Before I tell you the whole thing about last night, I should give a little background on Ace, the girl I’ve been seeing a little bit.

I genuinely didn’t think our first date was a date until I was putting my makeup on right before meeting up with her for drinks and paused for a moment to think, “wait a second, is this a date?” The thing is that I’ve known Ace since I started going to play parties and munches in this city, but mostly peripherally. She hung out with people I knew, she dated people I knew. Every so often we’d have a really good conversation or I’d see her while I was out. Back in the summer, she invited me out clubbing with her and I didn’t take a hint at all and said I was busy. Right before the December holidays, we agreed to get coffee and then I had to cancel.

So in the first week of January we’d rescheduled coffee and it somehow turned into drinks. And sitting there across from her, I was stuck puzzling over how to even distinguish where the line was. What’s the difference between two women talking and laughing and having a good time and two women going on a first date together? How can you tell?

I tested the waters that night after making a terrible joke. “Sorry,” I said, “that was awful. I guess you’ll never take me out again.”

Ace grinned. She has this smile that is borderline wicked, always a little scheming. “No, I’ll take you out again.”

Our next few dates were pretty chaste, as I mentioned. And then, Friday night, I went to her place to watch a movie. She made popcorn. That was about as far as we got into watching a movie.

We made out on her bed for a while until she got up abruptly and walked towards her kitchen. She lives in this sweet little studio, and so the kitchen was just through a little doorway beside the bed. “I’m getting my knife,” she explained.

Not a knife. My knife.

By this point, we’d mostly undressed each other. I removed the remainder of my clothing – my panties, my socks – and laid back. She returned and climbed back onto the bed, swinging a leg over me so that she was straddling me. “I want you to hold still,” she said. She took my hands one after the other in her free hand, moving them up to the headboard. I held onto it at her prompting. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try,” I replied, a little nervous laugh lingering in my voice as she leaned down and kissed my neck. I felt the chill of the knife press against the side of my breast.

When I went home that night, I peeled off my shirt and discovered a faint red line up the side of my stomach. I’d only been sliced once before while playing with knives – another accident. But I’ve always relished these marks. A reminder of what had happened.

And an indication, I suppose, of the fact that I can’t keep still.

So, a friend of mine is hosting a small, intimate naughty party at her place tonight. I was already excited to show up with both Pup and Leo, in the hopes of recreating this photo but also in the hopes of just showing up at a place with two really hot guys.

But I also found out last night that the girl I went out with yesterday will be there as well.

So, uh. It’s looking like it’s gonna be a good weekend all in all.

Pushing all the buttons like woah.

“You know you look like you’re going to cry when you’re about to cum,” Leo told me after we’d had sex Saturday night. “I always think that with you. It’s your tell.”

I’ve been seeing Leo – that guy Pup and I had that incredible threesome with over the summer – since right after the election. (Call it a means of coping?)

I like him a lot. We have good chemistry. He’s covered in tattoos but he can pull off a suit. He’s got a serious grown-up job in a field that he’s been in for ten years but has one of those mountain man beards. I like people who can occupy dualities like that.

Our date on Saturday was a little bizarre. He’d called my bluff about saying I’d be a good workout buddy, so Saturday afternoon found me in Pup’s car, getting dropped off at Leo’s gym with my overnight bag. We worked out together, showered, and went out for pizza and beer. Maybe that’s counter-intuitive to the workout, but whatever.

After an attempt to incredibly belatedly catch up on House of Cards was cut short by us just making out on his couch, we ended up in bed. I was wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties with the intention of sleeping in them after, lying between his legs, my back against his chest and stomach. Leo had one arm around my waist, the other draped across my torso. He’d recently got one of those handheld, cordless hitachis and was teasing me with it, intermittently turning it up a little too high to have a laugh when I whined and tried to squirm away from it.

He slid out from under me to slip his fingers inside me, easing more in before sliding them out to replace them with his cock. He’d made a comment earlier in the week that he might be too exhausted from his week to have sex when we got together. And, naturally, I gave him hell for it as he pulled my legs up and hooked them over his shoulders. I liked the way my bare skin looked against Leo’s, his chestpiece framed by my thighs. His skin darker, inked.

“I knew you were going to fuck me tonight,” I taunted. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”

“You’re such a brat, Ivy,” he murmured.

“I know,” I replied between moans. “What are you going to do about it?”

Leo reached over and grabbed the hitachi, setting it back on my clit as his thrusts grew more vigorous. My shoulder slapped against his headboard. My body shook. I came. Then came again.

Speaking of aesthetics.

Insolence, Part Two

We pulled up to Rex’s place and I felt a lump rise in my throat. He lived in a pretty fancy apartment complex, complete with a freaking person in a little hut who offers you a parking pass. Just…bananas.

So I was all anxious because it was becoming more and more apparent to me that this person is a real adult with nice adult things and I’m, you know, me. And Pup, noticing how I’ve gotten all quiet, reached over and squeezed my thigh. “Calm down. You’re going to have a good time. Just relax.”

To which I’m basically like:

After taking the elevator up to his floor, I started up the hall. The thrumming of the low bass of some music grew louder as I neared his door. I had to smirk, I knew this move. And, okay, maybe he just liked loud music, but I’ve totally thrown that kind of stuff on to drown out the sex I was anticipating having. I figured knowing he was being a little presumptuous would give me the upper hand.

But when I stepped inside, I was taken aback by the fact that he first thing he said after greeting me and kissing me hello was to suggest I take off my shoes. Yeah, after the whole “wear comfortable shoes” thing that left me freaking out over footwear before arriving. It was a fucking power play.

Which, in part, made me crazy. But also, in part, indicated to me that Rex might just be into power dynamics. Or, yeah, he could’ve just been a jerk. Either way, I was totally bamboozled.

His apartment had one of those floor-to-ceiling windows with an incredible view. For a while, was just sat around, talking about ourselves and watching the sunset. “Anyway,” he said. “What do you like? I mean, what are you into?”

I chuckled. “You mean, like, sexually?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly that.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Oh no. I’m not going first. I don’t want to weird you out or set crazy expectations.” He put his arm around me and started laughing. “No, I’m dead serious. You first.”

Rex cleared his throat. “Well, all right. I guess I should start by saying, in at least most relationships, I’m dominant.”

“Well,” I responded, looking at my feet. “I’m usually a sub.”

“Bondage?” He asked, and I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said, “that’s kind of a big thing for me.”

He reached up and slid my blazer off of my shoulders. “Ageplay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes.”

Rex pulled my dress off of me and slipped my stockings down. He kept naming kinks, I kept affirming them. It was going well. And when he rolled on a condom and went to slide inside me, I tried to up the ante by saying, “no. Turn me over. Fuck me like a whore.”

He slipped into me. “It’s always fucking you like a whore if it’s fucking you.”

Me:

Impulse, Part Seven

The couch cleared off for us, and “Rex”/Rhett and I settled down on it. Someone set a timer on their phone for three minutes. I laid back and Rex angled himself over me, looping an arm around me and kissing me again.

I genuinely want to say we made it to three minutes. Even two and a half. But at some point I had my legs around his waist and Rex’s hands were moving over my body, starting to remove the rest of my clothing. His lips were soft, the stubble on his face rough, his hands strong and imploring. There was something about it that just worked, some weird combination of that fact that I hadn’t been to a party in a while, had come into this evening with no expectations, and had suddenly gotten into this encounter with someone I had pretty strong chemistry with.

“Honestly, it was like a porn,” Pup said later. “Not like, in terms of hotness. It was hot. But in terms of people just kind of dropping everything and wanting to fuck.”

There was a rule at the party to use the rooms upstairs for sex or scenes in order to respect people’s bondaries, and so we decided to try to be discreet and sneak upstairs. Of course, just about everyone in the group noticed. “Wow,” the host said. “Didn’t even get to three minutes, huh?”

As I headed up the stairs, I looked to Pup to make sure this whole thing was all right, and was rewarded with just about the goofiest grin and thumbs-up ever. (Poly victory?)

When we got upstairs, we discovered someone had moved the condoms out of the room. I took a deep breath, headed back down the stairs, and called out to the host, “hey…can we get a condom?”

The group still in the circle cheered.

Impulse, Part Six

“We should, ah, we should maybe do something later,” I said to the guy on the couch who had kissed me while I was blindfolded. He looked a bit older than me, blond, a bit mischievous-looking (though considering the context, this made sense.) He was rather tall, though I had deduced as much when blindfolded from how I had to tilt my head to kiss him. When I propositioned him like that, in possibly the vaguest way possible, he – and a few other people around the circle – laughed. “Uh,” I added, “what’s your name?”

I was blushing. Pup was cracking up next to me.

The guy on the couch said his name, but I totally misunderstood it. (For the purposes of anonymity on the Internet, let’s say his name was Rhett and I misheard it as Rex. It was that level of like close-sounding names.) And rather than asking him to repeat himself I was like, internally, ok I think I heard Rex let’s just go with that but maybe don’t call this person by his name right away in case you’re really wrong.

People continued drawing cards around the circle. I watched Pup give a guy a pretty righteous spanking from a dare on the guy’s card, as well as saw him go to town licking this girl’s toes. I mean, the entire group was sort of speechless and transfixed watching it. Otherwise, there were kisses, slaps, massages. When it was “Rex”’s turn, he drew a card that had him share the craziest place he’d ever had sex. And though the location was pretty wild, it didn’t give much indication as to whether he fell more into the category of “swinger” or “kinkster.” After all, the whole kissing thing could have been because he wasn’t actually into hurting people or humiliating them.

When my own turn came up, I thought I might have the chance to see. Instead, I drew a requisite “check-in” card, which I am ***NOT COMPLAINING*** about because checking in is super important during an activity like this. But I got my opportunity when “Rex” drew a card and smirked.

“So, it says to have three minutes ‘in heaven’ with another person in front of the group. Any takers?” he asked. He was looking right at me.

I pretended to be all easy-going and raised my hand, saying, “oh, I’d be down.” But internally I was like:

Impulse, Part Four

The circle went around once more, drawing cards and taking dares. By the time it was my turn again, more people from the party had joined in. And while I recognised some familiar faces, the group was still predominantly strangers.

Still, I was feeling a lot braver than when I had arrived, spurred on by my own nerve in letting half the room spank me and willingness of the others in the group. So, I drew another one of the cards that prompted me to bottom, and felt myself immediately blushing as I looked it over.

“What’s it say?” the host asked.

I tried to say it, but I felt myself stammering. I passed it over to a friend nearby, and she read it aloud. Ever since I have gotten in touch with some of the more specific and risky things I’m into, I’ve felt like I’ve been driving with the parking break on whenever I thought of them. It’s beyond trepidation; it’s more the fear that others will recognise how much I enjoy it and think that I should be more reluctant, more afraid. Even in an environment where people emphasise consent so heavily. That. And, well, I’m shy.

So shy I’ve been having trouble writing it explicitly here.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” the host said. “You can absolutely pass.”

I’ve been fairly honest on this blog about the fact that I like to be overwhelmed. And the scenario of being blindfolded at a party and left for everyone to manhandle has been one that I’ve referenced time and time again. But I’ve never been brave enough to do it, let alone attempt to organise it, and now I had the opportunity. Among strangers and friends, with Pup nearby, I could do it.

“No, I, um, actually.” I felt myself smiling. “I really, really want to.”

Impulse, Part Three

The instructions on the card that I picked read that I was to walk around the circle and ask everyone to slap my ass. Pretty please.

I feinted towards starting with Pup, who was sitting to my right, before turning and heading to the left. I turned and lifted my skirt, asking each participant to spank me. Even though I was at a sex party, I get into my head in this silly way where I think that if I show too much enthusiasm, people will think I’m strange. Yes, at a sex party. So I was keeping it kind of playful and reluctant, not wanting to show my hand.

When I reached the host of the party, I didn’t get the slap I expected. Instead, he folded his arms and smirked. “I don’t think you want it bad enough.”

I felt a blush burn over my cheeks. I’d been friends with the host of this party since I got into the local kink scene. We met at the very first play party I went to, and he’s a profoundly sweet and kind person. Pup and I were at his wedding. He’s also 90% a sub. But he’s got this teensy, tiny little toppy streak that certain subs seem to have when they manage to channel all the cruelty and humiliation they crave and are used to receiving onto someone else.

He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me a bit closer. Even though he was sitting on the couch, I still felt small next to him. “Try again,” he said.

“Would you please slap my ass?” I scoffed and asked again. “Pretty please?” He nodded for me to keep going and I groaned. A few people in the circle were laughing. “Please, I really, really want you to spank me. I’d be so glad if you did.”

He delivered a sharp smack and sent me off around the circle. By the time I reached Pup, my rear was stinging. Azure had given me something on the gentler side, though I doubt that was the sole reason why Pup had doubled his efforts and hit me so hard that I visibly winced when I finally got to sit back down.

“Poor baby,” Pup teased. “But good thing I went last. Or people would’ve seen how hard they could have hit you.”