It may not have been wonderland, but the evening did have sort of a down-the-rabbit-hole feeling to it.
Of course I had to try out those living room shackles—there was no use even trying to be cool about it. The first time, it was clothes-on, just goofing around. Old-Timey Guy made ticklish threats without touching me, and I squirmed and giggled. I’m still really surprised that this tickling business appeals to me at all! At that point I got the most (Well, maybe not the MOST) disagreeable nickname—“Twitch.” Sweetie was the one who said it, but OTG saw that it bothered me and decided to go with it. I’d have to earn my way out of it, he said, by being less squirmy. I didn’t see a lot of not-twitching in the near future, and I was correct.
OTG is always trying to goad me into admitting I am not entirely adultlike:
“Are you a good girl?”
“Are you a good little girl?”
“Uh, no Sir, I am TOTALLY an adult.” The pigtails and the fact that I punctuated this statement with a little foot-stamp may have hurt my argument. Also the fact that I spent most of the night giggling.
He continued with the diminutives the rest of the night, and I was careful to disagree every time. “My three little girls, “he said, as he was setting up his electroplay toys to demo them.
“Two.” I said. “TWO little girls.”
(It occurs to me that this is an odd stand to take, considering that my first dirty-talk pet name was “brat.”)
One of those little girls, Squeak, took my place in the shackles, now naked except for a teeny-tiny black thong. She’s an electro-slut, they explained, it’s her favorite. I’ve always thought violet wands are pretty, but I hadn’t yet had occasion to try one.
How it works is, the “wand” is plugged in, and various glass implements are screwed into it. It is a very mad scientist-type situation. Nothing happens if you press someone’s skin firmly to the glass, but if you hold it near them and graze lightly, little tiny sparks leap out. He held the wand and its flat-headed bulb against Squeak’s nipples and she wiggled, sighed, and yes, squeaked. Then he held out the wand for Sweetie and me to try.
I don’t like the feeling. The sparks are tiny and don’t hurt, they’re more like a tiny, prickly irritation—it’s weird how something as strong as electricity could give me the soft-touch heebie jeebies.
It was really fun sitting with Sweetie watching Squeak enjoy her torture. Usually in these sorts of situations I feel protective/defensive of Sweetie, or just impatient with her, but she really seemed at ease, and not just because Punk Rock Girl was serving her some really fancy whiskey.
As Squeak was getting taken down from the shackles and warming her hands up in OTG’s kilt, I said that I’d like to go in the shackles again please.
“It’s (Punk Rock Girl’s) turn next,” said OTG, but bless her, PRG said that she’d go third because I was the guest. I was really flattered that she seemed to want to see me play!
Next: I may have been tickled with an Otter Pop.