I stepped into the third floor hallway and closed my hotel room door behind me, then walked a short distance to the elevator. I pushed the “down” button and waited. When the doors parted, I stepped inside the empty car and pushed “P2” for the event taking place in the underground ballrooms. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then s l o w l y exhaled.
The elevator stopped at the second floor and a sexy, muscular, barely clothed young man entered. He gave me a big smile, but couldn’t see that I was smiling back, then turned to face the front.
I rolled my eyes and silently chided myself, “dumbass, you’re wearing a hood!” I needed to utilize my body language and audible, but non-verbal communication appropriately. I needed to wag my tongue and tail, pant, bark, whimper, and nuzzle! This would be the night’s challenge, and I accepted it.
At the first floor, the young man stepped off, and then at the next stop, I arrived to the Palm Springs Leather Pride event, “Go Deep.”
I worked my way through the registration area into the lounge, passing a number of people I knew. There was no acknowledgement. I felt like I was wearing an invisibility cloak, a feeling that would repeat itself many times during the night.
I saw a couple of other pups who waved at me with fists and I mirrored the behavior, smiling again under my hood. It felt good to be recognized by others in a community that was new to me. I felt like I was suddenly part of the pack.
I began to explore the three ballrooms. In one ballroom there was a mix of fisting and fucking and I quickly passed to the second ballroom, a maze of fucking and sucking. Much of it was done anonymously through gloryholes. Group sex has never been my thing (aside from the masturbation events), but I was curious to see if that might change as pup “Spunk.” It did not, though I did enjoy being a voyeur.
At some point, I noticed that I was completely calm in the crowded space. As Robert I suffer from social anxiety, but as Spunk I did not. What a welcome side effect.
In a third, separate ballroom, there was a dungeon for BDSM play. I made a few trips into the dungeon; the third trip was charmed.
I noticed a handsome, beefy, bald, and bearded Dom about my height. Our eyes met. It felt like he could see right through my hood. I felt a spark.
He introduced himself, “I’m Daddy Chris.” His stance, his gait, his tone, and his words conveyed confidence, strength…and warmth.
Connection. It is something I have rarely felt as a sub to a Dom, but it needs to be there for me to let myself go. When there is connection, there is a feeling of comfort and familiarity that accompanies trust. I was feeling all that and physical attraction as well.
He approached me and we talked. I pointed out the red and black flogger hanging on his left side and shared my interest in flogging as a bottom. I also shared that it was my first outing as Spunk.
During our conversation, two men that I’ve known for decades approached and said hello to him. I wanted to say hello, but at the same time, I wanted more to enjoy the unique chance for anonymity. I remained silent.
After they walked away, Daddy Chris walked to the entrance of a play space containing a St Andrew’s cross. “Let’s stand here so that it’s clear we’re waiting to be next.”
I thought to myself, “I guess this is happening!” I crouched down on the floor and nuzzled against his leg. He rubbed my head and I quickly fell into subspace.
I looked up and admitted that I knew the two men he had spoken to earlier. Then added, “I feel a little creepy for not saying hello to them.” He assured me that it was OK and encouraged me to lean into being a pup.
The men who’d been using the cross were finishing up and Daddy Chris led the way into the play space.
Flogging is my “thing.” After my first one, decades ago, I quickly became addicted to the endorphin high it gives me. The harder the flogging, the higher the high, and the more I rage. “Rage” is a name I was given by the first men who flogged me.
Many years ago, during an impromptu scene in a Phoenix bar, I was positioned facing the wall and I ended up putting both of my fists through it. Another time, during a planned demonstration in Ft Lauderale, I broke the cross.
This time it was different. Daddy Chris didn’t need to summon Rage for me to get my “fix.” I requested to go without restraints and Daddy Chris obliged. While I embraced the cross, he placed a blindfold over my eyes and then put his arms around me from behind. After stepping away from me, I felt the first thud. “Arf,” I barked in excitement! Yes, I barked. My usual demonic-like vocalization was replaced with barking (and even a little laughing) throughout the scene! Twice he paused and asked if I wanted to continue, which I did.
When it was over, Daddy Chris hugged me tightly and the first wave hit. I whimpered. Then a second wave…and a third. Despite some tears, I was feeling intense pleasure.
When he felt me completely relax, he asked “are you back now?”
“Yes,” I said, as a I pulled away and looked him in the eyes. Then “thank you,” but not just for the wonderful flogging. Daddy Chris had nurtured me as a pup.
When I turned around, the two pups I’d seen earlier were watching us and they waved their paws. Again, I returned the gesture.
After I said goodbye to Daddy Chris, I wandered back into the lounge, barking, wagging my tongue, and panting as people engaged with me.
Spunk is here to stay. Awroooo!
Read Inside Spunk: My attraction to pup-play explained.
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Great tale.
Amazing!!! Love this!