My First Spanking Party
I was parked up in a lay-by beneath the Emley Moor TV mast, trying to calm myself with a short walk and wondering what the hell I was doing there and how I had got into that situation; I’d be asking that several more times over the next few hours. Finally as the clock turned six I drove back down the hill to Kirkburton and the Foxglove Hotel, where the Nemesis partygoers were assembling for pre-party drinks and organising lifts. The hotel door suddenly felt like the portal to a dungeon, or maybe a new life? Time would tell.
I had to skirt the lounges for a while before selecting a likely-looking vanilla-ish group and discreetly asking whether they were the “Halloween party”; the more outlandishly dressed didn’t appear till later so I didn’t have a lot to go on, except for a few guys with large sports bags who didn’t appear at all athletic. But this lot certainly looked and sounded normal and made me welcome; I was beginning to feel more comfortable. By eight o’clock the mood had upped, the witches and goths were now out in force and it was time to turn out across the unlit lanes of rural West Yorkshire.
Nemesis is an unassuming plot in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Huddersfield; the directions from the main gate to the discreet door were longer than the directions from Manchester to the main gate, but we all went in convoy so there was no problem. The place looked very well equipped with a huge range of things-to-be-tied-to (I think it does more BDSM events than straight spanking), things-to-be-bent-over, a small schoolroom, a bar and discreet side rooms. I wandered round to get my bearings and got to know a few people including Artery and Miss Scarlet from this site.
What surprised me was that, given that this is only a half-yearly event, there was no great hurry for the action to begin and, after well over an hour, the buffet had been given more attention than the playthings. I knew that I was “on a list” but resuming social contacts clearly had initial priority, which was probably no bad thing. I was sitting with the oldest lady in the room, and a dom soon approached her, led her gently to a comfortable bench and began to lightly spank her. I wandered round again and, with hindsight, someone clearly bratted towards me but she was in a group and I hadn’t the confidence to single her out and take her away for her comeuppance. Eventually I returned to the older lady and asked whether she wanted to play; she looked pleased and, when one became available, we headed into a private room.
“You’ve been a bad girl,” I said (she was in school uniform). “Knickers on or knickers off?”
“You decide,” she replied.
I did; after a few slaps the knickers came down for some more. Pulling down the knickers of a slightly disabled lady approaching seventy was not how I had envisaged my dom lifestyle to commence, but she’s a veteran spankee and should expect the same courteous attention as anyone younger – she had told me that she had recently arranged for a dom to visit her; he had taken one look at her, gotten back into his van (does that tell you anything about him?) and driven off, which I thought was despicable, and in hindsight I’m glad that she was my first real spankee, though I think being put across my knobbly knees was more painful than my hand-spanking.
One down thirty-odd to go; well, not really, as some of the women were domme-only, others were there just to socialise and quite a few were “exclusive property” of their partner, and I didn’t know who to approach and was determined not to make a nuisance of myself at my first party. I felt I was on safer ground with a lady I’d previously talked to on the internet who was, perhaps amazingly to some, there with her vanilla husband. Credit to this brave and generous guy, he had got into the spirit of the thing and brought a plastic Halloween monster mask and some claws, and was content to watch his wife get led away and whacked. She’d already had a going-over from the two pro-dommes who work in tandem, but was willing to go for a second, third or, as it turned out, any number of extra spankings. I asked permission from her husband (another weird scenario!) then we looked for a room but all were occupied. So she lay down over a spanking bench in full view of everyone; the problem was, she could take it quite hard and I didn’t have any toys. But yes I did, my new leather belt! I hand-spanked then belted her (rather self-consciously) on some skin-tight flimsy briefs, though, again, not too hard as I didn’t want to exceed her limits, but in reality I probably hadn’t even approached them.
A Yorkshire domme had taken up residence with a barrel-shaped object near to the bar, and had been giving a few good hidings, but I didn’t know whether these were reserved for her special friends, so I was rewarded when the older lady whom I’d spanked earlier had a word with her, and I was beckoned over to the barrel and ordered to take my trousers down and bend over. Nemesis time for me; I’d got used to casually drinking orange juice and chatting whilst, six feet away, some poor girl was being soundly thrashed bare-arsed with a cane, now it was my turn to be spectator sport. I confessed some former website indiscretion which would merit a taste of all the domme’s toys, and a succession of tawses, riding crops and canes duly swished their way on to my poor rear.
Back to chat and recovery, but as the clock turned past midnight the two dommes who worked in tandem finally came to escort me to a beam-shaped piece of equipment with foot stirrups, and I was ordered to remove every piece of clothing bar underpants, which, once I was in position, were yanked to mid-thigh (this was normal practice, I never saw any frontal nudity). They commenced my treatment with some swishy floggers which didn’t really hurt.
“How was that, then?” asked one of them.
“Bit girly, really!” I replied with a foolish confidence unwise in one butt-naked in a fetish club for the very first time with two experienced dommes in close proximity.
“Bit girly, indeed? Well, we don’t do girly!” This heralded a rather stunning sensual array involving the usual CP devices, plus knives and a rather nice ice-cold chain (dragged, not used as a whip!) and a very not-nice pinwheel; although it didn’t leave discernable marks, the pinwheel made me howl and clutch the apparatus when pressed hard into the backs of my knees.
“Was that a bit girly too?” asked one domme solicitously.
“Not a very high pain threshold here, definitely a bit girly,” agreed her partner.
They kindly let me choose the severity of the caning I received as a finale, and I’m afraid that I went for what was probably the minimum in the circumstances – but I probably deserved far more for being bratty.
I got home at half-past-two, past groups of drunks staggering out of the local nightclub, weaving in and out of the road and shouting and waving their arms; I knew who had had the best night out. Surprisingly I’m not all that bruised, maybe most of the implements were light and stingy for a sustained session, although the dommes told me I’d slight pinprick bleeding which I’d probably have never noticed.
Overall impressions (other than that I’m a confirmed pain slut and would do it all again next week?). Kindness, in a word. Vanilla people might find this hard to believe, but I was struck by how the elderly lady was brought along and looked after, how there was no drunkenness or unpleasantness and newcomers were made welcome without being unduly hassled to play, how safe all the play and equipment appeared and the general atmosphere of courtesy which pervaded the event. The Nemesis staff were excellent, and all for twenty quid including buffet.
All I have to do now is explain where I was Saturday night …