Everyone comes to Sodom for something different. What are you looking for?
Nadica doesn’t talk. Nadica doesn’t play. Nadica takes her photographs, and takes them exceedingly well. And that’s all any guest ever sees her do.
Would Sodom have the same air of mystery if it was called ‘The Club of Arse’? ‘Stick ’em Up’? ‘The Booty Bumper’? What something is named can make a difference – something that the Doyenne, and some of the staff, know very well indeed.
Midnight is the witching hour – and at Sodom it’s no different. There’s something about the movement from one day to the next. Endings and beginnings. Whether you’re aware of the changeover or not, it still leaves its mark.
As the clock turned midnight, Caroline was wide open and welcoming a strangers cock into her arse. Tied to the stocks, blindfolded, well-lubricated, and profoundly aroused, she didn’t care who it was fucking her, as long as she was fucked. Her cheeks burned from slapping, her tits from mauling, and her ankles from the pull of the rope, but she didn’t care. Sir had arranged this. Sir was watching her be used, at his pleasure.
Sodom has been on hiatus a little longer that I’d planned! I took a break to get through May Masturbation Month, but life then chucked a couple of spanners in the works – I had to upgrade my computer before my desktop completely shat itself, and then I damaged my back pretty impressively.
All of which has meant I haven’t been able to work on my favourite debauched story for a while, which has sucked! All these characters have plenty of life and fucking left, that’s for sure – it’s just been a matter of being able to sit and write it all down!
What do you want? At Sodom everyone knows what you want – or what you think you want – it’s why you’re all there. Still, you don’t always get it. Chances are pretty high, instead, that you’ll get what you need.
The evening wasn’t going quite as Linus had planned. True, Caroline had looked good enough to fuck, all wide-eyed in her cage; and sliding that heavy metal plug into her arse beforehand had made his cock hard and wanting. But knowing that the person who’d stopped by the cage to talk to her was the owner of Sodom – the Doyenne – someone he’d never seen in all his visits, was somewhat disconcerting. Why now? Why her? Was it a good sign?
Sodom is a playground. And so guests are encouraged to play! Try the equipment, have new experiences, make friends, stretch your wings and fly. It’s a safe place to be perverse – and why not? What happens in Sodom stays in Sodom. And if you like it, you can always do it again the next week …
Steam fills the air. Water trickles across the tiles and splashes across the steps. The green plants in the corners soak up the jungle heat. She soaks it up as well. Hot water. Hot partners. Hot hands. Hot tongues.
The Doyenne had reasons for everything. Even impulsive moves had reasons behind the impulse, and they were considered before that impulse was acted upon. Greeting Caroline had been one such impulse – and going to shake up Arthur would be another.
It was that kind of night.
What happens at Sodom? It seems like a simple answer – and yet it isn’t. Those for whom it is a myth have one story. Those who attend have another. And for those who work there? What happens at Sodom is different for each of them.
Perception is a fascinating thing.
All kinks are welcome in Sodom. While the focus of the club is on all things anal, the Doyenne enjoys inviting a variety of guests whose desires and fetishes keep things … interesting.
Trotting across the main floor of Sodom, his head held high, Stanis was focused predominately on pleasing his trainer. When he was in pony-space, Anneke was always first and foremost in his thoughts, and that was as it should be. She held the lead, and he had given her his pony-soul long ago. But his brain could never turn off the multi-tasking, and so he was also aware of how his tail swished against the back of his knees, how his buttocks clenched around the large silicone plug with every step he took, and the delightful clack that his metal hoofs made against the floor. As he moved toward the bar, he also noticed his teeth pressing against the rubber bit in his mouth, the sweat pooling inside the latex costuming his thighs, the press of his harness against his groin. For the most part, though, he was aware of Anneke, and of the eyes on him.
The doors to Sodom open once a week. But an invitation, once received, isn’t for keeps – it is for one night only. Attendance isn’t mandatory; you under no obligation to be there. But entering those discreet doors once is no guarantee you will ever enter again. And receiving a heavy vellum envelope one week does not mean you’ll get one for the next.
There is no obvious rhyme or reason why some guests are invited week after week; while others only sporadically. Why some come through the doors once in a very great while and yet others visit once and then never again.keep looking »