don’t have to be close buddies, but you do need their names, email addresses and phone numbers. You need to trust them, so don’t go with anyone who only uses anonymous apps like kik. Know who they are.

It’s necessary to have couples and women, of course, but do also have a few single guys. The women like that, obviously.  (And there’s safety in numbers.)

Then, plan a scenario that works for the women. If they don’t have a great time, the evening will be a washout. Meet up at a designated time and place. Maybe do role-play. Men in hoods or masks? Bondage, gang bangs? Give the women a chance to fulfil their fantasies in what feels like an exciting situation (but is actually perfectly safe).

Always have at least one person on lookout duty. If someone comes along, a birdcall whistle is ideal to warn everyone discreetly. I use an “Acme” peewit whistle, available online, which works fine.

Don’t forget the condoms, lube and dogging blanket. Make sure everyone knows the limits. What does she like and – more importantly – what does she dislike? Know her limits and make sure everyone else knows. For example, if she doesn’t like it in the tradesman’s entrance, the guys need to know.

My own little group meets at a swinger club in West London, just so everyone knows everyone. Then, later that evening, everyone who feels inclined heads off to a secret location. If anyone wants to bail out, that’s fine. We call it “safe dogging” and it’s all the fun without the risk.  You know it makes sense.

For more information on my events, email to –

chardmoresociety@icloud.com

P.S.

I love this hilarious song about dogging…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXzaVOk_Ydk




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A Few of My Fetish Parties

April 26, 2016 by Tim Woodward

The  Skin Two Rubber Ball

Back in 1992, my friend Michelle was working with me on Skin Two magazine and one day she had a bright idea. Now, Michelle is bright and fun and I usually like her ideas a lot. This was no exception.

Back then, we had run various parties in London under the Skin Two banner but, believe it or not, there was no big international fetish party. The modern scene was more or less focussed on London back then. Most other big cities around the world had almost nothing at all. Paris, Berlin, Tokyo and New York had hidden undergrounds on a small scale, but Michelle was thinking bigger than that. She planned the word’s first really big international celebration of fetish glamour, the Skin Two Rubber Ball.

Hammersmith Palais was packed with visitors from all over the world – on a Monday night! They came from Tokyo, New York, Los Angeles, Australia and across Europe and the UK. Truth to tell, we were way over the building’s legal capacity. Our Production Manager, Nic Marchant, still swears we had four thousand people. We raised loads of money for charity, the local police were super-friendly and the publicity for the fetish scene was massive and very positive. Jean Paul Gaultier was there – you can see his photos in the book. Yes, there was a book of the event and even a film. We were in all the papers, on TV, the works.

sk2-rubberball-08-vert1

The international fetish scene as we now know it was born that night. George from Northbound Leather in Toronto stayed at my house and went home saying Canada had to have something like the Skin Two Rubber Ball. Soon afterwards, I was at at George’s own party with three thousand kinky Canadians in one room. Glenn from Fetish Factory in Fort Lauderdale came too and he also went home fired with passion to do the same thing in the Florida sun. Today, his event is probably the biggest and best fetish party in the USA. Then came German Fetish Ball in Berlin, Fetish Evolution in Essen, Démonia in Paris, Bal des Supplices in Lyon, and all the rest. We were invited to do two parties at Sydney University in Australia, we sponsored San Francisco Fetish Ball for several years. We did eight years in Atlanta, Georgia. What had we started?!

Some of my favourite memories from the Skin Two Rubber Ball are Nic Marchant’s fabulous stage shows – I’ve still not seen anything nearly as good at a fetish event. Then there was the posse from Essex who arrived in a tank – really, a tank – and parked outside the Palais. The tank driver was dressed in a latex dalmation suit, white with black spots, a back nose, tail and floppy ears. Not terribly military. Officers from the police station next door struggled not to giggle. Drag queens alighted fro stretch limos. Traffic in Hammersmith came to a standstill.

One of my favourite Skin Two Rubber Ball memories was the time Brian the security chief came to me with an anxious look on his face. A young American guy had complained that he had been sexually assaulted and wanted the police to be called. What were we going to do? I hurried to the back room and found a pretty French girl in floods of tears. She was the one who the American claimed had assaulted him.

In her charming French accent, she explained that she had liked the look of him and tried to pick him up. No harm in that, surely? Most young men would be flattered. Not this one, though. The young American was furious, saying that she had offered him poppers to sniff. He was very anti-drugs and highly offended. I tried to calm him down, pointing out that the French girl had meant no harm, she was now in floods of tears and very apologetic; it was hardly a matter for the police. Still he insisted on making an issue out of it. Then I had an idea.

Hammersmith police station was just a few steps from the venue, so I said “OK, I will walk you there myself and we will tell the police all about this.” Brian’s face fell. The last thing he wanted was to bother the local police with this. Or with anything, probably…

As we walked from the room, I whispered an aside to Brian. How would it be if he fetched the French girl’s coat, made sure she had cab fare, and put her in a taxi? He smiled and, seconds after we walked over to the police station, she was gone, away into the night.

As we approached the desk sergeant at Hammersmith nick, he did his best not to laugh. (I was wearing the full uniform of a San Francisco motorcycle cop.)

The sergeant studiously ignored my get-up and asked how he could help us. When I explained that the American was complaining about being approached by the cute French girl, he tried his best to take us seriously and went off to fetch a form. I’m sure he brought us the longest and most complex form they had. This boy was no fool. The American, clearly under the impression that he was reporting the crime of the century, took the officer’s pen and started to write his crime report.

I looked at the officer. The officer looked at me. We understood each other. I left the American to it. I’m sure that form hit the wastepaper basket in the back office very shortly afterwards. At any rate, the French girl  was long gone by then.

A few years later, after Hammersmith Palais closed down, we ran the Skin Two Rubber Ball at several other venues for a few years. It was fun and we made a weekend out of it, with a daytime fair and supporting events. Finally though, I felt I had been there seen it, done it and got the t-shirt. Similar events had started in other big cities across the world, the international fetish scene was well under way and our job was done. No point in re-inventing the wheel – it was time to move on.

Or so I thought. Much as I like to think I’m a Londoner, (my Mum was a cockney) I was actually born in the Midlands. I love the friendly vibe of the fetish/BDSM scene in the North and Midlands and had long been friendly with Terry of The Events – he’s been running events for as long as me. Rather than pose in the frantic London clubs, I would often slip away to Manchester or Birmingham for fun. One day, Terry suggested that Leeds was really a party town and there was nothing big going on fetish-wise, so why didn’t we get together. Here we go again…

Last time I had been in Leeds, an indoor lavatory was considered an effete indulgence suitable only for pouffy Southerners. But Terry knows his stuff and I got on the train. My God, Leeds has changed. The venue Terry had chosen was very cool. Not far from Harvey Nichols, round the corner from some posh hotels, charming and helpful staff, all a long way from the dodgy geezers who run London clubs. (I could tell you a tale or two about them, but prefer not to grass, due to preferring to stay in good health, thanks.) Leeds does have a Northern character though; on Fridays and Saturdays, gangs of drunken girls in white stilettos and skimpy dresses hang out of white limos, singing (usually different) songs while waving half-full bottles of cheap Cava at passers-by. I absolutely love it.

So Skin Two North was born – later changed to our new brand of KFS North. Much smaller than the old Skin Two Rubber Ball, we’re talking around four hundred people. That feels just about right. Local DJ Paul Domaster joined the team and we expanded to Birmingham with KFS Midlands. It’s fun and a growing number of Londoners, jaded with the huge, impersonal scene down South, are coming up to join us. Fetish folks come from Scotland, Cornwall, East Anglia. We’ve started something – again.

Having gone from four thousand to four hundred people – a long and winding road, via Hammersmith, San Francisco, Atlanta and Sydney University to Leeds – you’d think there was nowhere left to go. Only it didn’t turn out quite like that. Enter The Chardmore Society…

****************************

The book of the Skin Two Rubber Ball is available in digital form at www.KFSMedia.com. The film is available on KFSTV.net

The Chardmore Society is at www.ChardmoreSociety.com

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