Desire in the Desert
Palm Springs: Imagine if the courtyard from Melrose Place were relocated to the desert, decorated with slings and spanking benches, and populated by leatherwomen. That's pretty much where I hung out over the weekend. I've been to hundreds of BDSM events, but I've never been to one quite like Desire (DesireLeatherWomen.com). This was the fifth annual conference, held at a small gay resort smack-dab in the middle of a cluster of other resorts populated by sun-seeking gay boys; for this one weekend, the queer women (and a few transmen) had the run of the place. The connected rooms of the charming establishment formed a square around a courtyard (à la Melrose Place), and the play space was entirely outdoors, with equipment from handmade wooden crosses to sling frames weighted down with sandbags scattered around the pool. Because of the size of the hotel, presenters and event staffers stayed on-site, with the rest of the attendees staying in nearby lodgings. In the morning, I could open the blinds in my room, peer out my window, and see a woman getting caned until dark red stripes appeared on her ass. At night, I fell asleep to the sounds of drumming, flogging, and coming. The 100-degree weather was definitely worth sweating through.
There are only a handful of events in the country that are primarily for kinky women, and they are becoming more and more rare. This fact, along with the structure of Desire, makes it entirely unique. Perhaps the biggest draw is that in addition to group classes for attendees (a staple of kink cons), each presenter teaches five one-on-one workshops throughout the weekend; when people register, they select a presenter and one of that person's topics and can go to as many group classes as they want. These one-on-ones made me a little nervous, since I didn't know what to expect. They were much more low-key than I'd anticipated, but they were also quite intimate; I mostly had couples come to mine. Some of them wanted to talk and get some advice, tips, and techniques; others took the opportunity to try out new things as I coached them from the sidelines. One woman came to me wanting her partner to fist her ass. We discussed a plan in advance for warming her up; in the end, just when we all thought it might not happen, it did—it was dramatic, cathartic, and really, really amazing to watch. One of those moments I'll never forget—and one that reminds me why I love what I do! At another class, a woman brought a girl she picked up at lunch to be her fisting demo–ee; elsewhere, a sexy blonde asked me if I'd autograph her ass (of course, I happily obliged!).
The whole thing felt more like a vacation than probably any other event I've taught at. Maybe it was all the time I spent in the pool. Maybe it was the rowdy Wet T-Shirt and Dildo Contest, or the surprisingly competitive Fist-a-Thon—my idea of cool pre-planned activities. Mostly, I think it was the atmosphere that was so refreshing: about 150 naked and nearly naked women and trannies of all shapes, sizes, gender expressions, and sexual identities hanging out and being themselves in a judgment-free, uninhibited environment, with an unlimited supply of Gatorade and lube next to a helpful sign that read: "It's hot: Stay hydrated!"
I was surprised to run into an old friend whom I hadn't seen for quite a while. Many years ago, I took her anal-fisting cherry, so she has a special place in my heart (for that and other reasons). She told me that she had volunteered to be the demo bottom for my class on anal sex, which I thought was the perfect warm-up to a fisting date later that night. During the class, I taunted her with a giant metal flashlight, but just put a clear acrylic butt plug in her ass and strapped on a leather butt-plug harness that locks in place. (I had forgotten my locks, but I borrowed some zip ties from another presenter, which worked just fine.) She roamed around with the plug in for a little while, and then I took it out and told her to meet me later.
I knew she would be defending her title as a vaginal-fisting champion at the Fist-a-Thon, so I wanted to get to her before then. When we hooked up later, I put her into a black sling with dark maroon fuzzy ankle straps (she's so tiny that her legs barely reached them). Above the sling was a light switch to turn on an overhead spotlight—gotta love those industrious dykes for thinking of everything. I slipped on a glove and went to work fingering her ass. It felt relaxed and ready, so we moved on to three fingers pretty quickly. I wanted to get this thick black butt plug I had brought with me in her ass. It's kind of like a good-luck butt plug—if I can get it in someone's butt, I can always fit my hand in there. It took some maneuvering and lots of lube, but I finally managed to get it all the way into her ass. A cute tranny boy offered up his cock for a quickie blowjob, and she slurped away at it while I let the plug work its magic (you've got to leave it in for a while to get the best results).
When I slid the plug out, her ass was open and ready for all five of my fingers. I went slowly, and I could tell she was getting into the zone. I rocked her back and forth on my hand by pushing the sling gently. I inched closer with each rock until her butt swallowed me whole . . . wow, there is just nothing like that feeling! I stayed in her ass longer than I've been in anyone's ass, and she came and came and came, all the while screaming for all the boys in the neighboring resorts to hear, I'm sure. I finally pulled out, wiped up the lube dripping between her cheeks, and sent her on her way to the festivities on the other side of the pool. Before she left, I pinned a note to her dress: ASS PRE-FISTED FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE.
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