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  1. It’s my birthday-want a present?

    May 24, 2015 by Heather Cole

    I’m a very lucky girl. First, I get to wake up here…

    20150522_141125

    …with my sir.

    Second, it’s my birthday today.

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    If you’re my Facebook friend or follow me on Twitter, then you already know that our brunch celebration on Friday can only be described as true debauchery. And holy hell it was fun. Four hours of gourmet brunch and a never-ending supply of champagne ushered in my special day with a bang. Followed by a very long nap.

    This entire month has felt like a celebration. Being reunited with someone I love passionately and reawakening the kinky fires between us has been bliss. And spending time with sir has been my best present of all.

    Today, my actual birthday, has been made auspicious by some deep throating in the shower and a long spanking that has left my bottom burning. I feel impossibly happy and doted upon, and I’m soaking up every second to take home with me next week. And so, I wish to pass along some happiness to you.

    I’m writing a new shapeshifter erotic romance series called the Lakeview Wolves. Book 1: A Recipe for Trouble will be released next month.

    LakeviewWolves1SMALL

    The first book is FREE if you sign up for my newsletter at heathercoleerotica.com. Expect to receive one newsletter a month, on average, with sneak peeks of new chapters, the latest information on new releases, and giveaways. You will never be spammed.

    Here’s an excerpt from A Recipe for Trouble:

    She didn’t know what exactly made her think family, but that was the word that popped into her mind. Jennie put the truck into park and sat for a second observing the strangers. They were all tall, even the women, and attractive. Not stunning in a way that made people sit up and take notice, but they were wholesome-looking. Jennie shook her head. They didn’t seem like regular folks at all, but there was no specific quality that she could pinpoint exactly as to what made her think that.

    “Stop daydreaming, J, and be helpful,” she muttered to herself.

    Jennie patted her ponytail absentmindedly, knowing that there was no hope of salvaging her appearance. She hadn’t thought to double-check her reflection before leaving the shop. More than likely she had flour smudges on her nose or forehead, and dried muffin batter stuck to her skirt. Her t-shirt had the company logo on it, but it was faded from countless cycles through the laundry. She sighed as she looked down at her kitchen clogs. She was most definitely dressed for a behind-the-scenes day in the kitchen and not a meet-and-greet with handsome strangers.

    By now the tourists had noticed her and were waiting for her to approach. She waved as she got out of the truck, hopping a little to make sure that her skirt was in place and not stuck to the high seat. She wondered what they saw. A curvy girl who had perfected her craft with lots of taste-testing? Or a frumpy local who might be as lost as they were? Jennie shoved the thoughts from her head and smiled. Ultimately it didn’t matter, because she needed to be on her way, the sooner the better.

    “Do you folks need some help?” she asked and came to a halt outside their group. From a distance they looked fit and capable, and upon closer inspection, they were downright intimidating. Jennie pushed her shoulders back and smiled brightly. If they caused her any grief, she’d leave their asses stranded in the woods.

     

    Thanks to all our readers and fans for contributing to my amazing year here. I’m grateful that I’ve been able to connect with some of you beyond these pages, and your comments and interactions are some of the bright spots of each day. Vagina Antics readers are the BEST!

    Now from the look on sir’s face, I may be in store for another spanking. Pardon me while I continue to celebrate. *giggle*


  2. Mother’s Day and Mommy Issues

    May 10, 2015 by Nikki Blue

    FullSizeRenderIt’s no secret I have mommy issues, and Mother’s Day stresses me out over the relationship I have with my mother. Trying to find an appropriate card makes my head hurt because they say way too much. She hasn’t been the best mother in the world, or my role model, or even my friend. And she didn’t show me how to be a strong woman either. I looked to my grandmothers and aunts for that inspiration.

    If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you’ve probably read my status updates regarding my mother’s foray into online dating. Technical issues aside, she now considers herself an expert, offering unsolicited advice about my own dating life. Or lack thereof, I should say. She’s afraid I’m going to spend the rest of my life without a man to take care of me. What she doesn’t understand, even though I’ve told her numerous times, is that I don’t need—or want—a man to take care of me. I’ve got that. What I do want, eventually, is a supportive partner. It’s a concept she is unable to grasp.

    My mommy issues began long ago when she cheated on my father with a family friend. The scandalous affair ended publicly with law enforcement and a handwritten note in our mailbox containing a threat to rape “the green-eyed girl.” I was thirteen at the time.

    Her second husband, who was an alcoholic, chronic liar, and a compulsive gambler, was an even bigger gem than the spineless asshat who helped my mother blow my family apart.

    I’ve written a little about the strained relationship with my mother in BROKEN: A Memoir of Sorts, but it’s just the tip of one fucked up iceberg, really. Maybe one day I’ll reach the point where I’m ready to talk about how we went for months without speaking when I told her my husband-to-be was a black man, and how she didn’t come to my wedding or make any attempt at reconciliation until she found out I was pregnant with my daughter.

    Her idea of motherhood has been conditional, apparently.

    So Mother’s Day has been dicey for me for many years; many reasons, but today, I am able to look at my own children knowing that I am the best mother I can possibly be, that they look to me as a role model AND their friend. And I know without a doubt that I am the one who is teaching my daughter how to be a strong woman. For those reasons alone, it is definitely a happy Mother’s Day.


  3. A Little Help for My Friends–Golden Showers Edition

    May 5, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Legs and Heart

     

    Creating a BDSM scene takes creativity, communication, and cooperation. The submissive and Dominant work together to make an experience. The more complex the experience, the longer it takes to plan. This is one of the reasons I love having kinky friends, because when they have an idea that they need help transitioning from fantasy to reality, I like to help if I can. I’m a giver that way.

    I got a call from a friend who needed help with a scene with her male submissive. I had helped her before, and I admired her creativity and ingenuity. Her submissive was into degradation and humiliation, and he wanted more than anything to be pissed on by a female. My friend could have done it, but she knew she’d have her hands full (literally) with some cock and ball torture. There are times like these when Dominants could use an extra hand, and she wanted to know if I could donate… some pee.

    Urine is not a fetish of mine. In fact, I heartily object when sir wants to piss on me although I still submit to the treatment. In the scheme of things, I don’t find it arousing although the humiliation can be hot. Peeing on someone else, though, was a titillating idea for me. I’ve had many a kinky adventure with golden showers, and I jumped at the chance to try something new. Because really, who doesn’t want to pee on another willing human being for fun?

    At 9:00 a.m. I got the text that her submissive was amenable to her plan, and I immediately started pounding Mason jars full of water. My friend said that she wanted me “practically bursting” by the time I arrived, and even though my spirit was willing, my body had other ideas. My system figured we were doing some type of cleanse, and after the first couple quarts of water, I was in the bathroom. Which meant that I had to drink even more, so that I could pee on command for the guy. I tried to work, but instead I made one long, circuitous route from the kitchen to get water, upstairs to my office to drink it, and then to the bathroom. The entire time I asked myself, “can I hold it?” “How bad do I really have to pee?” “Do I think I have enough pee to provide a satisfying experience?”

    I arrived at the house at my allotted time (after downing another quart of water on the drive over) and opened the front door, knowing in advance that she would leave it unlocked for me. The sunken living room to my left was dominated by a wooden Saint Andrew’s Cross and a huge square frame that she used for tying up willing submissives. There was a tall, middle-aged man against the cross, naked, and stroking his very large cock. I had just enough time to murmur an appreciative hello before my friend waved me over.

    I barely had enough time to discard my purse before she had pulled a chair in front of the man and ordered me to strip. I did so as she scurried out of the room, only to return moments later with a large glass of water. I almost groaned out loud at the thought of drinking more, but she warned me that we wouldn’t start until all that water had disappeared down my throat.

    Sometimes it is so hard being a helpful submissive.

    I sat on the chair and opened my thighs wide, watching the naked man with greedy eyes. I quickly learned that I could masturbate and drink a glass of water at the same time. It’s slightly less difficult than patting my head while rubbing my stomach at the same time. The water was icy in contrast to the heat coming off my body. Every movement of his hand, from the base of his erection to the tip, made me think dirty thoughts about impaling myself. That wasn’t part of the game plan, so I concentrated on edging myself ever closer to orgasm. My legs started to tremble–I was so close. But my friend appeared with a Hitachi and motioned us upstairs. I was a little disappointed and tried not to pout. After all, this scene wasn’t about me getting off. It was about fulfilling the desires of another submissive.

    My friend expertly tied a long cotton shoestring around the man’s cock and balls, making his penis even larger than before, the color deepening into a dark red. We crowded into the bathroom, two naked people and one fully dressed, while she ran warm water in the shower to make it more comfortable for her submissive. She told him to lie on his back in the tub and instructed me to straddle him while I masturbated anally. Again, this was easier than patting my head while rubbing my stomach. I climbed into the tub and placed one foot on the soap holder so that he had a good view of my pussy and would be able to see my dildo move in and out of my anus. The entire time that it took for me to position myself, the sub rubbed his cock and ate up every inch of my body with his blue eyes.

    I felt the flutter of butterflies in my stomach as I stood over him, but I also experienced a rush of adrenaline. I knew in that moment that I was going to pee on that boy like a motherfucking champion urinator. (That’s totally a thing.) My friend crouched beside him and whispered filthy things in his ear as I let go of my golden stream. It splashed all over his genitals and against my legs. A small part of me had the instinctive reaction of “ew, gross!” A bigger part of me reveled in the sensations–the feeling of warm liquid trickling over my skin accompanied by the slight smell of ammonia in the air. Possessing control over myself, and to some degree, this other person was a big adrenaline rush. In that moment, his pleasure was mine to play with and do what I willed. I was grinning like a mad person, high on exhilaration and the dildo’s friction.

    The man groaned, and his pace quickened. I mirrored him, knowing that even if I didn’t orgasm, it felt too damn good to stop. I let out a gasp of surprise as the anal orgasm blew through me, and I grabbed on to the tiled wall for support. I collected myself as my friend and I both watched as he shouted and ejaculated on to his stomach a few moments later. We were a smiling, laughing, happy mess.

    My friend asked me later about the scene, and I was pleased to report that I had nothing but good things to say about my experience, even though I spent the rest of the evening peeing in the normal, boring bathroom kind of way. I’m looking forward to the next time she calls, because I do love helping my friends.


  4. Sexual Healing

    April 28, 2015 by Nikki Blue

    Depositphotos_34601783_sIt’s been six months since I’ve had sex–SIX MONTHS. I haven’t gone that long between romps since my sexual escapades began at the tender age of fourteen. And I miss it terribly; the intense connection of it, the feeling I would burst into flames from the lightest touch. I miss feeling like the sexual being I know I am. The confidence of my sexual prowess is what I miss the most, I think. I haven’t felt that confidence in a while now. I know I haven’t lost it–it’s still there–it’s just gone dormant, waiting to wake again when the time is right.

    The dismantling of my sexual assuredness started with a bad haircut, and even though I’m dying to reference Samson & Delilah here, I’m not allowed. Heather has forbidden me to use any more metaphors until the end of forever, but whatever. I will say I felt as if my power had been stolen, and I was left looking like a poodle.

    Black Poodle on a white background

    Sexy, right?

    Okay, so a poodle is a bit of a stretch, but I did see the lead singer from the glam-rock band, Cinderella, when I looked in the mirror. But with less makeup and fewer sequins.

    The coiff-conundrum took weeks to grow out to a fixable stage, but even after giving her the opportunity to make it right, my stylist seemed to have forgotten how to cut my curls and again I was unhappy.

    During that time, my three year relationship with Mr. K blew apart, destroying what confidence I had left. I gathered what pieces I could and retreated, shutting the door to the outside world while I licked my wounds in private. I hardly left the house or answered the phone. I stopped writing for myself and I stopped masturbating–I stopped looking in the mirror. I threw myself into my career, working my ass off to prove that I’m dripping with awesomesauce–and I totally am–and I concentrated on being the worst mother I could possibly be. And it was enough…for awhile.

    But then I began to miss more than just sex–I missed desire. I missed the glow of sexual confidence that I’d had, and I knew it wasn’t going to magically reappear on its own. The power to rekindle it was in my hands, and mine alone, so I focused on myself, which is something I’d done little of in, like, ever. Heather has even suggested that I talk to a therapist about the traumatic experiences I’ve endured in my life.

    “Surviving isn’t the same as healing,” she said.

    I couldn’t see her face at that moment, but I’m fairly certain her brow was quirked. And she’s right–I do need to get my ass into therapy. It’s been a long time coming. It’s a step I haven’t taken yet, but I plan to.

    In the ‘Year of Nikki’ thus far, I’ve taken my health super-seriously for a change. I’m learning to treat my body with the respect it deserves, both inside and out. I’ve stopped eating my feelings, sugar, dairy, gluten, and processed foods. I feel better than I have in a long time. Heather has taught me how to meditate, which seems to clear my head and help me sleep better. I still have nights here and there where I lie awake offering to trade my soul for some shut-eye, but those nights are outweighed by the good now. And I found a new stylist who has made me love my hair in a way I never imagined. I’ve also started writing for myself again, which makes me bleed in the most beautiful way.

    In the past, I would have disconnected from my feelings and sought solace in one boozy sexual encounter after another, but that’s not healthy. I know that now, and that’s why I’m taking time out for me. I’ve faced my feelings instead of choking them down, allowing myself to cry more than I have since 1989. It’s totally not my badass style, but in the process I’ve grown; prioritized. Heather likes to say I’m like candy–hard on the outside with an ooey-gooey center. Whatever. I’m hard. Heh. Hard.

    I’m still not at a point where I’m ready to fuck again–or shave my legs–because I’m still healing. There’s no rush, unless you ask my mother. Anyway, when the day comes when I’m strong enough to make myself vulnerable again, I’ll have no doubts. But until then, I’ll continue to work on me; to grow, and to finally realize that I’m pretty fucking great.


  5. Want a SPRING FLING?

    April 18, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Spring Fling Collage

    In honor of spring and all the things associated with it:  new beginnings, taking a chance, indulging a whim, a fresh look, bees getting busy, hayfever, and most importantly, NEW LOVE, the Kinklectic gang has written and compiled another anthology. SPRING FLING is our most eclectic collection of stories yet.

    You can buy it here on Amazon for $.99 or FREE if you have KU!

    Today, Saturday April 4, we’re throwing a Spring Fling party on Facebook. Attendees will get a free copy in exchange for a review. The fun starts at 2:00 PST or 5:00 EST and goes for three hours. C’mon by and join the hijinks!

     

    Here’s a taste of what you’ll get in this springtime bundle:

    7 Fresh Stories from KINKLECTIC! Perhaps our most eclectic bundle yet…

    THE SULTAN’S SPRING REVIEW by Heather Cole
    Every spring the Sultan of Saldyna opens the doors to his special menagerie for select guests, and this year, he invited the ambassador and his wife, Raya. Raya is surprised to learn that the sultan has a special request of her regarding a certain shapeshifter. And when Raya and the shapeshifter meet–sparks fly.

    SPRING RESORT by Jane Danger
    Still reeling from the very public demise of her last relationship, Willow is hard-pressed to get through a day without crying, let alone start looking for love again, but when a sexy new business acquaintance makes her an offer she can’t deny, what Willow thought was impossible suddenly becomes possible or so she thinks.

    Can paradise be just the thing she needs to begin anew or is she wading into dangerous territory by letting a wealthy banker tempt her heart and her body?

    2.0 by Troy King
    Katherine Zaya is beta testing a remarkable piece of software that’s about to get even more amazing with the upgrade to 2.0. Will she be able to retain herself when her mind becomes her ultimate playground?

    NIGHT NURSE: Spring Fling by Fallen Kittie
    Melanie, resumes her indulgent intimacies following her night shift. Clark incinerates her inhibitions; but this time around, flames also fly between best friends.

    SPRUNG by Audrey Lusk
    In a very near future of ultimate debt, some people still find a spot of brightness.

    SHIFTER – Grizzly PART 1 by Emerald Wright
    Cassidy is no longer an aspiring author. She hit the big-time, money-wise with her paranormal erotic romance shifter titles that are all the rage. She’s a success!

    With her finances secure, she is taking a break from the genre and revisiting a former dream of writing the great American novel. First, she needs to get her latest book completed and in the hands of her publisher, ASAP. There’s just one problem, she’s switched out the last three chapters and needs them to be edited. But her editor isn’t available. What’s an author to do?

    Help comes in the shape and form of Abe. New to town, a seasoned editor and ruggedly handsome, he’s not only willing to take on the editing job, he can do it fast. When they meet, the chemistry is instant and Abe is drawn to the curvy writer.

    UNDISCLOSED DESIRES by Evan J. Xavier
    Two best friends escape their college dorm and head to spring break for a week of debauchery in one of the most salacious places on earth, New Orleans, looking for both the ‘big’ and the ‘easy.’ One dark alley, a cowboy and an ex-pro NFL stepbrother takes center stage.

    Spring Fling


  6. The Meatlist Reality

    April 12, 2015 by Nikki Blue

    Privacy Word Magnifying Glass Online Security Identity Theft

    This past week got away from me, y’all, and before I realized it, the end had come and I had not written a blog post. For that, I am super sorry. I confess that balance is something I’m still working to find. I would, however, like to take a moment to address the “Meatlist,” which has sparked an outing fear of epic proportions. If you’re not familiar with it, you can read the Frisky Fairy’s post here.

    I’m not going to make this about the so-called hacker who is responsible for the list, claiming he did it to prove a point about the safety of Fetlife’s members. Attention is what the douchebag wants and I refuse to give it to him. Now, did he breach Fetlife as he’s claimed? Of course not. That takes a skill he lacks. Were the women whose information he published on the list “outed” to the public? Nope. Personal information was not compromised. Does the list make them a target? Unfortunately, there is that possibility, but there are steps that can be taken to prevent discovery, such as changing usernames, profile photos, ages, and locations.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not downplaying the potential damage the predator has created by making this list public, and make no mistake, he IS a predator. What he’s done is a violation for sure, and even though I wasn’t affected, I would take great pleasure from punching the spineless asshat in the balls repeatedly. But he didn’t hack into Fetlife–he created a user profile to gain access, and like a predator, he moved among us unnoticed until it was too late. His program crawled the site, scraping pre-selected data including user names and numbers, age, location, gender, and BDSM roles–all of which is public information to fellow Fetlife members. Very few users have identifying profile photos and no one, as far as I know, uses their given name. And as far as location goes, it’s not broken down by zip code like it is on other sites. Also, Fetlife’s user profiles aren’t indexed by search engines because it’s a private community. Regardless of what so many are screaming, this fuck-up is not Fetlife’s fault.

    The bottom line is Fetlife is a social media platform and profiles and photographs are forwarded and shared with others every day. If anyone is going to be outed as a kinkster, that is where the bigger risk is, not from a vindictive jackass who clearly has an ax to grind. Again, I’m not saying there shouldn’t be outrage in the kinky community, there absolutely should be. Trilema is a predator with harmful intentions, but if there is going to be a trial, just be sure you have the right witch in the noose.


  7. Dear Heather: Can We Talk About Pain in Play

    April 4, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Sparks of blue water on a white background ...

     

    Heather,
    You have written about the pain you enjoy during play. Can you talk about / share tips on how to expand one’s pain threshold? How to find that quiet inner place and stay there?
    Thanks!
    Rachel

    Dear Rachel,

    The good news is that our pain thresholds are completely subjective. This means that with practice and training we can increase them. If you work at different pain coping techniques, you will be able to meld pleasure and pain into one or release the pain altogether. It’s within our control, as the receiver of the stimulus, to manage the pain in play. The Top who’s delivering the stimulus can help or hinder our processing, depending on their intention for the scene, but ultimately it rests in our hands. Er, brains.

    There are three factors that impact how I process pain in BDSM: 1. my headspace, 2. the intention of the Top applying the stimulus, and 3. the type of stimulus. #3 is of lesser importance than the other two, because again, it’s going to be my brain and mindset that will be doing the heavy lifting of pain management in a scene. All three of these factors have places where they overlap and interconnect, and you’ll be able to figure out the ways they work together for you.

    Finding your inner ‘quiet place’ takes practice, so I suggest exploring through visualization and meditation before you’re involved in a scene. This is the first step in stretching your pain threshold. My favorite quote from Dune is, “Fear is the mindkiller,” and you don’t have to ride giant worms through the sand to relate. The fear we experience anticipating the stimulus (regardless of whether it’s bondage, impact play, knives, needles, or whatever) is the checkmate to our freedom from pain. So the anxiety about how the cane is going to feel whacking your ass will counteract releasing those feelings and extending the experience. Let go of your pre-scene jitters through some deep-breathing/relaxation techniques, and the memory of how that feels to be peaceful and quiet can be your foundation as you begin a scene.

    Have you ever meditated? The elements of meditation are simple. Focus on making your breath deep and even. Although your body is undergoing physical, consensual stress, centering your focus on how you breathe will allow you to shift your awareness away from the stimulus happening to your physical self. With meditation, it’s a combination of deep breathing and relaxing your body that allows you to shift awareness. Our overall goal is to feel the pain but not hold on to it. The more we can let it go, the longer we can experience the stimulus and extend our play. Quieting your mind and evening out your breath will aid you in accomplishing this.

    Sometimes it helps me during a scene to visualize the impact as raindrops falling on water or bursts of colors that then dissolve into nothing. Think of it like fireworks. There’s the build of noise (which is the building stimulus), then a shot of color that bursts into stars (the pain of impact), and then the glittering light fades away into darkness (the pain goes away). Move that pain from the point of impact to nothingness. Again, it’s that shifting of awareness that transforms the pain into something other than this overwhelming thing that we’re desperate to escape.

    When I play with others, sir and I typically negotiate a date and I have lots of time to prepare. This means visualizing myself processing stimulus easily, and most importantly, feeling the pain enter and leave my body easily. We want it to leave, right? What we don’t want is to become so overwhelmed that we have to “red” and call all action to a halt, unless it’s necessary for your emotional or physical well-being. My mantra is that pain is fleeting, and my focus is on breathing through it. My darling sir, however, often wants to keep me on the edge. His intention is to keep my awareness sharp, and instead of letting me drift away on a wave of endorphins, he wants to test my boundaries. Delightfully sadistic, right? Sometimes, I can’t find that quiet place no matter what I do. My emotions are tumultuous, and I can’t catch my breath. Those are the times that I can only surrender and endure the rollercoaster ride. Despite my best intentions, sometimes pain gets the better of me, and I end up pleading for mercy. Let’s face it, sometimes our Dominants want tears. And this brings me to the second factor: the intention of your Top.

    If your Top is working with you to aid or train you to process pain, how they apply the stimulus can help tremendously. Several different chemicals are released naturally during the course of a scene, but the one that BDSM practitioners talk about the most is endorphins. Our endorphin friends are natural pain managers. The body releases them in waves, and your first hit can occur pretty fast with something as simple as nipple stimulation. Of course, everyone’s chemistry is different so the timeframe of release will vary. Generally you can achieve, with the Top’s help of course, your first endorphin rush within the first few moments of stimulus, and then it’s five to ten minutes to work up to the next release. In the example of a caning, the Top’s first hits will release endorphins into your bloodstream. Then it’s five to ten minutes of minimal stimulus, or a sensual caning, to allow your body to build up the supply, and harder hits to release it again. As more and more endorphins enter your bloodstream, your body will require more impact or stimulus in order to release more. It’s all about build-up, baby.

    I’m guessing, Rachel, that you might process some stimulus easier than others. Do you have a favorite implement? Is the thud of a flogger more soothing than the sting of a metal spatula? Or do you favor sting over thud? Practicing with your favorite impact toy is the easiest way to begin stretching that pain threshold. For example, the rhythmic thud of my favorite, heavy flogger feels like a security blanket to me. The flip side of the coin is that something sharp like a knife. Not only does the keen edge give me the flutter of anxiety butterflies of anticipation, but the sensation of being cut isn’t soothing to me. That pain process is trickier for me to release, but I’m working on it.

    The key to all of this, however, is consent and trust. I can’t stress this enough. I’m free to focus on my pain during play, because I trust that my sir isn’t going to do anything that will irreparably damage me. I trust that he wants my happiness as much as I desire to please him. We have spent a lot of time and effort discussing limits and giving consent to various activities. And if I play with someone else, the limits of stimulus are carefully negotiated. Nothing happens without consent from all parties involved, and during play, my sir or the Top checks in with me to see how I’m feeling during the scene. We use the colors “green,” “yellow,” and “red” to indicate how I’m processing physically and emotionally, and it’s that kind of clear, open communication that leads to a successful scene. Even though I may feel nervous about something we might do, I never fear for my safety. Neither should you.


  8. My Daughter Refused to be a Victim

    March 27, 2015 by Nikki Blue

    Young woman from back showing the finger

    On the outside, my daughter is nothing like me. Her complexion is tan, her eyes are so dark they’re nearly black, and she has hair and brows so incredible they’re Instagram famous. True story. On the inside, though, I see more of myself in her every day. Not the reckless teenager I was at her age, but the woman I am today. She’s a pain in the ass, and strong-willed to a fault. She has a dry wit and she’s very cautious, only allowing a select few inside of the walls that guard her emotions. She’s one tough cookie. But recently she met a new boy at school who managed to raise every fine hair on the back of my neck; a boy who brought out in her a darkness I’d known in myself. He was a boy whose intentions I recognized from my past.

    At first it seemed as if he would be the one who would finally claim her young heart. He was a handsome mixture of African-American and French heritage, incredibly smart, admittedly sensitive, and the son of a retired NFL player who showed the promise of following in his father’s footsteps. And this kid, who sucked-up to me big-time, was head-over-heels crazy about my daughter. But after only a week of stolen moments at school and ridiculously long FaceTime calls, she began to change.

    One evening, I came downstairs from my office to find her huddled in the corner of the sofa in tears, a vulnerability she hardly ever shows. When I asked her what was wrong, she said, “I feel like all I do is say ‘I’m sorry’ for things I don’t even think are my fault.”

    Anxiety mushroomed in my chest as I remembered that same feeling. “They’re not your fault.”

    She reminded me how irritated he’d been the night she didn’t reply to a text right away because she was driving. Other than how absurd he’d behaved, I didn’t think much of it at the time, but as she continued to talk, the reason for his impatience became clearer. She then said how he’d refused to talk to her for hours after she didn’t post a photograph of the two of them together on her Instagram account as he’d instructed. He’d also told her if she truly had feelings for him, she would be more supportive when he had a bad day. And he’d had a lot of bad days, apparently.

    With each manipulative scenario she shared with me, red flags exploded through my brain like fireworks on the Fourth of July. “This is how it starts,” I said, but what I found unfathomable was how soon the breakdown began. They weren’t even officially dating, and he had already shown the tell-tale signs of a potential abuser.

    I freaked out as memories from a life long ago filled the space around me. Had I passed a trait on to her that left her unprotected? Was she attracted to being controlled as I had been? Was it somehow my fault she’d entered into a dysfunctional relationship?

    I shook my head, vehemently telling her to walk away from him, that nothing good and everything bad would come from dating him. “You have to trust me on this.” She swore she did trust me, but she felt the need to confront him, to tell him how bad he’d made her feel. For hours, she listened to him promise he would change. He swore he would never hurt her and begged for another chance to make things right between them. And before the night was through, he’d worn her down and she gave in to his pleas.

    It was a move that left this mama on high alert.

    My heart understood her desire to give him one more try, but my brain and past experience warned her that she would be watched closely, that I wouldn’t hesitate to step in and end it myself if I deemed it necessary. I enlisted her brother and her best friend, asking them to watch her behavior; listen to what she said, but more importantly, what she may not have said. Her bestie, who already had a gut feeling the guy was no good, was more than happy to take on the task of watch-dog. And her very sensitive, even-tempered younger brother wanted to kick the dude’s ass.

    Every day for the next week, I observed my daughter’s moods and asked how things were, if he was following through with his promises to be a better person. She said he was and that things were okay, but when I asked again, she confessed that she was afraid of him. She felt like he tried to separate her from her friends, because according to him, she listened too much to them. She said he constantly touched her and hugged her, refusing to back off when she’d said it made her uncomfortable, and he wanted to switch phones during class to prove he wasn’t talking to anyone but her. But we both knew what he really wanted was to see who she was talking to and what was said about him. At the very least, the boy had major control issues.

    My hackles immediately raised and I was ready to defend my young to the death. I was determined to do my damnedest to keep her from traveling the same painful path I had, but I didn’t have the chance to. To my surprise, she did something I wasn’t capable of doing at her age. She told him she didn’t like the way she felt when she was with him, shut down his pleas, and blocked his number. I’d never been so proud of her.

    As we walked our little demon-dog that same afternoon, I told her how impressed I was with how she’d handled the entire situation from start to finish. She’d realized there was a problem, and she talked about it instead of hiding it. When she felt threatened, she took charge of her well-being and removed herself from the situation. I didn’t know many sixteen year old girls who were capable of analyzing an unhealthy situation as she had. I certainly wasn’t able to. But then she caught me off-guard again, saying I was the reason she knew something was wrong so early in the relationship.

    “I don’t always ignore you,” she said.

    And with those sarcasm-laden words, I did something that is super hard for me to do—I cried.


  9. BDSM 101 Tips for the Newbie Kinkster

    March 17, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Valentine's Day BDSM gift

    No matter how hot things start out, over time, your sex life with your partner can get a little stale. You form a routine, and then before you know it, you’re in a rut. But instead of subjecting yourselves to a mediocre sex life, why not try some kinkier moves to help heat things up again? Before jumping into the deep end, take a look at our guide to help you dip your toes (and much more, of course) into the BDSM pool.

    Bondage

    In their Kinky Sex 101 guide, the writers at Adam & Eve describe the act of bondage as “a simple form of dominant/submissive sexual behavior where one sex partner is bound either to themselves (wrists tied together) or to a piece of furniture.” When experimenting with bondage, you can make yourself privy to your partner’s every whim by strapping into some cuffs, or practice your dom play by tying them up. If you’re new to bondage/restraints, it’s best to start with comfort-fit toys, such as silk ties, padded cuffs, and binding that has size adjustable straps. If you’re uncomfortable, or your extremities start to change color, your restraints are most likely too tight.

    Paddling

    Spanking or paddling can help you and your partner awaken some of your most sensitive areas. When selecting your spanking weapon of choice, your options are limited to your imagination in addition to what you and your partner are comfortable with. Beginners usually opt for classic toys like wooden or leather paddles. Eventually you can move your way up to more advanced toys that provide a little more sting, such as riding crops and leather floggers.Just don’t make the mistake of limiting your play to your partner’s rear. According to the team at the Art of Submission, “the back of the thighs and the inner thighs are often very sensitive, so you can get some nice reactions from your submissive when striking these.” Keep them guessing by varying the location and the intensity.

    Blindfolding

    Blindfolding your partner can add a whole new level of excitement to your play. Guessing where your lips, toys, paddle, etc. will venture next will have them writhing in anticipation of your touch. She Knows notes that “a blindfold is also a highly effective method for banishing body shame and shyness.” If you’re feeling too bashful to get in the BDSM mood, try eliminating the visual distractions. Get lost in the moment and focus on what you feel, instead of what you see.

    Sexy Extras

    For many kinksters, a Wartenberg wheel has become an increasingly popular addition to their toy collection. It was originally designed as a medical device to test nerve reaction and sensitivity, but it can also be used as a stimulating way to tickle your lover’s skin. Additionally, you can experiment with collars and leashes, or even nipple clamps for added excitement. Once you get into the spirit of BDSM, your options for play are truly endless.

    Just remember: you should never do anything that makes you or your partner uncomfortable. Aways have a safe word, and be sure to have established boundaries in place before getting started. Communicate, communicate, communicate about what you want to do (and not do) before embarking on a new activity. BDSM can be an amazing journey into emotional intimacy if you and your partner are open about sharing your experiences together.

    Who knows, you may learn that your sex life isn’t so “routine” after all.

     

    my37j

     


  10. An Almost Threesome

    March 13, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Happy girl kissed by two young boys

     

    Ever since my friend told me about her experience with the pizza delivery man, my fantasies have run rampant with visions of sir tying me up and offering me to a stranger. I’ve had threesomes before, but they had all been F/F/M. I’m usually the wingman to the main couple (a male and a female) in the threesome, and I was comfortable in that role. Being the main dish, so to speak, had never been a fantasy of mine until the delivery man anecdote. That situation changed everything and gave my spankbank a jumpstart.

    I shared my ideas with sir, of course. We talked about my past threesomes and what I enjoyed about them and didn’t. The truth was that I liked orders, and when left to my own devices, I had a tendency to be reticent and observe. So having someone tell me to, “get on that dick” was really helpful to me. I also liked having a plan. Now I knew that sex didn’t need a map to every nitty-gritty detail, but I liked having an overview of activities for the threesome.

    What can I say? I’m a planner.

    My experience with “just let it happen” usually meant that nothing happened, or the orgy you hoped for evolved into something different entirely. None of that was wrong, and sometimes it was awesome when I got the unexpected. When it came to satisfying my personal tastes in the bedroom, though, I wanted someone else to be the boss who gave me orders and who followed a general plan negotiated upon the desires of everyone involved.

    The more sir and I talked about it, the more the fantasy threesome became something we both wanted to try in real life. He wanted to give me the gift of a M/M/F threesome, and I wanted to be his fucktoy to be shared and used. We discussed the details and negotiated the rules. We agreed that: I would be blindfolded the entire time, there would be no double-penetration (I was too nervous to relax enough for anal penetration), and I didn’t want the stranger to kiss my lips (on my face). And sir had a friend that he thought would be perfect as our third, because the friend had had previous threesomes and was sexually adventurous. Our stars had aligned.

    The night arrived and sir left me tied spread-eagle to his bed and blindfolded to answer the door. I had watched him light the cluster of votives on the bedside tables, and the lights had been dimmed before I was blindfolded. Music played quietly near my head, and to calm my nerves, I focused on my breathing. I thought I was managing rather well, all things considered. I could barely make out the soft murmur of voices through the closed bedroom door, and my heartbeat accelerated when I heard the scrape of chairs against the tiled floor of the living room. It was almost time.

    The bonus of being blindfolded was that I could focus on my other senses. I didn’t care if I found the friend attractive, and being unable to see helped reinforce the parameters of my role as a pleasure toy. You don’t ask your toy if they’re in the mood to play. You just play with it. And that’s what I wanted. I offered myself as a fuck toy to my sir, and he had seen fit to share me. I felt thrilled, and simultaneously, like there was a cloud of butterflies trying to break free of my stomach. Gross but true.

    It was sir’s hands that touched me first. He kissed me, and I recognized the feel of his lips and the scent of his skin immediately. I responded eagerly as his hands began to explore my body, and when they hovered over my pussy, I silently begged him to fingerbang me. I wasn’t disappointed. He made me orgasm several times in that position, and then the bed shifted beside me. I heard the clink of chain and recognized the sound immediately. Sir had a flogger in his hands. I struggled against my bonds, knowing that he was going to flog my thighs and pussy. Again, I wasn’t disappointed. There was the rush of air as it was thrown, and I squealed and thrashed as the strands landed on my most sensitive parts. At different moments I wondered when the friend was going to jump in. I thought that since he wasn’t into BDSM per se, that he might wait until we turned from the bondage aspect and toys to straight up sex.

    Sir didn’t give me much of a chance to ponder the situation. He stole my breath as he rode my body, his large hand squeezing my neck. I felt the keen edge of a blade scrape against the curves of my breasts, and then the stinging slap as he brought the edge of his palms across my nipples. I was buffeted by sensation and unable to anticipate any of it. Eventually he untied me and made me sit up. He snapped the leash on my collar and led me stumbling from the bed. I was ordered to bend over and present myself to the stranger, and I did so with my face burning. I couldn’t see the man, of course, but I could feel his proximity. My ass and pussy were on display for his approval, and the fine hairs on my body stood at attention, waiting for the feel of his skin against mine. Every particle of my being waited in anticipation for the stranger to touch me, but again, I was mistaken.

    Sir pushed me to the bed and thrust his cock in my mouth, and I was distracted from the question of our third by a trip down the spiralling rabbit hole of hypnosis. Sir painted a tale of wealthy men at an elite club, where I was the entertainment for the evening. After he brought me out of my trance, he put me on all fours and fucked me from behind until my arms were too fatigued to hold my body in position any longer. Briefly I considered the other man in the room with us, but my thoughts didn’t dwell on him. My body was being pushed to endure, and at that point, I only had enough energy to hold on tight for the ride.

    After sir had finished with me, I lay in a heap on the bed, not even trying to peek around my blindfold to see what the men were doing.

    “Stay,” sir told me. “Good girl.”

    I had moved beyond caring about the stranger. My body was spent and thoroughly used. I had fucked, sucked, and taken all the pain and humiliation that my owner had chosen to lavish upon me. I wanted nothing more than a shower, an extra thick cheeseburger, and a bunch of snuggles. And water. Water would have been nice too.

    I think I might have dozed off, and then sir was beside me again, tucking me into the crook of his arm. I asked if I could take off the blindfold, and he said yes. It took a moment for me to catch my bearings again, and then I inquired about his friend.

    The man had gone home without ever touching me.

    I met the friend the next night, and we all had dinner at a Turkish restaurant. He was humorous and gruff, and despite his reticence the evening before, I liked him thoroughly. I suppose we never know how we’ll act in a situation for certain until we’re actually in that situation. And I would be lying if I didn’t say that I was a teensy bit disappointed that the friend didn’t participate. Apparently we had blown his mind with the stuff we did in bed, and he had only wanted to watch. He told sir later, on an occasion when I wasn’t present, that he had felt like he was watching a sex show. I think that’s a compliment? Sir joked that he should have ordered the friend to fuck me while he went into the other room and watched The Walking Dead.

    Nah.