Feb 16th's Play Party.

It was an interesting night to be certain.

I had not gone with the intention to scene, when I arrived that play party. The person I had planned to do so with, had canceled, due to an opportunity to attend an event that I could not blame him for deciding to participate in. Though, to be honest, the loss of his presence, and more so, of the scene itself which had promised to be a very intense one, kept me from wanting anything else really.

My attitude changed, however.

A girl who had been attending the munches with me locally, had joined in attending the party. I was well aware she had an interest in play, but seeing as she would be relatively new to most of the implements and toys that would be available, I, and a male top she was comfortable with, decided to go slow. The girl responded naturally, almost too naturally, to a collar and leash. She became not unlike a little pet, to whom I delighted in leading around. When soon after, she slid her naked form onto the spanking bench, I watched as she seemed to enjoy the feeling of the slightly chilled padding below her, brushing against undressed skin.

It started with a small little spanking; each cheek, here and there, lighter and harder as her nods and assurances dictated the fall of my hand. The male top brought out more toys, including a paddle, to which he began to use on her, and a flogger, as well. Though, which order we did these things in, my recollection is not clear. Seeing as it was her 23rd birthday, she was given a task to perform, while she held her body on that steady little bench; each hit, each slap, would bear a number starting with one and going forth from there. "One, Sir..two, Sir". The poor girl! I knowingly sabotaged her more than once, and she had to again restart. Then, I took my turn of her, and did something I have not done in 5 years now, which was flog her backside. I rather enjoyed the feeling of that flogger in my hand.

Later on in the night, after having socialized a bit, I found myself in front of a male dominant who I have discovered an increasing interest in. (I will refer to him as A) Yes, it could be said easily, that I was aroused. I had been looking quite forward to seeing him and his girl (who I had a nasty little fantasy of in the week previous..) and spending time with them. When he nudged my chair into a position between his legs, I felt a twitch begin between my thighs. I was already well on my way to getting wet, when his fingers touched me, briefly tracing down from my face, to my neck, across the half-covered skin hidden below the fabric of my little blouse to my nipples. The grip was amazing. The surge that followed the tightening of his pinch, set my breath to quick little pants, and my cunt to throbbing in frustration. When his mouth descended to bite me, I ached.

It is not untrue, that I hold no fondness for being bitten, but I had not even discussed this with him. I did not find it an unpleasant experience; perhaps, it had to do with the man himself, or his technique, but whatever it was, I was ready to do almost anything. You must understand, I am quite a hungry little cunt. I find it almost impossible to control my own urges, harsh and desperate as they are sometimes, and so releasing that control to the one handling me, is very important. Too, more so, that they can handle that control. He seemed to do this rather well, as he would again make a point of proving later on in the night.

I enjoyed watching a few of the scenes. Most particularly, though, of a man named B. (I am omitting the nickname for respect of his privacy) As a masochist, I have come to appreciate the power and strength in a man's swing. This man had an ability that I found rather fascinating. Too, his movements were arousing; each one seemed to flow into the next. It was as if, he had a rhythm to which he followed without fail. The contrast of his outfit, which was all black, and the paleness of her naked skin, set the visual intensity which I found so incredibly alluring. I found myself watching his play most intently. It was then that I noticed the whip attached to his belt. A bull whip. My cunt throbbed greedily.

When he sat down at our table, I could not help but stare, to be honest. He caught me in that, and so I managed to blunder forth an actual question, which had to do with his bull whip. I shall not admit this, if any of you reading should happen to mention it in passing! He answered me, then was asked another question by the male top whom I had been engaged with earlier on in the evening in play with the girl. This had to do with his rather interesting, and lovely, glove floggers. I have not seen the likes of them before, so, have no appropriate name for them. The leather strands themselves, were attached to the glove portion. Comparing hand size, the top and B realized they were relatively close. B then offered to let him have a go at familiarizing himself with how they worked. Of course, he needed a subject. Of course, I offered.

I knelt on the bench, fully clothed, for I had changed back into my street clothes as it was getting very close to the time we would be leaving. Too, as I said earlier, I had no real intention of playing. I placed my fingertips on the bench, kneeling on the lower portion, with my back facing them. B discussed the fall of the strands, the movement on the gloves, how he would find a rhythm and flow as he noted the difference between holding a handle and not having to. I grinned, and just enjoyed the light little brushes against my back. Of course, I had to point out that they could certainly hit harder. I was rewarded with a few harder landings, which yet felt as nothing to me. W (The DM at the time) asked me “Getting an itch scratched, hmm?”. I laughed, and nodded. Barely!

The little demonstration was over, and it must have been at that time, that he asked me why I had not played in the evening. I responded easily enough, that my plans to do so with V had been canceled, and the scene to which I had been looking forward to was not going to happen. He nodded, having heard of the plans for our particular scene. You see, it was well known that I had been planning to be a subject for skewers and ropes, as it has become my favorite form of play, and had more than a few people in attendance that wished to watch. I have, on occasion, had people join me in my home for such demonstrations, but this was going to be different.

I am not quite certain how then we moved into a scene, but it simply began, and I found myself being flogged by a man who could not only throw leather, but hurt with it in a delicious way that sent my mind reeling. I was thrilling with each land against my back, ass, and thighs, and I was suddenly thankful that I was dressed. Certainly, my arousal would have been easy to see then, easy to smell and distinguish without the clothes. As much as I craved to give control, I was determined to not give it easily. My mouth began to work almost of it's own accord, and soon I was making smart little comments, biting at him, challenging him to really let loose on me. I found it almost amusing to edge off the spanking bench, or slip a leg down and turn around on him. When he threatened me with rope to still some of my movements, I simply thrust out my wrists in front of him. They were then easily and effectively bound.

Ah, but you see, then he left me simply only bound by the wrists, though initially, he had a good grip of them. However, after much twisting, laughter, and further provoking on my part, he then called over another dominant to help, which happened to be A. I knew I was in trouble, and was soon proved correct when A grabbed my wrists in a lock tight grip which made anything remarkably difficult. However, I am a resourceful little cunt, and as they threw me over the bench once more, I continued to squirm and evade some of his hits. This only meant my struggle was getting more difficult, and the rope burned into the flesh on my naked wrists, rubbing furiously against my unprotected skin. That seemed to only push me further.

I was beginning to gather the pain within me, feed on it, if you will. I wanted more, and I wanted him to work for it, to hurt me, to take it from me and not just expect a passive, docile female. For you see, with all I am, I am not a submissive in the way which might be expected. I am a masochist, and so dreadfully complex. I am certainly not the masochist of all masochists, but my tolerance level is certainly higher than most. Do I give that to just anyone? No. I did not know B at all, besides by reputation, and seeing his work. I was not about to make it easy, in any way.

I finally managed to get on top of the bench, and how this happened, to be honest, I am not certain. It seemed to please him initially, until with one small movement, I fell off. Then, I was dragged again by the wrists. A crop was brought in, and a paddle, to which I fervently begged to not have used on me! I have a dislike for paddles, all of them. Leather, canes, whips, are all good and fine. Paddles have no give, and too often leave me not enjoying the pain. So, like a good girl, I was on my knees begging, to the delight of more than a few people watching which I believe at that time happened to be everyone in attendance, though I am not positive. I rubbed my face against his cock, using my bound hands to touch and stroke him, mouthing as best I could into words my plea that he not use that damned thing on me. Ah, but he then had to ask the crowd if I seemed sincere, to which I believe no one was ready to be in favor of. Instead, it was found to be less than satisfactory. This, of course, was even more humorous, and I had to start trying to beg between laughs..

The bench was soon take away, for it had to be loaded, and then it was simply just B and I once more. He grabbed me, pulled, and literally dragged me on my knees across the surface of the floor, by the wrists. I could not believe the burn of the rope, and yet no complaints came from my mouth. The skin of my hands was starting to sweat, to get clammy. I could feel everything yet though, so it was decided they were fine. He cropped me, turning me this way and that. I wrestled, throwing my body around and rolling on the floor and starting to drag him. I swore, bucked, pulled and grunted. He yanked, pushed, slapped, and laughed. Finally, he stepped on my bound wrists, and I could move no more, but when his blows started landing, I caught his foot and threw him a bit off balance. He easily came about me, and as I was laying on my back this time, panting, he kicked me legs open, holding one foot down, and started to crop the insides of my thighs, back and forth, and over the knees as I brought them up. Again, a flogger was in there at some point, but I have no time reference to give you.

I had forgotten about everyone one else, and for me all the existed was the rope, the man, and the desire to be nothing more than a writhing little cunt enjoying the touch of his pain. I was not Tonja the female, the woman, or the masochist. I was a greedy little thing moving about the floor, and yet, still opening myself to him after each hit...still offering..not refusing..only challenging in my own way, which for me was how I begged. My shirt was half riding up my chest, my hair in complete and utter disarray from having the clip broken by his handling and being tossed and throw this way and that from the interaction, and my clothes certainly were not as clean being rubbed all over the floor.

When he untied my wrists, and began to help me up, there was appreciation from those who watched. (Though I did get a nasty little leg cramp and decided to fall back to the comfort of the floor instead, but we don't have to go into that part.) The time was beginning to slide away, and it was well near 1 in the morning. I could have continued, and perhaps too, could he. However, having already used two other females that night, he was sure to be tired.

I was so completely right. He was, a very nasty man, and I knew it. What an incredible experience! I could not have enjoyed the night more. And before I left, I did beg one final request of him: That he whip me with that bull whip one day, when it became possible. For truly, I am certain he would be nothing less than cruel with it.

And that edge, that slim existence between reality and insanity, is what I crave to ride, with the surrender to pain that my mind and body chase after.