Trial By Fire: A Review of Play Party v. 24

Hello bunnies – I am returned… exhausted, but with a story to tell.

I am aware that my online presence has been wanting of late. It has a lot to do with stuff I’ve had to deal with at home and work… everything from losing my dog to getting disciplined by management. I’m at the end of my rope… and sadly not the good, kinky kind.

So, I decided to take a break from all that crappy, unpleasant adulting stuff, and decided to take time off to attend one of Mistress Hell Kitty‘s amazing play parties. This one was number 24 in a series, though unfortunately the last one at its specific location (due to change of ownership – or so was my understanding of the situation, – the dungeon needs a new venue).

I was a last minute guest.

I had been invited to the event by Mr. Wildcard eons ago. I had intended to attend, but my generosity towards my colleagues at work was taken advantage of, and I ended up scheduled on the evening of the party (a crappy 3 a.m. to 8 a.m. shift) and would have to miss out.

Then, after an awful day on the Thursday where just everything seemed to go to hell in a handbasket, I asked a colleague who owes me a favour if she could help me out. She initially accepted, and so I contacted the event organizers and got my butt on that guestlist. I needed the respite from responsibilities and keeping my shit together as much as I do.

So I was having a normal Saturday which went south very quickly. First off, I woke up late. I was supposed to be somewhere at noon. I woke up at 11:50. Then, what normally takes me a 15 minute drive on the worst of days took an hour (yes, 60 whole minutes) due to construction and stupid fucking #!@%&!!#$@%&! who don’t know how to drive. I ended up being nearly two hours late for my meeting, feeling embarrassed and enraged.

(As I would later tell my husband, traffic is the worst! I was really starting to lose my cool… I was beginning to think that ISIS could go fuck itself; if anyone is going to cause a mass bombing, it’s a person who is rage-quitting being stuck in traffic.)

Then, to make a dreadful day worse, my colleague got back to me and told me my shift was too shitty and she didn’t want to take it anymore. Apparently, I should just bite the bullet and go to work. I told her that I knew this wasn’t the deal of the century, but we had an agreement – and I had helped her countless times in the past, even when I found her shifts were not to my liking. To which the little… urgh! … did not respond for over three hours.

I honestly didn’t know at that point if I should drive myself off a cliff, or run over a pedestrian (I am using hyperbole, but I was still pretty ticked off).

The Play Party at the legendary dungeon of the glorious Mistress Hellkitty, was no longer on the table for me…

Until my colleague finally took my shift. I had the Sunday off and, thus, could freely attend Play Party #24 after all.

I was jittery and anxious. It would be my first time going to such a very “public” play party. There were only about 60 attendees; but as someone who was only familiar with Miss Pearl’s play parties (which never have more than a dozen guests), I was terrified.

Social anxieties notwithstanding, I didn’t find out I could attend the party (which started at 10 p.m.) until shortly before 9 in the evening. Panic immediately set in!

What am I going to wear?

I may have flailed while asking myself that particular question. I had no ideas, no plans, and I looked like death warmed up (no make-up, etc.).

A fetish outfit?

No good – the ones I have from my modelling days won’t fit my stupidly overgrown chesticles. Besides, I am not sure I fit in any of them anymore. Breasts notwithstanding, I no longer have the lovely figure I had when I was twenty-one.

Pretty and Sexy Lingerie?

Well… yes, sure. But again, I am having a huge brassiere shortage in my dresser. All my bras are C-cups. I have grown to a DD-E cup about three years ago, but have been too broke to properly update my undergarment collection. And god knows that ill fitting bras look awful!

A Kinky Themed Outfit?

Sure – but what?! All my costumes are in boxes. We only moved a little over a month ago! What can I possibly…?

While running through my apartment like a chicken with it’s head cut off, I stumbled on a wonderful find. In my stocking and tight drawer (yes, I have a drawer dedicated exclusively to those – and no socks are allowed in it! – thanks to my job uniform requiring new tights about two-three times a week), I found these:

The dream find that inspired me.

There were completely untouched: unopened and unworn. I had bought them years ago (about two apartments ago), and thrown them in the back of my stocking drawer only to forget all about them. Well, it was time they came out to party too. And, given their appearance, I knew what I would dress up as:

A Circus Ring Master!

I had everything I needed.  Continue reading


Reader Question – Difficulties Integrating Kink in a Relationship and Depression

Warning: This post may very well be quite gloomy.

Disclaimer: The reader who wrote to me gave me permission to publish and answer the question on this blog.

Dear Miss Pippa Minty,

Firstly I am a fan of your blog and found you through Miss Pearl’s blog. I like the way you write and the stories that you tell. I thought I would write to you and ask for your advice.

I am feeling my most despondent with kink and with being a submissive at the moment. I think not finding anyone to play with or have a relationship with is quite frustrating. I have also found it difficult to do casual and found that it is not for me, I tend to get attached and subsequently hurt.

A combination of frustration and living with anxiety and depression + living at home doesn’t make things easy. Do you have any hints and tips on how I can manage this frustration / channel these feelings in a constructive way?

Kind regards


Dear M—,

Continue reading

Tuesday Teasing for Mr. Wildcard

Ah, Punish Tuesday!

It is a lovely day that was set up by none other than the delightful Miss Pearl, Dominant Lady Extraordinaire (in this town she’s Kink Royalty). It is a day she has set up with her Gentleman Nemesis to satisfy her kinky urges, and because scheduling in regular kink sessions seems to help with anxiety and whatnot. It is an inspired idea, and one that I have admittedly taken up with my subby-hubby as well.


“Wanna Come Over for Tuesday?”

Subby-hubby was tired on Tuesday. I was left with no one to punish. Dejected, I took a nap after work.

When I woke up, there was a message in my inbox. It was from Mr. Wildcard, and, as he is in all his interactions, very direct and to the point. “Wanna come over for Tuesday?” I could hardly believe what I was reading. Was I, switch and newbie Dom, really being invited by the Royal Couple to join them in a scene? Remember, this wasn’t in a play party context. I was delighted at the invitation, but also trepidatious. I had never played one-on-one like that before.

But subby-hubby was late coming home from work anyway and he kept complaining about tiredness, so I happily obliged. I asked when I should join them. The response was as succinct as ever: “8:30.”

I hastily dressed, but had a dilemma: should I dress for subbing, or Domination? Nothing had been determined in the messages. I chose to wear some nice lingerie (the only one not yet packed up for my upcoming move) and over that I wore a blue shirt and mini circle skirt. Versatile.

Eight thirty crept up on me quickly and I left. Continue reading

Thirty Days of Kink – Day 11 –

I’m back, my naugthy bunnies! Sorry about that hiatus, but life really interfered with my writing. I am moving to a new apartment in the next few weeks and it is eating up all my time. In any case, here is another Thirty Days of Kink!

Thirty Days of Kink

– Day Eleven –

What are your views on the ethics of kink?

Okay, I was going to open my reply with a discussion about the semantics of the word “ethic,” but that would be far too elitist and bitchy of me to be tolerable. So I will just refrain the English Lit major in me and move on to an actual response…

There is so much to say about kink and ethics and about the behaviours that are acceptable in the kink community and the ones that are not. Elaborating on all of them would turn into the worst TL;DR scenario since the original unabridged manuscript draft of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment.

So, for the sake of brevity, I will try listing what I feel are the most important things to consider when engaging in a BDSM activity.


While this may seem like the obvious answer, this is absolutely key. When engaging in kink, all participants should have given explicit informed consent. They may also revoke said consent at any time during the “session” by using their safeword. Things can quickly escalate into assault, flat out abuse and even rape if one isn’t careful.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all about RACK (risk aware consensual kink) and Con Non-Con (consensual non-consent). However, those terms imply that there was discussion and informed consent given before engaging in any kinky sport. And, again, both parties are entitled to bring things to a stop if they have reached their hard limit or if it is no longer fun for them.

This brings me to my next point: Continue reading

Thirty Days of Kink – Day 6 –

– Day Six –

Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

Well, my weirdest ones, in my view, are some of the more extreme consensual non-consent scenarios trotting through my mind at any given time. Because, I am really into CNC… at least, in my head.

My weirdest submissive fantasy is one where I essentially get raped. Well, there’s not even really an “essentially” about it. It’s just a rape. That I would get raped. In the fantasy, I want a rape that’s rough and violent – almost à la Game of Thrones. However, I want none of the emotional trauma that goes with it. I think this is what makes this fantasy so weird.

I want to be raped. But I don’t. Because rape implies lack of consent and emotional scars that I do not want to have to deal with… It’s fucking bizarre and I’m not really sure how to explain myself. I just think I would like a particularly violent scenario in any case. I think I am looking for some form of catharsis I might obtain through it…

On the Dominant side, I also have some fantasies, but they do not really have any rape involved. A lot of the crazier Dungeon stuff is on my mind. Think crosses and other fancy implements to tie people up with. I also want to be able to penetrate a guy… but not with a strap-on. I don’t get much from a strap-on. It’s almost like I’d like my own cock to do it with, to experience all that sensation at least once? It’s almost a Futanari style fantasy. I don’t know; it’s just weird.

But the question WAS about my weirdest fantasy (it also said “most interesting,” but clearly I chose to ignore that part).

When In Doubt, Improvise!

If my stage combat teacher knew I encourage improvisation, I think she would kill me. Her advice was always: in a situation where someone might get hurt, never, ever, improvise! There is just one problem: I do not own a flogger.

I need one in my arsenal. I WANT one in my arsenal. But I am far too broke to afford one any time soon. So, what’s a girl to do?

After a long and pleasant walk with Miss Pearl, my House-husband greeted me at the door, naked. He was clearly begging for a scene. Having neglected to cum the previous night, he was in for a beating. I thought that I wanted to use a different hitting implement than my usual ones. This thought stayed with me the entire time I was dishing out his warm up (bare hands, to the beat of the songs that are stuck in my head at the time… unluckily for him, it was ‘Zorba the Greek‘).

As I spanked his buttocks to a healthy pink glow, I thought more than anything about that flogger that I wanted. And then it hit me (pun intended): I had some random stuff in my craft room I could use instead!


Indeed, a few weeks prior, I had purchased a bunch of Dollar Store plants – you know, those artificial, clearly plastic abominations? – for an art project. They did not end up getting used in the end. Among them, there was a bushel of long grass, or reeds, or whatever they are meant to be. In other words, I had a lot of long plastic strands in a bunch (even with a handy handle) that could sting like the devil if used properly. Continue reading

Late Night Spontaneity…

I was bored tonight and, as is my nature, suffering of my usual insomnia. My recourse was to both entertain and educate myself by reading the blogs of other FemDoms and reading up on certain F/m sites. Lots of interesting material there, ladies. Once you know it’s out there, you will wonder why you did not explore those avenues sooner…

In any case, the whole kerfuffle of online posts, articles and messages made me incredibly horny and I was in no mood to masturbate. Beside me, my gentleman was happily sleeping the night away, as is his habit. I swear: you just put him in a position that’s remotely close to horizontal and he is out like a light! As a chronic insomniac, I envy that ability.

But that’s a tangent I needn’t elaborate on.

I decided that tonight, I would dominate him without the aid of any ties, cuffs, or whippy items. In fact, I wanted to make him mine through sheer force of will.

I woke him up gently. Rubbing his back and calling his name. No sooner was he awake that I grasped his hair in my and pulled his head back, exposing his neck for me to kiss, lick and bite at will. My hand in his hair made him gasp and pant in that way that is always a surefire way to turn me on.

I took his mouth with a deep kiss, and then another. I stripped him naked and ran my nails down his chest, leaving red trenches in his white, flawless skin. I rolled his left nipple between my index and thumb, and bit down – hard – on the other one. He moaned loudly. But it was nigh on 2 in the morning: I did not want him waking our poor elderly neighbours!

So I slid my underwear from my hips – a grey jersey boyshort; casual comfort – wiggling my buttocks as I exposed them to him. When it was off, I stuffed it in his mouth in lieu of a gag. His expression was delicious. Continue reading

Ruined Orgasms, First Experience

Image source:
(Originally posted on FetLife, April 19, 2016)

17 April 2016

Last night, the last customer of the evening pisses me off.

Actually, no. That is a gross understatement. He insulted me to the point that I bypassed the “offended” stage and went right into that desperate need of breaking something – potentially many things – to alleviate my anger.

I get in my car and screamed loudly. Traffic. Just great. More screaming, my blood past boiling point.

I get home in a huff. My beloved house husband meets me with his usual puppy-like enthusiasm, craving my attention, but I would have none of that. I do not want him getting injured because of my anger. I undress and parade my naked body before him as I look around for my gym clothes. I need to work out some frustration. Hubby pouts – he cannot join me at the gym. I tell him to clean himself up and be ready for when I get home.

I run off some steam and work up a good sweat for about an hour at the local gym. I do not check my texts or even bother giving my boy-toy news of when I am planning to return. I use the massage bed at the gym for a few minutes… I calm down just barely enough to ensure that there would be no real damage caused to my husband.

Post-workout, I call him up. “I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. Run me a hot bath and wait for me by the door. Greet me on your knees.” And I set off on my short drive home.

He knows it’s me as soon as I set foot into our building. According to my house-husband, I have a particular sound to my step that is unmistakeable. I take my time up to the second floor landing and up to my door. He opens it from inside, kneeling naked, all too willing and eager. Good.

I step into the apartment. “The bath is run, Miss,” he tells me. I extend my arms in response. “Undress me.”

He obeys my request clumsily, trying to take off my shirt first. I click my tongue impatiently. “Is that the first thing we take off when we come in?”

He looks flustered and blushes. It takes him a moment to realise I mean my shoes. He sheepishly unlaces my runners and pulls them off my feet, followed by my socks. Next, he returns to the shirt, knocking my glasses askew as he pulls it off. “Careful,” I warn him. This will be deserving of a thorough spanking later. He moves on to untie my yoga pants and pulls them off, finding himself faced with the darkish hairs of my sweaty cunt. I smile. He had not expected me to be going commando.

Once I am standing skyclad in my hallway, I regally hold out my hand and wait. Wordlessly and well trained, he gently takes that hand and escorts me to the tub. What follows for me is a delightful treat where he washes my hair, my back, my breasts as I command. I clean my nethers myself. Not yet.

He dries me off with a fresh fuzzy towel and I send him to lie on his back on the bed. Continue reading