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It had been several months since I’d last attended a kink party. My social anxiety hasn’t loosened its grip in quite a long while, so when Mistress Envy, a new connection I started filming with this year, asked if I wanted to join her and some others at one in Brighton, I was unsure.
It’s always nice to be invited, especially by someone you get on really well with, but I felt like I didn’t necessarily want to attend a party, and my only reason for going was really to spend time with her. I have finally learned that people can’t read my mind, and if I don’t speak up, they can’t know how I feel. So I told her honestly: I was interested… but unsure. Nervous, even. As no matter how many parties I have been to, my sense of discomfort and anxiety in social settings never fully goes away.
I often think back to the first play party I ever attended, and how, despite my severe anxiety, I managed to persevere and eventually have a wonderful night. I try to channel that energy every time, mistakenly thinking that after that first success, I’d be fine from then on.
So I told her I needed to know it would be okay for me to stick close to her, and more or less attend with her, rather than us both being at the same party. She said that would be okay and asked if there was anything that might help, like certain kinds of play, for example. We talked it through, and I decided to give it a shot. As much anxiety as I often carry, I also believe in doing things despite being afraid. Otherwise, I’d never do anything at all.
Time passed, and then suddenly, with just two weeks to go until the party, my fear of becoming a burden resurfaced, and I messaged her saying I wasn’t sure if I could come after all.
She sent just one voice message, and it pretty much fully reassured me. Among other things, she mentioned she’d ordered a belt for herself to wear, to which I could be attached. That way, she said, there’d be no worry I might end up anxious and alone.
It might sound silly (and it is pretty funny), but it was incredibly reassuring. Suddenly, I thought I could do this! This could be fun!
In Brighton, we both got ready for the party in her room, and after we went downstairs, she secured one of my cuffs to her belt. Instantly, I felt a sense of security wash over me. So then when she asked if I wanted a drink, I said yes—very uncharacteristically for me—because tonight, it felt like the only feelings alcohol could enhance were excitement and joy, not my usual anxiety.
Lately, I’ve realised that attending a party as a submissive makes me feel deeply vulnerable. Even at vanilla parties or nights out, straight men always seem to find me first. And while in “regular” life, I can politely deflect, smile, and walk away. But when I’m out as a submissive, that boundary feels blurrier. I don’t just feel watched — I feel owed, as if my submission itself invites a claim. And in those moments, I’m not as sure of myself. I almost feel obligated to give something, just to be “polite,” even when it costs me. Thus, being (quite literally) attached to a Domme helped shield me from those interactions, which meant I could let go.
Being attached to her belt quickly became an amusing challenge. It meant paying close attention to my pace, my walking, the distance between us on the stairs, and having limited movement while holding a drink. I thought it was great fun as she gave me a tour of the place.
Our first stop was the room downstairs, which, coincidentally, essentially became our only stop that night. It had a massive round bed and a stripper pole in the corner of the room. She brought out the Tazapper, a toy I’d mentioned being curious about.
From the start, I decided I wasn’t going to react to the zap. I felt incredibly confident that it couldn’t possibly hurt enough to make me respond. If you’ve ever played with me, you know a spark appears in my eye when the play of sadism and masochism is about to start, as if I’m saying, “Yeah? Show me then. Let’s see how far we can go…”
She zapped both me and her sub Harry, who jumped up and instantly seemed afraid. The fun thing about the Tazapper, of course, is that it’s mostly psychological. It can’t do real damage, but when someone points a big red stick at you that gives an electric shock, of course, you’re going to feel a little nervous.
We played with it for a while, and at various points, couples came in and asked if they could feel it too, before leaving again.
We started moving around the room a bit—or rather, I made a small attempt to put some distance between me and her and the Tazapper, which quickly ended up with me backed onto the bed as her teasing urged me to keep trying not to react.
A couple of dozen zaps later, I rolled over, got up, and ran behind the bed, teasing her to take off her high heels as she slowly climbed over the middle of the bed and came straight for me with the Tazapper in her hand.
Knowing my own speed, I waited until exactly the right moment to duck and run around so she just missed me, which felt like a small victory. Of course, it was short-lived. We ended up back on the bed, and as I began responding to the Tazapper more and more (it does start to hurt once you hit the hundreds), she started pinning me down.
We went through stages where I’d lie still and let her zap me while bracing myself, and moments when it stung enough that I’d push back, trying to escape her grasp, yet smiling wider with every shock.
She soon discovered the zapper hurts more through fabric, a secret I tried to keep as long as I could, but to no avail, and the stinging sensation became more intense. It hurt!
We kept rolling over, only looking up now and then to see that the room had started to fill up with other people playing.
Slowly but surely, we were no longer the only ones on the bed. As time passed and I reacted to every single shock, we eventually couldn’t roll around anymore for fear of accidentally kicking someone in the head.
We wrestled ourselves onto the floor, and then at some point, she stood behind the head of the bed, and I felt myself naturally drifting closer. My face kept inching toward hers. I briefly questioned what was happening. Was I feeling this right? Why did it feel like we might kiss? Was I imagining it because it was something I wanted, with no real sense of what might be going through her mind?
Time seemed to slow down between us. I became hyper-aware of the way she moved her head, the subtle shift of her lips, that ever-lingering smile. A desperate, internal command tried to stop me from staring at her lips: “Don’t be so obvious. She’ll notice!”
Aware of Harry watching, and remembering our previous conversations about her enjoying cuckolding, I thought, This can’t just be in my head. So I teasingly and half-seriously said, “You can’t keep doing this. Teasing me that we might kiss if we aren’t.”
Did I drift closer then? I wasn’t going to initiate, unsure if she’d want to, or if it might cross a boundary. One of her eyebrows lifted slightly, her lips curling further into a smile. I knew I’d just challenged her. I could feel the temptation. God, I wanted to kiss her so badly. I wanted her to kiss me.
And then, suddenly, we did.
It was nice to feel her lips — soft, gentle, intimate. A sweetness that lingered just beyond the kink, the play, the control. But maybe… was she still a little unsure? Then the ever-lurking question on a lesbian’s mind came in (especially when the signs are obvious): What if she doesn’t actually like girls like that? What if she just likes kink, and not the kissing? Did I make her kiss me? But then… why did it feel so good?
An electric shock interrupted my thoughts, and a new smile spread across both our faces. I grabbed her arm, trying to stop the zapper from reaching me, but it didn’t take long before she found a way.
Cheekily, I suggested she give Harry some attention, too. Partly to avoid another zap and partly out of guilt for him just watching. She threatened to zap him, and he reacted almost instantly, but then she looked straight at me and said, “I don’t think that’s true. I think you’d like my full attention.”
The Tazapper came back after me, and by now, it had started to really sting, as my skin looked like it had been bitten by mosquitoes hundreds of times over!
We kept wrestling — her trying to zap me, me trying to hold her back — teasing one another with fleeting kisses in between, until we finally looked up and realised we were surrounded and had been pushed into a corner by multiple couples having sex all around us.
We decided it was time to change scenery. A bath sounded nice… but not your typical kind. Had I ever been drowned? I really hadn’t, but it had been a long, long, long-standing fantasy of mine. And now, suddenly, she wanted to drown me? My heart melted on the inside while excitement flooded me with adrenaline.
We went back to her room with Harry, and after a few questions from me (“Is it dangerous? Can it cause damage?”), She filled the bath with cold water. (“Does it have to be cold?” — “Of course! That’s how you get the shock.”) God, I hate cold water…
I felt nervous, but so full of excitement at the same time. She encouraged me, reassured me, and teased me to get in already as I pleaded that I needed to acclimatise to the cold water!
Once we were in, she told me to keep my arms behind my back so she could tell, or so I could signal, if I really needed to come up.
As I sat in the bath and she stood behind me, I felt her hand on my head. A rush of fear and adrenaline surged in the split second between being above water and then under. My immediate instinct was to push back up, but her hand held me firmly under, so I decided to stay calm and observe: How long can I hold my breath? It’s not that scary. It’s peaceful underwater. You know you can’t breathe right now, but you will resurface.
Butterflies filled my stomach as I partially melted inside from feeling her control over me, while also feeling intensely alive from the rush.
When she let me back above water, I gasped for air, feeling intensely alive and deeply connected to her. The trust I felt was like a warm, comfortable blanket wrapped around me, even as I sat in cold water.
We did it again, and again and after the third time, I observed that it caused far more of a spinning sensation than normal breath play!
We asked Harry if he could get Frankinsella to capture the moment, and then she put my head under twice more. A big towel and a warm hug eased my shivering body afterwards, and then we ended up on bed, chatting between the three of us.
My newfound realisation that I don’t feel powerful when I attend a party as a submissive is interesting, because when I completely submit to someone, I feel the most powerful, confident, and like myself I can be. In daily life, I’m weighted down by overthinking, hypervigilance, and questioning my own emotions. But doing something intense with someone focuses my attention entirely on the here and now. It makes me feel present in my body, connected to someone else in a way where I believe—or I sure hope they do, too—that we’re giving each other a gift: a shared sense of full acceptance, joy, and trust. Which altogether breaks through all the traumas and overthinking I still haven’t worked through, and suddenly, I can be myself. And in that self, there is confidence, compassion, capability, love, belonging. I suddenly possess all my own gifts that I can give to the world.
The difficulty, I guess, is that I still seem to only be able to reach that place through someone else, as if I need the reassurance of another person to let myself in. The trick now, I suppose, is trying to find it within just me. It’s a privilege to have someone else as that anchor, even if just for a night, but maybe I can learn to be my own. How that works with my submission, I have no idea.
People have sometimes told me that being submissive is like taking the easy way out. I don’t know if that’s true. I can imagine it’s a lot to carry the responsibility of control as a Domme. But if I were to step into those shoes, I wouldn’t be genuine to myself. So surely there must be a way to feel powerful and assured as myself, and be a submissive at the same time?
But for now, I’ve been so grateful to share a night free of worries with her — one that left me floating on a high, carrying a quiet confidence all the way into the next party, like I finally remembered how to hold myself without shrinking.
Check out my Loyalfans to see all the pictures from the party (DM me) and check out Mistress Envy’s Socials.