Unicorn Practice Is Easy, Part Three: Spanks, Snuggles, a Little Melancholy

I’ve noticed that the amount I need to negotiate and be oriented in a scene is proportional to how serious my feelings are for the top involved. In the right party situations, I feel perfectly safe throwing caution to the wind and bending over for near-strangers-I guess that’s because I’m starting to have faith in my friends and in my yesses and nos.

At some point in the party, of course I managed to do something punishable, possibly related to trying to get my underpants back, and Cute Master commanded me to kneel on a chair and stick my ass out. Don’tmindifIdo! He’s a good, hard spanker—I wiggled and laughed and squealed and even let somebody (I’m not even sure who) tickle my feet. I love how things are so easy sometimes, how once in a while life just throws things in my lap. I’d like to let that be the case more often.

Speaking of which, he made me laugh harder than I’ve laughed in a long time when he next decided to express his flirtation through the medium of ironic lap dance. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to laugh so hard…

Anyway, I hated to leave when it was time to go. I pulled my underpants out from where he’s stashed them—in between the string s of Pretty Slave’s corset. Knowing where else they’d been, I didn’t put them on, but pulled on my leggings, had someone hook my bra, and put on my dress. Cute Master and Pretty Slave were snuggled up on a couch when I went to say goodbye.

“No, come here first,” he said. “I want to see if you’re wet.”

And I totally was gonna say no, except that Die Antwoord’s “Baby’s On Fire” came on and I really can’t resist having hijinx to that song. It feels like (*high five*) one of the sluttiest things I’ve ever done, but I went ahead and straddled him, let him find out that of course I was wet. He rubbed my clit and I felt a sense of calm come over me, kind of like when you’re little and you’re half-asleep and being carried up the stairs. I relaxed into him and held on.

He pulled his hand out and put it in Pretty Slave’s mouth, and she happily sucked, looking at me in a hungry/sweet way.

It’s time to stop pretending I don’t like some pretty porny stuff. That’s the part I’ve thought of the most during personal time since then.

I reached over and petted her, running my hand down her neck, playing with her hair, holding her lovely hand. She ran her hand very gently over chest, finding my nipple and giving me a perfect shiver. Her face was so close to mine and her expression was blissful.

And then the song ended. I hugged them both and gave her a teensy bit of a goodbye kiss. Cute Master grumbled about blue balls but! The beach!

Any party I leave with my underpants in my hand is a good one and I drove home super turned on and excited to get handsy with myself, and I was proud and happy to have made new friends, but there was a melancholy to it, too. I passed the diner where I first met the Steampunks and wondered how things would’ve turned out if I’d been more ready for them, more confident and self-aware. I think things happened exactly the way they were supposed to, but I still miss them a lot and feel hurty for the experiences I may have missed out on. I can’t quite let go of the fantasy of them, of snuggling into their bed. I wanted them to be my first a lot of things.

But! I’m glad I still feel like high-fiving Steampunk Guy whenever I’m being awesomely slutty, and they’re both keeping in touch. And I’m starting to see how I can keep myself entertained until I’m healed and ready to resume the quest for love--that is a very, very good thing.

Season's Greetings from My Underpants!

Sweetie and I had a wonderful time at our regular dungeon's holiday party last night. I'll write about it soon, but really, this is the most important thing to say:

Die Antwoord Ex Machina and Other Spanky Queer Fun

I finally got in a whole bunch of quality time with Sweetie last weekend, yay! Saturday night was a complicated adventure I ended up being really proud of. It started with an awesome gig—I was reading poems and smut at a benefit for my friend’s top surgery. In the dressing room, a six-and-a-half foot radical faerie let me borrow from her amazing glitter palette to outline my eyes and draw a cute pink heart on my check. The host surprised me with birthday cake and everybody sang—I really think it’s been one of the best birthdays ever.

Sweetie and I had a play party date afterwards. I was apologetic about having to leave early to go get my ass beat, but they were very understanding. I told my radical faerie friend I’d like to just follow her around, and she thought that was just fine.

Sweetie and I ran into some trickiness on the way to the party, though—she’d stayed in the room while I read about my scene with MisterHazel Eyes, and she was a little shell shocked. She’s not a voyeur, and hearing it just made her feel competitive and grumpy. I was frustrated that I had to stop and feel guilty after I’d just had such a good experience. Plus, we were going to the venue where I first played publicly with Fireguy, so there was a worry that I might run into him. And I was still missing MHE a whole bunch—it’s only been a few weeks.

In the end, though, we were able to comfort each other and our need to play together trumped our respective worries. I think there’s no reason she should have to read the posts that aren’t about her, especially since I’ve got so many nice voyeurs like yourselves to help fill my showoffy needs. Thanks thanks thanks! XOXOXOXO.

This party was crowded—there wasn’t a lot of furniture to go around, which means we got to see some amazing floor play. The scene next to us, wherein the guy was holding his girl down and showing her crotch to the room, alternately slapping her face and furiously rubbing her clit over her hot pink underwear--I found them very inspiring. Same goes for the woman with the amazing ponytail who was wrapped in a glittery pink blanket and getting flogged with silver tinsel strands for a nice take on aftercare. You could see why I’d need a blindfold to concentrate on what was happening to me…

Sweetie found a nice well-lit spot along the wall and spread out a shiny scarf for me to stand on. I took off my heels and Sweetie pulled of my low-cut pink nightie. I’d asked at the door “Could you elucidate the nipple policy?” and they said they have to be covered so I had on my Hello Kitty tape. (Most of the other girls were not following the nipple policy, by the way. So much to see!) I was wearing my lacy pink lucky underwear and I worried for a second about being too fat, but then ropes started happening and I felt better.

She started with these pretty pink handcuffs:

She tried to pull my arms behind my head and secure them there with a rope around my waist, but that only lasted for a second—I couldn’t figure out where to put my head. I was getting distracted so she put on my nice soft blindfold. I am really starting to fall in love with being blindfolded, even though it was a limit just a few months ago.

By the time she got me into a good harness, a St. Andrew’s cross had opened up. She tied the handcuffs to the top and tied my ankles to the bottom of the cross so that I had to stand with my legs apart—she was excited that she’s finally mastered the Somerville bowline, but I couldn’t quite high-five her. The green ropes she used on my ankles glowed in the blacklight. Once I was settled in, she started on the spanks. I was kind of exhausted already, so I didn’t think it would take long. She used her hands and our little pink kooshlike flogger. When she pulled my hair, I realized why I’m not loud with her during scenes the way I am in the bedroom: she makes my insides go silent. As she pulled at the back of my hair, just a little more painfully than I expected, there was no noise or words that could’ve expressed the relief that I felt.

The best part of the play party came when this song came on:

 I was standing around in my harness, winding up the restraint ropes to put them away. I Fink U Freeky came on and I danced around a little—I lost self-consciousness in a new way and just danced there in my undies and ropes, filling up with giggly well-being.

I stuck my ass out and she thwacked it in time to the music. She was sitting in a tall chair and I bent all the way into downward dog with my (wet, obviously) crotch on her knee and she played my ass like a drum. I laughed and laughed—I don’t think I’ve ever felt more myself.

I wore my ropes all through aftercare, and I didn’t want to take them off after that either, so I wore them home under my dress.