Oh, Its Good To Be Femme
I think I like dressing for play parties as much (or possibly even more) than I enjoy playing at play parties. But what stresses me out to no avail is the amount of preparation that goes into preparing my outfit, which with any luck at all, will end up tossed on the floor or at least pushed down around my ankles by the third hour.
To complicate matters, I live in one of the outer boroughs and the parties are always in the heart of the City, so my options are to either bring all my stuff with me into work and get dressed for the party at the gym or leave the City directly after work and drive back in (the parties usually start around 9-10 pm, so that usually gives me a 2 hour time period at home to eat, change, and get back into the City). Ive exercised both options in the past Ive even rented a hotel room and spent the night in the City before but this time I figured Id just brave it and lug all my crap into work with me.
I generally dont like to wear the same outfit more than once to parties at the very least, Ill mix and matches pieces of different outfits. It really isnt too hard considering that I only go to one, maybe two such parties per month. However, Ive lost a substantial amount of weight since my entrance into the Scene over a year ago, so none of the outfits I purchased back then fit anymore. In fact, they are so big on me now that they are not even worth having taken in with the single exception of my Catherine Coatney double-zip front PVC miniskirt. I purchased this over a year ago at Purple Passion (www.purplepassion.com) for about $200 and it is one of my most prized pieces, so I decided to salvage it from the charity pile and have it tailored to fit and Ive only ever wore it once before, so I definitely hadnt gotten my moneys worth out of the article yet.
Now, the tailoring was a little ordeal in itself because for whatever reasons, I didnt decide on wearing this skirt until this past weekend, which meant I had to find a tailor who not only would work on PVC, but could do so in a quick turnaround time. On Saturday, I brought said skirt to my trusty and rather reasonable seamstress at the dry cleaners I use and she said she wasnt sure she could work on the skirt and that even if she could, she couldnt promise it back in time for Thursday nights party. Not wanting to chance it, I thought long and hard about where I might find a tailor who was skilled in fetish wear and in a moment of revelatory duh, Royal Cleaners in the West Village popped into my brain. So, basically, I was thirty minutes late to work on Monday because I was at the tailors having my obscenely short PVC skirt taken in. The tailor looked a little perplexed as to why someone as painfully normal looking as me would even own, let alone wear such an item of clothing, but he dutifully pinned and tucked and promised hed have it ready by Thursday. I was so elated that I didnt even mind the $40 charge and even squeezed the tailors arm in appreciation.
Its interesting how with a little ingenuity, one can find fetish potential in the most vanilla of retailers. For example, the red and black corset I planned to wear was purchased at Lane Bryant (one of the only stores that carries attractive lingerie large enough to accommodate my bust line) well, technically, I saw it on display at Lane Bryant and had to actually order it off their Web site because the store didnt carry a small enough size. The corset laces up the back and zips up the front (affording easy access) and is ingeniously designed with removable shoulder straps, removable garters and removable marabou trim at the bust line. The marabou made me sneeze, so I removed it promptly, but left the garters and straps in place. I added a pair of black lace top thigh high stockings, red and black lace panties from Fredericks (their panties make even the flabbiest asses look great!), knee high stripper boots (which I think I found on sale at Payless for $15) and a red leather collar. I have to say, as critical as I am of myself, I thought I was looking pretty fierce.
So, on Wednesday night, I packed my party outfit, along with my gym clothes, into a zippered tote bag, and added a matching red and black purse designed to look like a corset, complete with lacing up the front to serve as a toy bag. I also packed a basic assortment of play party essentials lube, condoms, strap-on and butt plug most parties provide gloves, lube and condoms, but I have my own personal preferences in lube and condoms, so I bring my own. I gave thought to stashing my bag in my gym locker on my way into work, saving me the hassle of lugging it all the way up to Midtown, but had irrational fears of someone stealing the bag and its contents.
Thursday morning, I awoke extra early to allow me ample time to shave my legs, underarms, ass and pussy. I find that I get the cleanest shave when I let my pubic hair grow out for a few days, so I was finally glad to be able to shave it clean again. I tossed my Gillette Mach 3 into my backpack so I could do a touch up job later on at the gym and off to work I went.
Being that the corset was new, I asked a kinky co-worker if she wouldnt mind helping me fit it on Thursday and of course, she was game. At 4:30, she expertly laced me up in the womens washroom and double knotted the laces, so I would just be able to zip the corset on and off. The entire time I was praying that another co-worker, best known for her proclivity to gossip, would walk in on us so I could explain that since non-profit work paid so little, I had to take on an additional job at an outcall service. And as luck would have it, said co-worker who is in the bathroom brushing her teeth practically every time I am in their trying to take a shit never walked in. Bitch.
So, before I hit the gym, I went back downtown to Royal Cleaners and picked up my skirt, which was expertly done. The tailor even went through the hassle of sewing the inner label back on. It was well worth the $40 or probably even more. Most of all, I was pleased that it was ready in time for the party, as promised.
I grabbed a quick sandwich on my way to the gym and was relived to finally be able to stow my luggage in my locker for a couple of hours while I worked out. I took my time relaxing in the steam room and in the shower, where I touched up my earlier shaving jobs. Once I was assuredly clean and smooth, I ventured out into the locker room to begin the fun of getting dressed.
I am worse than a fag when it comes to grooming my self, especially when I think I might be getting some action. I moisturized myself from head to cunt to toe, spritzed on a light body spray, followed by a stronger perfume. I made sure that my hair was perfectly brushed and my make up was not too garish, but applied heavily enough to stand out in the low lit play space. The perversely fun part was getting dressed. Granted, I think I enjoy walking around the locker room naked just a little too much in general, but donning my outfit which couldve been the garb of any club hopper, stripper, dominatrix or common streetwalker in front of the squeaky clean women who belong to my gym was even more fun. I took my time, making sure to walk through the locker room several times in the process. While I didnt attract the stares or sneers Id half expected, I did see a few double-takes and raised eyebrows. When I decided that was sufficient, I threw on my overcoat, just barely long enough to cover my ass (which was not adequately covered by my skirt) and hopped in a cab to the Lower East Side.
In what I half-wondered was some sort of punishment for failing to keep in touch, the Mistress I was so hopeful about seeing at the party e-mailed me to inform me she was not interested in attending the party. I was a little deflated to receive her note of decline, but determined to make the best of it. I hadnt been to this party in several months and when I arrived at its door, I felt a strange sense of homecoming. Sometimes such feelings worry me, fueling my fear that Ill never be able to have a normal sex life again, but I was overwhelmingly glad almost relieved to be back in action.
I opened the door and the first thing that hit my senses, sparking a wave of sensory nostalgia, was the smell leather, sweat, testosterone (the play space is a men-only leather club on every other night) and sex. Yes, I was definitely glad to be back.
The interesting thing about these parties is that admittance is limited to people who identify with and live their lives as women 24/7 in an effort to foster a comfortable environment for women to explore their sexuality in. However, it does little to negate the overwhelming shyness women seem to feel about approaching one another in such a setting. A former play party wallflower myself, my return to the party scene was marked by a complete change in attitude. I was no longer going to sit by the sidelines watching wistfully and hoping someone, anyone, would invite me to join their scene. If I wanted action, I decided I had to create it myself.
This party in particular is exceptionally well-hosted. The cover charge is a minimal $15 and the hosts stock the antechamber with ample chips, cookies, crudits trays and candy to keep ones stamina up for the entire five hours. The antechamber is where folks generally chat, eat, drink (there is no alcohol served given the nature of the activity, but there is plenty of soda, juice and water to keep a gaggle of happy and horny dykes well-hydrated) and watch women-centric porn. Most importantly to me, the antechamber is where the coat check is.
I gratefully check my two bags and remove my coat and shirt, revealing the corset. One of the hosts, F., (who looks a hell of a lot like Lynda Carter, my childhood crush) oohs and compliments my outfit AND my cleavage. Its a good start already. With my toy bag in hand, I sit and wait for the ten oclock bewitching hour, when in some sort of unwritten rule, is when the dungeon officially opens.
I chat up a nice femme sitting next to me and we realize I work with a friend of hers (again, the Scene can be so claustrophobic). The ante chamber starts to fill up and although no one in particular catches my eye, I remain hopeful. Each party has a theme and this one in particular is called Hook Up, Put Out, Pair Off, Get Off. The theme translates into a variation of the Hanky Code (http://www.sexuality.org/l/bdsm/hanky.html) and we are given the option of choosing up to two different colored hankies to signify our sexual interests with the hopes that well hook up with others who share like interests. After much deliberation, I choose a red, for fucking and tie it around my left wrist to signify I am a top and an orange, for spanking and wear it on my right wrist to signify I am the spankee.
If anything, the hanky idea is a great means of giving people a starting point for conversation. But Im not shy, so as the 10 oclock hour rolls around and the sounds of flogging begin to echo out from the play area, I get up and announce, Well, I want to fuck, so if anyone else is tired of chatting and wants to join me, come on. F. cheers approvingly and a chorus of women respond with hell yeah! I march into the dungeon and no one follows me. Chickens. This crowd is going to take a little more encouragement than I thought. Undaunted, I lounge around the play space, watching the couple of scenes already in session and slowly and timidly, women start drifting in.
I dont really recall what sparked the first little vanilla gang bang of the night, although I know it somehow involved a cup of ice and my tits. The fascination with my cleavage ran rampant and I used this to my advantage, engaging several women and one MTF in a topless tittie-groping session. I herded four or five women onto a padded platform in the middle of the room and one of the bois in attendance dutifully brought the cup of ice I requested and I began to work on a chubby co-ed from Sarah Lawrence. Kneeling behind her, I reached around her shoulders and rubbed an ice cube into her nipples and they promptly responded by standing at attention. I massage her pert breasts with my hands and when her nipples were sufficiently chilled, I added to the sensation by trailing my warm tongue slowly up her neck. At this point, F. appears and in what reminds me of a twisted rendition of Love Boat cruise director Juli, and decides we need a bigger space to play in and herds us over to a larger platform. It isnt simply enough for F. to toss out the spaces previous occupants, but she decides it is in our best interests (and it really is), for her to stay and direct the show.
I end up in the middle of the space, sandwiched by the co-ed to my front and a blonde woman behind me, and F. getting involved wherever she sees fit. The co-ed gets over her shyness and before I know it, our breasts are bared her mouth is tongue is firmly entrenched in my mouth. Clearly, the co-ed has read up on her play party etiquette (as every play party virgin should) because she is exceedingly polite, asking permission to touch me here, bite me there, etc. I get tired of the politeness and tell my play partners that nothing is really off limits with me.
In a matter of minutes, we are a groping, undulating mass of three or four or five and we begin to draw a crowd of spectators. Like any good Leo I am center stage, my legs spread wide, one leg hooked around the barred window separating our area from the adjacent space, the other handing over the edge of the platform. I am topless and the blonde women works on my breasts with one hand and with the other, rubs my clit furiously through the fabric of my Fredericks, the co-ed is biting my inner thighs and F. is an unfettered frenzy of spanking and biting. I wish I could say that it was really hot and I was totally turned on, and although it was pleasurable in a vanilla how-lesbians-have-sex-in-hetero-porn type way, I wasnt turned on. BUT, that didnt preclude me from putting on one hell of a performance for our onlookers, whom I teased and taunted to join us. Co-eds red cotton panties were soaked, but to my disdain, fucking was off-limits for her (why anyone would go to a play party with such a stipulation is beyond me). After a few more minutes of sucking, groping and spanking, we decide we should take a break after all, it is now well past midnight and in honor of the partys one-year anniversary, champagne and cake is being served in the antechamber.
Like any good femme, I dash into the bathroom to fix my clothing, what little there is of it, pee and reapply my lipstick. I resurface into the antechamber several minutes later and gratefully gulp several cups of water and a glass of champagne. I thank F. for helping to get the proverbial ball rolling and comment that it was fun, although a little, no a lot too vanilla for my liking.
I spend the next thirty minutes or so sizing up the activity in the play space. A couple of flogging scenes, a couple of fistings nothing too exciting is going on. F. enters the play space with a very cute Bettie Page look-a-like. Have I yet explained I have a thing for Bettie Page? Bettie is sexy in a classic pin-up style full, round hips, slightly rounded belly, thick thighs and chiseled ankles. She is so ripe you just want to sink your teeth into her. F. leads her into one of the spaces and motions for me to come over. I wonder what Ive done (besides having kick ass cleavage), to deserve such VIP treatment from F. tonight. F. tells me she is going to spank Bettie, flog her, and once she is all good and worked up, she wants me to fuck her. I feel like Ive just won the lesbian lottery. I gratefully oblige and scurry about to find latex gloves and lube.
I return to the space with the contents of my safer sex scavenger hunt in time to hear F. demand that Bettie take off her clothes, her panties, her stockings and leave her shoes on. This is going to be good I think to myself after all, F. is one of the best known sex educators and switches in NYC. My play party resume is starting to look like a Whos Who of the NYC BDSM community. I perch on a bench across from F. and Bettie and sit back, waiting for the show to begin. No one under 18 admitted, please.
To be continued
XXX
Q.
I think I like dressing for play parties as much (or possibly even more) than I enjoy playing at play parties. But what stresses me out to no avail is the amount of preparation that goes into preparing my outfit, which with any luck at all, will end up tossed on the floor or at least pushed down around my ankles by the third hour.
To complicate matters, I live in one of the outer boroughs and the parties are always in the heart of the City, so my options are to either bring all my stuff with me into work and get dressed for the party at the gym or leave the City directly after work and drive back in (the parties usually start around 9-10 pm, so that usually gives me a 2 hour time period at home to eat, change, and get back into the City). Ive exercised both options in the past Ive even rented a hotel room and spent the night in the City before but this time I figured Id just brave it and lug all my crap into work with me.
I generally dont like to wear the same outfit more than once to parties at the very least, Ill mix and matches pieces of different outfits. It really isnt too hard considering that I only go to one, maybe two such parties per month. However, Ive lost a substantial amount of weight since my entrance into the Scene over a year ago, so none of the outfits I purchased back then fit anymore. In fact, they are so big on me now that they are not even worth having taken in with the single exception of my Catherine Coatney double-zip front PVC miniskirt. I purchased this over a year ago at Purple Passion (www.purplepassion.com) for about $200 and it is one of my most prized pieces, so I decided to salvage it from the charity pile and have it tailored to fit and Ive only ever wore it once before, so I definitely hadnt gotten my moneys worth out of the article yet.
Now, the tailoring was a little ordeal in itself because for whatever reasons, I didnt decide on wearing this skirt until this past weekend, which meant I had to find a tailor who not only would work on PVC, but could do so in a quick turnaround time. On Saturday, I brought said skirt to my trusty and rather reasonable seamstress at the dry cleaners I use and she said she wasnt sure she could work on the skirt and that even if she could, she couldnt promise it back in time for Thursday nights party. Not wanting to chance it, I thought long and hard about where I might find a tailor who was skilled in fetish wear and in a moment of revelatory duh, Royal Cleaners in the West Village popped into my brain. So, basically, I was thirty minutes late to work on Monday because I was at the tailors having my obscenely short PVC skirt taken in. The tailor looked a little perplexed as to why someone as painfully normal looking as me would even own, let alone wear such an item of clothing, but he dutifully pinned and tucked and promised hed have it ready by Thursday. I was so elated that I didnt even mind the $40 charge and even squeezed the tailors arm in appreciation.
Its interesting how with a little ingenuity, one can find fetish potential in the most vanilla of retailers. For example, the red and black corset I planned to wear was purchased at Lane Bryant (one of the only stores that carries attractive lingerie large enough to accommodate my bust line) well, technically, I saw it on display at Lane Bryant and had to actually order it off their Web site because the store didnt carry a small enough size. The corset laces up the back and zips up the front (affording easy access) and is ingeniously designed with removable shoulder straps, removable garters and removable marabou trim at the bust line. The marabou made me sneeze, so I removed it promptly, but left the garters and straps in place. I added a pair of black lace top thigh high stockings, red and black lace panties from Fredericks (their panties make even the flabbiest asses look great!), knee high stripper boots (which I think I found on sale at Payless for $15) and a red leather collar. I have to say, as critical as I am of myself, I thought I was looking pretty fierce.
So, on Wednesday night, I packed my party outfit, along with my gym clothes, into a zippered tote bag, and added a matching red and black purse designed to look like a corset, complete with lacing up the front to serve as a toy bag. I also packed a basic assortment of play party essentials lube, condoms, strap-on and butt plug most parties provide gloves, lube and condoms, but I have my own personal preferences in lube and condoms, so I bring my own. I gave thought to stashing my bag in my gym locker on my way into work, saving me the hassle of lugging it all the way up to Midtown, but had irrational fears of someone stealing the bag and its contents.
Thursday morning, I awoke extra early to allow me ample time to shave my legs, underarms, ass and pussy. I find that I get the cleanest shave when I let my pubic hair grow out for a few days, so I was finally glad to be able to shave it clean again. I tossed my Gillette Mach 3 into my backpack so I could do a touch up job later on at the gym and off to work I went.
Being that the corset was new, I asked a kinky co-worker if she wouldnt mind helping me fit it on Thursday and of course, she was game. At 4:30, she expertly laced me up in the womens washroom and double knotted the laces, so I would just be able to zip the corset on and off. The entire time I was praying that another co-worker, best known for her proclivity to gossip, would walk in on us so I could explain that since non-profit work paid so little, I had to take on an additional job at an outcall service. And as luck would have it, said co-worker who is in the bathroom brushing her teeth practically every time I am in their trying to take a shit never walked in. Bitch.
So, before I hit the gym, I went back downtown to Royal Cleaners and picked up my skirt, which was expertly done. The tailor even went through the hassle of sewing the inner label back on. It was well worth the $40 or probably even more. Most of all, I was pleased that it was ready in time for the party, as promised.
I grabbed a quick sandwich on my way to the gym and was relived to finally be able to stow my luggage in my locker for a couple of hours while I worked out. I took my time relaxing in the steam room and in the shower, where I touched up my earlier shaving jobs. Once I was assuredly clean and smooth, I ventured out into the locker room to begin the fun of getting dressed.
I am worse than a fag when it comes to grooming my self, especially when I think I might be getting some action. I moisturized myself from head to cunt to toe, spritzed on a light body spray, followed by a stronger perfume. I made sure that my hair was perfectly brushed and my make up was not too garish, but applied heavily enough to stand out in the low lit play space. The perversely fun part was getting dressed. Granted, I think I enjoy walking around the locker room naked just a little too much in general, but donning my outfit which couldve been the garb of any club hopper, stripper, dominatrix or common streetwalker in front of the squeaky clean women who belong to my gym was even more fun. I took my time, making sure to walk through the locker room several times in the process. While I didnt attract the stares or sneers Id half expected, I did see a few double-takes and raised eyebrows. When I decided that was sufficient, I threw on my overcoat, just barely long enough to cover my ass (which was not adequately covered by my skirt) and hopped in a cab to the Lower East Side.
In what I half-wondered was some sort of punishment for failing to keep in touch, the Mistress I was so hopeful about seeing at the party e-mailed me to inform me she was not interested in attending the party. I was a little deflated to receive her note of decline, but determined to make the best of it. I hadnt been to this party in several months and when I arrived at its door, I felt a strange sense of homecoming. Sometimes such feelings worry me, fueling my fear that Ill never be able to have a normal sex life again, but I was overwhelmingly glad almost relieved to be back in action.
I opened the door and the first thing that hit my senses, sparking a wave of sensory nostalgia, was the smell leather, sweat, testosterone (the play space is a men-only leather club on every other night) and sex. Yes, I was definitely glad to be back.
The interesting thing about these parties is that admittance is limited to people who identify with and live their lives as women 24/7 in an effort to foster a comfortable environment for women to explore their sexuality in. However, it does little to negate the overwhelming shyness women seem to feel about approaching one another in such a setting. A former play party wallflower myself, my return to the party scene was marked by a complete change in attitude. I was no longer going to sit by the sidelines watching wistfully and hoping someone, anyone, would invite me to join their scene. If I wanted action, I decided I had to create it myself.
This party in particular is exceptionally well-hosted. The cover charge is a minimal $15 and the hosts stock the antechamber with ample chips, cookies, crudits trays and candy to keep ones stamina up for the entire five hours. The antechamber is where folks generally chat, eat, drink (there is no alcohol served given the nature of the activity, but there is plenty of soda, juice and water to keep a gaggle of happy and horny dykes well-hydrated) and watch women-centric porn. Most importantly to me, the antechamber is where the coat check is.
I gratefully check my two bags and remove my coat and shirt, revealing the corset. One of the hosts, F., (who looks a hell of a lot like Lynda Carter, my childhood crush) oohs and compliments my outfit AND my cleavage. Its a good start already. With my toy bag in hand, I sit and wait for the ten oclock bewitching hour, when in some sort of unwritten rule, is when the dungeon officially opens.
I chat up a nice femme sitting next to me and we realize I work with a friend of hers (again, the Scene can be so claustrophobic). The ante chamber starts to fill up and although no one in particular catches my eye, I remain hopeful. Each party has a theme and this one in particular is called Hook Up, Put Out, Pair Off, Get Off. The theme translates into a variation of the Hanky Code (http://www.sexuality.org/l/bdsm/hanky.html) and we are given the option of choosing up to two different colored hankies to signify our sexual interests with the hopes that well hook up with others who share like interests. After much deliberation, I choose a red, for fucking and tie it around my left wrist to signify I am a top and an orange, for spanking and wear it on my right wrist to signify I am the spankee.
If anything, the hanky idea is a great means of giving people a starting point for conversation. But Im not shy, so as the 10 oclock hour rolls around and the sounds of flogging begin to echo out from the play area, I get up and announce, Well, I want to fuck, so if anyone else is tired of chatting and wants to join me, come on. F. cheers approvingly and a chorus of women respond with hell yeah! I march into the dungeon and no one follows me. Chickens. This crowd is going to take a little more encouragement than I thought. Undaunted, I lounge around the play space, watching the couple of scenes already in session and slowly and timidly, women start drifting in.
I dont really recall what sparked the first little vanilla gang bang of the night, although I know it somehow involved a cup of ice and my tits. The fascination with my cleavage ran rampant and I used this to my advantage, engaging several women and one MTF in a topless tittie-groping session. I herded four or five women onto a padded platform in the middle of the room and one of the bois in attendance dutifully brought the cup of ice I requested and I began to work on a chubby co-ed from Sarah Lawrence. Kneeling behind her, I reached around her shoulders and rubbed an ice cube into her nipples and they promptly responded by standing at attention. I massage her pert breasts with my hands and when her nipples were sufficiently chilled, I added to the sensation by trailing my warm tongue slowly up her neck. At this point, F. appears and in what reminds me of a twisted rendition of Love Boat cruise director Juli, and decides we need a bigger space to play in and herds us over to a larger platform. It isnt simply enough for F. to toss out the spaces previous occupants, but she decides it is in our best interests (and it really is), for her to stay and direct the show.
I end up in the middle of the space, sandwiched by the co-ed to my front and a blonde woman behind me, and F. getting involved wherever she sees fit. The co-ed gets over her shyness and before I know it, our breasts are bared her mouth is tongue is firmly entrenched in my mouth. Clearly, the co-ed has read up on her play party etiquette (as every play party virgin should) because she is exceedingly polite, asking permission to touch me here, bite me there, etc. I get tired of the politeness and tell my play partners that nothing is really off limits with me.
In a matter of minutes, we are a groping, undulating mass of three or four or five and we begin to draw a crowd of spectators. Like any good Leo I am center stage, my legs spread wide, one leg hooked around the barred window separating our area from the adjacent space, the other handing over the edge of the platform. I am topless and the blonde women works on my breasts with one hand and with the other, rubs my clit furiously through the fabric of my Fredericks, the co-ed is biting my inner thighs and F. is an unfettered frenzy of spanking and biting. I wish I could say that it was really hot and I was totally turned on, and although it was pleasurable in a vanilla how-lesbians-have-sex-in-hetero-porn type way, I wasnt turned on. BUT, that didnt preclude me from putting on one hell of a performance for our onlookers, whom I teased and taunted to join us. Co-eds red cotton panties were soaked, but to my disdain, fucking was off-limits for her (why anyone would go to a play party with such a stipulation is beyond me). After a few more minutes of sucking, groping and spanking, we decide we should take a break after all, it is now well past midnight and in honor of the partys one-year anniversary, champagne and cake is being served in the antechamber.
Like any good femme, I dash into the bathroom to fix my clothing, what little there is of it, pee and reapply my lipstick. I resurface into the antechamber several minutes later and gratefully gulp several cups of water and a glass of champagne. I thank F. for helping to get the proverbial ball rolling and comment that it was fun, although a little, no a lot too vanilla for my liking.
I spend the next thirty minutes or so sizing up the activity in the play space. A couple of flogging scenes, a couple of fistings nothing too exciting is going on. F. enters the play space with a very cute Bettie Page look-a-like. Have I yet explained I have a thing for Bettie Page? Bettie is sexy in a classic pin-up style full, round hips, slightly rounded belly, thick thighs and chiseled ankles. She is so ripe you just want to sink your teeth into her. F. leads her into one of the spaces and motions for me to come over. I wonder what Ive done (besides having kick ass cleavage), to deserve such VIP treatment from F. tonight. F. tells me she is going to spank Bettie, flog her, and once she is all good and worked up, she wants me to fuck her. I feel like Ive just won the lesbian lottery. I gratefully oblige and scurry about to find latex gloves and lube.
I return to the space with the contents of my safer sex scavenger hunt in time to hear F. demand that Bettie take off her clothes, her panties, her stockings and leave her shoes on. This is going to be good I think to myself after all, F. is one of the best known sex educators and switches in NYC. My play party resume is starting to look like a Whos Who of the NYC BDSM community. I perch on a bench across from F. and Bettie and sit back, waiting for the show to begin. No one under 18 admitted, please.
To be continued
XXX
Q.
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
I eagerly await your next update. =)
a couple of fistings nothing too exciting is going on. F. enters the play space with a very cute Bettie Page look-a-like. Have I yet explained I have a thing for Bettie Page? Bettie is sexy in a classic pin-up style full, round hips, slightly rounded belly, thick thighs and chiseled ankles. She is so ripe you just want to sink your teeth into her. F. leads her into one of the spaces and motions for me to come over. I wonder what Ive done (besides having kick ass cleavage), to deserve such VIP treatment from F. tonight. F. tells me she is going to spank Bettie, flog her, and once she is all good and worked up, she wants me to fuck her. I feel like Ive just won the lesbian lottery. I gratefully oblige and scurry about to find latex gloves and lube.
Rad!