My lover argued with me because I use the term 'fetishist' instead of 'pervert', a term he thinks fit his POV more accurately. He's right - and wrong at the same time. He's a pervert in the unhibited and unlimited and free-thinking meaning, but he's not one in the cruel or reckless or sicko meaning the silent majority, better: our neighbors might address him.

I can envision animatedly that they would never deign to look at him (or me, matter-of-factly!) if they knew what happened behind our closed doors. Good thing that our play room, the secret chamber which even our kids have no clue it exists, was secluded enough in an isolated part of our basement. Good thing that older houses always need some fixing, since after I sold my appartment and moved into our house we started with some handicrafts to our hearts' content.

Is converting a simple basement into kind of a dungeon 'perverted'? While playing or watching some porn, we figured to ourself and dared each other with some fantasies none of us actually were familiar with or ever tried to express to another person. It went like "do you like that?" and continued with "would you fancy a try?" till most of all times it ended with "yes, let’s try it!"

One of those times we not only came along some BDSM galleries, but stayed and watched the pics and clips intently. Mind you, not the torture sites (that came later...), but the B/D and D/S sceneries. And not solely the sites with bound women, but equally the femdom niche. Before we knew it, we reached the "yes, let’s try it!" level - and try we did.

Never in my life I could have imagined the pleasure I experienced when he fucked me while being shackeled to a table or a chair. The feeling being unable to do one simple thing and finally to give up my responsibilty completely at least for some time, this feeling opened up new dimensions of love, lust and devotion. When I was in charge and tried to both control the situation and get the max out of it for me (and my victim), I learned more of my true self, my week points and strength than any kind of book or education could have accomplished.

That's when the crafting started. Since the two of us loved to be in a squatting position when assuming the submissive part, first came the Pillory which we upgraded with lots of nasty little details like chains, rings and hooks for some severe bondage. Even before we installed the must of every dungeon, the Andrew Cross, next came the Spanish Horse, made of a simple squared timber wood which we covered with a leather surface. The nasty part: several fixing holes for dildo's of various sizes and shapes.

Whenever our schedules allowed it, we enjoyed our little world of pleasure and pain for a short distraction, for a long night of debauchery of even for a 24 hours lasting session in total darkness and strict seclusion. Most of all I loved to be put in my favorite rack, the pillory, where I was left shackeled in various positions: bound forwards with my head and hands immobilized for some tender cocksucking or reckless mouthfucking, or bound backwards with my head and hands and feet tucked in the pillory's various holes for some cunt- and assfucking. That's where we discovered the whip - but as I've already said, the torture play came much later.

The backward position proved to be most satisfying position for me when I put my subby through his paces. Deep in a squatting position on his knees I liked to crouch on his face till I could take no more, while his cock stood to attention not only because he was horny as hell, but because it was encased into a devious combination of 9 rubber rings ('gates of hell') and pulled up with a rope that I had attached to a hook in the ceiling. Needless to say, he came like a geyser and I fed him his own cum - not that I had to force him...

I learned to hate and love my 'sessions' with the Spanish Horse. Most the time I was immobilized with only little chance to support myself with my tiptoes, thus my cunt had to carry my bodyweight. The first impulse was pain, but after that I experienced something I had observed in some of the video clips we had watched: now I could understand the pleasurable sensation the women's facial expression showed, my cunt and clit started to itch, my juices started to flow freely, I couldn't stop rubbing and tried to press my cunt onto this dammed instrument even more till I was rewarded with a strange kind of orgasm, hardly describable and hardly comparable with the ones I knew.

I could go on and on with my discription: how each of us used the dildo's for endless hours, how we learned to tie knots, how we always seemed to run out of rope, but never experienced a situation where we ran out of new ideas to learn new sensations and gratifications.

It came quite suitable after endless hours in the dark, that we spent our next holidays in the bright sun on the river of Nile and deep in the deserts of Egypt, not only to catch some tan but also to take one step back and scrutinize our own history. You won't believe it, and we couldn't either: even the royal graves and the pyramides inflamed our fantasies for more of the same. What had become of us?

Don't panic, we're still alive, we still are sane, we still have a life beyond our beloved perversions - and our neighbors still have no idea what this innocent looking couple is up to when the sun goes down.