*Frolicon is held in Atlanta every year. This is a semi fiction account of what happened there...if you ask real nice, maybe I will tell you what happened, what is made up, and the bit of both. It is geeky, and kinky, and as sex positive as you can get. Check them out.*
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After you dry off, you begin to assemble your costume. It starts with a white g-string, followed by two white leather straps that fit around your thighs, loosely supporting a white cloth. The fabric moves as you do, flashing the g-string as you walk. Next a string of glossy pearls goes around your waist, then thick silver wrist and ankle guards. A wide steel band slides up one thigh. He attaches the silver ring collar around your neck.
You both work to put on your "top", a series of straps that encircle your breasts, and fastens at the base of your neck. Another pair of straps, silver buckles shining, attach above and below your breasts, barely covering your nipples. A cloak made out of white fur then covers your back.
Lastly comes the gauzy mask, covering your eyes and nose, but leaving the crimson of your lips blazing below it. You worked hard to make the mask unbroken, but still allowing you to see to walk. It was like seeing through a fine white mist, but, with his help, you were confident you wouldn't break your neck.
He dresses, in contrast to you, in all black, a moving shadow in leather and silk. You wish you could have gotten him crimson instead, but the budget only goes so far. When he is ready, you slip into your white high heels, and nod to him. He looks you over, and smiles.
"You look...mythic."
At that, your nerves melt away. You toss your hair, and stride to the door, with all the confidence the character herself would possess. You hold your head up high, fostering an air of arrogance and danger. He walks quietly in front of you, allowing you to navigate, while appearing to be your major dormo. You pause briefly after stepping off the elevator, basking in the silence and stares, before walking through the throngs of "your people".
Although billed as a geek and kink event, the kink tends to overshadow the geek. There have been others in cosplay, but compared to Dragoncon, and the other purely geek events, they were few and far between. That fact, and the inherent fetish nature of the cosplay draws people to you, begging for a picture, or to pose with you. It also brings many offers to play, which, remaining in character, you simply sniff at, or snarl at, if they are too forceful. You walk the floor, posing and preening for an hour, before you pull him aside.
"My ankles are fucking killing me.."
He glances at his phone, and smiles. "Perfect timing. Follow me."
He leads you to the dungeon. As soon as you are inside, he takes off your shoes, which is a little slice of bliss. He also removes your mask, and you blink to adjust to the darker environment. He points over to a woman seated next to a massage table, a smaller table next to her. A metal case rests on it. You look at him, and walk over. She is pretty, with dark hair and glasses. Almost every inch of her is tattooed. She smiles up at you, and asks you to remove your cloak. You look at him again, and he nods. You look back at her, raising an eyebrow. She simply opens the case, revealing rows of needles, a sharps box to dispose of them in, and a bottle of skin cleaner. You gasp, both in shock, and in excitement. You had always been curious about needle play, but also a little afraid.
He comes up behind you, hands around your waist. "It is up to you love", he whispers in your ear, "I will be right here. And I trust her."
That makes you relax, and you allow him to slip the cloak from your shoulders. You lie face down on the table, and tense when you hear her stand up. She massages your back, slowly relaxing you.
"Stay as loose as you can..and this may be a little cold."
You flinch slightly as she washes your back down with the skin cleaner, and she giggles. You relax while it dries, enjoying the aches abating from your ankles, until you hear her snap on a pair of latex gloves. She comes over to you, and makes eye contact.
"I need you to tell me you are OK with this. I am VERY experienced, but its your body. And you can, of course, revoke consent at any time."
You smile, reassured simply by the fact she takes it so seriously. "Poke away."
You close your eyes and wait. Soon enough, she pinches your skin, and you feel the sharp bite of steel, sliding into, then out of, than back into your skin. You bite your lip at the sting and wait. She has paused, making sure you can handle it, then moves on about an inch lower than the last. Pinch, sting, breathe. After the fourth or fifth needle, the flood of endorphins has begun, and the stings have less pain, and only add to the pleasure. You feel like you are floating, and give a little moan each time she adds a needle.
You loose all track of time, and it takes you a moment to grasp that she is speaking to you again. You blink at her in a near sleep state, and she laughs.
"All done dear. Take a look."
She hold a mirror so you can see your back, and you marvel at the perfect spiderweb of white silk ribbons that connect to each needle. He smiles.
"I wanted to keep on theme."
You get up, and walk around, trying to clear your head. You still feel somewhat buzzed, with only a slight sting in your back. She tells you to step outside the dungeon, so you can get some pictures, and than come back for her to un-thread you. You smile, replacing your mask and heels. Your ankles instantly begin to ache, and you ruefully laugh that high heels you could wear on the street without a second glance are far more torturous than a needle corset.
You pose for your lover, stretching your arms above your head, and half glace to his camera. When he finishes, you are inundated by people wanting to take pictures with your back. Despite the crowd, you can't stop grinning. You get as many shots in as you can, before begging off.
He smirks at you. "You are going to be internet famous."
"Shut up."
Back in the dungeon, you apologize to the needle artist, who laughs it off.
"I figured as much. No problem, I was working on prepping my next canvas", pointing at a nervous looking young man. You grin at him, and slowly turn your back, both to show her work, and to allow her to begin to unlace you. Her skilled hands rapidly undo her ties, handing the shimmering lace to him. She pulls the sharps box over to you, and starts to pull the needles from your skin, one at a time, swiping the single drop of blood that wells up away with a paper towel. Each one is a new sting of pain and pleasure, leaving you mentally floating once more.
After ensuring that the pin holes are not bleeding, she hands you your cloak, hugs you, and motions her next prey to her table. You leave feeling wonderful, holding his hands..and carrying your high heels.
As you walk through the hall leading to the elevators, he suddenly grabs you, and shoves you into the photo booth that the con has set up, closing the door behind him. Pushing you against the wall, he drops to his knees, and pulls aside your g-string. His tongue knows your flesh well, and in seconds your head is pressing back against the wall, and you bite your lip in pleasure. He reaches back, and hits the button to activate the camera, and it flashes again and again as you moan. You are panting when the flashing stops, and he rises again. He readjusts your clothing as you growl with being so close. He turns, and retrieves the pictures, and you admire the image of your passion showing through, and perhaps highlighted, by the mask and outfit. As he leads you out of the booth, you plot doing the same to him, next year.
You are asleep as soon as you lay down to rest, setting your alarm for about a half hour before the darkroom party. You are to euphoric to have nerves about the party, until you wake up. Then you feel the concerns washing over you. You bite your lip, watching him decide what minimal outfit to wear. He just smiles, and suggests you simply wear your robe. You pace back and forth, nude, still feeling a slight pull from the needle marks. He lounges, almost mediating, in a pair of black scrub pants. When it comes time to leave, you toss the lanyard with your badge over your neck, throw on your silky robe, and nod to him. He slips the key card into his pocket, takes your hand, and guides you downstairs.
The party is being held in part of a ball room. People watch outside the room, counting to make sure there is not over attendance. A steady stream of party goers walks into the dimly lit alcove, and waiting in line allows you to be impressed by all the looks and body styles entering. Most everyone seems to have some degree of mental rush, and the line moves quickly. Once in the alcove, everyone entering the room must get nude, and remove anything that gives off even trace light. You wrap your badges, and his pants in your robe, and pass though the heavy black curtains that stop even the dimmest light from entering the room.
You walk into a room as black as a cave. He holds your hand, and guides you to the wall, allowing you a moment to gain your equilibrium.
"Holy shit!"
"Yeah, they are serious about it being a DARKroom party. You just have to let your other sense take over. When you are ready to move out on the floor, you just tell me."
You take a deep breath, close your eyes (you realize that you had been straining to peer into the darkness) and just let your other senses take control. You hear the low murmur of conversations, with much laughter. You hear the wet sounds of oral sex, and the slapping of bodies. Someone calls for a condom, and the room stewards somehow find them in the darkness. You start to pick out individual voices and moans, some of which are muffled by flesh. The smell of sex is heavy in the air, and as you relax, you feel your body respond to the mystery of it all.
You reach over, and run your hand over him, grasping his cock, and stroking him.
"I'm ready."
