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?
I chose that particular outfit based on the semi random selection process of letting Wildcard pick a the hue. It’s been my habit of recent years to dress more demurely for these events, maybe cocktail dresses, or at least a fully covering corset. My lingerie languished- something had to be done, and red was the colour I let him pick. Net result, I arrived at the party tarted up: waspie, satin covered stiletto heels, thigh highs, red panties with lace and bows- and one other little accessory for him. A leash. Red of course.
Of course I wasn’t about to launch the poor newbie into my fantasy of strutting into the party with him already cuffed and bound to be displayed to all and sundry like the trophy I often think he is. Instead it was a quiet arrival, along with my good friend Ballbuster, a petite and truly sadistic woman, as well as one of the most profoundly cute. While I got myself dressed up in red lingerie, she chose her signature black leather look. Meanwhile Wildcard was all dolled up in some very fetching goth regalia, that may have included the careful application of just enough eyeliner to look decadent.
I was feeling more than a little eager, but, as a first time for him, it wasn’t straight to the torture equipment, but to the comfortable social couches. Parked there, and getting a feel for the place, it wasn’t long before I was wriggling about in a provoking manner, dancing to the well chosen music picked by the host. I was just as much teasing an audience of lady inclined women on the couch across from us as Wildcard, to the strains and beat of Soho Doll’s “Stripper“. Hey, the lady with the cat ears was cute!
I am prone to this sort of thing- it’s not as much raw exhibitionism as the thrill of an audience that I can make do what I want. I like to be sexually provoking, although the high amount of pretty people certainly gives me a run for my money when it comes to monopolizing attention.
After couch and teasing time, a brief tour of the facilities let Wildcard know what was and wasn’t going to be included in the fun fun when we discussed limits and I gave him my frank plan for the evening. Shortly after that, he was leashed and disobedient, with me kicking him in the backs of his calves to make him kneel. The evening was never really a full on fight against me, but he appears to appreciate a good bit of encouragement to behave.
And it wasn’t long before he earned himself his first punishment. Left kneeling at my whim, he allowed himself to get distracted by a shelf of books in a moment that just quintessentially sums him up, and was found reading when he was supposed to be posing attractively. That meant getting him against a wall in the playroom, pants down, hand against bare ass. The ice was well and truly broken, as well as feeding my ever growing confidence with him. That’s the new relationship challenge, finding his buttons and feeling less like awkward service top and more like in charge dom.
One other variable- the indomitable and formidable LadyCobra. I know her from elsewhere and Wildcard knows her from way back, neither one of us in a kink setting, but shall we say that there has never been any secret of her orientation. LadyCobra is much more old school, scary dom. That’s a fun contrast, between her highly controlled style, Ballbuster’s sweet girl psychopath demeanour, and my own, least serious self expression. There’s love there, in all of us. We will probably all fuck your shit up, but we’ll all get there on a slightly different route.
But the whole thing added an extra card to the already complicated deck. It meant an extra player to the little game that Wildcard found himself in, not planned, though suspected as a possibility. Before the party, I had arranged in advance with Ballbuster to see that he got some attention from her, but this time Wildcard ended up cuffed with his arms over his head, on display with not one, but two of Montreal’s most evil doms giving him attention. Paddles may have been involved. One of which had sandpaper on it.
If this were a porn story I would be able to tell you that we ‘beat him unmercifully’ and that would be the end of that. Instead, I had earlier taken Ballbuster aside and explained roughly what I knew that Wildcard’s tolerances were. Which, this being Ballbuster, she danced on the edges of. She can always be counted on for that.
And he gave the most delicious reactions through it all. You never get to enjoy those, when you’re the one doing the walloping. It’s not just the sounds, but the way the whole body reacts, the way he kissed me with his arms stretched by the cuffs, the way his eyes registered each strike and how he turned his head, always to the right as he processed the hurt. Initially LadyCobra had declined to take a swing or two, but seeing him so attractively set up, she succumbed and made our duo of doms into a trio.
Wildcard ended up with slightly bigger than palm sized bruises that are still fading- this when even the most lurid mark usually vanishes overnight from his flesh. And, amusingly, he went through it all thinking he had been completely lightly handled, barring the first few hits Ballbuster got off.
From a psychological perspective, it’s fascinating how downright protective I ended up feeling about Wildcard along with my sadism. I think I hit him less than either of the other women, and had the most bizarre urge to police everything around him like some sort of territorial lioness over a cub. In the end it wasn’t the hitting that restricted what we were doing, but cuff related wrist endurance, and after some time of torture, I let him down and dragged him over to a convenient corner bench to rub him down with ice. Aftercare!
This was also the night that I got a refresher in rope work from the guy I call Montreal’s only non-creepy rope top, although my quick release knots need more work. Then the very technique inclined LadyCobra suggested I help her with some flogging, to give me a further tutorial on the subject matter.
Flogging and I have a difficult relationship. I generally have a habit of avoiding anything that is technically difficult. Single tails and I stay well apart lest eyes be put out. Serious, unsafe and skill oriented are all liable to inspire me to make flaily hands and yeuch noises. Some of it’s a pride thing. I’m a really bad perfectionist and fucking up repeatedly knocks me out of the right head space- and getting good at stuff is often too frustrating to want to do more. But I am also consciously aware that sometimes getting it right matters when it comes to pushing people further and harder.
Blame Wildcard for a new willingness to care about the fiddly shit, and how I found myself dancing about in stocking foot with a leather flogger. And comically missing and over striking, on the back of a very patient bottom while poor LadyCobra risked her fingers to improve my aim. And getting the usual ‘you hit too hard!’ advice. Which in my observation is not so much that hitting softer makes it easier to target as much as that when you inevitably miss it’s less non-sexy uncomfortable for the victim.
It’s not like wildcard had a shred of jealousy, rather, I think he was happy I was noobing it up on someone else’s back. This time though, I was hampered by the strong need not to lead the volunteer victim on excessively, a problem I’ve had in more casual fun in the past, which has left me paranoid. Which I’m pretty sure is my own baggage since it was a lovely charming young man who I am sure is not so inclined to be hopelessly fixated. However even without the sensation of connection and control that makes this activity worth it or me, I will admit though, for some brief periods I was able to get into the flogging, but it doesn’t really stack up high on ‘my favourite things’.
After derpy practice, I wandered off after I swapped spots with LadyCobra to be thoughful and over think things, and seeing my contemplative state, got an unsolicited compliment from Wildcard on me being a good dom. It was just the right sort of over cautious caretaking- on the one hand I wasn’t really thinking in terms of other doms being better or worse, or being down on myself, on the other hand there was a sort of inner ‘D’awww!’ moment that involves being happy that he acknowledged that these things (sharing, etc…) are emotionally complicated. It’s not even the subjective veracity of the compliment that gave it value, it’s that he wanted to give it to me.
But a brief lesson in how best to get me out of over thinking mode was in order. As you may be well aware, I like things rough. Not just me doing it either, but back and forth biting, shoving and fighting. So, when he wandered off in pursuit of our friends, it was only a minute or so before I was in pursuit, hand grabbing his hair, wrenching his head back and forcing him to kiss me. We ended up against the wall initially with him trying to pin me, and me being squirmy, but it wasn’t long before things exceeded makeouts.
Sexual politics for PDAs at these kink parties don’t have a clearly defined etiquette, but in the name of compromising I dragged him to the medical room and deposited him on one of the tables before returning to what we were doing. That meant anyone who wanted to watch could, without being dragged into things willy-nilly. And I wanted him. Honestly I really wasn’t paying attention to who or what was watching, just that he was mine. It’s nice to be happy.