Sex is a very private thing for me. This is partially due to innate shyness. Partially due to body shame. Partially due to societal pressures leading to sexual shame. And partially because that sort of intimacy feels like a private sharing of myself, not a public spectacle. It is also why I don’t write about sex scenes on here very much, or not explicitly. I hadn’t even had sex behind closed doors at our local swing/kink club until recently, and never in a public dungeon.
Do I fantasize about public or semi-public sex? Yes, of course. The forbidden is hot for naughty girl or submissive slut fantasies. Does the Spike/Buffy scene at The Bronze still make me wet? Yes, of course. Have I performed oral at kink events in the public play spaces? Yes. Does the idea of semi-public sex at camp, where I feel safe to be myself, make me scared and wet and SF excited and hard? A big Yes.
So, when planning a capture, clothes-cutting, sexual claiming scene with SF this year for camp, we decided on not going into the woods, but to choose somewhere near the public spaces in the open grass. Not “downtown” in the dungeon or in the middle of people.
When it came to Leather Bar, I wasn’t at all sure what I was going to feel like. I enjoyed the previous year’s scene, but still felt awkward about not wanting to cruise. So, I figured I would just go with the flow, and be grateful there would be puzzle mats to kneel on if things went in the same direction again.
Camp gives you what you need.
Leather Bar started while we were dealing with an emergency, but once that was cleaned up. SF and I were left to our own devices, with encouragement from his partner to enjoy ourselves. I still wasn’t sure. He suggested a walk. Which led us to just above the bar.
He kissed and teased about claiming me. I buried my face in his neck. It has been weeks, yes, I want him, but at Leather Bar? In front of People? I had said no the night before to the brightly lit dungeon after the queer bang. The Bar is darker, but way more packed tonight. We won’t do anything I don’t want to do.
Let’s just go look. SF leads me into the masses. I can’t even identify people in the crowd. Past the curtain. Bodies everywhere, doing everything. Back to the same bench behind everything where we played last year.
More kisses and touches and teases. Until I’m so wet and wanting. I want to. I want him. Most people can’t see us here. He feels so good. Yes, I want him, want to. It is safe here. Yes, please.
SF takes my senses, one by one. Look only at him, see him, smell him, taste him, hear him, feel only him. I am his and he is mine in this moment. The only thing that matters is him as I lie down on one end of the bench, another couple already has the other end, but they don’t matter, only SF matters. Only we matter, as he takes me, claims me, and makes me orgasm over and over and over on a hard narrow bench until we are both reeling and exhausted in the heat of the night.
Saturday evening, after dinner, and before the burn. I put on old clothes – a precut shirt, a holey bra, and an old dulled skirt. SF slipped a knife he has not yet used to scene in his pocket. We had chosen a spot on the edge of town, where the wishing tree stood until they took it away to the burn. Get going.
I walk away from his camp toward town, talking to another woman in the road, warning her, SF was coming to catch me. At the spot, someone was reading where the tree had stood. Oh, oh no. I slowed my pace, uncertain, maybe the grass across the road, no one was on the suspension beams. I wandered down the path between them, nervous.
Then his hand was on my throat, voice in my ear. Where do you think you’re going? There’s someone… So? Plenty of space. Right over here. SF drags me off the road, into the grass, closer to the tree line. Still growling in my ear, telling me what he is about to do to me.
He rips the front of my shirt open and turns me around. Using the knife to get through the collar, and then shredding the back open, pulling it off my arms. The knife rips through my bra straps and front, adding it to the ground. I’m gasping and dripping, as he slices through my skirt.
His hand back on my throat as the knife goes away. Forcing me to the ground. SF strips and joins me, claiming me. In the open grass, under a setting sun, but still bright sky, where anyone can see us. Because I am his and he is mine in every moment we spend together.
