Party

I honestly don't know where to begin.
Well, it began with shopping. For groceries. Actually, for pretzels and for coke and for Hershey's kisses. And then we stopped at McDonals, because we hadn't eaten and we didn't want to get grumpy.
And then we drove, and then we got lost, and then we got unlost, and then we were there. Standing in front of a tan house in a somewhat depressed or possibly slowly gentrifying neighborhood. There was a little camera, and the door was opened very slowly, and we had to give our names. But we were on the list. It was ok.
And there we were. Our first ever play party.
What a bizzare, surreal little thing. It had a karaoke theme, and the food category was "Chart Topping Casserole" (we brought the snacks because we don't have a kitchen. Or a casserole recipe, for that matter.) Unsure if we wanted to be rockstars or roadies or fetishists, my partner and I both dressed in basic black... but I had a chain locked around my neck.
Next time I think I'll wear my collar.
Because nobody else had such reservations. There were two gorgeous steel-boned corsets, a black waist cincher and a grey silk brocade bustier. There were fishnets and striped stockings there was vinyl and leather and lacings and straps. There were collars. Lots of collars. And cuffs -- oh yes, the cuffs. My partner, playing Master, brought ours along without telling me, and early on in the evening, once he'd got his bearings, he took them out and had me put them on.
That was nice.
With one exception we were the youngest people there, and everybody seemed to want to take us under their wing. Various people would come up and ask us what we were into, and tell us what they were into, and let us know that if we had ANY questions, we should feel FREE to come and ask them.
We learned new rope tricks. We played with floggers.
Well, before I get to our playing, I'll tell you about other people playing.
I saw a tatooed, kilted man, who was peaches-and-cream friendly and complimented my glasses, go at a naked woman on a spanking bench with a single-tail whip so hard it hurt me to hear it. I stood next to my partner and held on for emotional support as the woman, who was pretty clearly loving it, screamed and moaned and called out "Yellow" (remember the Traffic light system, kids?) on at least two seperate occasions.
I saw a female domme go after her transvestite male sub with a violet wand.
I saw a lifestyle dom tie his slave up and work her to orgasm, and then to orgasm, and then to screaming orgasm, and so hard that a man who knew them stood by with a cup of water because the woman's been known to dehydrate herself.
I saw needleplay. Clean, safe, sane, consensual, but I clung to my partner and eventually left the room. The fun bit, actually, was running into the girl in the hallway a few minutes later, happily chatting away, with hypodermic needles suck beneath her skin.
Not my thing.
This house... This house had three different floors of play spaces. There was one main dungeon, which had everything. A cross, a big old wall, a bondage chair, a spanking bench a billion different things on which to tie somebody up. There were more floggers than I can tell you about. Suede. Rabit fur. Everything fromt the softest thing, to the stingiest, to the thuddiest heavy leather thing you could imagine. And single tail whips, and dragon tails, and crops. There were places that were private, but that main dungeon was open. Downstairs there was a swing, and there was a table for waxing. Upstairs in another room there were black lights and massage tables for more sensual scenes. In yet another room, the medical supplies for the things like needle play.
My partner and I played.
We played with an armbinder. We've been eyeing them online for a while, but they're far from cheap, and here was one that we could just checkout. I liked it. It's not comfortable, but you can feel the binding when you're in it, and it's not like cuffs and carribeaners. I wasn't getting out.
My partner told me it was one of the few positions (along with staring up from between his legs with the ring-gag in my mouth) that could get him hard just from looking at me.
The leather stained by hands black, but I loved the attention I got, people stopping to watch as he put it on me, people watching us play. Apparently I'm something of an exhibitionist.
We played with floggers, and I stood tied to a wall, and he flogged my breasts with something light and stingy, and a very experianced Master told us "Nice scene." (actually, I thought he said "Nice seeing you", and was confused, but once my parter explained what was going on, I was very happy.)
We played with wax, which is strange and amazing. Very intense, but not for terribly long... it's like reversed ice (which is unsurprizing).
And we played with a violet wand.
I have a lowlevel obsession with violet wands. They're so beautiful, and strange, and magical.
What we played with was a hand held attachment, such that the electricity moved through my partner into me. He touched me and it sparked, he ran his hands along me and I buzzed. It was magic. It was good. It made very literal the old adage that everytime he touched me, sparks flew. I tingled from him, and I loved that, loved the romanticsm and the magic of it all.
Eventually, we were tired, and the party had indeed devolved into strange drunken people in fetishwear singing country-western hits to the karaoke machine, so we bid our goodbyes to the friends we had made, and drove home.
And basically walked straight up stairs, brushed our teeth and screwed like horny kinky bunnies.
And collapsed.
And I very, very much hope we get to do it again next month.