Inside the Indoor Beach Play Party

What did I do over the long weekend? It’s blazing hot, with the temperature dancing around the high end of 20 C or even over 30 C and nasty humidity. The pools are full of screaming children and all my friends were mewling on their social media feeds that they were too hot to fuck. Never-mind, a little AC and the right theme, and I was all set for a great play party.

I hold these parties once every couple of months, inviting an exclusive group of my trusted friends to romp and explore and be our kinky, sexy selves. This isn’t your mother’s play party, with all the fetish protocol and no sex attitude that entails. You won’t find some person in a motrocycle cap doing Florentine flogging to show they are a Serious Master. Everything is fun, casual and rests on an absolutely no creeps policy.

Picture an elegant 1930s apartment, done up in paper lanterns and blue crepe bunting in undulating waves…

The guests are dressed in trunks, swim suits and loose, airy cotton dresses. Some go pinup vintage, some go chic and modern. There are soft bodies; hard bodies; hairless, smooth bodies; and sensually furred bodies. Men, women and people who dance in the middle, all are welcome. They know it’s a safe place to explore what they love. The atmosphere is perky and joyful, vintage beach tunes and silly movies (Lilo and Stitch) setting the tone before we take things in a much more adult direction. I don’t think there was a bit of black leather in sight, unless, of course, you count the mountain of toys I’d put out to share.

I told the guests an 8:00 PM start time, and on the dot, the first handful of people start trickling in. Early birds ask if they can help out, and I hand off a beach ball and balloons to blow. I have three rooms open- the kitchen with its vague Arabian nights feeling; the long, pillared living room decked out to hold the majority of folks, and my bedroom made more intimate by a black light. There’s snacks and drinks: a whole watermelon in wedges; brightly coloured popsicles; jubejube fish; chips and salsa; beachy drinks. Nothing to excess, everything just right to indulge and to remind you that we’re here to play.

But how do you go from friends to frolic?

Everyone arrives around the start time, first Peppermint Kitten and her man (they’re early birds, and like to help set up) and then guests in ones and twos. Every party starts like this, with people bunching up on the couch, a little shy where it’s just a handful. Everyone is at least passingly familiar with everyone else, but there’s a note of care in everyone’s posture. Nobody wants to be rejected, and nobody wants to overstep and make anyone else uncomfortable. We might be inveterate perverts, but how to make sure we honour enthusiastic consent? The guests are almost all here, but we’re all having social time.

My friend, Peppermint goes on a little walk about the apartment, looking at all the decorations. I’m admiring my own handiwork in the bedroom, looking at the glow sticks hanging from the fan and the bright stars on the wall.

I get the play party truly started when I grab and lift my friend onto the bed.

She gives a happy little squeak. Reclining, she throws her arms over her head and I begin to stroke her, along her arms and legs and spandex squeezed torso. Peppermint is practically purring, her eyes smokey with the sensations and I’m just getting started. I check in with her- who is she open to tonight and what? Literally everything.

I make a plan, and execute it with the same speed. Time to find more people to pull into this tangle of pleasure.

In the week leading up, Wildcard and I have been not just inviting people, but playing match maker, finding out who is looking to watch and who wants more. We make introductions and keep mental lists. We know a few people with desires, and one of them is a newbie in our midst.

Let’s call him Pytheas, after the explorer. I know him from vanilla life, and the moment I saw him it was as prey. He, of course, has other ideas and his own journey, but I’ve been getting a lot of vicarious enjoyment watching him take to the Montreal kink scene with the innocent awe we all seem to get in our first year of getting out and doing this with other folk. He’d been to the munch a few times, now this was his first time atmy kind of play party.

“You really live in Shangri-la, don’t you?”

That was the first words out of his mouth when he got in the door, and when I found him later, he was still chilling on the couch with a stunned, slap happy expression that he pretty much wears the entire time he’s been exploring things. I knew he wanted more and this was my chance to tug him by the hand and into the bedroom.

“Stroke” I point at Peppermint’s limbs, to get him started. I like being bossy. He hesitates, because consent, but sees that all is well. And, like a man embarking in something profoundly naughty, he too joins in on pleasuring Peppermint. She looks like a cat in a pile of catnip, smiling and dreaming. My fingers find the warmth of her cunt after I slowly slide her long skirt up her thighs. I like the way the spandex of the swim suit feels under my fingers.

There’s hilarious moment of panic when Peppermint’s husband came to check up on his wife and there we were, making her wriggle and stretch languidly. The lay she was wearing around her neck is thrown over her head like a crown. Her husband is smiling too. He likes what we’re doing to her.

I bring in others, including Mrs. Castle.

She’s getting a well needed vacation from her busy, busy life. Outside of this she’s at everyone’s beck and call, someone’s mom, someone’s supportive and patient partner, everyone’s healer and everyone’s confessor. I watch her relax into the party, remembering her whole self as she touches and is touched. Other people have followed our lead. Some come in couples and glue to each other- there’s an inseparable pair on my couch, kissing, her nipples tweaked in his fingers. Another pair tangles up beside the buffet, a little rougher but no less linked. Later, we’ll find them fucking on the ladder that lives on my screened in three season porch, and put our fingers to our lips so as not to disturb them as we watch them through the window.

The night continues. Peppermint finishes her session on the bed with some delightful orgasms, courtesy of a buzzing hitachi. She ends up chained to one of the living room pillars, while Wildcard strips and beats her into blossoming bruises and finger fucks her to more screaming climaxes on the carpet. She’s so shy about her body, but in this moment we all see the entirety of her and everyone admires. There’s something to be said for public sex, if you want to increase your understanding of your own beauty.

Other people enjoy rosy glows from their own spankings. A certain CheekyKitty got paddled. and Mr. Peppermint was due for his own licking.

I made a (previously) bruise proof man bruise.

After Peppermint was so cruelly and publicly used and abused, she had a mind to put her husband through something similar. Again I was in control, pulling down his trunks to expose the round globes of his butt, first to the whacks of a warm up spanking and then to ever increasingly mean toys. Because I love to put on a show, I made him get hard, and then suggested that Peppermint add to his predicament with her mouth, kneeling to suck him from tip to root. I wanted to see what level of ouchy would distract from the pleasure.

Peppermint insisted that be *never* bruises, a point of envy for her. She’s one of nature’s bananas, colouring up if you look at her funny. Evidently a solid spanking with a hefty wooden paddle was enough to crack someone’s unblemished status, because I left him with a lurid mark the size and shade of a juicy plum. Lucky me!