Liliana is Hungarian. She is a professional young lady who works in international hospitality. Her job involves a lot of travel between Budapest, London, Berlin and Prague and so every week or so Liliana packs her grey pencil skirts and cream blouses in her suitcase and boards a flight. On the plane she is busy checking figures, calculating profit and loss for the various sites her company operates, scrolling through Excel spreadsheets. She’s one of those good girls.
On her days off, Liliana loves to keep fit. Earlier this year she ran a half marathon, and she trains regularly. Her Facebook profile has pictures of her with her hair tied back, in a lycra t-shirt and grinning, holding up a medal.
When she is not training she loves nature. Country walks. Lakes and mountains. The sea. Animals, birds and butterflies. There are pictures of all of these on her wall too, along with the wonderful architecture she has seen in Rome, Berlin, Lisbon, London…
There are very few pictures of Liliana herself, either on Facebook or Instagram. Those there are show her in sensible clothes: raincoats and walking boots. Jumpers and woolly hats. There is one full-length picture of her to be found, taken in Spain. Here, she is wearing a sensible a knee-length skirt and a vest with straps. She looks pretty but not sexy. Like any other normal tourist girl. An MBA who likes to go on cultural city breaks at the weekend.
A good girl.
A month ago, Liliana was at a private party in Budapest where she crouched on all fours, naked, and allowed men to use her as a table for their drinks. She likes being spanked, being paddled, caned and whipped. She was recently in Rome for a BDSM conference where she attended seminars on Japanese rope bondage techniques. Her ex boyfriend used to piss on her. She enjoyed it.
I meet her at Torture Garden, the London fetish party. She is wearing a black latex skirt and a black leather bra. Around her neck is a choker with a whip attached to it. She has black high heels on. Great legs, with that wonderfully-proportioned feminine body that many Hungarian girls have.
She is here alone, dancing to techno on the main floor, surrounded by the usual collection of beautiful people, latex and rubber enthusiasts, night people. Girls in underwear. Guys in gladiator sandals and leather harnesses. Girls gyrating around poles. People fucking on podiums.
I approach. We talk a little. Dance close. I pull her hair. Go in to kiss her.
‘No – I am not like other girls. I am not an easy girl.’
But she dances close to me. I touch her and she doesn’t pull away.
‘I need to go to the bathroom. I will see you later,’ she says after a while.
‘I’ll meet you – we can explore the other rooms together.’
‘No. I told you that I am not fast like this. I am not like other girls here. I don’t want you to waste your time. You should meet another girl.’
So she goes to the bathroom, but then I see her again a little while later at the bar anyway.
‘Hello.’
She is friendly, warm and open
‘You want to go upstairs to see the other rooms?’
This time she agrees, and so we walk through a dark room where pierced cyberpunks in platform boots dance to Joan Jett and on to a smaller space where they’re playing Elvis. There are old-time burlesque videos being projected onto a screen. In a cage, two girls are taking turns to pour champagne into each others’ mouths.
‘And is there a playroom here?’ she asks me. ‘Not to play, I mean, just to watch.’
Bingo.
‘Let’s go.’
The Couple’s Room
I lead her through the PVC-clad throng to the outside smoking area where the infamous Torture Garden ‘Couples Room’ is. As I said in my last article about the club, your aim when you come here (assuming you have come solo, to game) should be to find a girl and to get her into this room as quickly as possible. Rather like passing ‘Go’ in Monopoly, it is only once you have penetrated The Couple’s Room that the game really begins.
‘Why is the queue so long?’ she asks after a while.
‘I guess people are taking their time.’
‘Is there a St. Andrew’s cross in there?’ she asks.
‘Er, yeah, I think so.’
It occurs to me then that perhaps the sort of ‘playroom’ she is expecting—somewhere set up for bondage practices such as spanking and whipping—is somewhat different to the place I am taking her, since the Couple’s Room is basically just for no-frills sex. It also occurs to me that we have not kissed yet, but we will be expected to in order to gain admittance.
Oh well.
Finally we get to the front of the queue where, as expected, the attendants tell us to kiss. Fortunately Lilianna turns to me and puts her tongue in my mouth without delay.
‘You are a tricky English guy’ she says admonishingly but smiling. ‘There was no choice!’
Now, though, the physical line has been crossed and so we kiss some more. Then I lead her into the gloom of the Couple’s Room.
Here there are the usual sex sounds—ecstatic cries and loud slaps—over trippy chill out music, and the combined scent of sex, rubber and patchouli oil. In the half-light you can vaguely make out bodies and movements as the grasping and grappling and gasping continues.
‘Oh. It’s more than a swinger’s part than a playroom,’ Liliana says. ‘It’s not what I expected. But it’s OK.’
I lead her over to a space near the wall where we make out some more. Now my hand is one her ass, squeezing it through the latex. I start to peel up her skirt a little.
‘I told you. I am not like these other girls here. So your night will be wasted.’
‘Not wasted,’ I say. ‘You’re kinda fun.’
We kiss harder and heavier and I start slapping her ass hard on one side. She sighs and moans and bites my lower lip.
‘I like symmetry’, she says. I don’t understand for a second and then I do understand and so I turn her around and slap the other ass cheek hard too.
‘That’s better. I don’t like marks on just one side.’
Now her hand is on my cock, which has somehow been released from my trousers. As I kiss her and bite her lips, slapping her ass still, she strokes it harder and harder, until she suddenly she kneels down in front of me.
I come, and she kisses me softly. Then, standing up, she asks me to hold her phone while she searches in her bag for tissues.
‘If I knew you better I would lick it up,’ she says. ‘I like to do that.’
‘That’s OK – my sperm is very clean,’ I say.
Good Girls And Bad Girls Are The Same Girls
There are no good girls and bad girls, there are merely girls in different situations, different contexts. Take the purest ‘good girl’ you can find, put her in the right environment and she will behave like a harlot. There’s nothing wrong with that: it’s just the way things are.
What is problematic is the way that men hold onto this purity fantasy about women. You may think she’s a little angel but she’s not. She has a conventional side and a sexual side like every other girl on the planet. She is an animal (like you are) and if unchecked she will act on her animal instincts (like you will). This is not something to fear or to rail against. Rather, it is something to celebrate, because once you are aware of the truth you can operate accordingly to your advantage.
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Read More: How To Have Sex With a Hot Girl At a Fetish Party
