11:39 a.m. - 2011-10-24
At their best they can be stunning events but more frequently they tend to have peaks and troughs or, in other words, they will probably start ridiculously slowly before peaking too late. Unfortunately there are also Peels that demonstrate total depravity and unnecessary suffering and the only way anyone can know in advance which kind of party is to be held is to be well enough acquainted with the host.
I have been to parties of all standards. Let me take you to a few of them as I attempt to describe a variety of Peels that I have attended. However, before I do, I need to inform those of you who have not read anything of my personal history that I am a submissive woman and have been since I started out in this lifestyle. However, on two occasions I played the part of a dominatrix for a paying client so I have a relatively unique outlook on Peels due to having participated in them from all three levels - as a submissive, as a dominatrix and as just a spectator.
First of all I had better explain briefly what a Peel Party is.
The purpose of a Peel has its origins in sexual slavery rituals. The owner of a new submissive or slave has the opportunity to show off his or her latest acquisition to friends and acquaintances. The submissive will very probably be kept naked for the duration of the Peel and could be made to serve drinks etc, or sometimes even used sexually by chosen friends of the owner. The only limits are those imposed by the dominant partner.
My introduction to Peels occurred in the early summer, in my days as a prostitute. The only information I was given in advance of the event was that I was going to be taken to a Peel Party next Saturday. This was five days away and my Master gave me no clues to what a Peel actually was, or what I could expect to see. I suppose it would only have made me even more nervous or afraid if had been told.
On the day of the Peel, my Master (who later became my husband) came for me and I had to wear the mini-dress he had brought with him, along with the absurdly high-heeled shoes. I was permitted no underwear. My hair was loose and I wasn’t allowed to wear any jewellery. Do I need to add that I wore a collar? In those days I was never permitted not to wear it.
The dress must have been extremely expensive as it was made of red silk that clung to me like a second skin. It was a gorgeous dress but, in the event, I didn’t wear it for long.
The journey to the party was relatively uneventful. I sat in the front passenger seat of Dean’s car and my dress was pulled up at the front, exposing my vagina. Yes, I know I said that nothing much happened on the journey but you have to understand that I always had to be exposed for him whenever he desired it and this was truly nothing unusual for me. I was often commanded to masturbate on journeys such as this but that did not happen this time. I suppose it will sound preposterous but I never even gave much thought to the fact that lorry and bus drivers could probably see everything from their lofty vantage points. As I said, this was fast becoming a routine to me. As we pulled up outside our destination I unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed from the car. I walked around to the driver’s door, opened it for my Master and closed it after him. I followed him up the garden path and once we were both on the doorstep he curtly told me to kneel. He then rang the doorbell and the first time the hostess saw me I was on my knees by my Master’s side.
They hugged one another in greeting and only when Dean was invited inside was I allowed to rise and follow. I had received no instructions in advance of the evening and so I trying very hard to concentrate on Dean rather than on any of the other guests and this was far from easy. For a start, two girls were in the hall holding silver drink trays heavily laden with filled champagne glasses and both were naked apart from their wide black collars. Dean took two glasses from one of the girls and without even glancing at me she went straight into the lounge, giving me little option but to follow quickly. There were maybe a dozen people already in their and the talking paused as we entered. My Master said hello and a chorus of greetings were returned and I knew then that she was amongst friends and acquaintances even though I didn’t recognise anyone at all. He handed me one of the glasses before putting his arm around my waist and pulling me close with a very warm and loving smile. Dean so rarely smiled at me in this way that, whenever he did so my insides melted and my confidence as his submissive grew and flourished. In a loud and clear voice he told everyone my name and that I was his submissive which resulted in a round of applause along with a few cheers and even a whistle. I had no idea what it all meant but I couldn’t help but feel nervous and even a little afraid. I remember swallowing over half of my champagne very quickly.
Dean went from guest to guest, introducing me personally to each one and, hoping against hope that I was doing the right thing, I called every man “Sir” and every woman “Ma’am”. At least I never received a rebuke and I took this to mean that I was doing okay.
We had been at the party for half an hour when the hostess produced a pack of playing cards from the huge mahogany dresser. The cards were new, the cellophane wrapper still surrounding the box. The pack was broken open and one of the men shuffled them expertly. As far as I could see, there was absolutely no way that the cards could be rigged and yet, as I now know, they most assuredly were.
Everyone in the room was invited to take one card from the pack. I took one but didn’t look at it as I was still trying hard to concentrate on Dean because I just knew that I’d miss a meaningful look or something if my attention wandered for a moment. The hostess called out that the lowest card drawn signified the “star” for the evening and she invited everyone to call out which card they had picked and to display it as verification. Dean had the five of spades. He looked at me and nodded to my tightly clutched playing card. I looked at it and held it up. It was the two of diamonds.
Dean gave me a very tight hug and whispered to me that I was to make him proud and to just do everything I was told. I couldn’t speak so I just nodded. My mouth went very dry but I had no champagne left but Dean seemed to understand and held his own glass to my lips and I took a mouthful gratefully.
I was told to remove my dress. Just like that. I wasn’t even allowed any privacy.
I reached behind me and carefully pulled the tiny zip down and let the silk dress merely fall in a puddle around my feet. I was naked in front of a room full of strangers and I took a very deep breath – and found that I wasn’t even blushing. I even put my fingers to my cheek to see if I was imagining things but I dropped my hand again quickly and instinctively straightened my posture. I can’t explain this at all but I felt so very proud! I was on display for my Master and when he reached for my hand and squeezed I knew that I would do anything for him. I was his submissive and at that moment the only thing that mattered was that he should be proud of me.
I spent the evening serving drinks and literally being groped. Dean had invited everyone to touch me as and when they wanted but had also made it clear that no sex was to be involved. This seemed to be expected by the guests and for over two hours I had both male and female fingers inside my vagina, or palms running over my bottom and, even more frequently, hands weighing and squeezing my breasts.
I was never invited (thank heavens!) to reciprocate but one lady did cuddle me and plant a warm kiss on my lips. She was the only one who caressed me in that way except, of course, for my Master. I later discovered that the lady had been a star at a Peel some years ago and apparently she still had ambitions to revive old memories.
I honestly do not want this to sound like a boast of any kind, but I knew that people generally found me pretty and I was equally sure that every man, if not every woman, desired me. The truth was that I didn’t desire any of them. I was Dean’s submissive and I was permitting those people to take advantage of my situation only because it was the desire of the one person I wanted to please. That evening flew past very quickly but it was not due to any feeling of enjoyment on my part. It was only due to being kept busy.
Well before midnight Dean rescued me from the clutches of one particularly enthusiastic male guest and he sat on the huge sofa with me in his lap. I laid my head on his shoulder and felt quite content. Many times he kissed me softly upon my forehead and those little touches meant everything to me. They told me that my Master cared and that he was proud of me. Yes, I was very content.
I wasn’t permitted to get dressed again until we were about to leave the Peel. When permission was granted I had to pull the dress back on in front of the still assembled guests before being told by my Master to say goodbye to everyone personally. I was told to curtsy to each guest and to kiss the right hand of each lady and the right cheek of each man. I carried out my instructions and when I had to say goodnight to the last person, the hostess, I was swept into a very tight hug and invited back to the next Peel as a guest. I felt so honoured. What I didn’t feel was embarrassed nor remotely ashamed of what I had done that night – until much later.
The guilt took several days to set in. Dean allowed me to discuss these feelings with him over a period of several hours and all I can say about those emotions now is that however I felt at the time, it didn’t stop me being a star on another four occasions.
The next time I went to a Peel it was again to Elizabeth’s, the previous hostess who had invited me. Dean couldn’t come due to family commitments but I found that his absence didn’t really affect me a great deal as I behaved very much as though he was at the Peel but just in another room. I was loyal to my Master at all times.
The main differences I found were first, that everyone called me by my name, whereas the time before, nobody used my name. Secondly, I was treated as an equal instead of, naturally, being made to feel submissive; and thirdly, when the star for the evening was introduced I could really understand the power exchange a lot better.
When the star curtsied to me it was just so natural for me to hold my hand out to her and to allow her to kiss it. It was easy to accept her nudity and her submission. It was right that she should be kept naked except for her collar and be put on display for her master’s friends. I didn’t feel any embarrassment from being a woman who took advantage of another.
I tried to mentally note everything that the star, Jessica, did that night to then compare it with my own performance. It was very difficult. There were subtle differences for example, in the way her master commanded her from the way Dean commanded me. Whereas I had served drinks all evening and had been touched in a myriad of places, Jessica not only served drinks but was made to touch certain guests whilst doing so. I had been told to strip in front of everyone but Jessica had been nude in her master’s car and so had entered the house already stripped. I had spent awhile cuddled up to my Master after serving the guests but Jessica was given no respite at any time and, I have to say, I didn’t see any indication of love between her and her master. Perhaps theirs was a different kind of relationship to mine, I don’t really know but, anyway, the end result was that Jessica was at least as attentive in her duties as a star as I had been. Being a guest had allowed me a greater insight of how I was feeling about Peels and about the way I thought about stars of Peels.
I know how this will sound but, apart from my initial reaction to being made to strip in front of strangers, plus those few hours of guilt a few days after the Peel, I never felt anything but pride in what I did. I was happy because I had made Dean proud of me and nothing else mattered.
My third Peel was very different as it was held outside. The garden was very secluded which made the party just as private as the ones held indoors. I was the Star once again but really enjoyed this one and even though I was serving nude once more, the night air was still warm and somehow the outside setting made the proceedings appear very refined. I had my photograph taken by Dean in the afternoon of the Peel and I remember posing for it for many reasons, including being permitted panties that were necessary for the pose that he wanted.
Now I will attempt to describe how I felt when things turned out somewhat differently at a Peel but you will have to forgive me if my descriptions of the events are a little concise. There are some things that we experience in our lives that are best left unspoken and as long as we learn from those ordeals then that is all that matters.
It was my fifth Peel and my last as a submissive. This time it wasn’t Dean who took me as we had parted company – temporarily – and I was there on a professional basis with a client. By now I was very well versed in the etiquette of Peels and the fact was that I was perhaps a little overconfident. I was ready to strip when told to; I was ready to serve others at the command of my “Master” and I was certainly expecting to be touched as always.
What I wasn’t expecting was to be tied to a St Andrews Cross and tortured.
I had my breasts whipped to such an extent that I couldn’t bear to wear a bra for over a month afterwards. The dildo that was forced up my anus was so huge and was so roughly inserted that it took literally weeks for my bottom to heal. My head was pulled back between the upper part of the Cross. Well, actually, my hair was tied in a knot and a leather leash was threaded through the centre of the knot. The leash was pulled tighter and tighter until I was positive that my hair was being pulled from my scalp and the leash was finally tethered to a ring in the wall behind me.
I was gagged because I was pleading too much and too loudly.
The whipping didn’t occur all in one session. Oh no. I was bound upon that Cross for what seemed an eternity but was in fact a little under four hours. Even that was far, far too long and I couldn’t stand let alone walk, by the time I was released. I did indeed lose some hair but I hurt so much that I gave little thought to any one particular area of pain, whether it was physical or mental. In another room I learned that another girl had undergone a different kind of treatment, but even more horrific. She had been spread-eagled to a bed and raped. I was informed later by another male guest that it wasn’t rape as a slave could not be raped if permission was given by her master for her to be used. That is another story and anyway it is one thing that I vehemently disagree with. The fact remains that this girl was raped and not only vaginally either. When I met this girl two years later, she told me thought she was going to die when one guy was suffocating her by pushing his penis so harshly into her mouth and down her throat. She also wasn’t on the pill. She had to have an abortion.
Submission in all it’s forms has to be consensual!
If a submissive is gagged, then she cannot use her safe word and that is when the very worst experiences in the name of domination and submission occurs. I wasn’t raped when I was bound to the St Andrews Cross but what I did endure was bad enough. Now I never go to a Peel, even as a spectator, unless I am certain of the integrity of the hosts and even then I ensure I meet them before I agree to accepting the invitation. Be clear about one thing – the success of a Peel depends on a number of criteria. It depends on the personality of the hosts, the willingness of the star and the quality of the guests. If any one of those attributes is absent then the Peel will be very likely to fail.
As a guest, I had my part to play in the success of the party and I always tried very hard to uphold my side of the deal which was, I like to think, a big reason why I tended to get many invitations. On one memorable occasion I declined an invitation to a Peel after meeting, not the hosts, but many of the other guests who had also been invited. They were gathered in a pub and were discussing the forthcoming event enthusiastically. The women were strangely silent and so I listened carefully to what the men were saying and it took less than ten minutes for me to have learned enough. They were all going, not as honourable domination and submission participants but because they looked upon the party as a legitimate excuse to grope a nude girl who wasn’t permitted to say ‘no’. One guy was even opening and closing a vicious looking toothed alligator clip which he boasted he loved to snap onto a star’s nipples. The clip was bad enough. However the iron weight connected to a chain which apparently, in turn, got attached to the clip was even worse. I knew this would not be a Peel for me to enjoy. The next day I reported what I had heard and seen to the hostess but it was a thankless task. It seems that she, like those men, got her enjoyment from witnessing the distress of a helpless girl.
As I said, it pays to do your homework prior to accepting any such invitations. I only wish I had been able to discover who the unfortunate star was going to be but I never did find out.
Twice I had the opportunity to go to a Peel as a dominatrix for a paying client – a female at that. My client was Annie and she was very much an exhibitionist, taking Peels in her stride. In fact she revelled in the erotic atmosphere of these parties so much that we found that she was in demand for every Peel throughout that summer. I felt that we made a good team, Annie and I. Her natural exhibitionist streak complimented my own, admittedly tentative style, of domination and due to my inexperience we fed off each other so easily.
That first time I had Annie serve the guests clothed. However the dress had strategic cutaways that somehow made her more naked than if she had worn nothing. Her breasts were covered but the thin film of satin that her dress was made from was so tight at the bodice that she may as well have not worn anything. The hemline was cut into a series of zigzag patterns that exposed and hid her vagina with each step she took. The same went for her bottom too.
Instead of being able to touch Annie with their hands the guests could only stimulate her with vibrators. All night, Annie had buzzing sex toys placed in her vagina and anus as well as against her satin-encased breasts. One lady put her vibrator, switched off I hasten to add, inside Anne’s mouth. It wasn’t until we got home that I learned that the toy had the taste of the woman upon it – but it is important to note that if Annie objected at any time, everything would have stopped immediately. Everyone at that Peel knew the rules and I, as the star’s dominatrix, had the right to make those rules at the outset. Unlike my own first Peel, Annie already knew what the parties were all about and what she could expect and she always had the right to use her safe word, which would have stopped proceedings immediately.
It did not escape my notice that Annie never once used her safe word.
Peels can be a wonderful way of showing off a submissive and that is the correct purpose of them. The parties are not an excuse for an orgy and nor are they designed for the systematic abuse of helpless girls. Those that would hold their sordid and perverted games under the pretence of Peels are not dominants. They are cowards and bullies.
These people have no place in the world of D/s.
A Peel Party is an event that you will never forget.
With apologies for the repetition, I do honestly thank you for taking the time to read my diary.