One of the things I'd come to love about Elysium was how it defied expectations. Just when I thought I had a handle on who played which role, someone would turn the script on its head. The most delightful example came one evening when Marco—my affable guide and resident clown—announced he was going to bottom for a flogging demonstration.
"I thought you were a switch," I teased as we sat at the bar.
He grinned. "I am. It means I enjoy topping and bottoming. Tonight, Jennifer gets to take a swing at me—literally."
The announcement drew a crowd. Jennifer stood on stage, flogger in hand, her usual confidence laced with laughter. Marco, typically a whirlwind of energy, was uncharacteristically still, his shirt off to expose his broad back. He winked at me as I found a seat. "Don't worry," he mouthed. "I can take it."
Before they began, Jennifer explained, "Marco and I negotiated this scene. It will be light—about a three out of ten. His safe word is pineapple. We're doing this to show that roles can be fluid. A Dominant can bottom; a submissive can top. It's about what feels right in the moment. Consent is still key."
She lifted the flogger and swiped it gently across Marco's shoulders. The sound was more of a whisper than a thud. Marco let out an exaggerated, theatrical groan, causing the audience to laugh. Jennifer rolled her eyes and delivered a slightly firmer stroke. Marco yelped dramatically. "Ow! You monster!" he cried, then broke into laughter himself.
The scene continued in this vein—Jennifer increasing the force only slightly, Marco hamming it up for the audience. "Colour?" she asked every few strokes, voice half serious, half amused.
"Green, Mistress," he replied in a mock‑submissive tone, fluttering his eyelashes. At one point, he stuck his tongue out at her, and she retaliated with a quick, playful flick of the flogger to his hip. The audience giggled. The dynamic onstage was less about pain and more about play. There was an ease between them that spoke of long friendship and trust.
Watching, I felt a warm tide of affection. It was easy to think of Dominants as always topping and submissives as always bottoming. But here was Marco, who had guided me through scenes and lectured me about negotiation, now willingly handing over control to Jennifer. And there was Jennifer, who often exuded an aura of unshakable authority, allowing herself to be silly, to smile while she swung the flogger. The scene celebrated flexibility and joy.
When Jennifer asked "Colour?" for the last time, Marco responded, "Pineapple!" loudly and theatrically, falling to his knees and clutching his chest. The crowd roared with laughter. Jennifer rolled her eyes and dropped the flogger, helping him to his feet. She draped a towel over his shoulders and whispered something in his ear that made his grin soften into something gentler.
Afterwards, Marco came over to me, mock pouting. "Do I look brutalised?" he asked, lifting his shirt to show faint pink marks.
"Utterly," I deadpanned, then laughed. "That was…different. Playful."
He nodded, serious now. "BDSM isn't always dark and intense. It can be light-hearted. It can be humorous. Roles aren't prisons. We switch because sometimes being in control is fun and sometimes letting go is fun. It's about choosing what feeds you."
Jennifer joined us, her face flushed from laughter. "Marco is one of my favourite bottoms," she said, ruffling his hair. He swatted her hand away, but his smile belied any annoyance. She turned to me. "Don't ever let anyone tell you there's a 'right' way to be kinky. Some people only top. Some only bottom. Some do both. Some days you're a Dom; some days you're a puddle on the floor begging for cuddles. It's all valid."
Later, writing in my journal, I reflected on the scene. Fluidity, I wrote. Labels can guide, but they don't dictate. Power can shift and shift again. Laughter belongs in the dungeon as much as moans. The evening reinforced that BDSM was not a monolith of dark rituals and heavy scenes. It could be light, funny, and full of affection. Marco's willingness to switch roles in front of a crowd and Jennifer's ability to wield a flogger with a smile showed me that at its core, kink was about play and connection. The tools might differ, but the foundation remained the same: negotiation, safe words, consent, and care. And sometimes, a pineapple was all it took to bring a scene to an end amid peals of laughter.
The laughter lingered in the air long after the flogging demonstration ended. As I sat in a plush armchair in the main lounge, sipping a cool drink, I watched the ebb and flow of conversations around me. People were scattered in small groups, some discussing the scene, others simply enjoying the relaxed, post-play atmosphere. The energy in the room was a palpable mix of contentment and camaraderie, a testament to the trust that underpinned every interaction here.
I thought about Marco and Jennifer, their easy banter and the genuine affection that had shone through their performance. It had been more than just a demonstration; it had been a story, a narrative of friendship and mutual respect told through the language of kink. Their playful dynamic had stripped away the intimidation that sometimes clung to the more serious aspects of BDSM, replacing it with something approachable and joyful. It was a powerful lesson.
I had been so focused on learning the rules of this world—the importance of negotiation, the sanctity of safe words, the mechanics of power exchange—that I hadn't fully appreciated the role of genuine human connection. But watching Jennifer and Marco, it was impossible to ignore. Their laughter wasn't an anomaly; it was a core part of the scene. It was a sign of a relationship so solid that it could withstand the pressure of a public performance, a testament to how deeply they understood and cared for one another.
My own journey in Elysium had been a series of careful steps, each one building on the last. I had navigated my first scene with Victor, learned about aftercare and trust, and now I was witnessing the fluidity of roles and the importance of play. The community here wasn't a rigid hierarchy, but a complex, interconnected web of relationships. Everyone had their place, and yet, everyone was free to move, to switch, to explore.
I watched as Marco, his smile still wide, went from one person to another, a charismatic force of nature. He was a perfect example of the multifaceted nature of Elysium's inhabitants. He could be a serious guide, a mischievous bottom, or a supportive friend, all within the span of a single evening. The labels—dominant, submissive, switch—weren't boxes to be trapped in, but rather, tools to describe a moment, a mood, a choice.
Jennifer, too, embodied this flexibility. Her commanding presence didn't disappear when she was laughing; it simply shifted. Her authority was not built on a stern, unyielding persona, but on confidence, knowledge, and a deep respect for those she played with. She could be the Mistress one moment and a playful friend the next, and in both roles, she was authentically herself.
As the night began to wind down, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. I had come to Elysium seeking a deeper understanding of kink, and in return, I was being given a masterclass in human nature. I was learning that true power wasn't about control; it was about the freedom to choose. It was about the courage to be vulnerable, to laugh in the face of perceived seriousness, and to find joy in unexpected places. The pineapple scene, in all its absurdity and charm, had cemented a new truth for me: the most beautiful scenes are not the most intense, but the most honest. They are the ones where a single word, even "pineapple," can mean the difference between a scene and a story. And tonight, I had been privileged to witness a story of trust, laughter, and the beautiful, boundless nature of play.