They’re spaces that let you fully be what you are. Sex dungeons facilitate this crossover, this journey of self.
You’re a sadistic fist pig, skilled rope bunny, or spoiled brat in need of discipline. When you enter, you’re Sir or slave or Master or dog. When you leave the dungeon, you’re David with a vintage comic book collection and an affinity for Asian cuisine. And I think it’s healthy to do so - for the same reason I think it’s healthy to come out of submission and dominance, out of kink and fetish play, at regular intervals, like coming up for air. We like to dedicate that part of our lives to its own space, removed from the comforts of regular living. Anywhere can be a dungeon if you’re willing to forgo polite family visits, but few people want to eat and watch TV on the furniture where someone gets fisted or flogged.
