None of this was planned. I didn’t even plan to see a Dominatrix on my Vegas trip, feeling myself in the wrong headspace. I certainly hadn’t imagined that a hot, kinky little switch would fly across the US to spend a potentially very spanky weekend with me. I had taken nothing with me: no toys, no little bag of insecurities, not even any of THOSE pills.
I booked her her own hotel room but, as the intensity of our message exchanges developed through the week, we agreed to take the risk of cancelling it and sharing the big bed in my room.
Prompted by this rather exciting development, I spent a frustrating and expensive morning fighting my way through the US health system, to get a prescription for Cialis (nicknamed the weekend Viagra), mine being, uselessly, in the medicine cabinet at home. I wasn’t assuming we would have sex, but wanted the self confidence that having the pills in the hotel bathroom might give me.
While it was not clear there would be sex, it was absolutely crystal clear that there would be spanking.
To say she was flying over for a spanking is putting it too strongly, but not by much. She definitely wanted to try the particular brand of sensual domination that I filled my blog with when I was regularly writing about sessions with professional submissive escorts. Spanking is a delightfully uncomplicated thing, with only an experienced hand and a willing bottom being required. But there’s only so much hand spanking even I can get through in a whole weekend. I didn’t want her to be underwhelmed by the reality of her first encounter with the notoriously inventive Bibulous.
I surveyed the implements available, hoping the hotel would be as well stocked with pervertables as others I have stayed in. It offered absolutely nothing: no shoe horn spanker; no coat hanger nipple clips, not even bath robes whose cords could be turned into bondage ropes. Vegas hotel rooms are designed to encourage guests to look for entertainment on the casino floor rather then in their rooms.
In the end, my meagre haul of spanking implements was two belts and a leather soled shoe.
Hmmm. Some creativity was required.
I caught an Uber to a local 24 hour sex emporium. The fact that the Uber driver was a super hot-looking 30 something woman in a short cotton dress over toned, brown thighs only increased my embarrassment at asking for a ride to a sex shop! I wanted to purchase a couple of items that were at home in my little bag of insecurities. Nervousness about the possibility that sex would be expected was strong in my thoughts by this stage.
Of course, I could have purchased the full set of toys. Floggers, paddles and whips were arranged in long lines in the store. But having someone I’ve never met turn up in my hotel room and saying: “look at all these things I bought to hit you with” seemed potentially problematic. In the end I paid $30 for some poor quality bed restraints and 10m (ok it was 33’ but same difference) of bondage rope.
Oh, and some nipple,clips. Obviously there would be nipple clips. Even if only for me. There’s always nipple clips.
Back in the room, I found the hotel bed was too wide for the restraints. Hmmm. Hadn’t anticipated that one. I managed to take the restraint set apart and rebuild it to form a single restraint that would tie her feet with adjustable straps to the corners of the bed. With what was left (cunning this) I created a device that would allow me to restrain her up against the bathroom door, hands above her head, the straps jammed tight between the door and the frame. (No, not at the same time as her feet were bound to the bed! What king of evil bastard do you think I am?).
I found it hot to make these preparations for her arrival, my fight or flight system pumping low but steady levels of adrenalin into my blood stream. But, fuck, I was so nervous. Twitchy and restless. Pacing round the room. An attractive woman I’d never met, quite a bit younger than me, was in a plane crossing the country to meet me, and our messaging had set a high level of expectation for what would happen when she arrived.
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried:
We kiss. Tentatively then deeper, exploring each other’s lips. I know immediately we will spend a lot of time kissing. She’s a beautifully generous kisser. I bite her lower lip softly and she arches into me. “Oh, Hello You”, I think to myself.
She kneels in front of me without question, soft brown eyes looking up, trustingly into mine. We search each other’s souls, each liking what they find in the other.
She climbs over my knee to be spanked, shaking slightly in anticipation. Her responses! Little yelps and soft moans. Spanking her is a delight. An utter delight.
Restrained against the bathroom door. Facing it first. Spanking her bottom with the smaller belt: she bangs up against the door with each impact. I take the end of the belt and carefully whip her shoulders with it. Nice marks. No, fucking delicious marks. I touch her softly, seeking reassurance that we’re still on the same page with this treatment and she leans back into me. Nice. I love this silent communication of her desire.
I turn her round. I stand tall, confident, feeling the strength my dominance and communicating it to her. I stare down at her searchingly from my 6’2”. Her eyes, a full 12 inches beneath mine, look up steadily. I see no fear in them. Some excitement perhaps. I hold her gaze while laying the end of the belt softly over her breast. The question I’m asking is absolutely unambiguous. She parts her lips, breathes deeply and nods her silent consent.
Fuck. FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck!
I’ve found myself a hot little masochist.
With great care, seeking to reaffirm consent often, I whip her breasts with my belt, holding her eyes the whole time. It’s so hot. I’ve known her an hour (ONE FUCKING HOUR!) and we’re doing THIS!
Excitement surges through me as I realise, with absolute certainty, that this weekend is going to be extraordinary.
I could go on. I’d like to go on but you’ve already seen a picture of how it was, and read her description of how she experienced my sensual domination of her. I’ve told of my utter delight when she revealed her dominant, sadistic side, and the proper beating that followed with the heavy belt and the shoe. Deep into the weekend, she became pretty much the only person I’ve ever called Mistress that I wasn’t paying to be with me. She earned it too, with her energy, her inventiveness and her expertise.
She’s my pocket pervert and I’ve fallen deeply for her.
I have a padlocked sports bag at home. It’s heavy with leather restraints, floggers, whips and all the other paraphernalia of kink. Adding to it is almost a kink of its own for me. Yet the two of us created an amazingly intense weekend for each other, full of eroticly charged challenge and delicious discovery, with nothing more complex than two belts and a shoe. Oh yes, and $30 worth of kink 101 beginners bed restraint kit.
Who knows what we could get up in a fully equipped dungeon!
Jeez though, wouldn’t it be fun to find out.
I thought I’d written a description of the start of our weekend. She pointed out I had written a love letter I read it again. It is. It’s love letter to my pocket pervert.
And in this way another string to my parachute is quietly severed
More Sunday sin here:
I love this post so much and as Molly says it’s wonderful that you’ve written it here. Your twitter posts were full of excitement and anticipation so it’s lovely to read some of the fabulous detail.
This is beautiful. You have a way with implements for sure but you have a way with words that is quite frankly sublime. I am so happy to see you happy, cutting some of the parachute cords AND writing about it here.
Molly