My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult - Sexplosion!

Sexplosion!

My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult

My heart races and my knuckles are bone white from gripping the steering wheel as I pull up my Mistress’ domicile. I nervously turn off the car, debating whether or not I will go through with this. I glance over at the crumpled newspaper ad on the passenger seat that promises “Instant Action! Deep Satisfaction! An experience you’ll always remember” and a shiver runs up my spine. Do I know what I am getting into?

Biting my lower lip, I open the Chevy’s door and step out into the cool night. I look up at my Mistress’ brownstone and see a single light on at the upstairs window. Gathering my trench coat around me, I walk up the short stairs that lead to her door. I grasp the goblin-shaped brass knocker and knock three times. From within, I sense movement and a moment later the door begins to move. It is opened by a very tall, muscular black man. He is shirtless and appears to be sweating profusely.

A second later I realize that it is not sweat he’s covered in, but baby oil. Trying to ignore the overpowering sickly-sweet smell, I greet him and begin to introduce myself. He only raises a finger to his lips to silence me and beckons me forward into the gloomy darkness of the foyer. Before my eyes completely adjust to the darkness, the dark man removes my trench coat and hat. He hisses: “wait” as he disappears into another room.

I stand alone at the threshold, feeling very vulnerable and excited. I know that tonight I will experience something I have only ever fantasized about. Tonight I will be debased. Tonight I will be put in my rightful place. Tonight I will serve.

My nostrils flare again as I become aware of the oiled man’s presence. He reaches out his hand and growls: “Pay up front!” I pay the prescribed amount and he leads me into the room beyond a set of red velvet curtains.

The adjacent room is lit only by candlelight. The room’s dimensions are made unclear by the black lace curtains, which cover its walls. Against the left curtains there is a large wooden structure in the shape of an “X”. On the four points of the “X” structure there are leather restraints. Against the right curtains, there is a large wooden table covered in bondage paraphernalia: a dog collar with chain, a riding crop, a leather corset, a leather hooded mask, handcuffs with no apparent keyhole, pixie stix, an enema bag with syringe, Ben-Wa balls, a spiked belt, a ping-pong paddle, several dildos, and a large CD/Stereo system. The huge speakers were on the floor on either side of the table. In the middle of the room, hanging from the ceiling is a Vietnamese Man Trap. I get goose bumps looking at such a magnificent piece of erotic art.

My Dominatrix steps out from behind the black lace curtains across from me. She stands there in all her dark, powerful glory. Her shiny stiletto boots commanding to be licked. Her leather-clad ebony body demanding to be obeyed. Towering over 6 feet in her boots, with an added 6 inches from her Afro hairstyle, she is a statuesque giant of a woman. I look upon her cold face and her icy glare chills my soul while it warms my loins. In her left hand she holds a leather whip with a stainless steel handle. And in her right hand she holds what appears to be a CD case.

She notices my stare and screams at me: “You worthless dog! Did I give you permission to look at me? Cast your eyes downward, you bastard! Good. That’s better, you pig. Now, strip out of those clothes! You are not good enough to wear them. Yes, that’s right. Out on that leather corset and the dog collar. Look at you, you little Sissy. While you are doing that, I’m going to put on some music to help your conversion. It’s My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult’s new album Sexplosion and you better like it, slave!”

As I place the collar around my neck, the first song “The International Sin Set” blares from the speakers. The first thing I notice is how danceable it is. Buzz McCoy’s funky beats are peppered with samples about being tied up. My head starts to bob up and down a bit, as I become one of the “sin set” myself. It is a really catchy tune and it set the tone for some down and dirty fun.

As I am lacing up the corset, I hear the opening baselines of “Leathersex” and I have an immediate physical reaction. The song builds into a total disco stomper complete with oohs and ahhs. Groovie Man’s slinky vocals about being bathed in leather and stripping before and altar go perfectly with my current situation. I even begin to dance a little bit, until my Mistress catches me and gives me a short, smart slap across my bare buttocks.

I straighten up and continue to dress myself, donning a pair of leather boots that were just brought to me by Mr. Baby-Oil. “A Martini Built For 2” subtly grooves up into my ears. I notice it is mellower that the earlier songs. It seems to be a parody of the single’s bar dating scene. I begin to get the feeling that this whole album may be a concept album celebrating the open sexuality of the 70’s disco scene.

My Dominatrix forces the leather hood over my head and I can no longer see my surroundings, but I can hear the next track, “Dream Baby.” This is a very pleasant song, with a laid back electronic beat that totally embraces and cements Thrill Kill Kult’s new direction. It is unlike any other song I have ever heard from them. It would appear to me that they have totally shed the Satanist image they have worked so hard to cultivate in their prior releases.

By the time “Mood No. 6” comes on, the chain has already been attached to my dog collar and she has been leading me on all fours around the room. This atmospheric piece of music is the closest this album has come to the older Thrill Kill Kult sound. It chills me and I know that if we were listening to and LP or Tape, this would be the end of Side A. They usually do a short atmospheric piece like this to close out the first halves of their albums and I recognize it as such.

The album perks up again as the current single and title track “Sexplosion” comes on. I have arrived at what I blindly recognize as the “X” structure. My Dominatrix removes my hood and chain and makes me lay back against the structure with my arms outstretched. My head shakes a bit to the beat as she begins to strap me down. I am amazed at how “Sexplosion” kind of incorporates a rap style vocal approach to its electronic funky flourishes. And the sample “Sex is perverted and sick” really makes me smile. It is truly the icing on the cake.

Seeing my smile, my Dominatrix slaps me and tells me to behave or there will be hell to pay. She walks over to the table and grabs the riding crop. She walks back slapping the riding crop against her hip to the beat of the opening strains of “Princess Of Queens.” I am in total shock at the sound of the song. This is the total opposite of what Thrill Kill Kult should sound like! It is an over the top disco song that sounds like early to mid 80’s Latin Freestyle club music mixed with Donna Summer type vocals. What shocks me more is the fact that I kind of like it. I feel guilty for feeling this way, but that what I came here for: to feel guilty.

She begins to beat me with the riding crop. The feeling is not as painful as I expected. It actually felt kind of good. It was more like a tingly sensation than actual pain. My mind is focused more on the music that I am hearing. I even smile a bit when I hear Groovy Man’s guest vocals doing a little rap in the middle of the song.

She senses my lack of reaction; she blindfolds me and switches to using the whip. My dominating angel starts to run the leather whip across my bare chest. I am in subservient ecstasy when I hear the first single off the album (and major crossover success) “Sex On Wheelz.” This is more conventional Thrill Kill Kult fare, relaying heavily on the ripping guitar groove and reptilian vocals. I laugh in recognition and my Dominatrix takes this as a sign of disrespect. She let’s the whip and verbal abuse fly!

For a few minutes I am in agony, but the pure fun of the song allows me to get lost somewhere inside where pain is meaningless and only pleasure reigns supreme. I can only hear the crunchy guitar over and over and even begin to shake my body in time with the beat.

The Dominatrix switches over to using the paddle, but I am no longer paying attention to the pain. I am lost in the catchy rhythm of “Continental Touch.” It has an accessible hook that is sure to satisfy dance maniacs while continuing to alienate older fans who love TKK’s older, darker sound. Even though I am one such fan, I admire them for doing something so unpredictable and tongue-in-cheek as this album satirizing the whole 70’s discotheque sound. And if I can readily embrace it, I am sure other TKK fans will also approve.

My Dominatrix hits me harder and plunges foreign objects into my body, but it is to no avail. I have found something that turns me on more than her abuse. The slinky music of “Mystery Babylon” closes out the CD, sounding like an advertisement for prostitution. The Bomb Gag Girlz croon: “We got instant action, deep satisfaction, an experience you’ll always remember…” and that is enough to send me over the edge. My body begins to convulse and I strain against the leather bonds, letting the sweet feeling of release sweep through my body.

As I come down from the mountain of ecstasy, my mistress removes my blindfold and gives me an evil leer. She thinks she is the cause of my satisfaction, but in reality my pleasure was found in Sexplosion by My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult.

When she unties me, she tells me that I am a good little slave and pats me on the head. All I can say is: “Yeah, whatever. Say, you got a cigarette, Babe?”