What did I do over the long weekend? It’s blazing hot, with the temperature dancing around the high end of 20 C or even over 30 C and nasty humidity. The pools are full of screaming children and all my friends were mewling on their social media feeds that they were too hot to fuck. Never-mind, a little AC and the right theme, and I was all set for a great play party.
I hold these parties once every couple of months, inviting an exclusive group of my trusted friends to romp and explore and be our kinky, sexy selves. This isn’t your mother’s play party, with all the fetish protocol and no sex attitude that entails. You won’t find some person in a motrocycle cap doing Florentine flogging to show they are a Serious Master. Everything is fun, casual and rests on an absolutely no creeps policy.
Picture an elegant 1930s apartment, done up in paper lanterns and blue crepe bunting in undulating waves…
The guests are dressed in trunks, swim suits and loose, airy cotton dresses. Some go pinup vintage, some go chic and modern. There are soft bodies; hard bodies; hairless, smooth bodies; and sensually furred bodies. Men, women and people who dance in the middle, all are welcome. They know it’s a safe place to explore what they love. The atmosphere is perky and joyful, vintage beach tunes and silly movies (Lilo and Stitch) setting the tone before we take things in a much more adult direction. I don’t think there was a bit of black leather in sight, unless, of course, you count the mountain of toys I’d put out to share.
I told the guests an 8:00 PM start time, and on the dot, the first handful of people start trickling in. Early birds ask if they can help out, and I hand off a beach ball and balloons to blow. I have three rooms open- the kitchen with its vague Arabian nights feeling; the long, pillared living room decked out to hold the majority of folks, and my bedroom made more intimate by a black light. There’s snacks and drinks: a whole watermelon in wedges; brightly coloured popsicles; jubejube fish; chips and salsa; beachy drinks. Nothing to excess, everything just right to indulge and to remind you that we’re here to play.
But how do you go from friends to frolic?
Everyone arrives around the start time, first Peppermint Kitten and her man (they’re early birds, and like to help set up) and then guests in ones and twos. Every party starts like this, with people bunching up on the couch, a little shy where it’s just a handful. Everyone is at least passingly familiar with everyone else, but there’s a note of care in everyone’s posture. Nobody wants to be rejected, and nobody wants to overstep and make anyone else uncomfortable. We might be inveterate perverts, but how to make sure we honour enthusiastic consent? The guests are almost all here, but we’re all having social time.
My friend, Peppermint goes on a little walk about the apartment, looking at all the decorations. I’m admiring my own handiwork in the bedroom, looking at the glow sticks hanging from the fan and the bright stars on the wall.
I get the play party truly started when I grab and lift my friend onto the bed.
The Montreal BDSM community is live in a world where everyone talks, but there are strict norms: don’t “make drama” and don’t out people. It’s held up by our heavy reliance on Fetlife as a social tool, which refuses to allow you to say anything negative about anyone, whether calling them out for alleged littering or a rape conviction. But this is my blog, so I can express that I think Dunter is a bad person who should be banned from the BDSM scene.
Dunter assaulted me and violated my consent, and I have witnessed him violate the consent of someone else
Me:
– While demonstrating pressure points, went from demonstrating on my fingers to violently twisting my nipple. I guess he was fed up none of his pressure points were working on me. – Fondled my fresh surgical stitches, after I explicitly told him not to touch me at all. Claimed he didn’t hear me say no when I freaked out. – Decided to physically pick me up, until I thumped him in the head. Blames that I was being rambunctious and playful. Implied consent, right?
Another Person:
– During the aforementioned pressure point incident, randomly grabbed someone in the audience and jabs them.
For purposes of libel, that’s all I can explicitly tell you DID happen. You’re welcome to say exaggerating, lying or whatever. But I talk about it because for some reason everyone knows he’s bad news, but he continues to be a part of the scene outside my carefully curated bubble. And I’m going to talk about what other people say too. Good and bad.
The “Gossip”.
Oh, we snicker when he organizes and anti-rape class and taglines it “coming from someone who knows“. And you can say his name casually and everyone has an anecdote about the time he dropped someone on their head, or the way he acted soooo disappointed when the new girl in the community turned out to have six years prior experience. Where ever he goes, he sets himself up as a guru and gets into a massive argument with whomever is organizing things. The posturing battles with other (male) people in authority are the subject of giggling as fetlife posts with euphemistic but insulting nicknames are used to call each other out.
And he continues to act, and play with and endless stream of young women (always young, always bought with his alleged rope skill). And to say anything beyond vituperative behind the fan, sleeve biting sarcasm is DRAMA. Too much, vindictive of whomever, not everyone’s problem. You can tell he’s a creeper by looking at him, right? Don’t be revenge seeking! Don’t drag other people into this! I don’t take sides, whoa…
In short, he’s a classic missing stair.
Popularized by Pervocracy, a missing stair is person who’s like the flaw in a building that all the regulars know to avoid. Like a balcony railing you can’t rely on, a floorboard that sticks up, or the dark basement step that you’re supposed to skip to avoid tumbling headlong, anyone who is a part of the group knows it’s there ans considers awareness of the hazard the cost of living there.
In my case. I got an extra dose of Dunter because I was good friends with someone he dated for a prolonged period. And that’s one of those things I’m not proud of- I was younger and meeker, and although I still consider myself good friends with her, older me would not have the patience that younger me did of trying to ignore the cretin she dragged around everywhere with her. It’s also made me cautious about speaking up. What if people thought this was an ill thought out revenge scheme motivated by a jealous ex? Well, she’s way more chill about everything and actually unaware that I’m writing this, so if you feel inclined to call conspiracy you can’t include her.
I’m writing because nobody else is.
But in the scene at large, there’s also a degree of sexism in the lack of response to completely ostracize him. Because he largely targets women, it’s easy to find guys who’ll tell you, tsk, tsk he means well. He’s so earnest, volunteering for absolutely fucking everything (I mean he did drop someone on their head on some stairs, allegedly, but he means well right?) and how those black t-shirted would be bouncers are TOTALLY keeping an eye on him as he suspends a young woman in the centre stage of their event.
I usually abhor blaming an entire gender, but there’s this powerlessness among the various guys I’ve talked to who hold actual power in the community. As if they don’t control their own venues. Mostly doms or dom-presenting switches and fetishists, respected and even admired. Sometimes they’re even trusted, although trust is hard currency to come by in the kink scene. When the public fights happen they’re over prestige, someone claiming military service they didn’t do or whose rope is the longest. Other than that, most people of both genders shake their head with that little smirk “Oh Dunter, I’ve heard a lot about him.”
Jesusfuckingchristareyoufuckingshittingme. This does not take some sort of advanced degree to figure out. Most of the people of any degree of authority and prestige know he’s bad news. He runs his “Centre” partially as a reaction from being ejected from Montreal’s other kink teaching space, the ALCC. Or allegedly he did. Because nobody would be as gauche as to tell anyone anything specific.
I promise you that I’ve never found a person who requires caveats about their personality or has multiple stories attached to them is good to be around.
With Dunter, I can’t really blame his other victims from not doing more than talking among ourselves. God knows, getting any kind of traction means putting yourself through the wringer, and if you take on someone you better believe you’ll get one metric ton of bullshit as a reward. But as a community organizer, even a volunteer who reserves a venue once a month, I feel like actually have to say something.
So I am. Because every time us petty kings and queens let him in and “watch” him or don’t use our social capital to express displeasure we are tacitly endorsing him. The guy thrives and succeeds because he presents himself as a leader, and expert and a teacher. And I can say, based on personal experience and the information of people that I consider trustworthy, I do not endorse Dunter for anything and he should not be around people.
Oh, and I leave you with this if you need to do a follow up:
“Take off your clothes.” He was talking innocently to a couple when I interrupted. We’d taken enough time to get into the groove of the party and I had decided it was time to play. His collar was already on by his own initiation, but that wasn’t enough for me. Everything had to come off post haste: shirt, shorts, the contents of his pockets all stashed in my arms, given over with grudging but absolute obedience. I shoved them all off safely with the coats and got back to find him balking in his black boxer briefs.
He’d looked shocked at my abruptness and his shoulders were hunched submissively, but his face was petulant, making this his sticking point, showing a little bit of his will. I forced him with another quick command to strip down to skin, enjoying the hesitated humiliation in his behaviour. By taking him this way, I’d yanked him straight out of performer mode. Only moments ago, he was working his charm on the newbies, and now I’d made sure they could see who was boss. Past history had told me the female half of the pair had probably been added to the long list of women angling for a spanking from him- or at least he hoped it would be so, and I got a little, edge play style frisson of being truly naughty by taking that away. No. You’re mine.
Stripped down, I ordered a cup of ice from the juice bar, and had him on all fours. I’d selected a whippy leather belt from the toy bag, a long, tan strap I doubled over in my fist to make a handle. I made him, from charming social butterfly into nothing but a table, ass in the air, head down with everyone watching and set the cup on his tailbone. No more rakish flirting, he was a pure object to be used now.
A pattering of spanks gave him a warm up and made his cheeks blush. The belt was hard and mean, its wrapping edge making it crueler than it looked. Very soon he broke his good posture and there were ice chips everywhere.
To punish him, after he’d cleaned up, I made him stand in front of the giant mirror over the grey stone fireplace. He could have his back to everyone and see the room watching him. I laid into him with the belt some more before trying out one of the dungeon’s fixtures, a spanking bench shaped almost like an ironing board, with a sensibly posed slot to fit dangling male genitalia. It left his ass deliciously exposed for more vicious cropping.
I teased him about having to ask the women for permission to come until he found one that would be merciful, and made him stand, while I swabbed down the bench, pulling his cock erect for everyone to see. We went for a little walk around the loft room so there were no illusions about how completely exposed he was, no way he could pretend nobody noticed.
As a finally I parked him in the big bondage chair at the back of the room, a throne that let me restrain his wrists and chest so he was sitting helpess, waiting for me to decide my next move.
Seeing his erection, it proved too tempting not to play. Me and an hitachi enjoyed making him squirm- at theis point he had no idea if he was going to come that night, had to hold himself together as best he could, wriggling and moaning in his seat until I told him he had no choice, he was going to come, now.
Like a cork out of a champagne bottle, I ended up sprayed down from hair to waist, all over me, my arm and my pretty white summer dress. There was nothing left but to join him in nakedness, so off it came. Oh, and cute girl from earlier? She sent him a blushing PM about how she totally wanted me to do all those terrible things to *her*. We might have a play date coming up.
Because, dom, sub or switch, dignity is always optional:
1) It was only after the order of silence that Malcolm realized he desperately needed to pee. Unfortunately his skill at charades was such that all his wiggling, whimpering and pointing made Mistress think he was looking to be edged. Again.
2) Clara tried very hard to be inclusive to other people’s comfort levels, not because she thought she deserved a cookie, but because it was only polite. To her horror as she was introducing a newbie to the people at the munch she realized that she had not only blanked on someone’s name, but which pronouns fit them best- despite having hung out joking with them at every single kinky event over the last six months.
3) It was only part way into the scene that he realized his missing dress belt had accidentally fallen into the toy bag, and was now being expertly wielded by his dom on their mutual sub. On the one hand he needed it for a job interview in an hour. On the other hand they were so much in the zone he didn’t want to intervene to retrieve it.
4) Waking up in bed, she stretched, yawned and there was a yowl and a thud as her feet nudged and pushed Kitty from their precarious but cozy position curled up at her feet and into the wadded up laundry pile at the foot of the bed. It took a lot of pocky before Kitty stopped sulking.
5) While discussing his panic attacks, the therapist asked him if he had every heard of CBT. He blushed.
6) Safeword during brutal spanking scene. Her top paused, alarmed. Had he pushed he too far this time? Nope, her eyebrow was itchy.
7) Having kinky parents was cool- they understood everything. Only she wanted to introduce her new boyfriend Kevin in some other way that fucking up the scheduling and both attending the same play party, with them arriving when she was in mid-scene. It would have been better if dad had *not* provided a friendly suggestion about her fisting technique.
What’s your worst case scenarios, awkward moments and other unique to BDSM problems?
It’s November now, which for a Canadian is a month of nothing (our Thanksgiving was last month) and a lot of nostalgia for October. This year, Halloween night meant a private party hosted at chez moi, with select guests of a very particular nature. Kinky and fun – everything you could want. Also I made banana bread AND german apple cakes.
Of course I have a strange feeling you’re not reading this to learn about my culinary offerings, so let’s talk about the party and how it came to involve quite the spooky, sexy success…
So, it was another BDSM play party night. Woo sex parties with beautiful people! Let’s take off our clothes and mingle!
Actually, I’m an anti-social fuss pot who tends to default to hiding and sulking, but this one I was committed to trying to have a good time. After all, I’m pretty privileged to live in a large city with a vibrant and active community.
And really, as far as sometimes finding the public BDSM play scene a challenge, I blame that I’m an unimpressive top with intermittent social skills. I don’t mean to put myself down, I just mean as a dominant I can’t really fall back on flamboyant scenes, which removes some of the appeal of playing in public, and I have a hard time breaking into interactions with other people sometimes- and I get uncomfortable as the object of focused sexual pursuit, while having unreasonable expectations of worship. As such I decided that it was on me to figure out how to make things work, and flush with enthusiasm I threw myself into this party, complete with volunteering and trying to dress up extra cute.
Wildcard has a rather better experience- for him this is his kind of decadent fun he always dreamed about. He’s also new to the scene- like most libertines I’ve reached the point of jaded where the novelty has not only worn off, but been replaced by a patina of sameness, fate that seems to befall a lot of kinky folk who’ve been kicking around the place too long.
But, in preparation for trying to have a good time, I did my best to make sure good things would happen including trying to prep for best possible top time. You’d think an open and active dirty word pornographer like me would be up on this kind of thing like fleas on cat, but for me, getting into the saddle with someone is always pretty hinky- I need to feel like I want to be there of my own volition and I need to have a connection build up and not just mechanically walk through the dominant scene checklist, and I need to be seduced into feeling dominant.
Of course I’d told Wildcard that I really couldn’t do the ‘dom-on-demand’ thing where we were happy non-sexual/non-power exchange-y in day to day interactions and then poof, suddenly I had to drop into the role with full on confidence in a very public environment. So he was doing a good job of before time foreplay, which is to say going out of his way to pique my interest in swatting him, while I did my best to anticipate and plot. And as you will read on, things may have worked very well…
While BDSM forums often provide a great way to talk to other kinky people and get a reality check or a sympathetic ear to your kinky interests and queries, you know you have encountered these conversations before. Whether it’s fetlife, /r/BDSMcommunity, the bright young things on 4chan’s d board, an international non-english community, or some other hidden pocket of kinky folk, everyone’s participated in them at least once and many of these are not inherently terrible until you’ve discussed them for the fifth or sixth time.
Why are all the sub men entitled perverts/the dom women money grubbing scammers? Also:There are no dominant women in my large metropolitan area who are not professionals. Where do the REAL femdom enthusiasts hang out and why do they seem to find that attitude repulsive?
Please validate that my status as a submissive means that I should be mad at my dom for failing to bend over backwards and give me what I wanted because my inherently fragile submissive self will asplode if I don’t get a bedtime story/symbolic reassurance on demand/fetish activity whenever I want.
My LDR & internet only partner just ghosted. I am incredibly torn up that I no longer have an emotionally intense skype relationship with someone so many timezones away they may actually be sleeping.
Feminism is making it hard to live as a submissive woman. A movement largely built on respecting the free choice of one gender to live as the choose is clearly preventing me from expressing myself because it stops other women from being subjugated and ruins my natural order fantasies because I think that somehow people turning a blind eye to abusive relationships is the same thing as consensual kink. Also I met a judgy feminist once who said mean things about housewives.
DAE think submissive men should automatically somehow compensate dominant women from interacting with them regardless of whether or not said woman is a sex worker or the kinks being explored are findom/service, because that’s just what all femdoms want?
Are you actually… allowed to be in love in a D/s relationship? Like, am I less of a dominant for not holding my sub away from me with detached firmness? I’m a bad sub for wishing the dom I’ve fallen in love with would love me back?
I am a submissive with knee problems. Does my inability to kneel mean that I am less of a sub, according to a rigidly defined framework with its origins in pornography?
Long, multi-thread discussion about gross misconduct and consent violations that fail to mention anyone, even by pseudonym and rely on whisper judgement, still falling into the trap of allowing serious illegality to be dismissed as “scene drama” while clinging to the value of the court of public opinion.
I just broke up with my first kinky partner and I can’t conceive of ever getting the sex I like again because this was so serendipitous. Do other kinky people exist or am I doomed to never know love like this again?
How do I deal with the fact that I am in a serious relationship with a vanilla person who doesn’t have any interest in anything to do with my sexuality, without breaking up with them or receiving any sort of compromise on their part? They may not know I’m kinked.
[Detail scant personal ad that’s been inappropriately posted against forum rules (and probably posted in an international group to boot) to demonstrate naivety and complete lack of reading comprehension, because spamming is attractive]
Only the way I express my kinks is right. Let’s have a lengthy, tone deaf argument on why a particular choice of actions makes you a nutcase, insensitive to people who are not involved in your personal life in any way or a poseur who lacks a true kinky flair.
On second thought, let’s have a tone deaf, completely non-kinky discussion on some unpleasant issue like fat shaming, gender, why any modern progressive movement is icky and excessive, or someone’s pet conservative cause, enhanced by the fact that some poor person with serious mental health impairments is weighted equally and debated with the same vigour as someone with a less loose grip on reality.
My new explorations of kink are MAGICAL. I think I just came unicorns out my ears.
Last Saturday I helped hold a celebration for my Gentleman Nemesis’s birthday. It was a simple, casual six person dinner-and-company-affair, with two other femdom couples. That’s right guys, a real life femdom party- but maybe not completely like the kinds you see in porn. Also, we had tacos. :9
The founding kernel for this event was organizing a proper, mean birthday spanking for Wildcard. The first misconception to throw out, if you’re trying to imagine this, is something ultra high protocol in a classy mansion or high end loft. Although Wildcard’s residence is plenty homey and tasteful, the reality of secret BDSM is how well we blend in. The subs did not arrive on leashes, and the only fetish-y thing was that I decided to wear my corset, which is a steel bone and satin number in severe black, but this was as much because I don’t have many occasions to have my waist cranked down by 3.5 inches. Everyone else, on the other hand, came in comfortable, casual clothing, the sort of stuff where you won’t feel silly or awkward. None of the female doms or male subs have a thing for cross dressing, so there were no submissive sissy maids simpering over tea. Sorry, I know, trés disappointing for a certain hopeful number of you.
The guest list was some familiar faces: LadyCobra, Vosko, Ballbuster and Mr. Sub, which meant two other couples with solid dynamics. Once again, I really have to say they emphasizes how you can all be technically on the same page but have radically different ways to do things. It’s also possibly one of the best parts of playing with other people because you get such a wide range of dynamics and outcomes.
Powerhouse couple Ballbuster and Mr. Sub have had years to build their dynamic together. They’re real proof that some of the meanest, hardest play is built on a strong foundation of love and mutual support. Their style is also something that developed together, with definite switch tendencies in Mr. Sub that mean that when he’s not otherwise occupied in the sub role he’s eager to give input. With two minds put to the task, a lot of predicaments and pure wanton sadism pops up, and he’s as eager to share it with any and everyone else as his dom. On the flip side, with that sort of regular play partner, in scene Ballbuster runs things hard and fast, with intense cruelty and no warm ups- then again Mr. Sub takes a lot to get him down, and his idea of after care if bouncing around all pumped up, while the dom flops, exhausted in a corner. If you need to imagine them: Think huge toys, heavy pain and hard humiliation. With a sub like Mr. Sub it’s quite clear where Ballbuster learned her confidence- she doesn’t seem to worry about pulling out all the stops and the effect is spectacular. Also she went as a pink pixie fairy last halloween- take that how you will.
Meanwhile, LadyCobra and Vosko’s dynamic is a lot more characterized by LadyCobra’s attentive preciseness to detail. Vosko is a lot more vulnerable in play, and while he’s got a great sense of humour and strong public persona- in kink he’s got a softness there (and incidentally is the baby of our little group of libertines), which is not to say he is a wimp, but rather that there’s much more of an impression of fragility there while he’s being given fierce looking bruises. Paradoxically, by appearance, he’s also the sort of massive Scotsman that gave the ancient Romans second thoughts, and would not be out of place among a line up of metal fans. He’s well matched by LadyCobra who is, as I described before, incredibly technically precise and proper, with impeccable scene control. If anyone’s going to make “traditional” kink look good it’s her. She’s also very, very good at bringing just the right level of pain or strictness the moment needs, and making her approach to a submissive or bottom fit with just what the sub can take, all without making her subtle adjustments obvious.
Organizing an event is mostly complicated by the shyness that’s inherent in trying to get other people up in your sexuality without creeping them out or getting creeped out. Everyone’s needs and desires are intensely personal, so I’m always careful about presuming too much. Suffice to say, these things never happen with any sort of script or expectations beyond good taste and common sense. We agreed to a round robin, each of the guys in the sub role would get beat, birthday style, with each dom, and the implement of her choice, one whack for each year.
Wildcard was perfectly happy to share his day, because he’s one of the least selfish people I know. (Well, perhaps he’s nursing secret grumbles, but I don’t think he’d ever dream of vocalizing them if he did.) He also provided the homemade pork tacos, which sounds dirty, but actually was more that he’s an amazing cook- food which the guest inhaled, and I made a white cake with chocolate ganache and a caramel middle. I mention this because having fun is key, and if you want to organize your own party, keep in mind that you will have more fun if want to spend time with the people you play with outside of being kinky with, and at them. But, back to the beating and the humiliation!
I had Wildcard strip in front of us, piece by piece, folding as he went. He blushed really cutely as I made him remove every single item, except for his socks. Wildcard is ultra-slim in a trim bodied sort of way, and by affect, naturally very reserved and non-demonstrative about his feelings. He generally puts a lot of effort into his appearance- you won’t see him with his hair unseen to, or his beard untrimmed and even his casual clothing is well fitted and flattering. There’s a certain sort of pleasure I get just from mussing that perfect control in how he can present himself.
And it seems like my “take it off and fold it!” approach encouraged the others, because they soon followed suit, and Vosko was all vulnerable and stripped under much the same script, and then in his turn, Mr. Sub shucked clothes with the casualness that belays his long experience. There are not, to be frank, many chances to objectify men properly. I enjoyed it.
The best parts, for me, are always the reactions. Watching the way they take the hits, in this case posed just so, kneeling in an arm chair, with ass raised. My friends had brought their toys: paddles, bamboo canes a rubber baton and other entertaining means to smack flesh into submission. Wildcard had, for the second half of the evening, lost the right to speak unless spoken to or unless given permission. The effort was a practical one- with so many interesting people it was hard for him not to get distracted and interject into what people were saying. Charming conversationalist or not, he has an extremely hard time getting into anything approaching a submissive head state and his play collar was undergoing repairs.
I’m going to be honest and say that getting him in role or close to in role calls upon pretty much every shred of latent telepathic talent I might have in regards to reading subs (or in his case switches)- if his current job fails the guy should take up poker as a career. It’s also somewhat compounded by the sexual etiquette. I knew that he was incredibly excited to get a birthday spanking from multiple people because he told me as much, but the flirting that tends to be involved in BDSM encourages br’er rabbiting, ie other words pretending to be emphatically not into the act that you’re very much craving so the dom can feel like a meany with power over you, which means cultivating an air of reluctance. Since there’s an extra onus on dudes to be reserved in their sexual approach to avoid coming across as pushy, this can lead to kinksters behaving as shyly as a bunch of debutants.
Letting other women beat Wildcard is interesting for me, because it lets me watch how he responds. I gave him a warm up first, a bare skin, bare handed spanking to help him get ready for what was going to happen and passed him off, to go first in the chair. His fate involved his own belt laid hard against his skin, swung by Ballbuster’s hand. Then each man had his own turn following him.
The fact that Vosko was the youngest (and least spanked) did not, in any way, mean people went easy on him. Although he took less hits, it’s Wildcard who has the gentlest limits. Mr Sub, of course, needed a vicious thrashing to even make him do more than go “that’s niiiice” and go to sleep. All three men ended up with deep purple bruises, eagerly photographed and watched over as they faded over the past week.
I liked the fact that Wildcard was gently shaking a little bit, after his first third of his use. I liked that he melted into quiet vulnerability, rolling into a curled up naked ball, and that he would occasionally whisper to me. I liked that LadyCobra caught the vibe I was trying to build and worked well with it, and that Ballbuster, while she didn’t seem as into it, was patient enough to play along.
In any case, the guests seemed happy enough I can be sure there will be a repeat. Hurrah!
Three dominant women on one bottom, flogging lessons, a really slutty outfit, public sex. How was your weekend?
So, last weekend I went to one of Montreal’s classier dungeons for a BDSM play party- that’s coming from a part of the quadrant of the scene that I participate in, although the means by which you get an invite to this particular party make it a semi-private event. The dress code, happily in a sea of fetishwear obligations, is to wear what makes you feel sexy. You’ll see an artist rendition of roughly what I choose, albeit from the back, which shows the cute bow but not the sparkly pasties.
And I brought Wildcard. Dear reader, that’s the man who is being recently inducted into my wicked life of hedonism. New and yet not new to BDSM, this party was his first spot of public fun.
He also had his first munch that week, which for reasons I won’t get into, had its own hilarity attached. A polite summary is that we are Trying To Do Things Right, including the Going Slow bit, with a sideline in Avoiding Gossip. The result on that front is mixed, given my habits, and overlapping acquaintances, but it’s The Principle Of The Thing.
But, shocking scandals of my lovelife aside, what about the party?
Recently I did tentative discussions about stuff with someone about kinky fun times- the usual things about what happens to whom, and how. and, over the course of very gentle exploration, we discussed that there were things he liked, yes, but he didn’t want me to think he was topping from the bottom.
A bunch of people are weighing in on this particular dispute topic right now- the danger on emphasizing the negatives of that term. Snarksy blogged about it, where as over on Twitter @MsCrosswords from Beyond the Valley of the Femdoms was talking about the challenge of a partner who thought he wasn’t allowed to ask for stuff. At all. I’m old enough, in terms of participating in the online kink stuff, to remember when the term was not out of favour in the circles I run in. To be precise, “Topping from the bottom”, when I first encountered it, meant the phenomena in which the one who is receiving the topping (the bottom) or the person who is ostensibly submissive, is calling the shots in some format.
Back in the day, it was often a term used for a punishment dynamic gone wrong, where the rigidity of the rules meant that a masochist was getting rewarded for doing stuff the dom really didn’t want. It’s also was expanded to refer to the phenomena of the laundry list, something that seems mostly particular to F/m more than M/f. In that case, it was a series of demands based on the sub’s perception of D/s in exclusion to what the dom wanted, often with poor desire to respect boundaries. It’s good to have a term to talk about this problem, right?
What did I do over the long weekend? It’s blazing hot, with the temperature dancing around the high end of 20 C or even over 30 C and nasty humidity. The pools are full of screaming children and all my friends were mewling on their social media feeds that they were too hot to fuck. Never-mind, a little AC and the right theme, and I was all set for a great play party.
Last Saturday I helped hold a celebration for my Gentleman Nemesis’s birthday. It was a simple, casual six person dinner-and-company-affair, with two other femdom couples. That’s right guys, a real life femdom party- but maybe not completely like the kinds you see in porn. Also, we had tacos. :9
So, last weekend I went to one of Montreal’s classier dungeons for a BDSM play party- that’s coming from a part of the quadrant of the scene that I participate in, although the means by which you get an invite to this particular party make it a semi-private event. The dress code, happily in a sea of fetishwear obligations, is to wear what makes you feel sexy. You’ll see an artist rendition of roughly what I choose, albeit from the back, which shows the cute bow but not the sparkly pasties.