Sunday, November 6, 2011

The Citadel

It's my birthday today!
And you know what Husband gave me for my birthday gift?
A visit to SF Citadel.

The SF Citadel is a renowned dungeon. It's also, as far as I'm aware, the only open dungeon in the SF Bay Area and Silicon Valley.
I'd been talking with Husband about going, mentioning it in conversation here and there, but the timing never seemed right. Also, Husband is about as social as a Christmas Tree, and the idea of being thrust into a large room full of unknown people and having to "mingle" didn't exactly make him giddy with joy.
But with my birthday coming up, he decided to take the plunge, and planned the evening on his own. He spoke to the babysitter, looked all the information up online, where to park, how much it costs, etc. Then he told me this was it.

It was pouring as we drove to San Francisco. The traffic was terrible. I was so worried about him getting us into an accident, I forgot to be nervous about what he would do to me once we got there.
But as we pulled off the 101 and circled onto Mission street, my nervousness came back full force. I had no idea how the evening would go, but I knew what was packed in our bag: the wrist cuffs and leather straps; my new collar; the light flogger, which Husband had made himself; the paddle; and one of Husband's favorite hair brushes. He was wearing his belt, so that also remained at his disposal.
I was wearing a knee-length, hip hugging black skirt, and underneath that, a pair of thigh-high stockings that were fastened to a garter belt, leaving the tops of my thighs and much of my bottom bare. I had on a pair of black panties, but they were thin and barely covered anything. Husband had told me to wear something that would give him "easy access," and I hoped what I was wearing fit the bill.

We had scheduled to be at the Citadel by 8:00 exactly, but with the rain, we were about twenty minutes late. The place was pretty crowded as we walked in. They told us afterwards it was "new people" night, and many of the people around us were new timers, too. Husband tied my collar around my neck, attached the leather strap that would serve as a leash, and we meandered around, taking in the sights.

It was obvious many of the people there already knew each other. They were clustered in little groups, talking animatedly. But that was okay. Husband and I sat together, drinking it all in: women dressed in corsets and nighties, men covered in layers of leather, and some people wearing next to nothing.
"Are you okay?" I asked Husband.
"Yeah. You?"
"What do you want to do now?"
"I don't know."
"Well, why did you want to come here?"
"So you could spank me and make me scream."
"So why aren't we doing that?"
"I didn't want to ask you, you know, if you feel too uncomfortable."
He sighed. "Where do we go to do that?"
He stood up and pulled me up by the leash. "Get the bag. Let's go."

Downstairs was not as crowded as upstairs. The St. Andrew's Crosses were in use, as were some of the tables. A woman was being flogged in one of the cages, standing up. Somehow, we both were drawn to that scene.
"I want that," I said.
"Yes," Husband answered.
We got lucky: a minute later, the couple vacated the cage, and Husband and I took temporary ownership.
Picture taken off Citadel website. See that cage against the wall, by the table? That was "our" cage.
He put the cuffs on my wrists, took the leather strap off my collar, and used it to bind my wrists around the bars of the cage so I could not pull away. I was breathing heavily at this point. All around us, we could hear the screams and hollers of the tortured, the cries of ecstasy, the begs for release. There was a constant undercurrent of whispers and laughter: couples maintaining open communication as they worked to make their own scene pleasurable. There were spectators, too, but they were respectful, keeping themselves at a safe distance and not interfering in any scenes. 
Husband lifted my skirt, revealing my bare thighs and barely covered butt, and the rest of the world melted away. 
He pushed a hand into my back.
"Step back," he said, "and bend over."
I complied, resting my forehead against one of the bars. I closed my eyes and sighed. The moment was here. He was about to begin.
"I was going to start with the paddle," he said. "But you know what? I'll start with my bare hand first."
The first smack was loud, a thunderclap in the room. I wondered if any of the spectators were now looking at us. But the thought was fleeting. As he continued to spank me, all thoughts drifted away. All I could do was hang on to the bars of the cage.
My ass was already warm and smarting...and then Husband decided to have some wicked fun.
"Why are we here?" He asked between spanks.
"Because it's my birthday."
"Yes. And how old are you going to be tomorrow?"
"So that's thirty-seven spanks you have coming now."
"Better count, or I'll have to start all over again."
He raised his hand and let loose with an especially vicious spank, and I gasped.
He spanked the other cheek, and I pressed my forehead into the bar.
"You didn't say 'Sir.' I'll have to start again."
"No please! Two Sir! Two Sir!"
"That's one. What do you say?"
"One Sir!" I howled. 
"Two Sir!"
He kept going until we were somewhere in the twenties, and I was hopping from foot to foot. 
And then...then he really started getting wicked.
"Twenty six, Sir!"
"How many do we have to go?"
"Um... um..."
"Twenty seven Sir! Ten Sir!"
"What's today's date?"
"Oh God...uh...the fifth Sir!"
"Twenty five Sir! Now wait! Twenty eight! Fuck...."
"How old was I when we met?"
"Shit! Uh, uh..."
"Oh fuck, please, uh that was twenty nine, and you were, uh, twenty four! You were twenty four!"

He kept playing his little mind-fuck game on me, and I was crying, but I was laughing, too. 
When we got to thirty-seven, I leaned against the cage and took a deep breath of relief.
"You're done with my hand," Husband said. "Now it's thirty-seven with the paddle."
"WHAT? No, no please, shit, please...."
"And this time, every time you give me a wrong answer, I'm starting again from one. Better remember your numbers, lady."
"One Sir...."
The questions got harder this time, and true to his word, every time I got one wrong, he started again. 
"Twelve Sir!"
"How many are left?"
"Oh fuck, I don't know, I don't know...." The tears were running down my cheeks, and I moved to wipe them. Husband pulled me back and held me bent.
"How many?"
"Uh, uh, that was thirteen Sir, so there are, uh, twenty-five left?"
"Wrong." Smack! "That's one."
"That's two. Better count, or I start again."
"Two Sir, two Sir," I sobbed. And it went on.
Towards the end, the questions got truly ridiculous, and despite my ass being on fire, I had to laugh, too.
"What's your favorite radio station?"
"I don't have one!"
"Better think of one you listen to."
"Uh, that was thirty-two and thirty-three, Sir, and, uh, 94.5!"
"AM or FM?"
"Thirty four, Sir! FM, Sir!"
When he got to thirty six, he paused.
"Shall I do a double spank on both cheeks, and get it over with?"
I didn't know what to say, so I just cried and blubbered.
"Yes," he decided, and smacked me on both cheeks, one with the paddle and one with his hand. I shrieked.
But it was over, and I got a few minutes to catch my breath.
"Do you need a break before I get out the brush?" He asked.
My breath froze in my chest. The idea of getting thirty seven with the hairbrush was horrifying.
"Yes, please," I begged. 
He released me from the cage and helped to straighten out my clothes.
"Let's go upstairs and sit down for a while," he said. "We can come back later when you're ready for the brush."
So we packed up, and went upstairs to relax.

The problem we hadn't anticipated was that while we had been busy in our own little private scene, the Citadel had filled up. All the couches and chairs were taken; just walking through the crowd became harder. We found an empty ottoman, sat down, and laughed when we were almost bounced back up. The ottoman was an inflatable, so every time one of us moved, the other moved in tandem. 
We sat for a good half hour, watching the crowd. People left us alone. A woman was getting flogged at the St. Andrew's Cross by the wall, and we watched that for a while. Then he rubbed my leg.
"Ready to go back downstairs?" He asked.
"Yes," I said. "This time, I want you to make me scream."
He chuckled. "I don't think that'll be so hard with the hairbrush."
But when we got downstairs, there was no place open. It had become just as packed as it was above; every "station" was taken. The cage I had occupied before was being used by another couple.
We watched, and waited, and while it was all fascinating, no one looked anywhere near done. 
Husband looked at his watch.
"Honey, I'm sorry, but we have to go in fifteen minutes to make it back for the babysitter," Husband said.
"But I didn't get to scream my head off."
"I know. There'll be next time."
"There will?"
He took me by the hand and led me back upstairs. "Yes. We'll come back, and next time, I'll bring the cricket paddle, and I'll make you scream."
"Yes, really." He took off my cuffs, and untied my collar. I felt bare, naked without them. He stuffed everything back in the bag. Then, like a gentleman, he grabbed his jacket, held it up so I could put it on (it was freezing outside), and held my hand as we walked out the door.

All in all, it was an amazing night. I didn't get to scream the way I wanted to, but I had a ton of fun. Some people make me laugh, and some people can make me cry, but Husband is the only one who can make me do both at the same time with his little mind-fuck games on me. He can be evil, and mean, and sadistic, but he can be fun, too. At least, it's our kind of fun.

I can't wait to go back.

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