It looks as though one of San Francisco’s last public pansexual Sex Club and BDSM playspaces,The Power Exchange, is at risk.

The owner of the building is selling, and the future of the place is uncertain. On those nights where the filthynastypiglut in you wants to be ogled and leered at and objectified by complete strangers who seem to often take a Mystery Science Theater 3000 approach to watching sex acts, there’s no place like the Power Exchange.

This is one of my favourite scene memories from PE.

I had zero expectation that Sir would actually say “Yes” when I suggested we stop in at Power Exchange in the waning hours of the evening. Dinner had been really great, and I expected to be dropped at my flat.

Turning onto Otis, the red lights framing PE were gleaming at the end of the block. I laughed after I suggested we stop….we had no toys, and were not in any sort of fetish wear. But there was a space right in front, and Sir was game…so in we went. The price was right, as it turned out: couples were free.

The lounge area upstairs seemed to have been remodeled: vending machines had replaced the snack bar. The usual lookyloos skirted the fringes, watching for something to watch. We strolled through the mostly empty rooms…not too thrilled with the new chain-spider web now clogging up the perfectly good suspension beam. Sir theorized it was an attempt to get people to actually use the equipment: probably not too many people doing suspensions from the beam. Too sad, that!

Wandering downstairs, we toured the place; almost totally empty, save for the quiet observers. I was rather surprised at the way they moved…unobtrusive, and rather subtle, until there was some action. Then they became voracious consumers, absorbing all they could of the energy of the sex happening near them. A fascinating dynamic. We paused in a room with an exam table and a rubber sheeted bed. Somewhere, a hidden camera filmed the goings-on in this room. We were alone at first, but within moments of Sir reaching into my shirt and pulling on my nipple, partly exposing my breast, the hungry watchers materialized to see.

Strolling through the main play area, surrounded by the fencing, we checked out all of the side rooms, peeked in on the wankers in the TV room, and wound up in the ‘bullpen’ area. After securing a chain across the break in the fence, Sir turned to me, flipped me around and up against the cross. I was giggling a bit, as I thought this would be light and easy. We had no toys or the usual accoutrements of BDSM along for the ride: how far could it go?

Pressed against the cross, my forehead against the cool wood, I felt his fingers fasten on to my breasts, the nipple trapped again between his fingers. And he began pinching. Several seconds went by as I realized the pressure he was applying was indeed becoming extremely painful…my head was swimming and tears blurred my eyes. I wriggled, trying to escape. That bought be several hard slaps to my ass and another shove against the cross. More wriggling, more shoving. Those hands, capable of inflicting a bruising pinch strayed not far from my breasts for some time. Turning me around, he pulled my breasts away from my chest, stretching them painfully. I panted, trying to breather more deeply. He smiled. How is it that a smile can warm and chill me simultaneously?

Pulling me towards him by the tips of my breasts, he leaned down to kiss me, breath smoky and sweet from the Havana cigar and port he’d consumed after dinner. I was pushed roughly against the cross again, as he pondered what to do with me….slapping the insides of my thighs was the next place he went. Loud resounding slaps were followed by my yowls and moans. The flesh was immediately sensitized, and it was all I could do to stand and take the next slap.

Soon, it was too much and my legs reflexively closed.

“Spread your legs.”

I shook my head and squeezed them even more tightly together. Grabbing a handful of the hair on my labia, he pulled and twisted till I screamed.

“Spread your legs.” He repeated, and I did so with alacrity.

Slapping my thighs again, I was heaving with the intensity of the stinging blows. My legs shook, and his hand between them was not helping.

“Look at you…your pussy is wet already.”

Of course it was.

He turned me around even more roughly, and then something occurred to him

“Oh…but I do have a toy.” I heard metal strike metal, and a slipping sound, then a loud “pop”. His belt: 2” wide and heavy, it makes a formidable toy indeed. Quick strikes all over my ass convinced me that this was indeed to be taken seriously. Even more so when he began to whip me with it.

If it can be cracked, he can crack it, and crack it he did.

The first whip-like crack lit up my nerves and skin instantaneously. I whirled around, moaning.

“Oh…that…HURT!!”

“Up against the cross.” He said.

I complied.

Slowly.

Pop, Pop, Pop, three more cracks exploded against my skin, and I was unable to remain in position. Pushing myself away from the cross I was immediately met with a hand on my head yanking me around. I was stuttering; a first indicator that I was slipping away.

“N-n-no-no-no-no…pl-pl-please…sttttop…”

Oh the luxury of being able to plead for mercy and knowing that there is none coming…

Facing him, I could watch the curve and arc of the belt as the looped end leaped from his hand and contacted my reddened thighs. “Please!” I wailed “Sir…..oh god….” I instinctively threw up my hands to ward off further blows, my head shaking from side to side. He was not to be deterred, the blows came faster; legs, thighs, breasts, belly, arms, a hip exposed as I tried to turn away, all of these were targets for the terribly delicious belt.

From the corner of my eye I could see the denizens of the dark corners watching, sometimes there would be no one there, then the next moment a crowd of twenty would assemble, and then drift away like living fogbanks.

His black bandanna came from his back left pocket and blindfolded me, and he brutally shoved me against the cross I was while my back and ass were covered, inch by inch, with lashes from the belt.

The pain was fantastical, I was unable to speak coherently, and I was in heaven.

Through the haze I hear the jingling of metal…suddenly the jagged edges of house keys are biting my hot skin, the ends catching on fresh welts, the teeth leaving long scratches and I twist about, trying to escape the inescapable.

How long I gratefully reveled in the sweet agony he provided, I can’t say. He reached around my body… pinching hard on my pussy; I struggled again as the shimmery orgasm pillaged my thoughts, leaving me light and hot. Slowly my breathing began to normalise, the shaking ebbing.

“Did I tell you to stop coming?” He coldly inquired.

As though I had been plugged into a direct current, the enervating jolt sent me over the edge again and again…I was babbling and purring and crying all at once. After many long minutes, he pulled back my head.

“Good girl.

Now kiss my boots.”

Sinking to the concrete floor, the floor that I would never, under normal circumstances, dream of sitting down on even fully dressed, but on which I now prostrated myself without hesitation, my lips caress the leather, warm to the touch and so wonderful.

He strokes my hair as I kneel up. I could stay there at his feet all night.

Sounds began to filter back in; the raucous music, the murmurs from another room, the squawk of the security guard who, we discover later, was there because some patrons had been a bit…concerned…by the woman screaming “No! Stop!” in the downstairs. He seemed to possess the good sense to know a solid scene when he saw one, and remained to keep an eye on things. A hearty thank you to the PE security guy with the big old earlobes!

We stuck around a bit more, as I tried to reach coherency, and we replenished ourselves with water and juice. It was well after midnight now; we’d been there for almost two hours….where had the time gone? I was drained yet energized, tired and awake, exhausted but completely content.