A couple of friends invited me to a sex party. The kind where you have to know someone who’s been part of the group for awhile before you get approved to attend. I immediately canceled my other plans and set out to find the appropriate outfit. What does one wear to a sex party? Clothes seem a bit irrelevant, but I also didn’t want to be presumptuous and I wasn’t sure what the vibe was going to be like.
I opted for a low cut black dress, nipple pasties and comfortable boots. A little red lipstick, a small glass of whiskey, and I was ready to roll.
The house was a large nondescript home in a quiet suburban neighborhood. I have no idea what their neighbors know of these kinky events that go down each month. But, it seemed like a totally normal home from the exterior. However, inside was an entirely different story.
There were cages, and sex swings, and glory holes, and latex covered mattresses, and walls filled with gadgets and props meant to instill pleasure, pain and a hybrid of the two. There were crosses to bind people to and all sorts of various contraptions to maximize sexual experiences, such as a pseudo massage chair type thing with straps that had an attachment for a vibrator. Oh, and a toilet seat that has space underneath for someone to stick their face for oral sex. It made me giggle and think of a car mechanic shimmying underneath the bottom of a car. Who comes up with these things? The lights were low, the music was sexy and well chosen, and there were bowls of condoms and lube at helpful intervals around the house. Someone had thought to bring chocolate chip cookies, which added a (literal) sweet touch and there was a sense of love and camaraderie amongst the attendees. And, the friendliness towards me as a newbie seemed genuine.
Some people were in costume, others were in regular street clothes, some were various degrees of naked. One man in a casual t-shirt and jeans offered to give me the tour while my other friends got settled. After a quick eye contact check with my friends for approval, I followed him around the house getting oriented. He spent time explaining all the items I hadn’t seen before and I found out later he’s a pretty committed sadist.
It felt like any normal party as I sat on a table -that had just been used in a spanking session involving 4 women bent over and 4 men behind them with varying whips, paddles, and props- and drank my wine while discussing the sadist’s thoughts on power dynamics and relationship. But, unlike any normal party, this party had a couple of notable differences: 1) there were naked people openly doing sexual things with each other that would make Christian Grey blush and 2) the level of body confidence was off the charts -this group of people felt settled in themselves. I had walked into a group of people who have found their niche, their tribe, their community and they welcomed me with no judgement or expectation.
There was no sex for me that night. But, I didn’t want to leave without trying a new experience. So, I told the sadist I would let him do a zipper line on me. This is a long string of clothespins attached to a cord which is then ripped off at the end leaving a pathway of marks that look like a zipper. I told my friends I wanted them in the room and that I wanted to control the rip off. It felt safe and consensual.
The room was cold as I removed my dress and boots. One of the guys brought me his jacket to cover up the parts of my body not being pinned. My friend rubbed my feet to keep them warm. The sadist periodically rubbed his hands together and gently placed them on me. Others would come into the room and watch for a bit, reminisce about their zipper experiences, or just chitchat. It took a fair amount of time to clip my skin from my inner ankle, along my inner thigh, up the side of my ribs, into my armpit and along my upper arm. He commented that it was a bit harder since I don’t have a lot of loose skin. I told him I said he could do it, not that it would be easy. Pretty sure I watched the sadist spark in his eye light up and then calm down. It tickled in places, which made me giggle, which made him confused. I think it was supposed to hurt.
Being the curious minded person I am, I wondered if I could flex my muscles and pop any of the clothespins off. I was successful in certain places much to the chagrin of the sadist who leaned over me and calmly asked, “are you trying to mess up my work?” Meeting his gaze directly, I confirmed that I was, in fact, trying to mess up his work. I’m almost positive he would have hit me with something if we’d been in a different form of play dynamic, but I’m not a sub – I’m just a me – and his self control was refreshing.
He reattached the clothespins I’d escaped from and stepped aside to let my friend assist me in my zipper release. I asked her to hold the ring at the end of the string and told her I would roll my body away. And, rrrrrrrripppp. I guess I kind of dom/subbed myself. I wonder if there is a term for that?
Fun fact: those marks last for days. I still have them and it’s been almost 72 hours. So, if you decide to do a zipper line be mindful of the marks you’ll have for the next several days.