Tuesday, 13 December 2016

Going Dutch...

The alarm clock, rudely awakening me at 2.45am on a cold Friday morning, was the start to a long weekend away, and one I had been looking forward to for some time.  There always has to be a bloody good reason for getting up in what feels like the middle of the night, and a trip to the Netherlands for a fetish party was one such good reason.

The annual Dominatrix Party had been recommended by friends who had visited previously, and I was looking forward to seeing them all later - especially as the organisers had arranged a special package with a nearby hotel for their attendees.  First, though, there was the trouble of getting from Manchester to a small town somewhat north of Amsterdam - a BIG task for me, as I can get lost in the Trafford Centre.  I did, at least, have the foresight to pre-book a taxi to take me to Manchester airport for 4.15am.  So, by 4.10am I was outside my apartment, dressed in leather boots, skin-tight leather-look jeans, a warm furry hat, leather gloves and (thank you, D, for the gorgeous birthday/Christmas pressie) a lovely and sexy leather coat.

Remembering to arrange a taxi was the first hurdle.  The second hurdle was the taxi actually turning up on time - and here the plans went a bit... wrong.  Despite getting a confirmation text from the taxi firm that my cab was booked, at 4.15am I was still stood outside my apartment in the bitter cold, with no sign of a taxi anywhere.  I ended up calling another firm who duly delivered a warm black cab as quickly as possible,

Luckily, with a chatty taxi driver who knew all the quickest routes I was dropped off at Terminal 1 by 5.00am in time to check in.  There were, I'm glad to say, no more issues on the first bit of the trip - the plane was on time, and we landed at Amsterdam Schipol on schedule.  The next part was somewhat trickier.  I had pre-armed myself with as much knowledge about the Dutch train system as possible, and had read plenty of warnings on the internet about the complexities of the Dutch train ticket machines.  Encouraged by the the quick flight, I was ready for the challenge.  After collecting my suitcase from the baggage collection point (going to fetish events always necessitates using hold luggage!)  I made my way over to the train area at Schipol.  Most of the ticket machines had long queues snaking in front of them, but I found a machine with only one woman stood using it.

I waited whilst she tried to coax a ticket from the surly ticket machine.  I waited whilst she fumbled around with the machine, pressing button after button, before cancelling everything and starting the process again from scratch.  The lady cursed, then tried again.  I waited.  She cursed again, dug in her handbag, found another credit card, and tried again.  I waited.  She cursed again, and re-tried her first card along with her railcard.  I waited.  She cursed again.  Then cursed again before bravely attempting the machine again.  I was slowly drifting into a transcendental haze when I heard her cursing again.  She turned to me and snapped something in Dutch.  "Pardon?" I asked, knowing my Dutch knowledge was, er, slightly limited.  "Bloody machine, good luck if you want to try it" she replied, walking off, ticketless.

I looked at the machine.  It looked balefully back, challenging.  "I've beaten better than you, and I'm only just warming up," it seemed to say.  I looked at the screen.  It looked like a MENSA puzzle.  It taunted me with my ignorance.  I pressed a button for the English language screen, and a million options popped up.  I looked at it.  Some people behind me in the queue waited.  There seemed to be options for the most complex journeys possible (travel on Tuesday at 17.57 to Rotterdam via Stockholm, Cairo and Margate, whilst wearing brown socks..., but not available if you want a return journey and have hair parted on the left... unless you are a student and are booking before 10.00am - otherwise choose another option...).  I looked a bit more at the screen, hoping for an option that said 'Dominatrix Fetish Party'.  The people behind me in the queue waited a bit more.  I gave up without trying and decided to join the queues of other machine-beaten people where I could get a ticket from a real person.  I could feel the machine chuckling as I slinked off, leaving it sitting awaiting it's next victim.  The real person was incredibly helpful, thankfully, finding me the right ticket and destination, but also printing out a list of instructions where I needed to change trains and on what platforms.

The party itself was in the town of Uitgeest - pronounced Owtrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeest, or something similar - the Dutch like their vowels, I think, and never miss an opportunity to slip some extra ones in there whenever they can.  I think they must buy them from the Russians, who don't seem to use vowels at all, so probably have a few to spare.  I had a nervous train-change at Zaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaandaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam (or Zandam, to me) to look forward to, but for now I was in the right place at the right time, thanks to my lovely train ticket chap.  Uitgeest was now but two train journeys away.

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - leather lady, Schipol Airport.
The train journey across the flat Dutch countryside was uneventful, with not a lot to look at.  Living in Manchester, I thought I'd seen the dullest weather ever in the world, but Manchester was soundly beaten by the despondent Dutch fog....

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - grey, grey, and more grey...
That photo is more colourful than I remember it, and the funereal air of the weather outside was at least matched by my outfit, but at least I felt warm and, in anticipation of the forth-coming party, a bit fetishy, too.

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - leather lady.

Zaandam arrived, and I disembarked, finding my next train to Owtrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeest straight away - the difficulties in actually buying a train ticket are clearly balanced by the ease of the system once you are on it, and I was soon being whisked away across more dull flat-lands to my destination.

I couldn't fail to get off at this stop, as it was the last on the line.  The train halted, the last remaining passengers disembarked and I found myself on a station platform with a small adjacent car park... and nothing else.  The hotel that everyone was going to that was attending the party was too far to walk, but a taxi rank in the car park at least made things easier.

Or would have done, if there was a taxi there.  There wasn't.  Nevertheless, I went over and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Fifteen minutes passed with no sign of any taxis.  Over on the train station platform I saw a couple of gentlemen in train-operator uniforms.  I wandered over to enquire about getting a taxi, and I was assured that I had been waiting at the correct place.  I went back to the taxi rank and waited a bit more.  Ten more minutes passed.  A few cars arrived to either drop off train passengers or collect them, and there was a steady and quite busy stream of traffic on the nearby main road - but no taxis.

Away across the main road, on the other side of a road junction, I saw a petrol station.  With a heavy drizzle now descending from the grey cloud above and the temperature dropping I decided it was time to move.  Picking up my suitcase and bag, I made my way through the underpass to the other side of the main road, and then over to the petrol station.  I was expecting to find something like a UK petrol station, comprising shop, toilets and even maybe somewhere to get a hot drink.  It wasn't like that at all.  Two petrol pumps, and a busy garage with cars being worked on - and nothing else.

I was a bit stuck.  I had no real idea where the hotel was, other than it was a bit too far to walk.  I  must have looked like a bit of a sorry waif as a gentleman walking to the garage with his dog stopped to enquire if I was OK.  "I've been waiting for a taxi at the train station," I explained, "but nothing has turned up.  I was hoping to see if I could get one here."  He smiled.  "Come in, let's see what we can do for you."

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - awaiting my taxi.
I followed him in to the garage, and he marched over to the grimy reception desk where another chap in oily overalls waited.  He spoke in quick Dutch to the mechanic, who, following a short conversation, picked up the telephone and chatted away in Dutch for a few minutes.  I waited again, trying to not hope too much for a positive outcome.  Through my Samaritan translator, the mechanic asked where I needed to go.  I showed them the name of the hotel, and they both smiled at each other.  The mechanic resumed his telephone conversation, before the handset was banged down and another short Dutch conversation followed between the mechanic and my Samaritan.  They both looked at me and smiled again.  My Samaritan chap said "There is a taxi coming for you now - maybe five or ten minutes wait, that is all.  Is that OK?"  I nearly wept with relief.

He suggested I wait outside, so I said my 'thank you' to the mechanic and stepped back outside with my good Samaritan.  He wished me luck before starting to head off with his pooch in tow.  "Excuse me, " I said, seeing him heading away from the garage, "don't you work here?"  "No, you just looked a bit lost, so thought I could help."  He waved goodbye, and I was left a little in awe at the friendliness and lovely attitude of the people I had met so far in the country.

I didn't have long to wait before a rather smart black Mercedes-Benz arrived to collect me.  Once I was in the warm and cossetting interior the taxi driver checked where I was going.  I showed him the address, and he smiled like the mechanic and Samaritan had smiled - "Ah, you are going to the party?" he said.  Obviously everyone in the small town knew about the party weekend and what sort of guests would be heading to the hotel!  I asked him why the taxi rank was so quiet.  "No taxi there on weekday - weekends only," he replied.  Well, I suppose that explained the lack of taxi-like transportation, then.

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Hotel Akersloot, Uitgeest.
A few minutes later we had arrived at Hotel Akersloot.  It was still only midday, even though I felt like I'd been travelling for a whole week, so it was too early to check in.  The hotel's main lounge bar was open, with log fires burning heartily away and a nice selection of whisky to help keep the gloom away.
Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - leather lady, er, lounging..
With a warming mint tea and Johnny Walker Platinum Label whisky to see me through to check-in time, I was now finally relaxing.  With friends arriving from Brighton, London and Leicestershire I contemplated how well they would manage the trip.  I looked around at the hotel patrons - they were largely very old and clearly not attending the weekend parties.  It would be an interesting mixture once the party-people arrived en masse.

I finally got into my fantastic room and with a night out to The Showboat for Mistress Manita's BDSM party ahead, I had a mid-afternoon kip before getting ready.  It was around 6.00pm when the first of the friends turned up from Leicester, and we had a welcome drink together in the hotel room.

I had chosen to wear one of my Cathouse Clothing outfits, comprising of latex leggings and a low-cut jacket.  With high-heels on, I was ready to party.

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Dominatrix Party Weekend 2016.
The organisers had arranged a shuttle bus to take guests to the event, and with tickets for the bus and the party in hand we headed down stairs to the bar, to hopefully meet up with other party-goers.  The hotel corridors were busy with people in various stages of being dressed for the night ahead - some already in latex, some half-way through getting ready, and some running from room to room with just a towel covering themselves.  Being conscious of other people's privacy meant it was quite difficult to get a photo without anyone else in it!

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Dominatrix Party Weekend 2016.
We followed a stunning six-foot tall red-headed Amazonian down the corridor to the lifts, and I couldn't help but admire her figure in a tiny latex leotard, with sky-scraper heels to complete to look.

Down in the bar we availed ourselves of some alcohol, and were soon joined by C, a submissive German chap that I'd chatted to briefly in Essen earlier in the year.  He, too, had tickets for Mistress Manita's party, which was a bit of a relief as my Leicester friends were having a quiet night in the hotel which meant I'd have been travelling to The Showboat by myself.

At 10.00pm we said good night to our companions and left them in the bar while we caught the next shuttle bus.  It stopped a few minutes later at a nightclub that most definitely wasn't The Showboat.  I asked the driver what party he'd brought us to.  "Dominatrix Party," he replied, confused.  I dug out my Showboat ticket and showed him.  "Oh, that's a different Party - this is Models and Makers Party.  Showboat is a long way from here," he said, "but the shuttle bus doesn't go there."  C was equally puzzled.  "But on the website it says shuttle-bus," he said, standing firm, "and this is shuttle-bus.  We go to Showboat."  "I can take you, no problem," replied the driver, affably, "but it will cost €35 each way."  "But we haf tickets for shuttle-bus, and there is shuttle-bus to Showboat, so it cost nothing extra," he answered, his German logic kicking in.  "Yah, yah, but not this bus," counteracted the driver, calmly.  I could see this developing into 'a bit of a situation', so asked the driver to take us back to the hotel where we could sort it out with the organisers.

Back at the hotel the shuttle bus organisers were equally baffled.  "Yes, you can go to Showboat on shuttle-bus, but it will cost extra.."  "Nein, we have tickets for shuttle-bus..." began C again, not giving ground.  German logic against Dutch laissez-faire.  The Dutch won - they simply didn't budge from their smiling and jovial offer of transportation at extra cost, and with no other options we were checkmated.

I suggested to C that we retired to the bar to discuss our next move and see if we could find anyone else to share the costs with.  "I thought it might get a bit confrontational there for a moment," I said, as we settled down for more drinks in the bar.  "But it makes no sense," he answered, still sounding annoyed, "they have shuttle bus, we haf the tickets for the bus, they should take us..."  "Yes," I agreed, "but without paying another €70 for the return trip they won't take us."  I was already mentally juggling the costs in my head as it was €70 in extra costs between us that I wasn't expecting, but C made up my mind for me.  "I'm not going to go - I will stay here and drink beer, for €70 I can get a lot of beer" he said, oblivious to the looks he was getting from the elderly hotel patrons in his latex bodysuit, only slightly covered by his short coat.  

I decided that €70 for my own taxi was out of reach, and decided to stay in the bar with C, who was now looking a little more relaxed.  C complained a little at the poor organisation of the Dutch.  "But they did offer to help," I suggested, "even if it did mean more money..."  "Yah, but if it is organised correctly, there is no need for extra costs.." he answered, smiling.  I laughed and called him a bad man for being stubborn.  "Yah," he said, a twinkle in his eye, "very bad man.  Maybe I should be... punished," he laughed.

So, my first night at the Dominatrix weekend was spent, not at Mistress Manita's Showboat party that I'd bought tickets for, but in the hotel room of a lovely German chap who I spanked and whipped before sitting on his face, slapping and wanking his hard cock until he spunked over my hands and over his shiny latex, and I had my own latex-clad orgasm, grinding my hips into his face as I came.  Lovely.

I was still up early enough for the massive buffet breakfast provided by the hotel - if I was a little let down by missing the Showboat party due to Dutch organisation, I couldn't criticise the hotel - it was brilliantly run, had fantastic and helpful staff and was a wonderful place to chat and relax.


Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Dominatrix Party Weekend 2016.
I decided my red leather-look jeans would be suitably fetishy but still daytime-acceptable, and once in the breakfast bar admired many other daytime fetish outfits.  Skin-tight shiny leggings abounded, clinging to the thighs of sexy girls, and leather jeans seemed to be the choice of many of the men.  Some clearly were struggling to get fully prepared for the morning, and appeared in the breakfast bar still in pyjamas and bathrobes.

 Saturday daytime was spent greeting friends who had finally arrived from the UK, and I bumped into C again, and had a long, late lunch together.  I did briefly wander outside the hotel, to be confronted with a much brighter day than Friday...


Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - er, a bit less grey... I think...
... but it wasn't warm enough to tempt me too far from the warmer lounge bar...


Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Hotel Akersloot, Uitgeest.
Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Hotel Akersloot, Uitgeest.
Despite the offer of rejoining C in his hotel room, I decided that if  wanted to stay the course of the long night ahead then I needed a bit of rest - alone.

I was up and ready in plenty of time though by early evening, and decided to wear my latex dress that I'd bought in Essen earlier in the year from Brigitte More.  Latex-clad, high heeled and polished up, I met up with friends in the lounge bar to catch the shuttle bus - this time hopefully to the correct event.  This time all went perfectly - the bus dropping us a few minutes afterwards at the club we'd mistakenly been taken to the night before.  The first person I met on entering the club was Brigitte More, who recognised me and the dress she'd sold to me straight away!  We had a catch-up before duties caller her away, and I carried on into the darker recesses of the club.  It was quite busy inside, despite the early hour, but I took time to explore a little.

Upstairs, a small room had an elaborate mixing desk set up.  I got chatting to the main DJ, who would later be playing industrial dance music in the room.  He was kind enough to take a little snapshot while I tried out his rather superb neon headphones.


Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Dominatrix Party Weekend 2016.
The DJ showed me around upstairs, as it wasn't officially open at that point (I hadn't known when I strolled up the stairs).  There was a quiet playroom nearby, and another opportunity for a quick photo before it got busier later on.

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Dominatrix Party Weekend 2016.
After seeing the playroom, the DJ told me he had to get ready for the night, so I said my goodbyes, promising to listen to his set later in the night.  In the main room there was a fashion show on the stage, and I took the chance to watch from my illegal and elevated position on the stairs.

Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Dominatrix Party Weekend 2016.
Once the show was over the music kicked in, and I rejoined the main throng in the hall, bumping into Brighton friends in the process.  We joined the fetish crowd on the dance-floor, the heady scents of clean sweat, latex, leather and assorted perfumes mingling to a form a quite sexual bouquet.  A stunning blonde middle-aged lady in a latex leotard began dancing with me, and we were soon stroking each other.  I could feel her soft breasts through the thin latex of her outfit, and she quickly moved in and we locked lips in a hungry kiss.  We danced together a little more before the moving crowd, like a living tide, swept us in different directions.  

I rejoined friends for a time, before venturing into more hidden rooms.  One area of the club was laid out like a small, dark maze, in which smaller, darker rooms lay behind discreet curtains.  In one shadowed room I caught a vague image of a man laid back on a sling whilst a dark-haired woman sucked his cock.  In another, a few bodies inter-twined, their sweat-sheened bodies catching the small light and making erotic shadow-play of the scenario.  

I left the area and headed upstairs.  The small dance room was full of bodies moving to the hardcore dance music, and although I could see the DJ I had spoken to earlier on the decks it was just too crowded to stay long in the hot room.  Over in the dungeon play area all the equipment was being used... and some party-goers were making their own play area.  One leather-clad man was completing his Japanese rope bondage on his clearly willing female victim, the soft ropes pulled tight between her legs, spreading her bulging cunt.  Of course, in the interests of the blog I stayed a little while and observed.  Japanese rope bondage can be, well, a little boring, but I have to admit I did quite enjoy the eroticism of watching the tightening ropes pushing the girl's vulva out more and more.  I would have loved to have stroked her naked and shaved pussy, but it was clearly a two-person scene at that point.  I thought it best to leave them to it otherwise I don't think I could have stopped my wandering fingers from joining in.

I found a spot on the stairs to watch the sexy, heaving crowd move in time to the relentless music.  It was a great place to be - I had many compliments on my dress, and met lots of lovely people from all over northern Europe.  I especially noticed a huge number of very stunning and sexy older ladies, all clearly out for a good time.  


Dexi Delite Manchester and Cheshire Escort - Dominatrix Party Weekend 2016.
At some point I wandered back upstairs, finding my Brighton friends drinking and observing the party below.  We chatted, as much as we could over the loud music, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I turned to find a young girl, completely naked except for a slave collar, standing there.  In broken English she told me she liked my dress - in turn I told her I liked her body.  She kissed me, and I could taste lots of alcohol on her breath, before running her hands up my dress to briefly caress my breast.  I was debating about the ethics of taking it further when her partner arrived, clearly trying, somewhat in vain, to control his runaway slave-girl.  She waved as he took her away, and I figured he was going to be in for a quite troublesome night from his naughty girl.

4.30am arrived and with the club emptying I decided it was time to make a move myself.  I found the shuttle-bus, and once again the short journey back to the hotel meant I was heading back to my room a few minutes later.  In the room next to mine there was clearly a party going on - I was sorely tempted to join them, but the invitation on the door also gave a warning - there was filming inside for social media.  I decided some discretion was required, so sadly left them to it.

I was determined to have a decent meal before heading home later that day so was up early, despite the late night, and headed downstairs for breakfast.   I was amazed to find the party still going on in the next room as I left my room.  In the breakfast lounge I bumped into the DJ from the industrial room, who hadn't even been to bed, like the people next-door to my room.  These guys knew how to party!  I was also amazed that many other party-goers had the same idea of not missing breakfast... although once again some were better dressed for a public brekkie than others. 

At midday I caught a taxi back to Uitgeest train station, thankful to be leaving the gorgeous hotel as it was now filling with Dutch families for a traditional Dutch Christmas get-together.  Back at the train station there was a short queue for the ticket machine.  My heart sank.  I waited.  An elderly Dutch couple struggled with the machine.  It was as uncooperative as those at Schipol airport.  I waited a bit more, with more people joining the queue behind me.  We all waited whilst the couple struggled again, until eventually a Dutch lady, stood in front of me, stepped in to help them.  They were soon on their way, train tickets in hand.  The Dutch lady spent just a minute or so at the machine before it acquiesced to her demands.  As she turned I tapped her on the shoulder.  "Can you help me with mine?" I enquired.  In no time I had my ticket to Schipol.  I collected my bags and ventured onto the station platform.  Across the tracks a train sat waiting, but I wasn't sure where it was going to.  I tried to make some sense of the train timetable, but, well, it all seemed like double-Dutch to me.  I heard frantic tapping behind me and turned to see the Dutch lady waving at me from inside the waiting train, and signalling that I needed to be on the same one.  Like the Berlin train charge from a couple of years ago, I hustled my bags down a flight of steps, through the trainline underpass, up the other side and just caught the train as it was departing.  The kind lady even came into the carriage to make sure I was OK and had caught it in time.

A fabulous and memorable weekend, with wonderful Dutch hospitality and friendliness.  It's been a long time since I last went to Netherlands, and this trip has certainly made me think my revisit was overdue.

It's full steam now until Christmas, and I've still got a few things to look forward to before the end of 2016.

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