My first public event
Where fantasy met reality
By my mid-twenties, being submissive behind closed doors already felt familiar. I’d tried it with different partners; some romantic, some casual. I met different kinds of girls: some genuinely sadistic, others simply curious, experimenting. But one factor was always the same: just me and her in the room. A one-on-one dynamic. A single-channel exchange.
I often fantasized about someone else being present. Someone neutral perhaps — observing from an intermediary perspective, whose mere equality to my Mistress would solidify my inferiority. Or someone dominant, who would take pleasure in pushing me even lower. Even the idea alone fascinated me. A girl I dated shared some of our stories with her friend, and the mere fact that a third person now knew about our dynamic excited me.
“What did she say?”
“She was intrigued.”
“Did she ever try this?”
“No. She never met a submissive guy.”
“You know, if she wants, she can join. You can have a girls’ night and I’d be your servant.”
“Hmm I’d like that.”
Unfortunately that never happened. But the seed was planted. The idea of exposing my submissive side in a real social dynamic, not just a private bubble.
Some time later, I was in Lisbon, scrolling through the FetLife event list. FetLife is basically a social network for the BDSM community. Honestly, as a social network, it’s pretty nasty — but it works great as an event board. The reason I find it nasty is that my kinks barely scratch the surface of what’s on there, and it’s mostly men anyway (no surprise). Still, credit where it’s due: it’s free, unlike most alternatives, which are often just wallet-draining traps for men.
One event caught my eye: Female Supremacy Night.
Reading the description sparked a sense of anticipation.
Every male visitor is considered submissive. This must be fully reflected in both appearance and behavior.
Only doms are allowed to use the furniture. Subs may only sit on the floor.
Every sub must wear a remote-controlled anal plug. At the start of the event, all remotes will be collected and placed in a box. A lottery will be held later.
My heart was pounding. I wanted to attend desperately, yet I was extremely nervous. There was no logical reason for it, I thought to myself. I’ve done these things before. Well, apart from the anal plug, my ass was still a virgin at the time. But how hard could it be? I’ll just plug myself and attend the party. I’m not in danger, everything is consensual, I can leave at any time. I tried to convince myself to stop trembling, but to no avail.
Looking back, I was actually quite daring — going solo so far outside the ordinary , at such a young age.
I lay in bed waiting for the event. Shadows of dominant female figures moved through my imagination. They walked around me, looked down at me, stepped over me, pushed me lower. I was their prey. My heart raced harder, my body curled up and rolled restlessly. Time crawled. I couldn’t focus on anything. I barely managed to eat, excitement was stronger than appetite.
Eventually, the moment came. Taxi dropped me on an ordinary residential street. No bars, no clubs, just locals walking dogs, minding their business, having no clue what happens in their area. I checked the instructions, sent only half an hour earlier. The event was incognito. I found the garage doors matching the description and knocked. To my surprise, they opened.
Two people stood at reception, scanning me up and down.
“I’m here for the event,” I said, a bit awkwardly.
They checked my name, confirmed my outfit, and grew friendlier. I guess I was there surprisingly early. One of them, a cool red-haired guy about my age, showed me around. Downstairs was a spacious room with a bar, sofas, and stylish antique furniture. Another staircase led to private rooms fitted with beds, cages, martyr crosses, ropes, and plenty of BDSM equipment.
“These are my favorite places,” he said, lightening the mood.
Back in the main room, he added, “Let me know if you need anything. And most importantly: have fun.”
The place looked perfect. Dim red lights and eerie rock music gave it a shadowy, decadent atmosphere. I felt like nothing I did here would be out of place. There was just one problem: I was the only one there.
I ordered a drink and waited, standing, as I didn’t dare to sit on the sofas. Other visitors started to arrive and did the same. Our conversations were perhaps a bit shy but distinctly different from the outside talk. No one asked about personal lives, anonymity was understood. We talked mostly about events like this.
Leather outfits, collars everywhere... One guy stood out though — he was dressed as a puppy.
My nerves settled. This pre-women phase actually helped. But as soon as the first started arriving, the tension surged again. I felt it ripple through the room. Conversations died down and heads discreetly started to turn.
Their appearance was aggressive: leather boots, ripped pantyhose, black latex, gloves, dark makeup. They glanced at us, but without much interest. Just like a predator would survey a room full of prey.
That’s when the “puppy” said, bluntly:
“It’s time for me to leave this conversation.”
He dropped to all fours and crawled away.
He was right. I wanted to do the same, but he stole my move. I wandered the room, watching all these beautiful women relax in armchairs, sipping drinks. How do I approach them? I wondered. Well, lucky for me, there was only one way.
I knelt in front of a sharp-looking brunette.
“Hi. I’m Alex.”
She offered her gloved hand for a kiss.
“Can I join?”
She nodded.
The conversation flowed easily. I told her it was my first event. She asked me how I felt. She said she was a pro-domme and one of the facilitators, leading a show later. Her dominance felt effortless, her position above me was natural. I wondered how many men she’d hurt and the thought of it further boosted up my thrill. I was looking up at her, and she was looking down at me. It felt right. It actually felt more natural, given how nervous and weak I felt, facing her beauty. Her leather boot swung slowly in front of my face. It was distracting, I really wanted to touch it, but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed.
“Can I touch it?”
She nodded.
I caressed the soft leather upper, then the rough, worn sole. I imagined how many men they’d stepped on, how much pain they’d delivered. The soles were coarse, I could almost imagine their sharp clack on the cobblestone city streets. The top was smooth and shiny. I imagined how many men had the honor of making them shine. I could feel the shape of her foot inside the boot.
“Can I kiss them?”
She leaned forward: “You can.”
I kept looking up at her while my lips pressed a passionate kiss to the tip of her hanging boot. Even though this was surely nothing new for her, I felt as if her eyes had just lit up.
I spoke with several other Dommes, serving drinks and acting as a footstool. Once I settled into the dynamic, I became playful. Being passed around and never knowing what would come next felt intoxicating.
I was on my knees and elbows, acting as a table for two pairs of high heels, when a slim, tall woman sat beside them. I looked up.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in years. Long brown hair, a face that would freeze me in place, even out on the street. A perfect balance between sexy and elegant, dressed for the occasion. She was looking right down at me. My heart stopped as she asked the other two about me.
“That’s Alex. He’s been a very good boy,” they said, giggling.
She lowered her hand for a kiss. Our eyes stayed locked. I felt goosebumps, something was building up in my chest. I wondered if she sensed it all.
“Are you here alone, Alex?”
I nodded and mumbled, “Mm-hm.”
“Good to know,” she said, swinging her legs onto my back.
I was enchanted. Out of about twenty submissive men, she chose me. I felt seen, accepted. Three women now rested their legs on my back, but I focused solely on hers. I wished they would stay there forever. This night was epic.
The show began. We sat in a circle and introduced ourselves. I could only focus on two things: what I’d say and what she’d say. I delivered my part fairly well — not sounding boring, yet not revealing too much. Hers was equally mysterious, but I began to understand that she was a fairly established Mistress, surprisingly so for her young age, and well acquainted with most of the women present. She sat on the opposite side of the room, yet still gave me the occasional glance. I was grateful for it; it meant she hadn’t fully forgotten me.
Next on the venue were show-and-tell activities. There was a couple that demonstrated ballbusting. She showed no mercy on him, as each kick sounded like a gunshot. I truly enjoyed watching the faces of all these beautiful observing women, sipping their drinks and sadistically watching this bizarre entertainment. The gloating smiles on their faces were so alluring to me that I could almost volunteer to be their next martyr.
I crawled over to my crush.
“Can I be here with you?” I whispered.
She nodded. The space was crowded, so I curled tightly, resting my cheek on her boot. Unlike others, hers were suede. Elegant and understated. Also a very comfy resting place. Glossy leather screams power. Her boots didn’t need to. Her presence radiated it.
Her beauty could make any guy fall to his knees at the snap of her fingers. I would do anything to be hers; I would take anything. I would probably even go into the ring and display my balls for the next kick, if that was the criterion. But I didn’t have to. She enjoyed her new puppy resting on her boot. I felt at peace. Even though I barely knew her, I felt subtly hers. I wished to stay there for days. It was probably the first time I glimpsed the idea that I could potentially live this kind of lifestyle.
Later on, the party got wilder. I saw a lot of flogging, trampling, foot massages, it all began to feel like adult playground. However, my girl was no longer mine. She wandered around, chatting with everyone except me. That kind of hurt.
I wasn’t sure where I went wrong — was I too clingy, or on the contrary, too pretentious? I wanted to be better than the others, but I didn’t know how. I wanted to show my affection, but how could I do that when she kept sliding away? I was sipping whiskey with a sour face, pondering how to get her back without seeming too desperate. Old patterns crept back into my mind, and I lost the doorway, which perhaps had been the only way to reach her. It was so simple; I had already found the key before.
This wasn’t a place where you achieved things by being better than others. It wasn’t the outside world, where you wrap your desires to match social norms. Or a competitive environment, where you have to prove your worth to be respected. Rules were quite reversed and even James Bond would look silly in there.
The reality of this place felt deeper and simpler than that. It even felt ancient in some ways, like something we’ve all experienced long ago. The hierarchy was clear: there was us, and there was Them. You can’t steal something divine. You can only worship and hope to be accepted. You can’t convince, you can only offer. And you better offer yourself fully.
I didn’t. I offered a performance instead, out of fear. A fear of rejection, I suppose. I might get over that someday. Still, a long road lies ahead.
Another thing I realized was that many things that had strongly aroused me as fantasies, seemed oddly boring in real life. I thought I liked feet, but suddenly they felt as neutral as any other body part. A kneeling guy being slapped by a pretty woman? Yesterday, that would have blown my mind; now it felt mundane. Was I cured of my kinks? Was it all just a forbidden fantasy that faded once I saw how common it can be? Or was I simply tired of roleplay, craving something deeper, slower, and more real? I was confused when I left that place. I had so much to learn about myself.
I was right about that. On that wild night, I only peeked under the surface.