Swingers Bondage

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Swingers Bondage
A Bondage Sex-Cation Inspired by 'Fifty Shades' Helped Me Let Go of Control In My Relationship
I needed a break from my own bossiness. And I found it...
As I prepped for the trip, my need for this evening became even more obvious.
As we walked into our bondage suite at Desire, I put my cynical mind and mocking M.O. aside and instantly got in the mood.
On the flight back to Los Angeles, I finally told John about the C-word dream I'd had.
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My boyfriend , John*, and I have been engaged in a weird power struggle lately. I often find myself getting frustrated that he's not taking charge, but the real issue is that I'm so consistently taking the lead with everything that he doesn't even get a chance to do so. I go overboard in correcting, controlling, and being short with him, but it has been nearly impossible to get ahold of myself.
If past years of therapy have served me well, then I can psychoanalyze this one myself: I am a quick-talking, loud Italian from the East Coast, and John is a chill, laid-back Californian. I'm simply wired faster, and because of that, I get impatient easily. Not that it makes it right.
In just 48 hours, for instance, I did the following:
Yes, I've been too bossy lately. And, no, I'm not proud of it.
That's where our trip to Desire Riviera Maya Resort came in. Desire Riviera Maya Resort and its nearby sister hotel, Desire Riviera Maya Pearl Resort, are luxury, adults-only, couples-only, clothing-optional , destinations just outside of Cancun, Mexico. They're popular with swingers, polyamorous couples, and people who like to get—as Anastasia Steele would say in Fifty Shades Darker —their "kinky fuckery" on.
Maybe playing the submissive role could teach me to surrender, to let go of control, to let John lead for once. Essentially, to be a little more like submissive Anastasia Steele and less like the dominating Christian Grey, even if just for a night. It's a lot of work being in charge all the time.
John and I are not swingers. (Though there's nothing wrong with swinging.) But Desire Resorts hand-picked me to test-drive their brand new "Desire Bondage Fantasy" night, a private bondage experience guided by two of the resort's pole dancers—Amber* and Antonio*—and inspired by the Fifty Shades franchise.
The $500 fantasy night, which we were lucky enough to experience sans charge, is part of Desire Resorts' world-famous Fantasy Menu , which also features erotic massage, pole dance lessons, sex on the beach, and more. It's designed to teach you to "surrender to your partner" and "journey into a dark, erotic place."
It's hard to pass up a good sex-cation, so I opted to dive into the role of the submissive. Or, at least, to try to dive in.
Even though I've only seen the Fifty Shades films as a "hate-watcher," laughing and mocking them aloud, I do dabble in some mild BDSM from time to time. A little spanking. Some handcuffing. A good flogging is nice. Feather tickling always gets me going. Unable to control myself, I barked out the following orders:
Rule No. 1 of bondage : There is no giggling. John's a happy guy, and I love him for that, but he does tend to giggle when he should be serious, and bondage is serious business.
Rule No. 2 of bondage: No smiling! Happy-go-lucky John has a great smile, but it's not right in this scenario. "Christian Grey doesn't smile as he spanks. I need you to put your best fuck-face on, please," I said.
Rule No. 3 of bondage: He would be in charge. He would be the dominant. He would be Christian Grey. I would be the submissive. I would be Anastasia Steele. If I tried to direct him, I needed him to stop me, spank me, or gag me.
Realizing I'd already broken Rule No. 3 by telling John what to do, I went into the experience quietly but firmly repeating to myself over and over in my head: Don't micromanage. Don't correct him. Be more like Ana. Enjoy taking the backseat for once .
Before we left, I even had a dream that a bartender called me the C-word. What's worse, dream-John agreed with him—and so did I. Upon waking, I realized I didn't want to give up my all of my assertiveness, but I did want a more equal partnership where we could each take control sometimes rather than me calling all the shots.
Even in the Fifty Shades sequel, where Anastasia took more of a stand than in her first go-around with Christian, she was able to balance being submissive with being a strong, independent woman. Balance is the key here. If Ana could do it, I could, too.
It was hard not to. The room was bathed in pinkish-red light (a nod to Christian Grey's infamous Red Room) as the Fifty Shades Darker soundtrack played in the background. A pink satin bed with heart-shaped pillows was quite enticing, along with the yummy spread of chocolate-covered strawberries , a bottle of Moët & Chandon Champagne, and a can of whipped cream.
There was a lot to take in: a black leather sex swing, a stripper pole, his and her masquerade ball masks (one that looked very similar to Ana's in Fifty Shades Darker ), and a box of California Exotic Novelties sex toys in a gorgeous silk black and red brocade. They included a leather flogger, restraints, and a ball gag so I could shut up for once. There was also a butt plug , which John instantly vetoed. I acquiesced—one small step toward letting go of control.
Alas, the toy box did not have the Fifty Shades of Grey Trust Me Adjustable Spreader Bar and Cuff Set that Christian used to open Ana up wide then flip her over, but the wrist and ankle restraints were good by me!
After our bondage hosts performed a sexy dance as Christian and Ana on the pink settee, then dazzled us with their sexy moves on the stripper pole, they led John and me from the bed to the pole. (Watching was very hot, by the way! Might need to explore voyeurism a bit more.)
As Amber took off my dress, Antonio pulled my arms over my head and instructed John to tie me to the pole with the wrist restraints from our sex toy box.
"Tie me tighter," I told John. Ugh! Epic fail.
Before I could even correct myself for being bossy again, Amber whipped my ass with the flogger and firmly whispered in my ear, "You are Anastasia. He is Christian Grey."
I tried to focus on what Amber said and let myself be Anastasia. John even put the ball gag on me so I couldn't say another word. Sure, he was clumsy at bondage at first. Who isn't? But then he surprised me and ended up getting in a good flogging. He even figured out how to use the sex swing without me helping him out.
While it's going to take a lot more than one night to learn to truly submit, this wasn't a bad start.
Discussing my struggle with control was one of those relationship conversations I wanted to avoid. But when I told John, his reaction wasn't what I expected.
"You think I think you're a c*nt? Oh my God. No. I never even thought to roll my clothes; I was able to fit so much more in my bag because of it."
He doubled-down, although he did add: "Well, maybe you can let me figure things out a bit on my own and just let me do it!"
Upon further reflection, I think I know what's going on. We're nine months into our relationship and planning on moving in together in a month. It's been several years since I lived with anyone. Naturally, a little bit of anxiety comes with that.
I think in the darkest recesses of my mind, there is this fear of having to compromise for the first time in years. I'm used to doing things my way, and the idea of having to work in a partnership again after years of being HBIC is making me a little on edge.
I'm still figuring out how to remain a strong, independent, do-everything-myself feminist while balancing how to take a backseat once in a while. It's scary, but I know it's doable.
"I'm glad we're working this out before I move in," he said.
When we returned home, I found myself starting to take charge again. This time it was a bottle of cabernet and one of those old-school corkscrew wine openers. As John struggled to open the wine, instead of taking it out of his hand like I did with the Champagne, I thought, What's the worst that can happen? We get a little cork in our cab. So what?
I'd rather pick cork out of my teeth than be called the C-word again—even if it's just in my dreams!
*Names have been changed to protect the kinky.
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It’s a nondescript building hidden in Canberra’s suburbs – but what goes on inside would make the author of 50 Shades of Grey blush.
It’s a darkened shopfront at the end of a nondescript alcove in the Canberra suburb of Fyshwick, best known for selling porn and fireworks.
From the outside the building looks like nothing much. Dingy, almost. Looks can be deceiving.
“That’s on purpose,” Kim, one of the co-owners of Kink Zone (KZ) says, laughing.
She runs this place with her husband. The tall, curvaceous blond, who is “past her 40s,” has a mischievous glint in her eye. She’s wearing a black and pink corset, caged around her ribs.
Once inside KZ, it’s like stepping through a portal. The entrance lobby is painted a smart fawn colour. Lockers, towels and a coat rack sit to the left. A candelabra adorned with crystals sits next to Kim on a glass table.
It’s just past 9pm on a Saturday and Kim offers glasses of pink champagne as guests come in. “Maybe is Moscato,” she muses, turning the bottle around to peer at the label over her glasses.
Some people arrive in ordinary clothes – jeans and shirts. Others are decked out in full kink gear – leather and PVC harnesses and corsets and six-inch stilettos on the women. A few people hold bags of “toys”: whips, ropes, electric play wands.
Kim ticks attendees off her list. Each event attracts up to 50 people. For the sake of safety, these parties are invite-only. Everyone must be vetted before they come.
KZ bills itself as “an alternative lifestyle club”, where guests come to attend kink and fetish parties, swingers’ nights, rope bondage parties and ladies-only nights.
Mistress Shy* and Squirrel,* two of the women who work here and Kim’s good friends, take people’s coats and welcome them in. Hugs, kisses and exclamations are exchanged. Newcomers get a brief induction, although most people already know each other.
It takes Squirrel a year to convince me to come along to KZ. I’m embarrassed to say that in the back of my mind is the so-called “mummy porn” book, 50 Shades of Grey – bland yet sadistic, demeaning and unconsenting.
KZ is a universe away from this. In fact, those who live a kink lifestyle scorn this problematic novel.
“It’s not BDSM,” one kinkster says to me of the book. “It’s coercive control.” (In case you don’t know, BDSM stands for: bondage, discipline, dominance and submission).
Yes, the club is littered with BDSM gear – suspension points in the ceiling for rope work, a human-sized wooden star with wrist and ankle cuffs, a swing to get strapped into, a queen bed with a cage underneath it.
Yes, there are people of all shapes and sizes and genders walking around naked or semi-naked. Some people are having sex on beds in dimly-lit rooms or getting spanked.
But there are also comfy couches to chat on and people getting into deep and meaningfuls in the smokers’ room or the kitchen. You can make a cup of tea and grab a cookie, jelly snake or icy pole. Not everyone drinks.
One of the first people I meet is 47-year-old Ken.
He skips all the boring Canberra public service talk, looks straight at me and says: “Why do you get up in the morning?”
As Shy tells me later, this type of communication isn’t an anomaly. People in the kink scene come from all walks of life.
And what they mainly have in common is a desire to connect “in an authentic way”.
Reflecting on her own experience, Mistress Shy says: “Through this community and lifestyle I have found my confidence, shed my self-judgment and have found parts of myself I did not know existed.
“You quickly start to feel more comfortable in your own skin … it’s amazing how your perspective can change when you’re not comparing yourself to airbrushed images and you realise how beautiful humans are with all of their imperfections.”
In Shy’s mind, traversing the kink world has an impact on people’s outside lives too. It changes them: “When you place yourself in such a vulnerable position it brings with it risk,” she says.
“You are forced to communicate better and to navigate connections with emotional intelligence. You grow as a person whether you like it or not.”
Ken never “plays” at KZ. When I press him about how this could be the case – it’s a kink club for heaven’s sake – he says: “I go to be around people who are in a space where they can leave that ridiculous, untenable, and disproven veil of normalcy. To be able to ask frank questions and get honest, unrepentant answers.”
For my part, I don’t consider myself that kinky. And the question of why people enjoy this kind of “play” is still baffling to me.
As a way to try and answer it, I ask one of the veteran shibari artists – the people who use rope to tie others up with intricate geometric patterns – to work on me. His name is Psigh and he’s been “rigging” for a decade. Psigh works slowly, constantly explaining what he’s doing. “How does that feel?” he keeps asking, as he deftly weaves the rope around my body and limbs, “Are you doing ok?”
The careful process takes about half an hour. He ties my hands and legs up behind me and lifts me from the ground using the knotting in the centre of my back. It feels strangely secure, almost like being hugged. Then he gently sets me down on the floor again.
“Now I want to spank you,” he says afterwards. And I laugh, confident that’d he’d never do that without permission.
Why so confident? In stark contrast to the way the public imagines the kink scene, the venue is packed with ordinary people – tradespeople, medical professionals, IT workers, public servants, real estate agents, farmers and those in the armed forces.
The central value is consent – it’s written into the KZ rules and verbally explained to each new person at induction. You must ask permission to touch or play with another person.
“No” is taken seriously (and doesn’t cause offence – because I tried it out several times). And if you break consent, you aren’t allowed back to KZ.
“We don’t tolerate a**holes,” Squirrel says.
When I ask about reality vs perception, Shy says: “One thing that really grinds me is that we are seen as unethical, immoral and that we will f**k just anyone. This is the furthest thing from the truth.
“Consent and respect are of the highest importance in this space. I feel safer here walking around wearing nothing but a pair of heels than I do going out to a nightclub where I have been groped, leered at and abused for declining propositions.”
Squirrel agrees with her friend: “It’s ironic that in a space where there is impact play, it’s the safest I’ve ever felt as a woman in a club environment.”
To explain this from a bloke’s perspective, Ken gives the example of admiring someone’s clothing and body respectfully: “It could be as simple as someone saying, ‘those fishnets look amazing! How do they feel? Can I touch them?’”
KZ opened in October 2017. Since then, Squirrel says she’s collected many memories. Her favourite though, is when Graham, a man in his 40s, attended an “Explore” event, designed to cater for those who are curious about kink, sexuality and gender.
“Graham* came up and asked for a hug with tears in his eyes and he told me that night was the first time in his life that he’d ever been able to leave the house dressed the way he feels is truly him.
“He’d come dressed as ‘Jess’. He’d been given the opportunity and a safe space to be his true self. Honestly, it made my heart explode.”
Huge thanks to fine art photographer Yasmin Idriss who did the fabulous photoshoot for this story. Find her work here .
Ginger Gorman is an award-winning social justice journalist. Her best-selling book is Troll Hunting | @GingerGorman
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