BJ-gate - one controversial slut

I might be a dirty slut these days, but if there's one thing I rarely do, then it's to stick my neck out. I'm still far too keen to please people most of the time. On this occasion I decided to do otherwise and managed to stumble into much more controversy than I was expecting. Actually it all started with one of the simplest things in the world - a cock!

My friends (those of Fetish night defloration infamy) had invited me to go to a local fetish night with them. I had been horny as hell for days and the chance to play dirty and not have to travel to the capital for it sounded fantastic. However, I was aware that the venue was basically a pub and that charging people for events where they will then have sex, may legally constitute running a brothel. But apparently my friends had checked with the organiser and had, somewhat to my surprise, been told that sex was ok. We were all pretty excited to get there, especially my friend, one evil white winged angel with a whip in one arm and a vampy black-clad sub girl in the other. The venue was pretty small - one big St.Andrew's cross in the extended bar area and some spanking benches behind some curtains. The crowd was predominantly over 50, clad variously in rubber, PVC or leather, but with a good few people simply in black jeans or combats. If I'm completely honest - if you'd ignored the PVC and the 6 foot crouching rubber-clad dog man, you'd have thought you were sitting down with a regular older pub crowd. An erotic frisson there certainly wasn't. I didn't think this boded well and confirmed my expectations of a non-swinging local fetish night, but we settled down for a drink anyway, hoping for some action to happen before long.

I don't know if you've got the flavour of my friend by now, but you should know that he is always one of the first to play. He seems always horny and always up for it - literally. Perhaps it didn't help that he'd eventually read "Fetish night defloration" a couple of days previous and that my description of his "belly-wrenching monster" made him feel a little full of himself. He was sitting behind us with his big hard cock trying to escape from the superman pants. It was doing its work on my filthy mind too - it's such a beautiful cock to be fucked with and my friend's enthusiasm is totally infectious. Ah, and you know just how much I love to be led astray, especially if it's into breaking some unspoken rule. I tried to be firm and say that I certainly wasn't going to play until somebody else was at least doing some BDSM play, but he had no patience at all and under his hands in my dress my resistance was softening too. I wasn't even drinking, but my "ah, fuck it!" attitude became pretty pervasive. Before long, my breasts were out of the dress, the tight PVC dress pushed up my hips and he was kneeling in front of me, delightfully licking my pussy. People with their pints sneaked some subtle glances over their shoulders, chuckled and carried on drinking. It was pretty apparent to me that this didn't EVER normally happen, no matter what we'd been told. But seriously - you think by the time someone is licking my cunt so beautifully, I still really care that much? There was also the little devil in my mind that wanted to introduce a bit of energy into the room, hoping it would get people a bit stirred up. That's certainly what would have happened where we normally go. After a little while we switched over and I took his hard cock into my mouth, He grabbed my hair and pushed deep. I worked him for a while, my eyes watering with the effort. It was fun, but actually, it also felt weird - so after a few minutes we left it and got straightened up. He really, really did want to fuck me - and hell, so did I, but this just felt badly wrong, like putting on a sex show in your neighbourhood pub. We sat back down, still hoping for something to happen. Other than somebody coming around with free chips and one older woman being gently and silently flogged, nothing did happen. I found this so unerotic and frustrating, some little part of me did want my friend to fuck my arse hard and fast, so I could scream the place down. With what happened subsequently though, I'm glad I didn't. Eventually we gave up and left by around midnight.

Normally, I would have just put it down to experience and not gone back. But I thought given that I was new enough to fetlife, one of the kinky social networking sites, I'd actually leave some feedback. I essentially said that despite the organiser's claims I found there too little play to be going on and I'd never felt like such a pervert for giving someone a simple blow-job. Oh dear! The organiser did the right thing and opened up a discussion about whether or not people did or did not want to see sex at that particular event. In fairness, most people (except a few people who obviously found public sex acts offensive) had some pretty good reasons why it wasn't a good idea in that venue, but it certainly confirmed my impression that this just doesn't normally happen. It just goes to show that the kind of acts you eventually consider to be harmless or normal in non-vanilla company, aren't necessarily perceived as such. Each community comes with its own set of rules and conventions and perhaps pure Dionysian frenzy where anything goes isn't actually wanted or desired. And yes, before you may snap at me, I heard all that was said about legality, closing down venues for overstepping the mark, people wandering in, the space being to small for people to have a choice about whether to get involved in a scene or not etc, etc. All true, all valid. I also concede that I really don't actually understand non-sexual BDSM. However, it's been my experience time and time again, even in swinger's clubs, that so many people dissociate from the sex act in some way. They don't want to get swept up by the eroticism or their basic animal passion and be seen to do so. It's not safe, it's not nice. I'm sure many people don't even manage it in private. Myself, arrogant, show-off slut that I am - I aim for nothing less - ever. I don't always get there, but I sure as hell will try.

A slut's kit bag

Mmmm, so what would be the essential ingredients in a slut's kit bag for a Saturday night out???

Tying up equipment:

• Leather collar & handcuffs for sheer erotic appeal
• Bondage tape for practicality
• Open mouth gag, because I'm feeling daring and have not been a disgusting saliva covered mess for far too long

Pleasure equipment:

• Favourite glass dildo - beautiful, always good to have and can torture my banshee friend with it on Sunday afternoon; at least one other dildo or butt plug for DP insertion option
• Evil anal beads, guaranteed to make me go through the roof. They also feel good to neighbouring cocks or so I'm told.
• Silver bullet for cheeky stimulation
• Brand new shocking Magic Wand Massager??? Downside - very, very loud, huge, heavy. Upside - unbearable vibration, near forced orgasms, the expression on banshee's face. The last point I think settles it.
• Lots of lube, lots of condoms

Pain equipment:

• I don't own any! I don't provide my own whips or paddles ;-)

Lingerie (not in the kit bag but on my body):

• Dark red silk moulin rouge style bra and matching G-string
• Consider matching suspenders and stockings, outfit-dependent (you've got to give a girl some time to dither over that)
• Alternative to change into: black leather bare-arsed spank skirt and black gauze breast revealing shoulder wrap, corset on request

Must get a bigger bag!!!!

Submissive opportunities

Since my regular dom disappeared from my life with a bang back in February I haven’t really felt like playing one-on-one with anyone. Casual club play or group constellations were fine, but not becoming one man’s slut. There were just too many painful associations – and always that ounce of fear that nothing would ever be as good ever again. But ever so slowly I’ve been getting there and now I’m ready – more than ready actually. Maybe “hungry” is the best word - hungry for new experiences, for excitement and for creeping up on some boundaries! I don’t know if you believe in this stuff, but it seems to me that once you’re open to something, opportunities will arise. Well, this week I’ve been swamped by opportunities. Intriguing dominant males have been coming out of the woodwork all over the place.

My naughty friend is extraordinarily keen to have sex in public – preferably in my favourite local sex shop, which would get us both barred!!! Beautiful banshee has offered to share her current dom who’s more than keen on having two sluts at his disposal. There’s been an enquiry on Fetlife and a VERY intriguing enquiry on Swinging Heaven. The latter was simply entitled “read me” and invited me to a hotel room one evening next week. I was to wear nothing but lingerie under my coat. I would be tied, made to taste the mystery enquirer and then my slutty tastes would be met. I picked up the message just before going to bed and I’ve not had this much trouble going to sleep in a long time. Mmmm, so bad! And so unsafe! So regrettably I had to ask some more questions first.

But the one that’s really got my juices going is one that’s been developing over the past few days. Here’s somebody who clearly understands the importance of pre-session build-up and someone who’s picking up very fast on how I tick. So I’m excited! I’ve not been this excited for some time. I’ve not met him and only exchanged photos and a couple of messages, when I picked up an email from him with the following instructions yesterday:

“What I want you to do for me, is to go into the bathroom at your work. Take a photo of your face, your breast and your pussy on your phone and send it now… I will give you some more orders in the coming days…”

Did I do it? What do you think? Of course I did!!! It took me ages, half drained my phone battery, used up an inordinate amount of work time, but did it ever make me happy! All these lovely guys do of course have one thing in common, the one thing that’s going to press my buttons in just the right way – they are making me do “bad things”! And I’m loving it!!! Böses, böses Mädchen!

My first PVC dress

Other than frilly burlesque, Fetishwear has never really appealed to me that much. Plus the thought of getting sweaty under rubber or PVC just didn't seem that sexy to me. But you know, when in Rome... But ultimately, I think it was whipping Banshee's sweet pale arse encased in shiny black PVC last Sunday that swayed me in the end. Whatever it was, come Monday morning, I'd been shopping. I received the first half of the delivery - a pair of bare-arsed leather chaps and a posing pouch for my man - yesterday morning. He was liking them so much that he wouldn't take them off. Which would have been fine, except that apparently he's now Banshee's "bitch" (her words not mine) and I'm not allowed to spank him. Cruel! This morning, part 2 of the delivery arrived: my kinky "lockable PVC Vampire style dress". And actually - I'm loving it! Apparently I now look like a mistress rather than a sub. With my stern German features it doesn't really take much to make me look a little scary. In this instance we'll work under the assumption that scary is good! 

Real life adventures: Dirty talk

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On bruises II - S&M vs submission

As I started meddling with the darker side of sex, I didn’t define these experiences particularly as BDSM. I didn’t want to categorise myself or become part of the scene, I just wanted to experience. In fact, I didn’t even know that, there was just something about those experiences that thrilled me beyond belief and made me want more.

I’ve been lucky. I’ve had enough therapy over the years for me not to fall prey to the “Am I sick? What’s wrong with me?” gremlin. With a little bit of effort I could accept that this was what I enjoyed and that, in a consensual setting, there was little harm in that. Still, I wouldn’t have ever told you I was into BDSM. The term just comes with too many presumptions, too many dodgy mental images. BDSM, that was for those more extreme people, not for me! I did odd bits of reading, but didn’t really want to know about the seemingly minute differences between Bondage/Discipline (B/D), Dominance/Submission (D/S) and Sadism/Masochism (S/M). Nothing for me to worry about – or so I thought.

Real life adventures: Fetish night defloration (part 2)

I returned to the dungeon area armed with a glass of wine, ready to do some watching. I'd not really ever seen a live BDSM scene and I was hoping for some visual titillation.

A beautiful blonde girl had just been tied up to a bondage chair. She was slender, delicate, with the most perfect breasts, differentiated sharply from her defined ribcage. The chair spread her legs wide apart, her body covered only with delicate pale pink panties and some narrow wrist and ankle restraints. Exquisite. Her dom was equally appealing. He was perhaps in his late twenties, dark haired, just the right kind of toned, and wearing what can best be described as some kind of black leather breeches that left his crotch and buttocks fully exposed. His cock was already erect as he approached his girl with the kind of magic wand vibrator I'd only ever seen in S&M porn.

Real life adventures: Fetish night defloration (part 1)

I had had a bad week, in fact the most appalling week – top 3 on my list of worst weeks of my life. Going out to my first ever Fetish night with my beautiful banshee friend was supposed to help get me “back on the horse” as my darling husband put it.

I wasn’t all that sure. My body was so chronically high on adrenaline on that Saturday morning that I could barely cope with daytime London crowds and the fearful nausea just didn’t seem to want to shift. At that point even meeting my wild friend seemed like more than I could handle. So when she didn’t make it, I had the perfect excuse. At least 50% of me just wanted to go back home and hide, the other 50%... well, the other 50% is easily lured by temptation and too stubborn to be beaten. It’s also the second 50% that got egged on by my husband to go and do it anyway. He didn’t seem to care that I was anxious about being left in London by myself or that I’d never been to a club on my own. He did know that once I was there, I’d be in good hands though. I was meeting a great couple we’d swung with before. Lovely, warm, safe and fun people – just what I needed. I also knew that he would give me the most beautiful athletic fucking and that she was keen to spank my arse in the process. So in the end I’d texted them to say that I was by myself, but still wanted to come out if they could give me a lift home afterwards. The text that came back said “No worries, just pleasure.” How can a girl resist that kind of invitation?

On bruises - the good and the bad ones

Today I’m carrying my first ever bruised arse into work. And you know what? It brings a smile to my face. I can still feel the warmth, the slight tenderness against my office chair and it just reminds me of the most epic night out of all time. It’s a good feeling and one with a good story to match (watch this space).

It’s also a timely bruised arse, one that sits in an odd juxtaposition to the bruise on my face. That one is not so much one of pride, it comes with a much more mixed bag of feelings. While I’m doing my best at disguising it from the world (which would no doubt suspect my sweet caring husband), I can’t really disguise that from myself. It is a potent reminder of what I’m starting to understand as the difference between playing rough and playing with S&M for pleasure. No doubt there is more to be said about that. For now however, while I’m hoping for many more tender-arsed Monday mornings, I will try and avoid much more of the other kind of bruising.