It was a comment from a stranger in a BDSM chatroom that started the whole thing. She’d been lurking in chatrooms for months now, drawn to the lurid discussions of acts straight out of her fantasies. She never spoke up herself, though, still not really believing that there were so many others “like” her.
With each passing day she became more impatient with herself, however. Reading the discussions in chatrooms was good, always leaving her wet and ending with powerful orgasms as she was unable to be in a room long before beginning to masturbate. But in a corner of her mind a need was growing to actually experience the things she was vicariously participating in.
Then one night a guy in the chatroom asked if anyone was planning on attending the Silk Blade convention. The conversation became animated as people began discussing the event. She learned that it was an annual convention attracting about 2,000 BDSMers, that they had dungeons set up with all kinds of equipment, there was a slave auction, and classes of all kinds.
This was the spark that finally inflamed her imagination to the point where she did something spontaneous. She went to the tuzla escort Silk Blade website and, before she could change her mind, registered for the convention. It was expensive, so she knew that once done, she couldn’t afford to back out.
The next month passed as an agonizingly slow blur, at times seeming like the day would never come, and yet at other times terrifying her with how rapidly it seemed to be approaching.
A week before the convention she got an email from a submissive local to her who was also attending the convention and they started a dialogue. They decided to meet for coffee and it went well – although the fact that the only person she’d know at the convention was someone she’d only spent an hour over coffee with did nothing to calm her nerves.
It wasn’t until she’d actually checked into her hotel room that the enormity of what she was doing really hit her. She was in a strange town, by herself, in a hotel full of sadists and masochists. What would be going on outside the confines of her room? Who were these people who attended BDSM conventions?
It took her a few hours, but she finally realized that she göztepe escort had paid too much money and invested too much emotion into this trip to chicken out now. She forced herself into the shower and got dressed in a very short black miniskirt and black tank top with thigh highs and heels, and forced herself out of the hotel room.
The dungeon in the hotel where she was staying (there was more than one hotel and more than one dungeon) was called the Exploratorium. From the convention literature she knew that it was a dungeon set up with areas for different kinds of scenes – flogging or wax play, rope bondage or mummification. Each area was designed as a learning station, with someone there to explain things.
When she walked in it was still quite early by dungeon standards – about 8pm. It was quiet, only a handful of people wandering around. She looked around her, taking in her first view of a BDSM “dungeon”. It actually looked remarkably like a hotel convention room with various pieces of furniture placed throughout, most of which she couldn’t name.
While laughing to herself at her slight disappointment that it didn’t look like üsküdar escort a medieval dungeon with lichen covered stones, she began walking around.
She was drawn to an area where a man was explaining, with his back to her, about the difference between thuddy and stingy impact play to an attractive girl. He offered to demonstrate the difference to the girl and turned around, and she was struck by the beauty and intensity of his eyes. She stood there mesmerized by him for several minutes, unnoticed as he proceeded with his demonstration.
She finally managed to pull herself away, but only because she knew if she stood there too much longer he would notice her, and she was far too skittish to actually talk with him.
She wandered around the dungeon, watching various demonstrations, jumping like a frightened cat every time someone noticed her and spoke to her. By 10pm she was overloaded and exhausted by all she’d seen and decided that she could, in good conscience, say that she’d successfully experienced enough for the night.
She headed back to her hotel room and spent a long time laying in bed, thinking about what she’d seen and heard and fantasizing about what the man with the beautiful blue eyes might do to her with his floggers and whips. When she finally fell asleep it was deep and untroubled. The weekend had barely begun, but she’d already begun to sense that she’d finally come “home”.
