My First Beverly Hills Femdom Party

There’s only so many ways you can hide a strapon underneath a Burberry trenchcoat and by my second drink I’d exhausted all of them. Tonight I ordered an espresso martini and as I sat, legs crossed, waiting for you I let my long sparkling nails caress the rim of the glass. Almost as wet as the woman screaming in bondage beside me. Femdom parties in Los Angeles are always a noteworthy affair but tonight’s soiree was particularly uproarious. Just outside of Beverly Hills in a private villa, LA’s elite were bound and gagged by the industry’s biggest names in adult entertainment. I’d never seen anything like it; pornstars, celebrities, and dominatrices fucking at a BDSM play party.

 

So you know I’m not a big fan of BDSM porn, the orgiastic scenes and typical tropes never felt real enough to me. I’ve been to so many LA parties before, and experienced so many different scenes, I thought that there wasn’t any further for me to go; nothing left to explore. Yet, of the few things I witnessed before you pulled me up and towards the atrium, I would have never expected to see so many men hanging by their flesh or otherwise suspended in bondage. Maybe it was the crowd—actors love attention and Los Angeles is chock full of them. Or maybe it was the corporal punishment and stinging bastinado being exacted by the Dominatrix beneath them. In either direction, each of these men, that is all 20 of them, were bursting out of their chastity cages and dripping into the pools of the grotto. “Perhaps the reason why she punished them,” I suggested, and we both laughed heartily as we moved swiftly through the darkness.

 

You knew exactly where you wanted to take me that night, it was as if you’d memorized each step perfectly. With each passageway and corridor we crossed I caught glimpses of more crazed and frenzied fucking. Acts of fetishistic erotica and decadent depravity I couldn’t ever dream of experiencing in real life. Unsurprisingly, I saw many of the Hollywood executives and financiers I’d been draining for years. One man in particular, with his shirt unbuttoned and torso penetrated by endless rows of surgical needles, would be drained of something else tonight. My eyes wanted to linger longer, but as we drew closer to the center of the estate, the sound of heavy moaning took precedence over my senses.

 

We finally stopped at the doorway of the atrium, and I saw your muscular hands reach, then pause hesitantly in front of the highly arched Italian doors. The diamonds on the face of your Hublot glistened anxiously on the door’s polished handles. “Are you sure you want to go in, Mistress? Los Angeles is different, Beverly Hills is crazy, and this isn’t like the parties you’re used to in New York.” I hold your face in my hands reassuringly and promise you that I’m ready. “Now are you ready for my dick baby?” the doors swing open to reveal dozens of LA’s rich and famous, bent over being pegged into oblivion. “It’s time for your pegging,” I finally ditch the coat and unleash my massive 14” dildo. There’s only so many ways you can hide a strapon underneath a Burberry trenchcoat and by my third drink I was sure I’d exhausted all of them.