I didn’t go into the party expecting to play. The invitation promised good food, tasty drinks, and friends. That’s all I needed. Still, I dressed cute and literally let my hair down, an act I don’t often do.
People were slow to arrive, but the house eventually filled up with some of my favorite people. We feasted on turkey, sweet potatoes, and various desserts. We drank wine and cocktails and recounted stories. I was happy I attended.
In my social circle, it doesn’t stay normal for long. After dinner, people began grinding on each other. Hugs were close, long, and featured wandering hands. Finally, one person was bent over and their behind was assaulted by two people at once. The play of the party had started.
I ventured downstairs. While sitting and chatting, a friend asked me to tie them up. They wanted painful rope. I was happy to oblige.
I lashed my friend’s leg into a tight futomomo. I similarly secured their opposite arm. I attached the two limbs together with a taut line hitch. I then stepped back as the other person in the scene began playing with my friend.
As I waited while they enjoyed their fun, a second friend admired my rope work and then asked to beat me. I consented. Before our scene began, I gave my second friend a quick rope lesson on the futomomo tie.
Right before we were to start my beating, my first friend asked to be untied. I loosed their binds. They thanked me for my work. I was happy they enjoyed their tie.
My second friend sat in a chair while I sat on the floor. They used their elevated state to put more power into their punches. They struck my chest and my shoulders. My body ached from their strikes for a few days.
After my beating, I went upstairs for a cup of water before coming back downstairs. As I entered, a third friend approached. When my third friend and I had initially greeted earlier, they scritched my head. Seeing my positive reaction, they gripped my strands tighter. I then asked them for hair time later that evening. My re-entry to the downstairs sparked the granting of my request.
They seized my hair, then rolled it this way and that. They bit and nuzzled my neck. Their free hand wandered over my body. They pulled my head back for a kiss. My eyes closed, I let myself get lost in the sensations. They whispered to me, “We should do more of this at Winter Fire.” I agreed.
After my hair time, I went back upstairs, went back to chatting with friends. A fourth friend and I talked about our plans for Winter Fire. We have a traditional scene we both were looking forward to. And then I asked a magical question. “Where is your kit?”
Back downstairs we went. In a private room, we closed the door and shared a stare. They put on a glove. I crawled across the bed, hung my hips over the edge. It took no time for their fist to slip in. I screamed, cursed, moaned. I told them how I’d missed their fist in my cunt. And I came over and over again.
Going into a situation with no expectations can be comforting. It’s no loss whatsoever if nothing happens. Going into a party with no expectations and then having more fun than I had imagined possible: priceless.
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