"My First Play Party" - live reading this Friday at Bluestockings

Not my actual first play party, but my fictional story of the same name from Where the Girls Are: Urban Lesbian Erotica, edited by D.L. King. I'll be reading from it Friday night at 7 at Bluestockings, 72 Allen Street, before heading over to Fontana's to flash my boobs/sign sex blogger calendars.



Here's a snippet from the story:

“This is Beth,” Marcy said, then ordered me to turn around. I got it right away—they were getting introduced to me, but I wasn’t getting introduced to them, except to learn immediately that they were tops, and I was not.

“What’s she got under there?” one of the women asked. Marcy didn’t try to get my permission before lifting up the slips. I understood that I was giving her tacit permission to use me, to do with me whatever she desired, and I liked it, even as I blushed while they examined my ass.

“Why is she wearing panties?” another women with a Southern drawl complained. “Make her get rid of them.”

Marcy slipped a hand down into my panties and stroked my wetness. I didn’t know if it was okay to make noise, so I didn’t, but I wanted to. I was soaking already, the surprise of being the center of attention spurring me on. Nobody else in the little room was doing anything naughty.

Marcy pulled my panties down, then pushed my neck until my head was hanging down, my hands dangling around my ankles. Now it wasn’t just my butt that was so brazenly exposed. “No piercings; I bet she doesn’t have any tattoos. I guess now we have to find out how well she can take a spanking.”

I bit my lip, wanting to say, “Oh God,” because the idea of getting spanked by so many women was beyond anything I could have imagined.

“I think she needs a blindfold though. We don’t want her to know what’s coming.” They were talking about me in the third person, like I wasn’t even there, and in a way, I wasn’t. They were calling me Beth, but I was thinking of myself as Bella, a beautiful princess trapped by an evil band of female thieves who wanted to torture me to get at my riches. I liked the idea of them abusing me, of me defying them even as I took what they doled out.

Marcy moved around and raised my head and stared deeply into my eyes. Hers had changed, darkened somehow, and they mesmerized me. I stared back at her, silently telling her I wanted it all. She grabbed my hair and bent my head back, then sucked on my neck, biting me, making it hurt, surely giving me a hickey. She was telling me this wasn’t about my pleasure, even if I did enjoy it. It was about them enjoying me, about what my body could give them. That the whole party was about people serving and servicing each other, and if I chose this role, any enjoyment or sexual satisfaction I received would be a happy byproduct, and never the raison d'être of the action.

“She’s ready for you,” said Marcy, lifting me up and placing me on my stomach across the women’s laps. The couch was a big one, able to accommodate all of us, and I was settled across it, my slips pushed up high enough so my bare breasts were abraded by the leather of the women’s pants. I still didn’t know their names or anything about them, other than that they were hungry for my body.

“What a pretty ass Beth has,” one said, before slapping it hard. I nuzzled my face into the leather beneath me, while another woman stroked my hair. Someone reached below me to toy with my nipples, tugging and twisting them as the smacks increased in ferocity. The hand spanking me went at an amazing pace, and my bottom was soon tingling and throbbing with heat. Then something else crashed against my skin; I didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t a hand, that’s for sure.

“Such pretty marks. I like that in a sub,” one said. Being so coolly appraised was sexy in a way I couldn’t have imagined. I kept my eyes shut not because I was ordered to, but because I wanted to know as little as possible about what was happening to me; I only wanted to feel.