Chasid, Tourist in a Kinky World

Written by Panmi. For other Jewrotica writing by Panmi, see Shiksa-Goddess in my Life, I Stood In Front of Her, and The Spilled Seed Chronicles.

He said: “I’m just gonna sit here in the corner, out of the way of all these nice people and out of their hair too. I got a book from my car, it’s Herman Wouk’s War of Remembrance about the battle for Israel’s Independence in ’48 and I will read it, while you just go ahead and have a good time”.

The nice people were hardcore kinksters who were sewing buttons and feathers into each other’s shoulders and beating each other bloody, choking and roping and fisting and groping each other in a room pulsing with techno rock music and bristling with wicked looking, hand crafted wooden electric and leather implements of torture.

After that he also said, (while I was trying to lure him into a corner so we could make out and so I could relieve some of the sexual tension that was steadily building in me), “Hey wait a minute, you planning on kissing me on the mouth, out here, in this hallway, where anyone walking by can see us? Wait until we get home sweetie, underneath I’m still the yeshiva bachur you married and granted I’m a little shy”. This too, after we had slipped into a small cramped storage room so I could catch my breath and rest my sore bottom on a padded chair. This he said, in an invitation only hardcore kink event where the least one needed to worry about was exposing the ardor of a vanilla embrace to a room full of minimally clothed, tattooed, pierced and writhing leather folk.

He then said to the domme in the sexy high boots and the short black bob who menaced my body with voracious eyes.

“Listen nice lady, I give you permission to beat the living daylights out of my wife, trust me when I tell you she’s been asking for it”. We had been hard at work negotiating in front of a sawhorse wrapped in red leather in the center of the floor.

We moved around the main event area, my hand loosely clasped in his, surveying the scene. He said, “Move over to the other side, hon, this gentleman will need all the space he has”. The gentleman in question was using his booted foot and knee to rain vicious blows on the sensitive exposed backside of a young lady whose hands were chained above her head in an extreme and excruciatingly closed fisted impact scene.

Much later as the evening was winding down I felt his fingers on my waist as I was pressed face first into the opening in a St. Andrews Cross hard point, waiting for the barrage of blows to rain down on me, this time he whispered: “You alright sweetie? I thought this stuff was making you uncomfortable, so I came over to hold your hand”.

He spoke sweet nothings into my ear, while a young and bashful collared submissive under the watchful eye of her daddy/dom was testing a bamboo multi-rod invention on my shoulders and thighs. Then he came back to check on me once again, while a dominatrix in a metal-grommeted leather corset and studded gloves, was enthusiastically testing Sir Mark’s handmade paddles and rubber batons, carpet beaters and canes on my poor unsuspecting ass.

To the tall and pretty African American trans-woman making eyes at him in the corner by the needle play booth, he said earnestly: “You look like a really great girl and I know how much you want to have a caring man in your life, (you know this might be a pretty well-kept secret but I’m really good with my fingers and tongue…), but I have my hands full with this one already and trust me I would if I could… try to juggle the both of you but I honestly can’t.”

He said- (at 2:00 am when the room began to empty and the bruised, battered and satisfied denizens of the club were donning their outdoor clothes, and zipping up their implements in dark rolling duffel bags while embracing each other in ways that indicated shared experiences and secret desires):

“They all have to work tomorrow at their regular day jobs, sweetie, that’s why they are packing up to leave, but don’t you worry I’ll be ok with coming back next month so you could meet some of your nice new friends again!”

Later back at home, while I lay stretched out on his bed enjoying his lovely aftercare and reveling in the peace and privacy that the darkest hours offered, while the whole house slept and I at last, arrived at temporary satiation and satisfaction of post-coital release, He spoke once more, as he said: “I’m lucky to have you, darling, even though I know you keep me on my toes….I would be bored out of my mind if I had to pretend interest in kugel recipes and mother-in-law drama at some nice kosher pizza shop date with a more well behaved kind of gal.

So this man, as you probably realized at this point in my narrative…is possibly the king of the understatement.

I don’t care if he shuns the spotlight, he doesn’t have a single social media account, he won’t go on FetLife, himself, and he is a somewhat reluctant partner in all of my adventures.

But my sweet well intentioned, partner in crime, my lover, my one and only watchman and protector, my sweet perfectly authentically honestly true to himself, hasn’t changed a bit since the day we were married, in full Chasidic splendor, very vanilla dude is a keeper.

Yeah, I know you will agree with me, that he really is.