Last weekend we went to a play party. In lieu of the usual lingerie I wore a romper and socks because winter.
We knew a few of the guests from other events around the city but most of the faces were new. My friend T came with us, she was playing without her partner for the first time. (Her partner isn’t kinky, but she is, and they have recently agreed that T could search for a dominant play partner. YAY POLY-PROGRESS!) All day she’d been sending me anxious texts, teetering on the verge of backing out.
But she walked into the party like BAM! I am here to get tied up and spanked! And… well…
A few guests who had clearly been drinking decided we didn’t need a board for Twister, we could just create our own using these fancy paper plates here….
(I’d like you to take a moment to appreciate the coding system that was put in place when the sharpie turned out to be a dud.)
Bootleg Twister turned out to be a very effective way to get a lot of giggles and a lot of butts in the air. (i.e. SUCCESS)
SansShame told us all he had brought cupcakes and smiles to his neighbours (who all happen to be young women) to let them know he’d be having a party. He also gave them his phone number and told them to call if things got too noisy. (Let’s pause for a moment to ponder the genius of this move… and also to appreciate what “too noisy” at a sex party would sound like… hee hee, we were placing bets on how many neighbours would invite themselves over later.)
Just as everyone started getting naked and fucking Ninja and Trouble arrived. This is, admittedly, an incredibly awkward time to arrive at an orgy. But we found a couch and Ninja, Trouble, my husband and I smoked a joint, chit-chatted about non-monogamy and their up-coming vacation and peeked at the action.
A hysterical setting for such a lovely conversation.
Trouble is sweet and serene, her long hair frames her face like a painting. She was graceful and quiet. Ninja is tall and humble, a handsome man with one of the warmest smiles I’ve seen. They clearly have kind hearts.
We talked about kinks and exciting projects that we each have brewing, and we laughed at the fact that Fat Boy Slim’s You’ve Come A Long Way Baby was on repeat while folks fucked each other senseless.
Mid-convo we heard what was distinctively the sound of T’s shrill voice as she screamed in orgasm and yelped while the sound of ass-slapping echoed off of the walls. My husband and I exchanged knowing looks, it seemed a kind and hard-handed dom (*cough*sansshame*cough*) had taken her under his wing.
After Ninja and Trouble left my sexy husband pressed me against the big balcony window and fucked me against the glass as I gasped at the city lights. (SansShame texted me the next morning to say he could see my handprints.)
As we were leaving I overheard T being told that she was a very good girl, but that she might need to be gagged to help with her “talkativeness”.
The party was a success, it seemed.
It was a moment of insecurity in our shoot. I’d been dressed in black leather and garters, brandishing a big black flogger and trying to look serious for a while and it all kinda fell apart. We were trying to get a shot of me against the leather headboard looking like I owned the place but I just wasn’t channelling the right energy, I couldn’t conjure the right vibe. It didn’t suit my mood, I felt too vulnerable.
This is when a great photographer makes a difference.
"No worries, let’s move on. Why don’t you put on your tutu and jump on the bed?”
It’s officially sock season.