Saturday was Captain's house warming party, and we've been running around trying to make everything perfect. A combination of DIY, BDSM and OCD on both our parts over the past two, hectic, weeks since the flat move meant that once 6pm rolled around and people started to actually arrive it was something of a relief. We were ready. The night managed to encapsulate a number of hot topics that pushed all of my "must do this well" buttons, so I had spent the day being a bit fraught, especially due to a series of irritating stresses such as delayed deliveries and arranging pick-up of new laptop that wasn't ready at the promised time.
But I was there. Finally. Food and drink was all laid out, a second maid had arrived and the decision made that I was in charge and she was my maid-in-training (which had all sorts of connotations for the future). We got ready together and chatted a little, which felt something like being backstage before a show, I wasn't precisely jittery, but I was very keen for everything to go well. I was acutely aware that whatever I did wasn't just going to reflect on me, but also on Captain. And I wanted him to be happy, to be proud of me, and of us.
At first, I'd really been very nervous about the maid costume. It felt a lot like roleplay, which isn't normally a turn on, and it was also domestic service, which is also something I don't do. But there were other elements. First, I wasn't a maid - I was a dolly maid. Baby pink wig, with matching make-up and nails in tandem with the PVC black dress and frilly lace accessories made me feel much more cool, calm and collected. I felt sexy, too, which I had really not expected. I'd anticipated enduring this outfit, at best, it was a trial to be gone through to amuse and entertain Captain and our guests. But it was actually quite a lot of fun. It was a little silly, I bent over and showed my bottom a lot, Mrs Magpie spent the entire evening failing to keep a straight face every time I pouted or poured a drink from a kneeling position.
There was also something a bit deeper going on. Perfectionism is a part of my submission, as is a desire to please my partners, I also always like dressing up, kink and being told I'm pretty and a "good girl" (there were a lot of compliments and flatttery, including a couple of requests to keep or kidnap me). Add to this that in my general life, I like hosting parties and feeding people lovely food and drink. I was pretty high on the praise before anything kinky had even started, and it was fantastic to have my efforts acknowledged, in a way that very rarely happens in the day-to-day, or when it does is always a bit offhand and lacklustre. Here, I felt centre-stage and full of praise. Reactions were varied - some people loved being waited on, others were a little flustured, some still were not quite sure how to handle it, others giggled - but all were welcome. Exhibitionism requires reactions of some sort, and there were plenty going around.
Serving itself was a lot like work. Because it was work, as anyone who has ever done silver service or waitressing will tell you. Even with someone else to help, bustling around making sure drinks were filled, food was doing the rounds and greeting people on arrival kept me very busy. Added to that the importance of looking and sounding good whilst doing it. After a few hours my feet were hurting (high heels and fishnets meant I had diamond patterned soles the next day). It also meant that I wasn't really able to talk to my friends much, particularly once the party started to get going. The enjoyment was not coming from the social aspect, but from the kinky side - from seeing everyone in the room happy, from making people feel "decadent" in the words of Maple. There was a serious pleasure in knowing that I was creating that atmosphere.
Later on, the kink part of the evening started. After a "not-punishment" spanking in bondage, Captain found a pink ball gag to match the wig, pulled my knickers around the tops of my legs (which later fell off, of course) and left me to wander round with one arm behind my back and a tray of canapes, I truly felt like a Michael Manning creation. A BDSM iconic fantasy. Which I played up to, naturally. I was able to be a little cheekier, a little more interactive now I couldn't speak - winks, muffled noises, deliberately confusing gestures. Hedwig captured the spirit of the whole thing by taking one of the cream cakes I was offering around, checking with Captain - always a nice moment - then smearing it slowly and deliberately into my face. The feeling was not unpleasant - like a lot of supposed humiliation play, it has the initial shock of transgression, then the flood of liberation, particularly so as an exhibitionist because it means more people look at you. And getting excited, turned on or embarrassed by you. And have to go and fetch cameras to take pictures of you. Which naturally, you pose for. After being paraded round for a bit to cries of mock pity, I got fussed over by some of the other submissives who cleaned my face for me, adding an exciting touch of complex hierarchy to the mix and setting me to think on how submitting to Captain whilst having a group of slaves, pets and servants to play with would make for a very exciting evening. We're contemplating a dinner party as the natural follow up. I am putting in my request for someone to put my feet up on.
Abandoned to his fate in inescapable rope
3 months ago