Another Real Life BDSM Play Party (Making It Work)

genericnakedmanSo, 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new to the scene- like most libertines I’ve reached the point of jaded where the novelty has not only worn off, but been replaced by a patina of sameness,  fate that seems to befall a lot of kinky folk who’ve been kicking around the place too long.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…

Getting ready, I dressed like I was sixteen, which is to say full on goth slut- little leather booty shorts, a brief bikini top and a home made fishnet shirt with mile high heels. Okay, sixteen year old me was lacking in footgear, but the last time I sported this look I was still sorting out having breasts. Lady Cobra did my makeup, because she’s talented as fuck at pretty much everything (seriously, she’s gorgeous, a wonderful top, an awesome partner to Vosko, a good cook and a phenomenally kind person with a lot of social courage), which meant I looked full on glam.

This particular super, secret invitation only BDSM play party was also the birthday celebration of a friend, so I spend some time today baking double vanilla cupcakes (heehee, vanilla) and producing a large batch of pink pastel  buttercream. I’d also looked to remedy my antisocial skulk by asking the host if I could volunteer with the event, and got posted for an hour long shift at dungeon monitoring, and amde doubly sure of getting involved and working to remedy my lack of top skill by asking Lady Cobra for another topping demo.

We ended up getting there about fifteen minutes before my shift, and did the rounds and hellos. Lady Cobra helped set up cupcakes by applying the icing in swirls while Vosko anointed them with paste sugar stars.

Getting the birthday boy aware there was cake took some wrangling, because he had a small army of people ready to spank him, but he was gratifyingly happy and until then my friends and I stood guard barring an increasing line up of hungry folk who saw the pink sweetness and couldn’t wait to dig in. And then it was duty time, making sure that nobody died or got seriously hurt.

Unfortunately Dungeon Monitoring, is the most anti-social job ever because you need to be attentive to the play of others, so talking to people beyond “Shhhhh….” to tell people not to have noisy conversations in the play focused space doesn’t really occur. As it happened, my shift also overlapped with when someone was giving a violet wand demo, which meant the number of scenes in my supervision fluctuated between one and two, both basically spanking, and bare handed spankings at that. You might imagine this did not demand serious scrutiny. So I spent an hour walking in little circles laden down with glow sticks, feeling redundant. Then again, better safe than sorry.

From time to time an equally bored Wildcard would leave his couch and smart phone perch  (I guess he’s not into electric play) and come poke at me with kisses or strokes. I let my imagination push me to think about what I wanted to do and how the evening would go down. Prior to the scene we’d had some private time where I’d told him sexy stories about him being an innocent boy seduced by one of the wild fun and free goth chicks he’d idealized as a teenager, leaving him well prepped, so when I handed off my official glowing sceptre of authority to Bob (who also contributed a hilarious novelty penis cake to the Birthday Boy), the next pair of eyes on duty.

Rather than worry about how to start, after I discharged my responsibility I found him and told him to strip off everything, right then and there, and sent him through the very public hang out area to fetch the toy bag from the coat rack. This meant watching him shuffle all awkward and naked with his arms held in front of him to shield his groin, and then shuffle back with everything clutched to his front. I had him fish out his play collar, a lovely brown leather number, and buckle it on.

Collar applies, I stashed our things in a convenient corner and stashed Wildcard on a St. Andrew’s cross, at which point Lady Cobra gave me a further flogging tutorial, first the patacake skin warmup, drumming your palms where you intend to strike later, and then starting with less mean floggers, working up to a creation of her own design with mixed strands of what look like wrapped leather barbed wire and regular but heavy strands in red. She said go gentle, and I tested it on my arm first to give me some extra assurance I wouldn’t shred anyone and actually found it kind of nice.

Although chained down in soft cuffs, Wildcard kept twisting his head back to try to see what we were doing, until I told him from a top’s perspective that meant we would end up thinking he was distressed or bored, at which point he went sort of limp except for occasional wriggling, and I practised until I decided I had reached my tolerance for learning for the evening. So far so good. My makeup was getting loads of compliments so I wasn’t too whiny.

Finding a seat afterwards, Wildcard and I transitioned into me teasing him, while he tucked his head away from the ridiculously bright swirling dance lights the dungeon favours as part of their decor, and I watched Lady Cobra hard at work on Vosko. Eventually, with Vosko’s back marked in rain drip style pink and red marks, they wandered off and I escalated the scene I was doing with Wildcard, making him straddle  red padded spanking bench and mixing and matching between two riding crops of different levels of nastiness and a wooden spoon, and my hand or my mouth on his cock, or even his own hand, forcing him to edge over and over. Intermittently I’d take ice and rub him down, all over his hot, helpless body, and watch him shiver with pleasure.

I decided to push him a little because he’s usually not up for anything intenser than a moderate spanking.  However, for some reason an audience galvanizes his ability to endure, so I put more viciousness into the blows, but this did nothing to limit his arousal.

Possibly this was helped by the fact that I’d been teasing Wildcard all day about how I wasn’t going to let him come “for the foreseeable future”, and by the end, as I was wriggling about on him, with him helpless and naked on a stage, he was begging to fuck me. But with all that stimulation I knew that he was basically going to come as soon as he got himself sheathed- I’m quite tight even at the best of times, so I wanted to make sure it was going to be worth it.

Finally, when I relented and gave him clemency, we ended up with me on all fours on the front of the stage, shorts and panties off, and him fucking me until he came loudly enough to get a smirk out of a person in the back of the audience.

I’ve learned not to ask about aftercare, which in this case was more ice, returning his boxer briefs and wandering into the quiet room. his own well being assured, I noticed that between the late hour and the end of his desperation (and thus obvious submissive vulnerability) I was going through top drop.

While sub drop is a well studied phenomena, it’s not unusual to experience mood changes after a scene if you’re a dom. I find it’s helpful for me to lie down for a little bit and not be ‘on’. For me, I’m just temporarily exhausted and then emotionally labile for a bit, not exactly major trauma, just one of those things.

So after he was clearly perked back up, we discussed our respective energy levels, although i was done for the night and he was willing to leave, knowing he deserved to get more fun out of the night, I sent him off to go talk to other people, and recuperated on my own for a little while until I felt less tired.

Five minutes of alone time did the trick, so I poked my head out to see what was going on, deciding I’d take the time to be social with folks before I packed it in, and wandered off to see what he was up to.

“I’m just going to show her how cropping works and then we’ll go.” I wasn’t quite sure who this was, but he made a vague reference to her being “from the munch” earlier- a petite, brown haired girl in the cat girl ears that are so popular with miscellaneous, typically female identifying persons (one party I went to it was like an ad for spay and neutering). Wildcard’s topping go to is still going to be the trusty smack of a riding crop, and I figured that a few whacks was something perfectly reasonable.

Wildcard tends to end up with a lot of positive female attention because he’s extremely pretty and because he actually takes the time to talk and flirt with people in a non-threatening fashion. Apparently respecting people’s boundaries while being congenial is sexy, who knew?

Meanwhile, thinking of time fillers, I remembered that I hadn’t participated in the communal spankings for the person whose birthday it was, and with trusty wooden spoon, joined the line to give my friend 23 of the best birthday wishes. He was a good sport about it, although with his perennial habit of finishing everything with a neatly thought of bit of technique critical feedback.

In any case, after thanking the recipient of festive whacks, I meandered back to see how his cropping demo was going and found him in happy top space, grope stroking a very theatrically distressed looking cat girl. Okay… that was not the little pop-smack demo I was expecting and I still honestly had no idea who she was, ‘from the munch’ being about as vague to me as ‘from the downtown area’.

The presented a conundrum as far as handling. I was still top dropping as a background state, so my emotions were all topsy turvy, something between burst into tears and cut off everything human emotion related and go into a self hating guilt spiral. Being aware of this, I decided to treat this as a filter and delay any further immediate reactions.

So on the once hand I’d already stated a personal comfort level with knowing who he played with and this leap to intimacy was freaking me out. On the other hand I was somewhat hit with the challenge that:

1) I had already given my stamp of approval to play with others and in fact encouraged him with some of his friends, including the first woman he ever cropped, (who will be known hence forth as Sexy).

2) He had checked in with me and mentioned that he was about to give a cropping demo, so I couldn’t really assign too much malice to his activities.

3) I have pretty much carte blanche from him to do whatever, although I don’t find this particularly useful. But it wasn’t like I could point fingers at things as unfair.

4) A huge lump of this was my own internally manufactured insecurities and I know little about how to deal with them because I’ve never had to deal with it to this degree before.

There is a secondary layer of trouble in that both of us have dealt with jealousy issues from partners in the past, at various levels of crazy, so there is the challenge of not being That Girl/Guy who looks for demons in every smile. Anyway, suffice to say, there’s enough baggage there to justify its own post.

Thus, marshalling my best ‘you are being a drama queen, push these emotions off for processing’ head state, I went and gathered up our stuff and then tried to think of the best way of not reacting like a crazy jealous looming spectre at the feast, while continuing to try to figure out why I was being so god damn weird about this.

And someone mentioned how I looked all blissed out from topping earlier, so I must have been doing a good job even though the running track in me head was don’tbepisseddon’tbepissed If you can’t smile, for christsake at least try not to act like a god damn hypocritical lunatic or a child.

He finished up, looking happy at his little adventure and came to see me and my armloads of stuff. Apparently while my poker face fools the masses, my mouthed “Who was that?” followed by “I have no idea who that was…” was not going to take Wildcard in as attempts to simply discern data and he dropped into “Wildcard has fucked up and must look after Pearl” mode. Cue more guilt on my part, as well as feeling helpless because there’s very few less powerful positions to be in than that hurt-confused reaction that goes with having your insecurities tripped.

We made our goodbyes, and I did my best to reassure him that he hadn’t really done anything wrong- at least such that I could piece out in my somewhat dragged out head state. As is the way when two humans do the thing where one is bruised, he kept reaching for me to touch and reassure himself that I was alright.

I talk about this because I think it’s not a bad thing to look at the gears under the display- friday femdom fiction might try to be the real life friendly porn, but I think there’s value in also discussing imperfection, particularly my own. So we went home and went to bed and both had a good sleep and a snuggle.

The post script the next day was a discussion about why I was uncomfortable with what happened near the end of the night, both where I was being reasonable and where I was being unreasonable. I think we have a much clearer picture on that aspect of the public scene, which, in all honesty, was probably worth the oops. And then we had delightful kinky fun all weekend, which was… pleasing.

Go on, say what you think!

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