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‘BDSM’ Category

  1. The Sex Unicorn

    May 1, 2017 by Heather Cole

     

    I’ve been talking a lot about unicorns and sex these days. OK, I talk about sex all the time. It’s the unicorns that keep popping up. (So many dick jokes running through my head right now. Focus, Heather!) Just last week I had the opportunity to write a yummy post for SwingTowns about this one time at the dungeon when we made a willing submissive into a sex unicorn. What the heck is a sex unicorn?? Well, my friends, click here and find out.

    Happy reading!

    Heather


  2. Breaking the rules

    February 3, 2017 by Heather Cole

    Rules of the Dungeon

    Eve was a flexible overseer. She was the dominant in charge without question, but she let her assistants determine their personal boundaries and general rules of conduct. We all had to obey the dungeon rules:   no exchange of bodily fluids. And the second biggest rule: no PIV (penis-in-vagina) penetration. We used condoms on all toys, and we wore gloves if we touched a client’s genitalia. After a session, everything was run through the dishwasher or cleaned in a special solution that killed any bacteria. We wanted to create a fantasy, but there were physical limits to what we would do.

    Each assistant had a different personal set of rules that we used during play. My personal rules were 1.) the person had to always ask first if they could touch me–consent first before all things, 2.) I didn’t kiss the other person, 3.) the person couldn’t touch my vagina, 4.) I never lied about the size of a man’s penis 5.) and I didn’t see dungeon players outside of the dungeon, either in person or on social media.

    Surprisingly, a dungeon player didn’t always ask to touch me, because often they weren’t in a position to. Typically the player initiating the scene was the body being acted upon. In other words, Eve was the top giving us both orders, arranging the so-called chess pieces. I acted upon the victim… er, client, as she instructed. The person was often in bondage or rendered incapacitated in some way so that they could only watch me. Watch and wish they could touch. The push-pull of teasing and denial could be the most exquisite slow torture. My luscious body would be inches from a man’s mouth, and yet he was powerless to close that gap and taste the delicate curve of my breast. He may have squirmed and begged for it, but I rarely acquiesced.

    I confess that at first it was hard for me to dance cruelly out of their reach. I was trained to please by the dominants in my life. I was wired that way naturally as part of my Good Girl identity. But submissives didn’t flock to Eve because she was nice in the way that I was nice. They asked to play because she was sadistic and sensually generous in a way that brought them quivering to their knees and begging for orgasm. Gradually I understood her philosophy. She made them feel so good alternating pleasure and pain that they almost always wanted to return. The element that I was proudest of, that gave my work purpose, was that we were free of judgment. As long as we all consented to the scene (and everyone was over 18) we would help that person achieve the fantasy they had been dreaming about. The dungeon rules kept us safe, and my personal rules kept me from giving too much of myself to a fleeting moment of an intense sexual encounter.

    My favorite visitors to the dungeon were the ones that I had seen before. The ones that I had developed a rapport with and the ones that I knew something about, they were the ones that I opened up with more. We developed trust in those interactions, and no matter what skeptics may think, those moments of brief connection were gifts. It was a gift to accept someone in all their naked glory, no judgement, and to be able to create something electric with them. I was able to do all that with my rules safely in place. Until I met him.

    Play With Your Meat

    Eve described him as “a young piece of meat.” Translation: she was excited to play with someone younger who had a hot body. I didn’t feel as excited and was generally more circumspect around younger men. Not many of them chose the dungeon, and often when they did, they arrived with the expectations of fraternity boys in an Asian massage parlor. They typically needed a lesson in consent, and often they were all over the place regarding their sexuality, so that it made it difficult for me to get a read on what it was that they wanted exactly. I found them generally unsettling, but I figured I’d at least get eye candy for an hour. He did not disappoint.

    Guy was about my height and a decade younger. He started the hour by shedding his clothing in an expedient manner, but Eve slowed his pace. She requested that I assist him, and I happily complied, sliding my hands across the muscled planes of his stomach as I undid his pants. I held his gaze as my hands skimmed up his rib cage to pull off his shirt, and I breathed in his warmth and our closeness. I let my fingers roam down his muscled thighs as I sank to my knees, my face deliciously close to the bulge in his underwear. I was unable to deny the physical attraction I felt. It was such a novel feeling that I felt giddy, like Christmas had arrived early and Santa had given me my very own boy to play with.

    In contrast there was the squirming thought that I was single without an eligible man in sight. It felt incredibly decadent to be so close to another human and to feel the overwhelming desire to sink into all that smooth, warm skin. I wanted this, not in the professional way that I was supposed to, but in a wolf that wanted to eat a sexy bunny kind of way. Devour was the word that I felt, and my body turned electric with every stroke of my hand against his muscular body.

    Somehow my clothes came off. I honestly can’t remember how exactly. And then we were both naked, facing a fully clothed Eve. I sidled up behind him to press my softness against his chiseled frame. He was deliciously warm, and I suddenly had the urge to dig my fingers into his hips and mark him as our pleasure toy for the time being. I may have asked Eve if we could keep him.

    It wasn’t only the physical attraction or instant sexual chemistry that held me off-kilter, I felt the alien urge to hurt him. Playing with Guy inspired sadistic urges within me that I had never experienced before without being coached by someone more dominant. But this sprang to life all on its own, and the only way I could describe it was that I felt like a wolf with a bunny rabbit. A bunny rabbit in a rock hard body that I wanted to sensually torture and tease until he begged for release. A bunny that you wanted to lick and bite and lovingly maul until you had both dissolved into puddles of cum. And then he asked to kiss me.

    Rule #2

    My common sense said no, but I found myself consenting. I said yes, and greedily accepted his lips on mine. He marked the time we spent together with a questioning, “yes?” And I continued to reply with my own enthusiastic “yes!” He asked at every stage of our play together, and I didn’t want to deny him. Not only because it was what he wanted, but because I wanted it, dammit. He stretched out on the massage table, and I marred his smooth skin with scratches and bite marks. He pulled at my nipples as we kissed, my hair falling around us in a curtain.

    Eve was busy with his bottom half. She had tied his cock and balls up with a shoestring into a snug bundle, and had then pushed his cock between two pieces of clear Plexiglas that could be tightened together with screws. I was only half-watching, distracted by the delicious man’s hands and lips. Eve interrupted with a simple command.

    “Use him to pleasure yourself.”

    She didn’t have to tell me twice. I fetched my favorite gold dildo (yes, we call him “Gold Member”) and rolled down a condom to the base. I made Guy put on a latex glove to hold Gold Member upright in his hand. As Eve started the hitachi on his trussed up balls, she slowed down how she screwed the Plexiglas sheet against his cock. I positioned Guy’s hand exactly how I wanted it, and then instructed him how I wanted to be fucked. It took only a moment to find a rhythm, and then the dildo slid exactly in the right spot. The first orgasm rolled over me, followed quickly by a second. But I was greedy. I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t the dildo. I broke another rule.

    Rule #3

    I set the dildo aside and asked him to use his fingers.

    “Yes?” he asked as I leaned over him.

    “Yes,” I answered.

    My breath caught as his fingers slid into me, and I silently hoped that he would be as good with his fingers as he was his lips. Again I was not disappointed. Orgasm followed orgasm in a long line of pleasure. One arm was braced against his shoulder as I clung to the table with the other. I tried to remain upright, riding the waves of sensation as Guy experienced his own orgasm. It felt like my brain had been short-circuited. I was so high on endorphins and the power of topping that I lost myself a little bit. I remembered the rest of our time together, but I remembered it through a cotton candy haze of residual pleasure.

    I had difficulty pulling myself back together after that. Re-entering the world after intense play is like replacing your armor piece by piece. I was still trying to find my proverbial breastplate, and Guy had already cleaned up and pulled on his clothes. There had been only one other time when I regretted saying good bye, and this was now my second. We said farewell, and I felt the loss of that connection. Wistfulness, I suppose, tinged with regret. Coming down from a topping high was hard too. Looking back, I probably had a touch of top drop as well.

    Rule #5

    Later that night I thought long and hard about what I was going to do. Ultimately what I wanted to say was ‘thank you.’ I didn’t think there would be any harm in doing so, and I felt like he was the type to be polite and not turn it into something weird. Still, I was respectful of people’s privacy. Not everyone wanted to be confronted by a dungeon assistant in real life. I dropped him a short note of thanks on Fetlife. I had broken rules during our session, and I had loved every moment. I had felt sadistic and dominant all on my own, and I wanted to explain how grateful I was for all of it. To my surprise he answered, and not only that, he asked me to meet him for coffee.

    This is the part where I don’t really know what I’m doing. This is all new territory, and what if I majorly screw up? Part of me frets over it. And then there’s me who’s a wolf. And she doesn’t care about any of that. She wants the bunny. The funny part is that I don’t know which part of me will come out on top.

    TO BE CONTINUED…

    (I’ve always wanted to write that.)


  3. The Incidental Sadist

    October 31, 2016 by Heather Cole

     

    He requested tea with my beating. That was new.

    From my vantage point, with my arms bound behind me with rope and my ankle cuffs clipped to the spreader bar, I could see steam wafting from the cup. He sipped the tea and perused the implements spread across the table. It reminded me of someone shopping for the perfect fruit, not a British sadist in contemplation.

    Strike One – Heather

    Things were subtly different from the first time we played. Some of it was a consequence of my actions, deliberate and incidental. I had forgotten repeatedly to update my shared calendar which made scheduling time at the dungeon a challenge for the Sadist. Eve, the Domme supervising our play time and the coordinator of this event, “helpfully” shared my sassy texts regarding the calendar. I hadn’t curbed my tongue. Strike one – Heather.

    Strike Two – Heather

    On the day of our scene, I hit unusual traffic on my way to the dungeon. I arrived half an hour late, and although the Sadist accommodated the change, I was going to pay for it. Strike two.

    None of these occurrences compiled themselves in my mind to give me something to worry about. No, I arrived flustered and rushed to find that Eve had set up on her own. This meant that all sorts of items were out, things that I probably wouldn’t have chosen. Ouchy things. I had given my limits months ago when the Sadist and I first played, and I hadn’t thought about updating that list before arriving. But the Sadist wasn’t the only one changing things up. I was too.

    When the Sadist and I first came together I had a master, and I had everything approved by him before I played with the Sadist. Now I was free of my contract, and I was the sole person responsible for negotiating the scene. But I had mostly forgotten about that until I was dressed in the outfit the Sadist had brought and bound to the large wooden frame at the center of the room. My thoughts resembled a sheaf of paper being thrown into the air on a blustery day. He approached me with safety scissors in hand, and it finally occurred to me that I had no idea what was going to happen. I hadn’t been proactive about what I wanted during our interaction, and now it was going to bite me in the ass. Probably literally.

    Well, damn, Heather

    The Sadist pinched and caressed me through the black dress as I watched him warily. He used the scissors to cut away the fabric over my breasts and pussy. Before I could ask anything, his hand came down swiftly in a chopping motion against my right nipple. The pain was swift and immediate, and I felt tears form at the corners of my eyes. He didn’t pause and whipped his hand down the front of the other nipple. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry from the pain or whether the nipple slapping reminded me so much of my ex. It was my ex who had trained me to endure nipple torture. He would hit me like that in the shower or anywhere I might be exposed. He was the only man who had hurt me in that way, and now the Sadist was doing it too. My feelings got tangled with the pain. Then the Sadist gripped my jaw and brought my gaze to his.

    “You’ve been very naughty, Heather.” He tapped my cheek with his thick fingers. “You didn’t update your calendar and then you were late.”

    I started to protest, and he smacked my cheek. Another slap. And another. I began to cry in earnest.

    Again he began slapping my nipples, but I couldn’t bear it. I said “yellow,” and breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped back. Of course that respite was short. He cut more holes in the dress and abused more flesh. He tickled me, because he knew I hated it, then slapped me again when I laughed helplessly. When the cloth hung off me in strips, he shoved aside the remnants of the black thong I wore and rubbed my clit in rough circles. He knew I wouldn’t orgasm like that, but he handled me in such a way because he knew he could. It was degrading, and the humiliation made my cheeks burn in addition to the slaps.

    That was probably the biggest difference of all. The Sadist had arrived this day with the confidence of knowing the submissive he was dealing with. This was our fourth time playing, and he seemed confident that he could challenge me. I felt that self-assurance in every slap, every strike of the cane, in the way he tied me and pushed in ways that he hadn’t before. He punched the meaty part of my chest and paddled the bottoms of my feet. He explored the most sensitive parts of my body with brutal calculation, favoring the tender flesh on my sides and inner thighs. The hardest part, for me, was the predicament bondage that he had dreamed up for the occasion.

    The man tore off the remnants of my clothes and unhooked the spreader bar. He made me stand parallel to the wooden frame with my arms stretched straight in front of me. Around each wrist he looped rope that was then tied to the frame. If I dropped my arms, the loops around each wrist would tighten. He clipped pulleys to the chains at the top of the frame, and fed rope through each. He tied frozen bottles of water to the ends. But it was the other end of the rope that made me anxious. Each rope was tied to a zipper of clothespins. (A zipper is a term to describe clothespins tied in a consecutive line to rope or string. Once the clothespins are pinched on the skin of the submissive, the top can pull one end of the string and pull each clip off in rapid succession. When the clothespins are lining each side of the labia, for example, they come off like the teeth of a zipper.)

    One zipper had ten clothespins that pinched my labia, and the other longer zipper had clothespins circling each breast like a deranged porcupine. The issue was never the clothespins going on in these situations. The painful repercussions always happened when they were ripped off and blood rushed back to the wounded areas.

    My predicament was this: if I dropped the water bottles, the weight would rip off the zippers. If I dropped the water under two minutes, we would start all over again. If I held the freezing water bottles for longer, he would tie on more bottles and things would become heavier. The decision was agony. There was no way I could “win.” Any which way and those zippers would come off. I debated and squirmed as the icy bottles melted in my hands. Two more bottles went on as I danced in place. My arms were tiring quickly. I decided finally to drop the bottles on my left that were tied to the zipper around my pussy. Squeezing my eyes shut in tense anticipation, I dropped the bottles. They fell to the floor with a thud, but the zipper stayed.

    “What happened?” I shrieked, going on to my tiptoes in response to the tightened clothespins.

    The Sadist looked at me calmly. “I suppose we need more weight.” He grabbed the rope and yanked with all his might.

    The clothespins flew off my pussy, and I would have doubled over if I hadn’t been tied to the other one. I made a garbled exclamation, the pain between my legs distracting me from articulation.

    “Going to let go of the other?” he asked with mild amusement.

    It didn’t matter what I decided. No sooner had the bottle dropped from my hand then he was jerking the other rope. This time I shrieked and clutched my abused breasts. I hadn’t felt anything like that in ages, and the sharp pain of the blood circulating made me whimper. The Sadist pushed the frozen bottles against my nipples, and I begged him to stop being helpful.  

    He wasn’t finished with me yet. The Sadist had me lie down on the massage table, and then used almost every implement laid out beside his tea cup. He turned my body from pale pink to bright red. And he saved the cane for last. The thing that I loathed and loved, the only tool that was guaranteed to undo the last pieces of my self-control. Again it was because of my ex.

    The cane had been his favorite, and I through the years of us being master and slave, I had learned to read the strength and angle of its fall against my flesh like reading the sky for clues to the weather. I couldn’t be caned and not think of my ex. The Sadist didn’t know that part of it, so it didn’t slow him. The caning felt like it lasted forever, and the bruises it gave me matched the ones on my heart. I cried, my sobs muffled by the pillow beneath me.

    Finally he decided to finish it, and he pulled me to my feet and had me pick out a dildo. I pushed it into place on the fucking machine and sat down so that I straddled the stiff rubber cock. The Sadist then rocked me back and forth on the machine, controlling how fast the dildo penetrated my pussy. I had orgasm after orgasm, my tears replaced with sweat and cum. Finally he stopped the machine, and I tried to get my synapses firing again.

    I have no idea what I said or what he said at that point. We spoke of something pleasant before he left, I’m sure. I don’t remember much of anything except that I gave him many hugs in gratitude. My brain had stopped working but my heart was full. I hope he knew how thankful I was for the pain and the pleasure. And the bittersweet memories too.


  4. Before You Go Out To Play

    March 8, 2016 by Heather Cole

    Vagina Antics Dungeon

    Helping out at my local dungeon means that I see all types of people at play. Kink is a varied tapestry of body shapes, gender identity, lifestyle choices, and sexual preferences. And that’s just what I can see from the outside. Everyone brings their moods, their varying energies, and emotions to our extreme games as well. There is no “one way” to do kink, and on the days that I go to the dungeon, I’m reminded that I’m still learning and having new experiences. I doubt I’ll ever get to a place where I say that I’ve “seen it all” when it comes to kink. It was a recent dungeon encounter, and a new situation that I hadn’t experienced before, that gave me the spark of an idea for this post.

    Today, dear vagina fans, we’re going to cover a few basic concepts to consider before you go out to play. These tips aren’t only good for dungeons, but also for any type of sexual/kinky play. Whether you’re hiring an escort (Sydney escorts) for a special night, paying to see your pro dominant for a session, or renting some space/time at a BDSM club, there are some basics to keep in mind.

    Before you get on your high horse about me mentioning Jaipur escorts, pro dominants (i.e. dominatrix), or any other type of sex worker, you should know that I support sex workers and that I write from a nonjudgmental space. I condemn human trafficking. People who choose sexwork (for whatever reason) shouldn’t be criminalized for offering a service. If you want to read more about my views, you can click here. If you’re horribly offended… honey, this ain’t the blog you should be reading.

    Now on with our friendly, neighborhood kinky play tips:

    1.Cleanliness is next to… um, it gets you closer to the person you desire – This should seem like a no-brainer, right? You’re probably rolling your eyes, thinking, “of course I’m going to shower before getting naked with my special someone.” This is good. You absolutely should. However, if you’re going to the dungeon between meetings or slipping out for a spicy massage on your lunch break, you won’t be showing up shower fresh. In fact, a lot of body functioning could have happened between that shower you had first thing in the morning and the moment when the dominant is tying you up for some CBT (that’s cock and ball torture).

    Human bodies smell. It’s our nature to emit pheromones, and our bodies have a variety of odors depending on diet, etc. So do yourself and your play partner a huge favor, and freshen up, buttercup! Personally I carry around wet wipes. They’re not only for babies, and they’re handy for all sorts of situations (sexual and not). I promise you that the person you’re getting naked with will thank you too.

    Spruce up those genitals, y’all, and don’t forget your anus. Yes, I said it. Clean your anus. I’m being explicit here, because sometimes it gets overlooked if a person thinks no one is going to play with it specifically. Well, even if your anus is to remain virginal, if it’s unclean your play partner and anyone else in the vicinity will be smelling it. Of course accidents can happen, but being proactive and cleaning up before playing will win you huge points with your person/people of interest.

    2.  If you’ve reserved dungeon play space, or booked time with a companion, please show up when you say you will. If you can’t make the appointment, give the dungeon owner/monitors lots and lots of advance notice so that they can fill that time slot. Play space is often at a premium, so if you can’t use it, please give your kinky comrades a chance. The same goes for dates with Gurgaon escorts, and appointments with masseuses, pro dominants, etc. Just because it’s sexy, play time, it doesn’t mean that flaking out at the last minute (less than 24 hours notice) is acceptable behavior.

    3.  Paying money for a service doesn’t mean that you can do whatever the hell you want to once you get there. This is a personal pet peeve of mine. If you pay for time/space at a dungeon and need assistance creating the scene that fulfills all your fantasies, please don’t act like you own the people who are helping you. A person can consent to helping bind you in restraints and then torturing your nipples until you cry, but that doesn’t mean that you can do whatever the hell you want to them because they’re part of your fantasy. You must ask if you can touch them if you haven’t negotiated this beforehand. You may have paid for the use of the equipment, space, and time, but you do not control the people involved.

    I understand that going to a dungeon is a heady experience, especially if someone has never been exposed to BDSM practices. Everywhere you look there’s skin, writhing bodies, and people in the throes of emotional and physical dynamics that can be intense and arousing. To the average person, I’m sure it looks like a sex circus. But everyone there has negotiated their scenes, paid their fees, and are creating their fantasies while respecting others around them and giving consent. (Or they should be. Nothing will get you banned from a community faster than breaking those basic tenets. Also, public dungeons typically have strict rules regarding penetration and exchange of fluids. In other words, there aren’t any.) So please be respectful of those who are helping you experience your dungeon fantasy. You won’t go wrong by asking before you touch someone else and cleaning up your play space afterwards is a sign of common decency. A heartfelt thank you to your host won’t go awry either.

    There are some great resources in print now regarding the ‘how tos’ of playing with others. I have a list of good reads in the ‘Beginners Kink’ section. Play clean; play safe, sweeties.  


  5. In the Hands of a Stranger

    October 7, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Aaron Apt 2015

    I lay on the couch, draped over the stranger’s lap with my face buried in a cushion. My dress bunched around my waist and my panties had been pushed down to my knees. Stinging slaps rained down on my bottom as I fought not to squirm. The man enjoyed hitting high along the top of my asscheeks or on the sides, not across the meat of my bum where I preferred. I didn’t complain, though. Instead I bit the inside of my cheek and fought to endure the burning fire that spread across my flesh. I silently vowed to do my best and submit, because I wanted to make Daddy proud of me.

    This particular situation was new for me. Daddy had loaned me out to a stranger for a precious two hours. I had seen the man before and had watched his scene with a different submissive. At the time, I hadn’t thought much about him—not good or bad. It was the idea of playing with a stranger that seemed like a distant possibility. He was an older, British gentleman with a ready smile and large hands. He hadn’t been practicing kink for a decade, but now he wanted to get back into the scene. The problem was that he didn’t have a regular submissive partner, and his life was constructed in such a way that being open about his preferences would have proved disastrous. He was discreet, and he wanted to play. Part of me loved the thrill of submitting to someone I didn’t know, while the other half of me felt anxious about it.

    Daddy agreed to the arrangement because a close friend, and dominant, supervised since he was unable to be present.The logical part of my brain told me that I wasn’t in real physical danger, but butterflies still filled my stomach. Daddy had negotiated the terms of the scene, and the three of us had reviewed my hard and soft limits beforehand. Even with all the things I knew the stranger wouldn’t do to me, that still left a lot of things, painful things, that could happen.

    My friend gave me a playful slap on my reddened skin as I passed her, making me wince. “I think he’s taking it easy on you,” she whispered. The wide grin on her face didn’t reassure me at all.

    The stranger led me by the hand from the sitting area into a large play room. He bid me to stand under a square, wooden frame and ran his hands over my waist and hips.

    “I love the clothes that women wear,” he said in his proper accent, “but I prefer them naked.” He pulled my dress over my head and stripped me out of my lingerie. “Bend over and spread yourself open. I want to see what I’ve borrowed for the afternoon.”

    His words slid like a knife between my ribs. This wasn’t my Daddy who objectified and degraded me with love in his heart. This man didn’t know anything about me. He wanted me because I would submit. I was a living, breathing sex toy that he could use for his own pleasure. In that moment I felt powerful, that I could give the gift of myself to please another, but on the heels of that thought came a needling voice, what kind of girl lets a stranger use her? I felt myself blush as I spread my legs apart.

    The stranger complimented my body as he tightened wide leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles. He clipped the cuffs to metal rings at the top of the frame, stretching me almost to my tiptoes, and then placed a spreader bar between my ankles. I was rendered immobile. He then produced the final touch… a blindfold. My heartbeat ratcheted into high gear as he covered my eyes. I was blind and bound, and in the hands of someone I didn’t know. I had surveyed the table full of impact toys before we started, but I didn’t know which one he would use. I strained to hear the slightest noise, but everyone remained silent. Goosebumps marched over my skin, and all my muscles tensed.

    His wide palms skimmed my ribcage, making a path over my abdomen and up to my breasts. A breath I didn’t know I had been holding escaped from between my lips. His meaty fingers fastened on a nipple, and he squeezed as hard as he could. My knees buckled at the pain lancing through me.

    “Yellow!” I gasped.

    My caution word made him release me, and I explained that my super-sensitive nipples couldn’t take that level of abuse. If he wanted me to last for the entire two hours, he needed to respect my body and pain tolerances.

    I don’t know how long I stayed on the frame. Time became blurred when it was reduced to the moments between body shaking blows and reverent caresses. The stranger was kind and cruel in turns, offering his embrace after a particularly powerful slap to my inner thigh, and then stepping away and retreating into silence until he decided to hit me again. It was the worst kind of cat and mouse, because I couldn’t protect myself and had no way to retreat. Silently I yelled, “leave me alone you mean man! I want my Daddy!” On the outside, though, I whimpered and squealed. Finally my body had had enough, and my fingers got tingly from being above my head for so long. He took me down immediately.

    Again he led me by the hand, this time to a massage table. He positioned me so that I was bent over at the waist, my abraded nipples protesting as they pressed against the cotton sheet. The blindfold came off, and I asked if I could have a tissue to blow my nose. My eyes were wet and my nose was running, but I didn’t feel upset anymore. Some conscious thought entered my awareness, and I recognized the signs of subspace. I still felt everything, but I didn’t care as much. I experienced a feeling of floating, of being wrapped in a huge bubble of not giving a fuck.

    I had warned the stranger at the beginning that canings made me cry, but that the tears weren’t a sign to stop. I told him that I would use red or yellow to signal if I were truly in distress. My friend reminded him again of my safewords, and then he gave me my instructions. I had to count each stroke, thank him, and then ask for another. With tears trickling down my cheeks, we began.

    He didn’t cane me like my Daddy. Memories tugged at me, threatening to send me down the rabbit hole of missing my sir. I didn’t want to fall apart, and I didn’t want to ruin our fun with the spectre of a physically absent dominant. So I remembered instead that this had always been a fantasy of ours. Even though sir wasn’t there watching, we still shared this adventure. I was pretty damn lucky to be able to live out this fantasy, even if it wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned it. But the stranger wasn’t finished. A flogging followed the caning, and then there was figging and more breast torture with clothespins and ice cubes.

    By the end of our time together, I was blissed out on endorphins and uncaring about what he wanted to do next with me. It was the kind of high that really good bruises give you. I felt like a ragdoll, a real life sex toy that had been used hard and who loved it.

    Hours later I sat in front of my computer and skyped with Daddy. I had to cry a little bit, because I missed him. I wished he had been there, that it had been his cane against my thighs and his arms around me. But by the end of our talk, I was coming back to myself. Daddy said he was proud of me and that he loved me. I was proud of myself, too. I had endured a stranger’s sadism and had pleased him. Not every girl will take that kind of attention and enjoy it too.


  6. Fifty Shades of NO: The Movie

    July 9, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Image courtesy of Salvatore Vuono at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

    I watched Fifty Shades of Grey the other night. I haven’t read the books, mostly because of the lackluster (poorly written) excerpts I read online. Sir watched it last week, though, and his feedback surprised me. He said there was a D/s contract and negotiation, and even though I was openly incredulous, I knew I had to watch it for the sole purpose of being able to discuss it with him. Plus, sir said that Mr. Grey’s playroom was kickass, and I’m a sucker for a well-appointed dungeon. I settled into bed after my child fell asleep, and watched the movie with my phone in my hand, so I could text Nikki about all the failings of the movie and its portrayal of D/s.

    I discovered that Fifty Shades of Grey, the movie, is about a woman who doesn’t want to be a submissive. She wants a billionaire boyfriend that treats her to amazing, spectacular adventures like flights in a glider, a helicopter, and buys her fab things. She wants love and romance, to be courted and swept off her feet. And there’s nothing wrong with that. The crux of the problem is that the billionaire boyfriend is a dominant and a sadist, and what he wants is a submissive with a signed contract that commits to a D/s relationship, which doesn’t guarantee emotional intimacy. At least, not the kind of emotional intimacy that a more traditional dating relationship would entail. Christian Grey also has a tendency to creep, stalk, and lurk. Add to these conflicting, fundamental differences the fact that BOTH characters are positively shitty communicators, and you have the basic gist of this movie.

    But… but… Heather, you say, aren’t you always going on and on about the physical and emotional intimacy you enjoy through BDSM? How can Mr. Grey be anything but a cad and a blackguard for wanting Anastasia bound and naked yet not wanting to cuddle with her overnight?

    My perspective of this movie is from the viewpoint of a woman who signed a D/s contract without the promise of romance. I committed myself to a dominant without the knowledge that we would fall deeply in love and that our partnership would expand into “regular” life. What I desired most of all was a man that would hurt me in all the ways that I wanted, who would use me, control me, and degrade me in the most delicious ways I could imagine. I wanted bondage, and pain; an outlet for those nameless things that clamored inside me–I wanted to serve. And I knew that sir was a decent man, one who would keep me safe while I explored all the dark, twisting turns of my desires. I knew he would be a caretaker for me in those times of domination and submission, but in the beginning, I didn’t have aspirations that our D/s would follow a path to romance and courtship. I had no expectation that we would live together, that my submission would turn 24/7, or that we would continue together despite an overseas relocation and months of separation.

    So no, I don’t think Mr. Grey is fucked up for being a dominant or a sadist. He lacks the ability to communicate his feelings to the unwilling, yet grudgingly submitting Anastasia. He utters the words “due diligence” to her, yet they fail to do anything except some light bondage and fucking six-ways-to-Sunday in the playroom. That’s all well and good, but she needed to do actual research on D/s (it’s called Google, Anastasia). Contracts in D/s can be a big frickin’ deal, and even though they aren’t legally binding, I would never enter into one without a lot of thought and consideration beforehand. But that’s a rant for a different day.

    Where Mr. Grey did fuck up (besides the stalking, lurking, and non-consensual control) was that he didn’t say anything regarding the trauma of his past (talking to someone when they’re asleep doesn’t count), or how it’s possible to be a loving sadist/dominant. Probably because he’s completely unfamiliar with what a functioning relationship may feel like.

    With such fundamental differences between them, you know the movie isn’t going to end well. It really doesn’t. In fact, it’s the last twenty minutes of the movie that made me hate it. Because nothing infuriates me more than a play partner begging for a certain thing, hating it but not using their safewords, and then when it’s all over, shaming the other person for doing the exact thing that they requested earlier. This sort of interaction is precisely why BDSM gets a bad rep when our lifestyle is actually based upon a foundation of consent and trust. And the simple act of writing about it has pissed me off all over again.

    sigh…

    I need a glass of wine and funny cat videos to forget this clusterfuck of a movie.

     

    For an eloquent fact-checking article regarding the “kink” (yeah, I placed that in quotes) in FSoG, Nikki found a great article written by actual kinky folks who engage in actual Dominance/submission. Read it HERE.

    ~And since Heather watched the movie, sharing with me a bazillion texts regarding its ridiculousness as it unfolded, I’ve agreed to finally read the clusterfuck of a book. Oy.~ Nikki


  7. 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

     


  8. 5 Reasons Pornstars Hate 50 Shades of Grey

    February 28, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Not long ago, these pornstars explained Net Neutrality in a way that made me love the art that is porn even more. And it had nothing to do with the cheesy bow-chicka-bow-wow music playing in the background. Not entirely. Seriously, though. Who doesn’t love 70s porn music?

    Anyway, the three beauties, with all of their awesomeness, are at it again with 5 Reasons Pornstars Hate 50 Shades of Grey, and it’s spot on.

     


  9. Wonder Woman and Bondage

    February 5, 2015 by Heather Cole

    I have loved and idolized Wonder Woman since I was a little girl. I had Wonder Woman underoos, and my cousins and I spent hours wreaking havoc around my grandparents’ farm playing Super Friends. Even at that age I was frustrated that there were so few female superheroes. I didn’t realize that Wonder Woman began as a comic in the 1940’s or that she was into bondage, domination and submission, and spanking parties. If I had known that… well, my childhood probably would have made a lot more sense.

    Many thanks to our friend, Ashley, for finding this article about Wonder Woman’s fascinating roots.

    “If you’ve never read the comics written by Marston and drawn by Harry G. Peter, Berlatsky’s book is particularly eye-opening. It’s not just that Wonder Woman gets tied up more than other heroes (although she does) and that she does plenty of tying up herself. Marston was a psychologist by trade, and his particular views on gender, sexuality, domination, and submission (which were all, in his mind, inextricably linked) are on full display in his Wonder Woman run. There are scenes of children learning to be submissive on Paradise Island, stories where Wonder Woman fails because she isn’t dominate enough, lurid images of women trapped in cages (and, sometimes, lurid images of Steve Trevor tied up). And there are those weird spanking parties.”

     

    I’m falling in love all over again. Fetch me my magic lasso!

    Read the entire post here: Why Early Wonder Woman Was a Champion of Feminism… and Bondage over at io9.


  10. She Stabbed Me, and I Bubbled

    May 10, 2014 by Heather Cole

    I was dressed in a plaid miniskirt and a white ruffled blouse. I wore ballet flats, complete with little bows, and my long hair was divided into two pigtails. As we crossed the foyer of the hotel, my only thought was how I didn’t blend in very much. Especially because I wore my thick, black leather play collar. The silver rings on it jingled softly, but they might as well have been clanging bells as far as I was concerned. I felt obvious, and my discomfort only increased sir’s pleasure with my appearance. The women at the check-in desk followed our progress, their gazes burning holes in my back. We obviously weren’t members of the wedding party staying at the hotel. We were attendees of the “other” group (400+ kinksters), and we were headed to “Try It Out Scouts” in the main ballroom of our first kink convention.

    The room was dotted with tables full of different implements and supplies. An expert in the application of a particular tool (like clothespins or rope or fire cupping etc) stood beside it to help attendees “try it out.” I started with my standard favorites, impact toys, and climbed on to a spanking bench to try out paddles and a series of cane-like items. I enjoyed the different spanking styles and the different weights of toys. The things, and the person, that I had been anticipating sat in the back corner, but sir steered us to other tables first. Whether he deliberately tried to draw out my nervousness or not, the effect was the same. My stomach did tiny somersaults as we winded our way through the tables. Finally he pushed me towards Angel’s table.

    “Time to try your first needles,” he said with a nudge.

    Angel and I have had a colorful past full of bitten nipples and pulled hair which was pretty benign stuff as far as her repertoire was concerned. I thought she’s the bee’s knees. She was smart as a whip, sweet as an angel, and sadistic as a… alas, words failed me to describe the depth of such sadism. Suffice to say she charmed me and terrified me by turns. Sir had always had her in mind when it came to trying needle play, and I was excited to have a chance to try them out with her in a casual setting.

    I had no idea whether or not I was going to like needles in a play context. I had acupuncture most of my life, but those needles were as thin as a cat’s whisker and only went a couple millimeters into my skin. I got my tattoo in my mid-twenties, and the feeling of the tiny needles dancing over my back relaxed me to the point where I fell asleep. The rest of my needle experience was purely medical and mostly unpleasant. During my years of trying to conceive, I had jabbed needles into my abdomen, ass, and arm, and I promise you, it all sucked. Because of the contradictory sensations, I really had no idea what to expect from my try out with Angel.

    Sir and I watched as she slid needles into the breast of a beautiful woman. The needles had light blue handles, and Angel didn’t hesitate as she slid them just under the surface of the skin, poking the ends back to the surface. It reminded me of how my mama and I pinned fabric when we sewed. The woman smiled and Angel beamed, and I thought, maybe I could do this after all. When they were finished, Angel turned to look at the line of people that had formed by her table.

    “Oh, you’re next darlin’,” she said to me with a evil smile.

    FINE! (I’m being dramatic) She looked her adorable, devious self. I plunked myself down in the folding chair opposite her, and she squeezed my hand.

    “Now lift up your skirt.”

    I didn’t have a clue what that had to do with needles, but I stood up and grabbed the hem of my skirt.

    “I’m just kidding!” she laughed. “This is going to be super easy. In fact, you’ll look back when I sew your pussy shut like this was nothing.”

    I laughed, but my palms were sweating. Having my tender bits sewed together had been a fantasy of mine for a long time. To be more accurate, it was a nightmare and a fantasy all at the same time. Part of me wanted to try it, and part of me said that I was absolutely insane to think it was a good idea. Hearing Angel talk about it made it feel like we were one step closer to it actually happening, and adrenaline was zinging through me mixed with a little bit of panic.

    She told me to unbutton my shirt, because she would place the needles through the skin of my breast, just above the cup of my bra. I took a deep breath and centered myself. I focused on Angel’s face and refused to look down to watch the needles pierce my skin. I saw the motions of her placing the needle, but I didn’t feel anything.

    “Look at that. How does it feel? They’re my thinnest and shortest needles.”

    I stared at the pink plastic jutting out from gleaming stainless steel. “Um. I don’t feel it.”

    “Want another one?” Again there was lots of grinning on her part.

    “Yes, please.”

    She placed three more after that. I felt those more, because my body had become sensitized in that area. Like it knew that poking was happening so I should feel it. Logically I knew that I should feel the needles as I’ve felt them before, but this sensation was overall pleasant. Then Angel pushed with her finger on the center where the needles crossed.

    I’ve heard other people describe the endorphin rush from needle play as “flying.” When Angel pushed on the needles, energy bubbled out of me like the fizz of an Alka Seltzer. It was an endorphin rush, yes, but I felt like one of those erupting volcanoes that you make for the science fair. I had to have been grinning like a dope as I sat there and gushed.

    “Energy is just coming out of you like crazy,” she said and motioned for sir to come closer. “Touch her arm.” Angel looked at me again. “Can you push that energy into your sir?”

    I tried. I looked inward and visualized moving the bubbly feeling up sir’s arm and into his body, but to be honest, I don’t think I did a damn thing. I felt boneless and more relaxed than I had in days. Eventually sir stood back again to watch.

    “Ready?” Angel asked. “I want you to look down.”

    If she hadn’t called my attention to the needles, I would have missed the entire thing. I certainly didn’t feel it at all. With a swift downward motion, Angel stabbed the last needle into my breast. Trust me when I say that the word “stab” is no exaggeration. She plunged that needle into me like Norman Bates through a shower curtain. My jaw dropped open as Angel rocked back in her chair and started to laugh.

    “Well, that’s kind of mean,” I sputtered, not really meaning it.

    I would have laughed too if I wasn’t so high.