Party time, excellent!!

This is about a party we threw a few months back to celebrate our dungeon space, and to show our appreciation for some of our fellow mistresses. Written by my personal slave, Spunk...

I was invited to serve food and drink at a party that Ms. Veronica and Ms. Alex were throwing for their fellow Dominatrices at their Lower East Side dungeon. The invitation explained that I would be required to wear a frilly white apron and something mildly humiliating underneath. Alex gave me a pair of tight vinyl shorts and I picked up a silky apron with lacey edges at a discount store. The invitation gave detailed instructions of what was expected of me. I was not to speak unless spoken to, and it warned that if I insisted on drawing attention to myself, I would be used for the Mistress’ amusement. I knew that there would be eight Mistresses present, many of whom I did not know. In the days leading up to the party, I was excited and also nervous at the thought of what might happen to me at the hands of this group of dominant women. There would be two other men present, another server and the chef. I knew that women often behave differently in packs than one on one, and I knew that I would have to try my hardest to do well at serving the wine and food, in order to avoid the tortures they are all so expert in administering.

The day of the party finally arrived and I showed up early as instructed to assist the chef, Preston, with his preparations in the kitchen. I set the table. I was barefoot and feeling a little exposed in the vinyl shorts and apron when the first guests arrived. I asked the guests if I could take their bag and coats. My fellow server, Lolita, (whose name was chosen by Veronica and Alex) offered them a glass of Prosecco. (Lolita had a much more elaborate outfit than mine: High heels, stockings, a corset and apron) Once all the coats were hung, the ladies sat drinking wine and talking. I passed around hors d'oeuvres and Lolita poured the wine, and shared his knowledge about the wine.

Ms. Jada told Ms. Veronica she had a sore neck, and Ms. Veronica offered my services. She accepted and I began massaging her neck and back. Her bra strap began falling down her arm and she accused me of trying to undress her. She reported this to Ms. Veronica, and then Ms. Jada threw me on the floor and started hitting my inner thighs with a riding crop. I remember Ms. Veronica saying "He can tolerate a lot of pain", as Ms. J reddened my ass with the crop. I felt good and it seemed easy to take. I was then ordered to roll over and there I lay on my back looking up at the eight beautiful women who surrounded me and began pushing their feet and heels into my face, torso and balls. They laughed and giggled. They finally released me, as it was now time to start serving the first course of the meal, which was a soup.

At one point I knocked something over and Ms. Veronica ordered me to lean with my hands against the wall. She began giving me my first flogging of the evening. Feeling ballsy I said, "Is that all you got for me?" Angrily she took me out to the other room and again with my arms against the wall she hit me with her self-fashioned speaker wire flogger, which is extremely painful. Then Ms. Devon asked Veronica if she might have a go at me with a wooden spoon to which Veronica replied "He's feeling cheeky tonight, put him in his place..." Devon then lay into me with a heavy wooden spoon as if she were releasing all her frustrations upon me. I remember hearing a voice say "Position" . "Bridge Position". Devon said "Count!" and I couldn't remember how to count. I was trying to understand. But then I remembered the numbers and I just started saying numbers "7, 8, 9.." like that. Then I saw Veronica in front of me, crouching down, and she smiled as if she were trying to help me to take it and I knew everything was alright. Devon pushed me off her lap. Ms. Guinevere approached me and began twisting my nipples, "These have been ignored for too long!" I remember thinking how pretty she was and how nice she seemed. She just played around a bit and then let me go. Then it was time to serve the first course.

From this point on, dear reader, I can only report what an endorphin and adrenalin soaked brain has to say. We served the first course of the meal, which was short ribs. Everyone was imbibing and having a good time. Lolita entertained the ladies with dirty limericks. When anyone wanted a cigarette I would light it for them, or offer to light it for them. I kept filling their wine glasses and lighting their cigarettes, taking their plates away and bringing more food.

While serving the dessert I spilled some of the cream sauce on the floor. Veronica noticed and had me get down on all fours and lick it up. It really wasn't so hard because the sauce was pretty good and I knew her floors were clean. I think the girls found it amusing how willing I was to do whatever Veronica told me.

After dinner the girls retired to the other room. Lolita and I cleared the dishes. Ms. Alex invited me to come sit on her lap. She was dressed in a wife-beater and men's dress pants. As I sat on her lap she reached down the back of my vinyl shorts and shoved her dry index finger into my asshole. This was a little uncomfortable because of the lack of lubricant, but once it was in there it felt good. I began moving my hips to the music and tried to dance with her finger in my ass. Ms. Veronica looked at me and pronounced in a scolding tone "You're having sex!"

After a while I felt like pulling away, but Ms. Alex wouldn't let me. She would pull me back with her index finger, yanking on my anus. Eventually she released me. Then she asked me to lick her finger clean. At this moment, dear reader, I hesitated. I got paranoid about how hygienic it was. In retrospect, having made out with a girlfriend after she had her tongue in my ass, it amounts to the same thing.

Ms Veronica then told me to clean Ms. Alex's finger as I had clearly enjoyed it. That made it easy to do it, so I got down before Ms. Alex and sucked on her finger. She put two fingers in my mouth, and then started ramming them down my throat, which was making me gag. She didn't seem to care that I might puke on her. After I sucked on her finger for a while again she let me go. I went to the bathroom and spit it out. Then I did some dishes to kind of hide because I was freaking out.

As the guests left, I helped them on with their coats, and they all seemed to have enjoyed themselves. When everyone was gone, I was allowed to eat a plate of food that hadn't been eaten. As Lolita was getting ready to leave, Alex suggested we “get together”, and I tried acting salacious toward him. Then the girls started playing with him, ramming a dildo in his mouth. After he got slapped a bit, they tired of him and sent him away.

Then I took to cleaning all of the chef’s pots and pans and various implements of which there were many. Then I loaded it all into his car. By this time it was about 4 am. When I went back in, I was alone with Ms Veronica and Ms Alex. They seemed to be acting a little funny, and suddenly they attacked me. My shirt was ripped off. They pulled my pants down around my ankles. Ms. Alex stood in behind me and held my arms in a kind of arm lock. She had her nose pressed against my back and she kept sniffing me, but more like huffing me. Ms. Veronica started scratching me with her fingernails with broad swipes. They did it to my front and back. Then Ms. Veronica hit my cock with a long suede single tail. The blows left tremendous purple bruises. Ms. Veronica then took me in the bathroom and put alcohol on all the wounds and we talked about everything that had happened and that was really an amazing moment, dear reader. Then we all lay down, Ms. Alex and Ms Veronica on the pull out bed, and I, naked on the bondage bed. In the middle of the night Ms. Veronica came and laid a blanket on me.

The next day I got up and went to work. I felt warm all over and high as a kite. It was awesome.

Pics from a performance...

I did a performance at a party called, "Muff Muff Give" in Williamsburg recently, and thought I would post some pics here because it was by far the most fun I've had at a fetish event in a long time. The party isn't always a fetish event, but this particular installment was, for queer people only (I consider myself "queer", but only in the sense that I am a little strange). There were people getting naked, impromptu go-go dancing on stage all around me, and an incredibly cute sub girl for me to beat on. Needless to say, I was very happy. Never had I seen so many people letting go and enjoying themselves so unself-consciously in one space. It was a sight to be seen, as you can see.

** The first picture has me in the background, concentrating very intently on what I was going to do to my sub's very adorable (and very durable) ass. Notice the girls making out in the bottom left corner.**

xoxo.

All delinquent Twitterers please stand up

I thrust my chair back enthusiastically to admit that I am a bad, bad Twitterer (the prefix "twit" is quite apropos). Everyone who is following me, I apologize. But I just can't bring myself to jot down so much self-indulgent nothing rubbish. I mean, one could argue that having a blog is pretty ego-driven, but it actually requires thought and follow-through of some sort. The object here is to entertain, and along the way to perhaps complain, share thoughts, miseries, observations, etc in an integrated and meaningful way (sometimes).

But really, do you really need to know that I'm on my way to the hardware store, or that I cut my ankle while shaving? Do I really need to share these insignificant incidentals with the world? I mean, who cares?

Does anyone ever think that perhaps we are turning into a technocracy of stalkers? Doesn't anyone want anything to be private anymore? Do we all think we're so great that sharing all of the intimate details of our lives would be so interesting to everyone else?

Of course I can see the advantages of online interactive "friend" or "dating" sites. You are able to meet new people with interests that match your own to a scarily exacting degree, and you can find people who were important to you earlier in life/ keep in contact with those you don't see on a regular basis. Sure, that's cool. I can dig that.

And- I'm not going to lie- it is perhaps advantageous for my business to offer such drivel for those who just can't get enough of me. Ha ha! I suppose I feel horribly ambivalent about the whole situation. I don't want to have phones and computers and iPods and whatever else creeping into every corner of my life. But on the other hand, even my trivialities are pretty sweet... Hmmm....

Well, that does it. Shall I keep tweeting (to "tweet" is the act of writing on Twitter- thank you francis) or not? I shall let my readers decide. Take the survey to your right to help me. I should like if you gave a description in the comments section on why you voted Yay or Nay.

xoxo.

"Woman's Faith In Humanity Still Not Dashed Despite Seeing Man Take Picture of Accident Victim With His Cell Phone"

That is what the headline of my newspaper would read today, if in fact, I owned a newspaper. Which I should!

And yes, that did actually happen to me while I was walking in the Village the other day. There was a body grotesquely articulated on the ground amongst a scene of ambulance horror, and some dude raised his phone in the air and took a picture of it. For what? So he could show his friends how demented he is? So that no one would doubt that he was, in fact, the biggest douchebag on the planet?

I contemplated confronting him, then decided it wasn't worth the trouble. There was a huge mob of people around the scene. I don't know about you, but I find it a little strange to stand there and stare at a mortally injured body. I really, really wanted to- but it skeeved me out too much to stand there for more than five seconds. What is it about accidents and violent mishappenings that hypnotizes people so completely? The projection of ourselves in the situation? The anomolous terror of it all? The shock value?

And why, why, why do I always have to bring everything back to BDSM (because I'm a pervert) but- car crashes are a fetish. Remember that lip-stretching yawn of a movie, Crash, with James Spader and Holly Hunter (*cough* no chemistry *cough*)? It is beyond me how you can make a movie about car crash fetishists into a grade A nap-inducer, but somehow Hollywood managed to pull it off. The opening scene with the panties and the sex against a car (or for some reason, I'm remembering an airplane was involved) was terrifically, scorchingly hot. Woo! I get squishy thinking about that. Don't bother to see it if you haven't already. It was made in the mid 90's, so it's about as shocking as seeing Britney Spears' pussy at this point. It's overdone.

Anyway- the movie seems to imply that the fetish goes beyond the simple shocking incident and aftermath and bridges over into a fetish for immobilization, re: casts, wheelchairs, and permanent handicaps. If the fetish actually exists, how are we to find out where the people who engage it are? They don't need their own porn sites, as there are plenty of pictures of car crashes on the internet!

The only evidence I have that this might be a legitimate fetish (and not fairytale) is a small statement from an artist called Romain Slocombe. He is known for his contributions to a genre of art called, Medical Art, and his pictures of Japanese women in various states of immobility are quite famous. From Deviant Desires:

"Slocombe remembers being quite terrified of car accidents as a child. At the same time, he felt that people who had been in an accident had a special erotic aura around them."

This only implies that these fetishes are related, but not conclusive of anything. If anyone has any insight into this subject, please don't hesitate to contribute. Is this a true fetish, or something that has been Hollywood-ized into the annals of urban myth? We might never know.


Oh, and totally off topic-

For those who call me instead of emailing me as it says on my website to book a session: Use email. Trust me, you won't be disappointed. When someone calls me when I'm not expecting it I do a little dance to the ringtone. Seriously. It's like a Curtis Mayfield R&B jam with horns. It's really nice. I get down to it's funky beat.

Fantasy vs. Reality

I was thinking this morning about Domme styles and approaches. Some people are really enthusiastic, some are encouraging, some cold and distant, and some soft and gentle. Etcetera.

However, the "drive" or "motivation" behind each style (yes, I'm intentionally using acting terminology) is naturally different as well. I guess I'm trying to say that it's funny to me when a client doesn't realize how phony someone is being. Perhaps some people don't care, and really get off on the theatrics, that is certainly possible.