Challenging Tripp Evans

Die Gentle Lounge in Berlin - Erlebnisbericht

by Dan Apus Monoceros (Kink and relationship coach)

“Challenge Accepted!”—that’s how it started, and Tripp took on the challenge of enduring nearly 700 blows from impact toys of my choosing. Tripp knew I had a very sadistic streak, of course. As a wrestler, he was used to taking plenty of hits, but that involves a lot of showmanship. When it came to BDSM, however, he was (almost) completely inexperienced.

The audience—the guests at the Gentle Lounge—were different. They were quiet, yet they had a rough idea of ​​what might be in store for him. This compact powerhouse was agreeing to something that many would flatly refuse: an ordeal considered extreme even within the BDSM community. Respect... or stupidity? After all, if he lost, he would be offered to the Gentle Lounge guests as a commodity. Let’s see if he could pull it off!

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About the Gentle Lounge

The Gentle Lounge is a regular event hosted by gay-BDSM.club in Berlin, taking place at sinberlin. Participants have the opportunity to consent to active mistreatment, engage in activities such as CMNM, or be auctioned off at a mini-market. The evening usually begins with a show or a live demonstration centered on BDSM themes.

You can find upcoming dates for the Gentle Lounge at: www.gay-BDSM.club

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The "Gentle Lounge" event hosted by gay-BDSM.club takes place at sinberlin—a small but very cozy BDSM club in Berlin. It’s a place to enjoy drinks, chat with like-minded people, explore one's D/s dynamic, and immerse oneself in kinky roleplay. There is always a live demo or show as well, and I had managed to get Tripp on board for this one. But how did he fare?

After accepting the challenge, Tripp first had to take off his shirt, and the singlet he was wearing underneath was pulled down off his shoulders. He was then secured into the bondage frame in a spread-eagle position—perfect for whipping from behind, yet just as accessible from the front! I looked him in the eye and asked, "Ready for some gut punches?" so we started with a few moves he was already familiar with from his wrestling background. A slap across the face followed, and I had his full attention.

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Note:

Impact play in particular—as well as the other forms of play mentioned—carries risks and should not be practiced without adequate training and experience. Impact play, specifically, can cause serious injury or even death. This article is not intended as a how-to guide, nor does it aim to provide a comprehensive overview of the associated dangers. You can learn about the risks and hazards involved, how to minimize them, and how to structure an amazing impact play session by taking my courses.

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The audience watched in anticipation as things kicked off with a soft flogger across his back—just to warm up. Tripp took it in stride. There were a few twitches when a stroke landed harder, but it was no trouble for him. The same went for when the action moved to his backside. Then again, it was only meant to get the blood flowing.

Next came another flogger—fewer tails, slightly heavier, and packing a much harder punch on the follow-through. But before really getting into it, I pulled his singlet down lower, fully revealing his sexy, rounded, perky butt. Blows rained down on his broad back and those thick, firm cheeks—which rose almost vertically from his slender waist, round and full, practically begging for it. It was pure fun to work them over and watch them twitch. And when the reaction wasn't strong enough, I’d stop alternating sides and focus on just one spot on a single cheek. Tripp felt the sting of the impact intensify with every blow, and he began to writhe—looking incredibly hot and sexy—in a desperate, instinctive attempt to dodge the strikes.

“Okay, probably still too much room to move,” I thought to myself, strapping him more tightly into the frame. “Let’s try something a bit harder now.” Next came the rubber riding crop—not too long, with a flat, wide tip that made it easy to target sensitive spots. A single stroke with a bit more force left a nice welt... and that was on a backside and lower back that were already warmed up and nicely reddened. Then came the rose-pattern flogger; though softer, its weight created a sensation that cut deeper.

Tripp reacted strongly, trying to dodge as best he could, yet he maintained a certain composure throughout. I checked in occasionally to see if he was okay, but there were no issues. Yeah, he’s definitely a masochist who enjoys this sort of thing ;)

We’d landed just under 250 strokes, and Tripp twitched and groaned with every hit. I asked him for the count, and he got it right... Well, I might have missed one or two myself, but the rough figure was accurate. I probably should have paid closer attention to challenge him a bit more psychologically, but I was certain he’d give in physically first.

Time for a change of pace: why not work on his front? Yes, I’m a sadist, and I love it.

His chest was my first target—specifically, the nipples. A gentle touch at first, then a firm squeeze—and there it was: he looked me defiantly in the eye, and I could practically read him screaming, “You asshole, keep going!” I didn’t need to be told twice. But his chest muscles were a target too; I’d grab the muscle firmly and dig my fingertips into the edge of the tissue. That, too, was an incredibly hot sensation—painful in a way that ranged from mild to intense. And there they were again—those challenging looks.

I took the riding crop and let it rain down on his already sensitized nipples and chest muscles, generating an intense sensation with very little effort. I watched him savor it, gazing back at me defiantly—a cheeky mix of pleading and hatred. And on I went!

Then, between his legs. Yes, on the genitals, but also on the inner thighs. He tried to clamp his legs together to block me, but—well, I’d done a good job with the restraints, so he didn't stand a chance.

Before turning my attention back to his back, I quickly tied his cock and balls together, made him stand on his tiptoes, and attached the other end of the rope to a hook above him. Now, every time he flinched, he’d end up tugging on his own balls in the process. A brilliant setup :)

After that brief but significant detour to his front, I continued on his back. Counting the strikes to his front, we were already past the 300 mark, and a few more strokes with the crop brought us to 350. Halftime! It was time for the nasty stuff ;)

The bullwhip and the cane were still on the agenda—and yes, I wanted to give him a fair shot, which is why I’d held off on bringing them out until now. Of the two, the bullwhip isn't necessarily the harshest, but the pain it delivers is incredibly precise, sharp, and localized—an intense sensation. Combined with that loud crack—which has a huge psychological impact—it makes for a pretty impressive combination. And yes, the way he flinched spoke volumes.

Every now and then, I’d ask if he was okay and if he could keep going. No problem at all.

Over fifty strikes rained down on him before his reactions began to slow. A certain rhythm had set in, and if Tripp excelled at anything, it was taking a beating. I could tell he was in a solid headspace—the kind where he could easily take another three hundred hits without breaking.

But I wasn't about to make it that easy for him.

So, I switched to the cane—a truly nasty implement. At the same time, I knew I needed to target his psyche and wear him down to break that extraordinary mental resilience of his.

I’d seen this phenomenon before with other martial artists I’d played with. They often possess such a high level of self-awareness—especially regarding pain—that they’re incredibly tough to crack. But I knew exactly what I was getting into; I’d gotten to know Tripp during the try-out session we held before agreeing to the demonstration. I’d planned accordingly.

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Dan Apus Monoceros

The author—who is also an active participant in the session—is a coach specializing in kinks and non-monogamous relationships. He supports curious individuals and those looking to grow as they explore and develop within the BDSM world.

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A monotonous rhythm is wonderfully wearing, especially when the blows land on the exact same spot over and over again. The sub can still feel the fading sting of the last strike while already knowing that—and when—the next one is coming. This rhythm can drive him to despair, as he is powerless to stop it and each blow lands harder than the last. His backside aches, the sensation of previous strikes lingers, then another lands—hurting more than the one before—followed immediately by the next, which hurts even more, and then another, and so on.

With Tripp, however, I had to take a different approach. He managed to keep the big picture in mind; he told himself he’d make it soon—only 200 left. That was the sort of thing going through his head. The only way I could break that mindset was to turn those remaining 200 strokes into an insurmountable mountain—a never-ending story.

“We’re at 300 now. You’re going to count down along with me, and when I ask, you have to give me the correct number. If you get it wrong, we start all over again from 300,” I told him. Deep down, I knew I would keep counting down regardless, but I deliberately didn't tell him that. The goal was to wear him down psychologically.

At the same time, I picked out a spectator to double-check the count. That way, I could focus more on the sub’s reactions. But that backfired on me. The "Subby Union" struck, and the spectator confirmed Tripp’s count every time—even when I had counted something different. Damn! We were already at 230 strokes and heading straight for 200... even though I’d ​​intended to push him to his limits at 300...

“Let’s make it a bit more challenging now—I’ll count along myself!”

Sure, I could have cheated here, but no—I’m tough but fair. Well, or let’s put it this way: I can be unfair without actually giving false information. I switched back to the riding crop—lighter, yes, but significantly faster and harder to track. It allowed for very precise strikes at almost any rhythm I chose.

And just as a monotonous rhythm can be grueling, an unpredictable one can have a similar effect—especially when you have to count the strokes and some come so fast you can barely register them. Add in the variety of target areas on the body, and I managed to make things difficult for Tripp.

“Number!” – “197” – “Correct”

“Number!” – “178” – “Correct”

He lost the count for the first time at 164, following a few rhythmic strokes and then some that were almost impossible to track and completely unpredictable.

“Wrong” – “We start over at 220” – “Fuck!”

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About Tripp Evans

Tripp Evans is an underground wrestler—a bit of a macho type who enjoys losing a test of strength and then submitting to the punishment that follows. If you’d like to see more of him, you can find him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/TrippEvans3

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And then I had him. From that moment on, he stopped counting the strokes correctly—he was broken. We made two or three more attempts, and each time he had to start counting again from 220. In my own count, however, there were barely 80 strokes left; I knew that if he didn't give up soon, I’d likely have to concede defeat—meaning he wouldn't be available to the guests afterward, which was something I really wanted.

“You give up?” - “No!”

Another 20 hard blows. “Number!” - “I don’t know!” - “220 again and harder!”

With only 46 strokes actually remaining, he finally gave up. He assumed he’d never manage to count them down correctly—perhaps because he suspected I was cheating. Yet, he definitely hadn't reached his true physical limit yet!

I untied him and first gave him a hug. He had accomplished a great feat, and I was very proud of him. However, the deal stood—and it was a reward for him, after all—so after that heartfelt embrace, a collar was put on him, and he was put on a leash and made available to the guests.

The first requests came in right away, and within the next few minutes, he was set to take the full force of attention from three guys at once. He was tied up, fucked, and passed around among the various guests; as a boy toy, he had to be at everyone's disposal.

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Mutual Agreement & Arrangements

The session with Tripp was planned in advance and aligned with his interests, and safe words were agreed upon. Naturally, his ego urged him not to go through with it, but he could have stopped the session at any time. On the contrary, however, Tripp thought the session—and the entire evening—was absolutely awesome, and he would likely want to go even further in a future session.

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