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?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“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.