It might seem strange to readers that I didn’t mind that people kind of milled in and out of this scene. I guess it comes down to being with a Master that I trust, in a place where I feel like my well-being matters. Also, it’s very easy to feel at ease with Punk Rock Girl checking in on me, looking me in the eye and making sure I approved of each new development. I’m reassured by her care because I know exactly how tough she is.
Old-Timey Guy was fumbling around in his stuff and plugging something in.
Punk Rock Girl said “Uh-oh, I know what’s coming…”
What was coming was the most enormous vibrator I’ve ever seen. It was the width of a fist, like 15 inches long, and looked like it was from the 1960s version of the space age. The business end was in the shape of the top of an enormous egg, and shiny blue. It’s hard to believe that a girl who was once afraid of a bag of dildos would be okay with this, but I was.
I was still cocooned in plastic wrap, and Punk Rock Girl set to work cutting a hole in the front so they could put the contraption where it goes.
“It’s gonna make you look like you have a penis…” she warned.
“I’m totally fine with that.” Obviously.
I’m not a girl who gets superexcited about devices, but I had fun with this one. I liked the humiliation of being made to hold the cord between my teeth while Old-Timey Guy hit me with his heart-shaped crop. (It still hurts like fuck even through the plastic, but there was a sad lack of bruising.) He leaned over my shoulder and pushed the device in so that I purred and smiled.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you say you like it, I’ll have to take it away…”
After that, Punk Rock Girl took hold of the device and ran it all over me—my neck, my ears, my face, my belly. It was tickly and nice. Then she got a really mischievous look on her face and ran it over my nipples—I shrieked and laughed and it felt amazing.
She put it back in my crotch and got out of the way while Old-Timey Guy flogged the part of my back that was exposed from the plastic. I leaned forward and relaxed into complete bliss.
“Yespleasemoremoremore!” I said, being careful not to turn around. He flogged me for a little bit longer and then (OMG cute) he planted a little kiss at the base of my neck, right in the hollow of my collarbone. Tenderness I loved and which made me nervous, but not nervous enough to stop him.
He came around to the front and held me, moving against the vibrator to press it into my clit. Since all the breakups I’ve just been taking these little rests in men’s affection, little teensy moments of letting go. When he put his hand on my head and said “Good girl.” it was one of those rests. I’d been waiting to hear those words for months, from any number of guys—I heard it and it hit home.
The feeling of being cut out of the plastic was so blessedly freeing (even if I did somehow end up with a hole in my underpants) that I am tempted to indulge in a marriage/cocoon metaphor.
I sat my sweaty ass down to rest. Other Ribbons offered me a massage, and I gratefully took her up on it. It wasn’t a Naughty Thing, but it was certainly welcome and lovely. She worked hard on my shoulders, rubbing out the tension from the restraint and from life in general.
It depends on how you count, I guess, but in spite of V and V’s Hot Girlfriend’s enthusiastic encouragement, I never did make it to my third naughty thing. HempRopes apologized for running out of time, and I felt superproud about having waited with such grace. (The weirdest things are feeling like accomplishments lately, I know.) It helps that I was so busy being thoroughly entertained and also that I was kinda lukewarm about playing with him anyway.
“That’s the problem with having high standards—I tend to like the really popular guys.”
Huh. I guess that’s true. It’ll be a comfort until I find the guy I want to have and claim as my own. Meanwhile, I kicked that party’s ass, and I think that speaks of good things to come.