At public play parties, there are always scene limitations. Time limits on furniture. Party space rule limitations. Event time limitations. Personal pubic play limits. Last night, I had a few moments of fear over bad weather limitations – would both my scene partners make it out in the snow? Fortunately, they did, and we had a wonderful night. Let’s dive into that.
Scene One: Fear, Pain, and Control – an exploration of nipple clamps and breath play.
Found him after class, and organized scene order for the evening. Then found a semi-private room with a very high bed in it. No door, but not completely out in the open either. Didn’t want an audience, at least not one that I could see. He has some new beating implements, but we had negotiated for nipple clamps and choking, with a side of beating if the mood called for it. Spoiler: we’ll have to revisit those paddles another time.
Nerves jangling happily, I hopped up on the bed, using the chair in the room. And we finalized negotiations with a bit of safety. The usual, tell him if something is wrong or I don’t like something we try. Talking about past experiences. He asked me to undress to my comfort level, so off came shirt and bra, but skirt stayed on – it was short and shiny and not relevant to our intended play. Then had me lay down and put the clamps on my ears to start, laying the chain on my neck. The lights were too bright at that end of the bed, so I had to turn the other way before we could get started in earnest. And this is where I start to lose linear time.
There were words then, and testing touches. I don’t remember the words, just the tone – teasing, calming, threatening. As the nipple clamps were moved down to their namesakes. One by one. Swearing and breathing hard and grabbing his arm tightly. Then sitting up while he got a towel. Military Interrogation technique, he said, though usually the towel is wet for that. Dry towel makes release easily, faster.
Telling me this as he rolls it up and wraps it around my neck. Turn my head away from him, into the towel, as he takes full control of my head and neck and breath. He’s talking, explaining the ease of control. I can’t really answer, out of breath and then breathing and then tight again. I’m on my back again, slowly pulled back and down, far slower than expected. All control given over of my upper body. Hand floating up to find him, arching with nipple pain and a need to breathe.
Baseline established, I am having a fantastic reaction to this, and the towel goes away. Grasping for breath that was never truly gone, swearing at the nipple clamps, grinning and giggling up at him. Amused by ourselves and our enjoyment.
Hands come next, and I pull out my plastic spiral hair tie. It’s annoying to rest my head on. He wants it, takes one of the nipple clamps off and slides it on the chain – delighted by the elasticity. More swearing on my part. He plays with that with one hand, the other on my neck, squeezing. Eyes shut, chin up, arching, and whimpering. Processing pain and fear and breath.
He reminds me to breathe. He isn’t cutting off my air, not really. No matter how it feels. Deep breaths. He releases, and I follow his hand up, shaking, twitching, really. Right hand clutched on his arm.
Again, a different grip, deeper, tighter. Legs curling up, left hand floating, nothing to grab, right hand on him. Anchoring. Release, shaking, gasping. Again and again and again. He talks and teases and I can barely get out Yes, or Good, or Fuck. There might have even been an incomprehensible yessir or two on one of the chokes.
Different grips, fingers in different positions. Tighter, harder, higher, lower. Squeezing off blood flow. Pain shooting up or down or in. So much sensation. Lost in it, and yet hyperfocused. But the focus is split.
He readjusted the other nipple clamps at some point, I cannot remember why, but there was definitely swearing. Playing with the hair tie, pulling the clamps this way and that. Put it in my mouth at some point and had me hold it at another. But always, his hands on my throat. Deliciously overwhelming.
His hand on the back of my neck, firm, supporting. And then, always and then. Both hands squeezing my neck together, front and back. Pain shooting up in my head, panic, but his voice still there, breath so strangely possible. It shouldn’t be, it is. Deep breaths. Release and still following his hand up not wanting to lose the touch as my body spasms in relief, sucking in air. Trembling, head full of thoughts racing. And again, and again.
Have you ever felt fingers on the back of your windpipe?
The look I gave him must have been very alarmed, he commented on it later. Then his fingers were carefully pushing in, fucking weird sensation. Eliciting more fun sounds. Another choke or ten, I’m lost and not counting. Loving every moment.
Giggling and high, getting glassy eyed, he says. Time to stop, an excellent first time. But there’s still those nipple clamps. Always those. He takes the right one off and I curl into him. Gasping, swearing. I lay back. He reaches for the left and I reach for him, he stops.
Not ready?
Yes.
He reaches again and I reach and he stops. I whimper and settle back, take a breath and he takes it off, I squeal and swear and curl into him again. Then lay back.
Breathing, giggling, chatting about how much fun we had. Settling for a few minutes, before trying to sit up. The clamps back up on my ears. Then my shirt back on, my bra wrapped up in my blanket. Glasses, shoes and then standing. Standing is weird and I’m surprised my head doesn’t hurt at all. It certainly did on some of the chokes. Hell, it hurts all the time for no reason.
Out to the bar, for water, and seeing Him at the DJ booth I beg him to take the clamps off my ears before I go to the crew corner. He takes one off attaching it to my shirt and I squeal. But teases about the other. I can take it off but I have to tell Him I did it. I whimper and beg a little more and he laughingly relents and adds it to my shirt. But by the time we get back to the corner for my water, He is off in a scene of His own. After making sure I’ve had water and can stand on my own, he heads off to his next scene.
Scene Two: Drumming, Knives, and Teeth
Between scene water accomplished for both of us, we grab his bag and my blanket and find a free massage table. He takes off my shirt, with a kiss. I kick off my shoes and hand off my glasses and lie face down, tender nipples off to the sides. Start with drumming and see where we go.
Fluffy drumsticks first, playing happily up and down my body. Soft fluffy warm rubbing my skin. Tickles and grinning. Second pair still soft, but heavier, beating the rhythm of the music. Up and down, tender calves twitching happily. Murmuring with happy.
Third pair heavier, slightly scratchy on my skin. Pounding the rhythm deeper, louder moans, squirming with pleasure. Warm Hands on legs, back, and ass, nails digging in. More drumming. Harder and oh so good. Breathing harder, writhing, and his hands again. Growling in my ear, teeth on the back of neck. Moaning.
Then knives, freshly printed and finished plastic. Scratching across the tenderized skin. Sharp lines across my back, tracing lines and pulling gasps and whimpers. Legs curling up and straightening as the knives travel up to shoulders and down to calves. Heady and floating with sensation.
Then he’s growling I’m my ear again. Licking and kissing my neck. Asking what I want as I shudder at the growls. Teeth, I manage, and then giggle Bite Me. And he does, fingers and teeth digging into my flesh. Neck, shoulders, back, thighs. Squealing, gasping, writhing, wanting. Hugging, holding, kissing.
Sitting up, wrapping arms around each other. She comes with water for us both. Gathering up our things and back out to set them down. We ended the night in a cuddle pile, the three of us, making plans for our next date night with no play party limitations. A lovely end to an excellent night.
