Buenos Aires BDSM : La Casona del Sado, aka Faker House

The place is not necessarily easy to find for a tourist, because it implements a very dubious measure of security mostly consisting of "only tell details to people who ask pointedly and appear suspicious, to ensure that 10/10 copsⁱ and 0/100 fresh morsels ever find the address". I had to be in front of the fucking door and pissed off in order to obtain the magical "apartment 1B"ⁱⁱ, they couldn't just tell me that on the first pass. If I ran my OpSec like this... but then again I guess I shouldn't be too harsh on mere mortals. After all, there is that Ulbricht episode.

A very gentille young man picks us up and escorts us to this very cramped apartment. A Spanish speaking old whoreⁱⁱⁱ greets us, pockets the 120 peso a head cover charge^iv, makes a note on her Windows Notepad^v and takes us on a tour of the place. She's not dumb, but clearly limited by monocultural exposure ; she means well I'm sure but implements poorly. I feel her tendrils trying to read me, to little effect. Very proud of her 15 years' experience, which is fine, except here's the thing : I've had a certain slave^vi for a decade now. A decade, you realise, and it's not that she's barely thirty, it's that I'm barely thirty. By the time I'll be sixty that'll mean forty fucking years, longer than any life sentence, longer than any commitment any human being you know ever made. It's not that I feign not being impressed to preserve social bargaining power. It's that plainly and for very good reasons I am actually not impressed.

Anyway, the apartment has high ceilings, which is the second among a short list of scant nice things about the place. In what looks like a coupla thousand square feet (divided into about a dozen rooms and hallways so you're never ever in that fearsome position where you can't touch a wall by lifting a hand, god forbid!) they've cramped a large number of diverse tools, there's a wheel, a coupla racks, a coupla cages, a horse or two. Everything looks reasonably well worn (which is not a criticism). There are very few armchairs, and all placed strategically blocking some critical corridor or other, so you can never relax. There is a room dedicated to sitting down, cheap plastic patio chairs and a couple of disjointed tables. As the tour ends, the matron tells us they only have two rules.

Rule #1 is no sex.

I am well meh'd at this point. I mean, it's perfectly true the place is an absolute cockfest^vii so perhaps they perceive no need to fuck, as far as they're concerned. As far as I'm concerned however I'm always escorted, and you telling me I can't fuck what I bring from home in my own doggy bag is a little rich. My own mother had not the outlandish idea to come up with such "rules" in her own house, who does this Sofia chick think she is ? I would have said to her "I have the tits, I make the rules" but unfortunately she didn't speak enough English and it doesn't have the same edge in Spanish.

But then we moved on to rule #2. You won't believe this one. No nudity.

This woman pretends to be running a BDSM meet with no nudity. And she wants people to pay to participate. It's almost like being in Romania or something, I'm starting to suspect old people have a stupidity all of their own, that's countryless and perhaps timeless.

Don't get me wrong, the Argentines are really very bizarre about female nudity. At that other place, with ~200 people in attendance and cocksucking going on in every corner I had the only bare cunt under my hands. That's right, all.other.girls. very carefully wore something between the legs, god forbid some air gets in there and we all die a phosgene death or something. But even so, for crying out loud, this is supposed to be the place to be naked, lay off the stupidity already.

By now I absolutely need a drink, so I go to the kitchen of the place. A little black lab lives here. He's sage and placid, carefully getting out of the way this way and that way so people can navigate the narrows and sounds of the place. I ask the kitchen girl (she's dressed like a CVS/Pharmacy clerk, because this is "la casona del sado", not some CVS/Pharmacy in rural Ohio) if she speaks English. She does. I tell her I need a drink. I could have communicated the broad concept in Spanish too, but "I need a drink" is a thing past the broad concept. She gets it, because she offers beer with such hopelessness it's only fitting. No, I say. Do you have Reserva San Juan^viii ? No, she says. Whiskey ?

Yes motherfucker, I come from a country that invented plum juice and I'm going to drink whiskey in sugarcane country because why the fuck not or something. Here's a hint : whiskey, like all cereal alcohols, is the shit of this world, one step above distilled wood. If you can't get fruit alcohol and are desperate for a drink you might indulge, but in that case you'll probably drink fucking vodka, at least it's clear. You don't need "aged" whiskey to show you all the greatness of barrel without any goodness of good alcohol, it's like putting a rotten corpse in a bellydance costume. It doesn't help it look any better, on the contrary.

So I end up with a bottle of whine wine which is passible. We go to the chair room, sit down, I smoke a cigarillo, go through about half the bottle during an hour of boredom waiting for maybe someone I know to show up and split. I've had more BDSM at the cinema in countries where I don't speak the language with girls I didn't know previously than I had at fucking Faker House. And, if the photographs on the walls are any testimony, so did everyone else.^ix

There are no direct reasons to visit this place. I can think of some meta-reasons, like trolling the "community" of fucktards and idiots that are happy in their limited, infantile reconstruction of some adult thing they've unwarrantedly stole the name of. Not really my cup of tea.

1. This thing was closed down by the police sometime during April, and they probably beat up on the muppets a little because everyone seems to have had the fear of God put into their bones somehow. Which is kinda weird, consider this ancient Romanian joke : Mom finds, while cleaning junior's room, some Sado-Masochism porn mags (this was pre-Internet). Cue the parents seated pensively in the kitchen. Eventually, Mom breaks the silence : "I say we don't beat him..." [↩]
2. I don't recommend you actually visit this place, unless driven by some meta-interest, like wanting to privately laugh at idiots for a night. Should you be so inclined or otherwise driven to spend a night among the shadows of unsubstantiated pretense I've noted it here for your benefit. It's the bottom right button on a two row arrangement. The address itself is trivial to find, ask around. [↩]
3. Very little has changed since 2008, except for the extra weight of half a decade. Here's the cached page just in case. [↩]
4. I'm not sure what the cover covers and I didn't bother ask. At approximately eight dollars I couldn't begin to care. It is however 20% over the cover charge for the other place, which other place is a largeish hall and in my opinion a preferable outlet. [↩]
5. Seriously now dear Argentine people... take a hint already. [↩]
6. When I say slave I mean slave. I do not mean that we sit around, "discuss our feelings" for half an hour, then negotiate what she's going to let me do to her (because she's the master now, the slave?!) and then pick a codeword for her to break my fucking and then proceed to "sessionar" for half a fucking hour. What in the shitstained hells is "sessionar" anyway, holy shit, it became a verb now ? Fuck you, buncha fucking useless muppetheads. Stop faking it!

   When I say slave I mean slave, I mean that when she fucked up I don't recall what minor point I ordered her to spend the night taking cold showers, and she did, four to the hour for hours, to the point of taking her body temperature to fifty or something. I mean that when I had her eat dogfood on all fours from a dog dish and she got one of her long hairs in there I made her eat it all anyway. So she vomited, and I made her lick her vomit off the floor. Not some of it, all of it. When I say slave I mean the woman will do anything I tell her to do whatsoever, with the only concern of how to do it faster and better. Because that is what a slave is, not fucking "safewords" and inane bitch.

   And that's barely scratching the surface, the list is long indeed. But the list is really not the point, stop focusing on the list and trying to fake slavery through the forms of slavery. The point is that the woman is my property, without defense and without recourse, to be disposed of as I see fit. It's a lovely arrangement, it allows her to learn and grow a lot faster than you ever manage, specifically because she doesn't have to spend all that mental energy on lost causes like you do. She knows her independence is a lost cause, she embraces that rather than having to pretend like it isn't, and as any religion and any path to enlightenment out there will tell you, this is the avenue to happiness. The only avenue to happiness. [↩]

7. I counted twenty guys and four women. Two of them were old, and I don't mean old as in, over 25. The other two were overweight, and I do not mean overweight as in, over 120 lbs. To use the dedicated PUA terminology, there was a 8-9 in there, in four parts. [↩]
8. Excellent local brandy, if you come by do try it. [↩]
9. This kid with a camera hung around his neck verified I grok Spanish and then informed me he's the photographer of the place and if we need anything just call. Which is nice, I suppose, until you went and took a look at the display photographs, they had maybe a hundred or so on three or four panes scattered all through. Thinking about it, this may be enough reason to go check the thing out, they're ridiculously bad. Even leaving aside that in.every.fucking.one the woman is hiding her face - and in the lamest of ways, too, holding up a balloon, the hair thing, the behind arm thing, the fucking 13 yo works! - they're badly framed, meaningless drivel. I don't think you could find a paysite that'd publish them even if you gave the set away free, which should say something, considering all the atrociously bad porn that gets published anyway. [↩]