The orgy happened.
And then some.
It's take me a long time to compose this piece, because I really wasn't sure where to start. There was no point during the night when I wasn't completely revelling in one form of decadent sensation or another. It's all Glamourama's fault, she's a gateway drug to sexual hedonism, and I rather love her for it. Going through my mind is a series of edited highlights one by one like a sequence of events that by all rights should have occurred over many months rather than one night. And yet it did, giving me that wonderful feeling of being removed from the world which has been so difficult and dull for such a long time and into something brighter, sharper and more free.
There are few places in the world where I feel comfortable enough to let go and safe enough to get what I want sexually without worrying about who might see. In a very strange way, domination, particularly female domination is about being unreachable, in some fashion aloof and challenging. Something always, slightly, out of the grasp of most people. That way when you do accept someone they feel special, because they are special. This makes, to my twisted logic, group sex sometimes difficult. Especially if you want to be fucked, rather than doing the fucking. However, like I said, this was a good space for me. It helped, certainly, that most people there did not know me very well, and those that did were accepting of my changeable, capricious nature. And desire to be many things at once. A dominant masochist. A switch. A gay man in a woman's body. Someone who wants everything at once, with a cherry on top.
I met my date in a coffee shop for a pre-flight briefing. I'd had my eye on him for a while, but wasn't sure whether he was comfortable or interested in what I liked doing. We talked, and the more we talked the more things started to click in my brain. We collected flowers and perverts along the way, and my step became lighter as the night fell and the world became darker, into that marvellous lilac colour that the London sky could get. We were off for an adventure.
We started with drinks and nibbles, as any good party should. Once all the guest had arrived and stripped down to a reasonable level (she keeps her house hot on purpose) the shows started. We'd been encouraged to bring party pieces: I had my violet wand to hand. The performances did not disappoint - an instructional strip tease, a spanking counting lesson and I tested the flesh of one of the new boys finding him delightfully muscled and responsive to the touch of electrics. A wide grin formed on his face, and I knew - as I had known when we first met and I smelled him, that I wanted to fuck him. Soon, everyone was in their underwear and people were starting to feel each other out, quite literally. I was entertaining myself tying people up and surprising myself with my rope skills - it appears I have actually learnt something through my practice, and enjoying looping rope tightly around two people.
Then I put the rope on my date. And that felt very different. There was something in the way he held himself, the way I moved the rope around him and the way he just melted against my touch. We kissed. For a very long time. And then I pushed him down, holding his hair, and raising my hand. He looked at me, properly looked at me, with beautiful blue eyes, whispering fiercely "go for it." I hit him. His eyes widened briefly, he gasped, we kissed again. And I hit him. Again. I spoke to someone later, who was watching me as I was doing this. Time had stopped. My pupils had enlarged and my face was lit up, radiating desire and excitement. Which was true. The offering had been perfect, full of want and insistence. The reaction too - willing me to do more, to take more.
Flow. A recently discovered word, it described that space between control and arousal, where skill and challenge meet. For me, it represents the perfect arrow flight of dominance within submissive space. Something I hadn't felt in quite a while. And the night flowed from there...