My name is Zoe Hanis and I have been pushing my boundaries.

I found myself at another womens BDSM play party. The vibe of this party was very different not in a bad way, but different all the same. There were few to no formal demonstrations people seemed to be doing whatever took their fancy. What had intrigued me so at the last party was the fire play. It was that that I was interested in trying. I longed to see the flames dance as they had so many moons ago during another Vespertine. Only this time, they would dance on me.

The women stood naked from the waist up as I undressed completely. Clothing can be a fire hazard regardless of whether it burns or melts. I lay on the table; the black vinyl cool on my back. One smiled down at me as she tried to make me feel at ease. Which was not the easiest task considering that she was holding a stick with one end ablaze while her companion held a wet towel just in case.

I asked if this would hurt. I am really not good at dealing with pain.  Well, actually I am quite good at tolerating it, as I have a high pain tolerance. But I also have a tendency to not remember to use a safe word until I am broken and bleeding so I try to avoid pain. She assured me that it did not that it felt like a hot stone massage (something else outside my realm of experiences).

Breathing deeply, I relaxed. She touched the flame to my skin, where it burned up the 70%  isopropyl solution as her hands quickly followed. It was warm and her hands felt good on my skin. It was soothing, relaxing, comforting far from the sexual.

She ran the fire down my stomach, down my legs, and the inside of my arms down to the palms, before having me roll over. The fire then traveled from my shoulders down my entire backside ending on the bottoms of my feet.

While I could feel the fires warmth, I could not see it. I WANTED to see it; to watch it dance; to see the patterns drawn in isopropyl burn; to become one with the fire (ok maybe that is going a bit too far). But I wanted to WATCH

Next time, there will be a next time, I am going to have to use a pillow to lift my head so I can see over my breasts. Or perhaps find a place with a mirror. Because as much as all the women seemed to close their eyes and simply enjoy the feelings; I really do want to see the entire process unfold.

I wonder if it is considered to be voyeuristic if one likes to watch oneself at play