And never the twane shall meet

One of the first parties I ever went to, at the swing club I mentioned
before, was a small gathering, a fledgling party trying to find its

Since it was so small, the hostess only needed to rent out the back
area, traditionally the area with the play areas during fetish nights
and sex areas the rest of the time.

The bar area of the club was booked for an interesting idea…Swinger
Speed Dating. Just like normal speed dating except it was couples
looking for other couples. Now, swingers, in my observation, tend to
embrace non-monogamy but seem to be very vanilla otherwise. Female
bisexuality is very common and almost expected, however man on man
lovin’ is verboten almost universally.

Well, the problem, dear friends, was that the bar was in the speed
dating area. If us freaks wanted a beverage, including water, we had
to drag our PVC-clad selves and our leashed loved ones into the Den of
Kinklessness to obtain it. To say the swingers
were…uncomfortable…with fetishists would not do the looks on their
faces justice.

However, the more times we came in for drinks, and the more drinks
they had themselves, their fear turned to curiosity. Soon they
even took timid steps into the back room to see what was going on.

This story, however, is not about one of the timid ones…

As I mentioned in a previous post, the back room has couches, which is
where one very drunk lady flopped down like only severely liquored up
people can. One of the duty Dungeon Monitors was wandering back and
forth and the glowing armband he was wearing to show he was working
caught her eye.

“What’s that?” she said, nodding at the band.

“I am a dungeon monitor and I wear this so people can identify me.”

“A dungeon monitor? What’s that?”

“Well,” said the DM, “I monitor all the play to make sure it is safe.”

“So…you watch, then…”

“Yep, that’s about it.”

“Ok then,” she said. “You wanna watch this?” and pushed her pants and
panties to her knees in one large motion. Spreading her knees wide,
she said, in what I assume was her best drunk come-on voice, “you
wanna do more than look?”

The DM managed to not laugh directly at this horrific attempt at a
pickup and politely declined, wandering off again.

This did NOT dissuade our heroine at all though. In a loud boozesoaked
voice, an offer was tabled…”who wants to eat my pussay!?!?” and as
she was yelling this over and over again, she was slapping her massive
bush like she was either trying to pound feeling back into it or beat
the dust out of it.

Now, eating pussy is one of my very favourite things to do, however
her offer did not seem appealing to me in the least. I mean, just
because it was under wraps when she came into the back room doesn’t
mean it was untouched previously in the evening…not the way she was
trying to give it away. One of my gender was not as picky as I and
literally dove on her from across the room. Shortly thereafter, they
joined another couple in one of the private rooms and I shudder at the

I tell this story to my curious vanilla friends after I tell the one
about the fisting and the ice cream…usually they stop asking
questions after that.

Kisses & spanks,

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