RSS Feed

‘Fetishes’ Category

  1. Nurse Heather

    September 5, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Depositphotos_Nurse Heather_2

     

    When you hear the words ‘medical scene,’ what images come to mind? For me, I see a scene in grainy, black and white, with Germans in uniforms and lab coats looming over some hapless patient strapped to a metal examination table. The words send a shiver over me that is equal parts fear and excitement. I’ve never experienced a medical scene myself, but I’ve always been fascinated/afraid of them. Luckily for me, I got the chance to participate in one without being the victim… er, patient. I was invited to assist Dr. Dominant as her nurse, and I eagerly accepted–excited to finally experience some medical play.

    The patient had a medical fetish and would become aroused by both auditory and physical sensations related to medical procedures. Meaning that he found the physical sensation of a medical exam (being poked and prodded) erotic, as well as the noises of the exam (the clink of metal instruments) and the medical terms we spoke. He particularly enjoyed proper, anatomically correct words, and to be observed and objectified.

    Dr. D was dressed professionally in a black pencil skirt and black, platform heels, with a white doctor’s coat and a pair of glasses perched on her nose. Her demeanor never strayed from that of a stern, slightly aloof professional, and she was specific with her instructions and expectations of the patient. I tried not to giggle with eagerness, because it would have blown my cover as an experienced nurse.

    The patient lay on the examination table after having stripped off all his clothes. He was a man in his sixties, with a thick shock of graying hair and piercing eyes. His large cock stood at attention in anticipation of the exam. I looked him over with a friendly smile and an appreciative eye, admiring his nude body.

    Dr. D ignored my titters and immediately began discussing the patient with me as if he were only a body on the table. We reviewed his chart and discussed how to conduct his exam.

    My job as nurse was to assist the doctor, but also to be a supportive presence and to offer comfort when needed. (When I played with Dr. D, I liked to think of myself as the “good” cop to her “bad” cop.) Even though the patient eagerly submitted to the exam and had, in fact, requested specific aspects of it, I was there to stroke his arm in support and reassure him.

    We began with the basics: tested his reflexes, listened to his heartbeat and pulses, inspected his mouth and ears, then examined his rectum with well-lubed fingers, his prostate, and gave him an enema for cleansing. He moaned with arousal when I said, “Dr. D, the patient has taken the entire enema.” And when she replied, “The patient’s rectum is thirsty,” he squirmed with excitement. But that was also a sign that he needed to expel the enema. *wink wink*

    Dr. D adjusted the height of the medical stand to slow the flow of water from the rubber bag hanging from it. “Nurse Heather,” she said, “we need to test the patient’s eyesight. Please lift your scrubs, and we’ll see if he can see your vagina.”

    I obeyed, and the patient’s eyes grew wide as I slowly lifted the skirt of my uniform. I only permitted him to see the juncture of my thighs, thoroughly enjoying the tease.

    “May I touch?” he whispered.

    “First of all, you must ask my permission before you ask for Heather’s,” Dr. D said in a cold voice. “And no, you may not touch Nurse Heather there. Nurse Heather, however, may touch herself.”

    I grinned and let two of my fingers make gentle circles over my clit.

    “You’re masturbating!” the patient exclaimed.

    “Our medical practice believes in fostering a healthy sexual life,” Dr. D replied.

    I couldn’t help myself. The playful nature of the scene had caused my own arousal to build, and I slipped two fingers between my folds. Hearing the patient express his appreciation of my body, made me wet. I was having so much fun that an orgasm already shimmered just below my skin.

    “I can hear how wet she is,” the patient said with awe. “This is the most erotic experience I’ve ever had.”

    “Nurse Heather,” Dr. D said, a small smile on her lips, “you may orgasm when you wish.”

    It didn’t take much to push me into that golden release, and the orgasm rushed through me in moments. I laughed and gasped at the force of the pleasure.

    “I can’t believe you came that fast,” the patient said.

    I smiled as I cleaned my hands. “The fact that you were so pleased by our scene made me want to come with happiness.” And that was the truth.

    It turned out that this medical scene wasn’t at all like I’d imagined. Of course, that’s because it wasn’t my scene, with me on the examination table. I was only in a supporting role. But it’s reassuring to know that I don’t have to go plunging into the terrifying/exhilarating medical scene that I’ve seen in German porn in order to experience medical play. There are baby steps, fun steps, that I can experience as I familiarize myself with the new (to me) medical frontier of BDSM. Also, my next nurse’s uniform is going to be latex, or like Daryl Hannah’s in Kill Bill. 


  2. She’s just a girl on fire

    August 15, 2015 by Heather Cole

    woman with candle

    Fire brings up all sorts of emotions when you play with it. Even before the flames kiss your skin, there’s the rush of anticipation blowing through you, accompanied by a flicker of fear. It’s elemental. Primal. And when my friend texted me about joining her and her partner for some fire play, I was all for it.

    My introduction to fire play began with a text:

    “Can I light you on fire?”

    It was sent from my friend, Stormy, who is the queen of no-context texts. I replied, of course, with a similar cheeky attitude.

    “Literally on fire? No. I like these shorts too much.”

    S: “Oh, I’d need you naked first.”

    Me: “Then yes! You can absolutely set me on fire!”

    Before you think that I let any ‘ol person light me on fire, I already knew that Stormy’s partner, D, was experienced with fire play. She wanted to learn too, and she needed a demo bottom to experiment with. Add to that the fact that I adore them both and trust them implicitly, so I knew that I was in good hands for my first foray into fire.

    D created torches from fondue forks, cotton batting, and cotton finger bandages. He then dipped them in rubbing alcohol and set them on fire. I know there are a lot of details in the process that I’m missing, but my focus wasn’t on how it all worked. I was more interested in how it would feel. (Hey, if you want to play with fire, for heaven’s sake, do your research and go to a demonstration first.)

    Even with my full consent, I felt a spike of anxiety as I lay on the massage table in their bedroom and waited to feel the first burst of warmth across my body. We started out with me on my stomach on the massage table. D explained to Stormy the different techniques he enjoyed as the torches hovered over my body in various places. The gentle warmth was soothing as I closed my eyes, and some of the tension in my body drained away. Sometimes he drew a path of alcohol first, followed by a lighted torch that would burn the trail of rubbing alcohol. He often brushed behind the flames with his palm to ensure that all the fire was out. The point was to burn the alcohol and feel the fire without doing any damage to the skin. I appreciated that.

    The experimentation began, and Stormy lit lines of fire over my back. D watched from the bed with a blanket beside him in case we needed to smother an out-of-control flame. Even though we were consenting adults, we were playing with fire–literally. And it was better to have safety precautions in place beforehand instead of hoping for the best that there would be no accidents.

    Stormy’s light touch and the racing fire gave me all sorts of ideas. Her excitement about learning a new skill lent itself to my building arousal, and I couldn’t help but squirm beneath her ministrations. The way she manipulated the flames made me wish that she’d do even more with her hands. I felt a keen edge of danger that accompanied the heat, even though I knew logically that I was mostly safe. And all of it fed into a wanton throbbing between my legs.

    I didn’t act upon my desires, mainly because I hadn’t cleared any of that beforehand with my sir, and secondly, I can be a complete wimp when it comes to making the first move on a woman. At the end of the night I gave D and stormy friendly hugs and gratitude, and went straight home to work out my raging libido with my vibrator. I reported everything to sir, and enjoyed myself so much that when sir arrived stateside for his month-long vacation, he asked to learn fire play too.

    My second fire play scene began with me, once again, face-down on the massage table. Even though I couldn’t see the three people circling me, I could identify the individuals from their different fire styles. Stormy had an even rhythm:  fire, sweep of the hand, fire, sweep of the hand. She could have lulled me into a meditative, relaxed state, even when she traced the flame along the soles of my feet. D placed the alcohol and torch with more force. His movements incited a visceral reaction, something I felt in my gut. There was the staccato rush of intense heat, and then it was gone a split-second later that made me writhe. Sir’s effect on me was different.

    His flame was sneaky, and he enjoyed watching it burn along the dips and curves of my flesh. He didn’t have a particular rhythm or pattern, and he didn’t always sweep behind the trailing alcohol with his hand. As a result, the heat grew more intense depending on where he placed its path, and there were several times I squealed in protest, worried that it was burning too long.

    Daddy knows how to play with my mind like no other, and when he told me to turn over so that my front was exposed, I knew he was going to twist my feelings into the fire that played over my tenderest bits. Blue flame danced over my breasts and nipples, and he made me watch, chuckling when I begged to be allowed to close my eyes again. Seeing the fire made the sensations on my skin ratchet up in intensity, which fought against my will to remain as motionless as possible. Stormy came to sit between my legs, her hands stroking my calves and thighs.

    Again the desire built inside me. The stimulus was intense, and my instincts warred against one another. I wanted to kiss Stormy and arch against sir’s hand on my breast. I could have brushed against the front of D’s body when he bent over me or stroked the growing wetness at the juncture of my thighs. But I had to remain still as the fire bound me in place more effectively than any rope. Their attentions and the rioting sensations made the entire scene an intense roller coaster ride. To be honest, I can’t even remember if Daddy gave me an orgasm or not—everything began to run together in a long series of intense stimulus. I had no sense of time, but when they finally wound down, I was spent.

    D cleaned up while I clumsily got back into my clothes. After many thank yous to Stormy and D for the amazing experience, I asked Daddy to drive because I was spacey. He surprised me, and instead of going directly home, he took a detour to our favorite burger joint to feed me cheeseburgers at midnight. Later we snuggled in bed as my endorphin high gradually faded, and I reflected on the different sensations of fire play vs the impact play that I typically enjoy. Both are dangerous, and I’m lucky to have relationships where I skirt that danger safely yet still experience a thrill. I got to be that girl on fire.

     


  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. Heather Orgasms in Public

    October 30, 2014 by Heather Cole

     

     

    Last Thursday found me seated in a plush, purple chair, surrounded by curious university students from freshmen to grads. I was the hypnosis subject for a presentation to the alternative sexualities group on campus, and my assignment was to go under in order to demonstrate the erotic applications of hypnosis. All I had to do was sit back, close my eyes, and mentally walk down the circular, marble stairway, my hand gliding along the cool wrought iron. At the bottom would be a big, leather chair in front of a fireplace, and once I sat down and relaxed, the real adventure would begin. I had done this a hundred times with my master and my kinky friend, Kuma, but these were complete strangers, some of them from traditional backgrounds with little exposure to kink.

    The students were a diverse lot, both in ethnicity and in sexual orientation. Many of them identified as kinky, but not all. And there were several representatives from the debate team. The overall feeling was one of welcome and inclusion, so even though I had a case of the butterflies, I felt safe, which was a crucial component of being hypnotized.

    I had my hair back in two buns and wore my favorite red dress which made me look like June Cleaver complete with ballet flats. On the drive to the university, Kuma said he knew exactly how to introduce me, and that I was the perfect example of ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover.’ Later, even though I knew the intro was coming, I still blushed when he said, “Heather looks like a soccer mom, but she’s owned property 24/7 and a dirty little slut.” It was a great icebreaker. *snort*

    Kuma began his presentation and gave an overview of hypnosis, eventually addressing the topic at hand: how to use hypnosis in an erotic context. We had discussed my preferred method of induction in the car, and he first walked me through a basic relaxation technique. I closed my eyes and deepened my breathing, my focus centering on the journey within. My nervousness dispelled with the familiar sensations of letting go of consciousness. The world dwindled to the present moment, and nothing existed but the voice in my ear and my breathing. I was lying on my back in the sea, my body buoyed by gentle swells as I stared up at the blanket of stars above me. I relaxed further as I floated, and then I was walking down the grand staircase, and at the bottom I found the chair and fire. I knew these places as well as I knew my bedroom and kitchen at home. It was like saying hello to old friends and sitting down beside them for a chat.

    Kuma first instructed me to remember everything upon awakening, so I could answer questions about my experience later. After the logistics were out of the way, he described a purple collar that I was wearing around my neck. Slowly it began to constrict as my fingers clawed against the leather in a vain attempt to remove it. Kuma told me I couldn’t breathe, and he was right. I gasped for air, and my face felt hot with the effort to draw in a breath. Finally he released the collar, and I collapsed back in the chair, sucking air deep into my lungs.

    During hypnosis part of my brain took a vacation. I don’t know any other way to describe it. Gone was my sense of self and ego. When I looked back at the experience, I was a robot Barbie version of myself. My focus was pure; there was the voice commanding me to do things and the desire I had to fulfill those commands. It was a place of simplicity and obedience, which was why I enjoyed it so much.

    After the ever-tightening collar, Kuma’s wicked fingertips rained liquid fire across my body. Everywhere he touched me, my skin burned as if he placed the hot tip of a match against my flesh. Later he told me that my skin had reddened wherever he made contact, but because my eyes were closed, I didn’t see it. I only knew that it hurt, and I couldn’t get away.

    And then there were the orgasms. Captive in my cocoon of hypnotic suggestion, I had three powerful orgasms in front of complete strangers. My body bowed with overwhelming pleasure, played like an instrument and completely out of my control.

    When Kuma finally brought me out of hypnosis, my hands were “glued” to the wall. It was such a mind fuck to know that there was no rational reason that my hands were stuck. I knew intellectually that I should have been able to pull away and sit down, and yet, I couldn’t. It was a mindfuck in its most direct form, and I had consented to it. Sometimes I have to shake my head at the boundaries I’m willing to push, and I’m grateful down to my tippy-toes that I have trustworthy friends that will take me to those places safely.

    The discussion that ensued was lively and warm. There were others in the audience who had experiences of being hypnotized, and one young woman went under when I did. Kuma attempted a group hypnosis with some success, and I had the chance to ask others about their hypnosis experiences. Overall it was a great evening, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly.

    Late that night when I was home and in bed, I reviewed the evening and wrote a long email to sir about it. I felt a twist of sadness that he couldn’t be with me, that it wasn’t his voice coaxing me down the stairway or his reassuring presence in the chair beside me. Later he replied that we would try an induction long distance, to see if he could hypnotize me through Skype. I’m not holding my breath, but as all things with my sir, it will certainly be an adventure.

     


  5. Dear Heather: A Knotty Problem

    February 5, 2014 by Heather Cole

    Hi Heather,

    I just recently stumbled across y’all site and really appreciate the humor and candor y’all bring to the conversation about sex. To give you a bit of background I am a 20 year old virgin who’s never been in a serious relationship and has been increasingly curious about both sex in general (of the vanilla variety) and, in particular, rope bondage. I found pictures of women tied up or suspended online and found it to be, well, beautiful. Could you tell me more about rope bondage in general? Is there a safe way for me to explore being tied up by someone? How can I find someone trustworthy enough to know they wont leave me hanging (both literally and figuratively)?

    Thanks so much,

    Fit To Be Tied

    Dear Fit:

    Rope bondage is a fetish near and dear to my heart. In fact, those of us who get creamy (or hard, depending on your equipment) at the prospect of being tied are called “rope bunnies.” I started like you. I fell in love with rope fetish photography, black and white in particular, and from the first image that loaded on my Tumblr, I knew that I wanted to be that girl.

    I’m lucky to have a sir who loves to tie me up and a good friend who is a nationally recognized rigger (the men and women who specialize in rope bondage). My first rope scene was one of the most powerful I’ve ever experienced, and there was no sex at all. However, most of my rope scenes have been with the shibari style of rope bondage. Natural fibers are my fave, but people can use (and do use) a variety of materials to tie.

    I’ve been suspended once in a rope class that I attended with sir, and I had mixed feelings about it. You can read about it here. Rope suspension is a different ballgame. There’s a giant laundry list of safety concerns, but the results can be amazing. Also keep in mind that sometimes what’s represented in photos isn’t how it works in real life. Supporting ropes can be photoshopped out, and sometimes models aren’t in the air longer than the time it takes to snap the photo.

    Rope, in my humble opinion, is about energy. It’s the physical representation of sexual energy between you and partner, and it can enhance a scene like nothing else. I find joy in the process of being bound, my limbs rendered useless or as leverage to pin me into position. The feel of the rope sliding across my skin, the smell of the fibers and the heat from his hands moving me where he wants… It’s a form of intimacy, and between my sir and me, it’s about love and desire and domination.

    Even with the best of intentions, rope can also be unwieldy, unruly and a pain in the ass for everyone including experienced riggers. Like anything else in BDSM, it’s good to take your time to gain experience because although we love the thrill and the rush, we want to do it safely. No pinched nerves or cut off circulation, please.

    Finding a person to tie you up won’t be hard. If you check out a fetish website like Fetlife, you’ll find ALL sorts of people who are into rope, and a bunch of them would love to get their hands on you. But you want to find someone you can trust who will make your safety a priority, someone who will respect your boundaries and limits. Rope doesn’t have to include sex, but if it does you want to make doubly sure that you’re playing with someone that you respect and trust. So how do you find this person?

    The first step is for you to know something about rope bondage. Education is the key to empowerment and making your rope fantasies come true, and you need to make make good, informed choices to do so. I’m not saying that you need a Master’s Degree, but you should attend some basic rope classes. You won’t need a partner to attend, but it’s great moral support if you can find a friend to go with you. If you search Fetlife for groups in your area, you’ll be sure to find one in your city or the closest one to your location. Another good resource would be to find your local munch. Make friends with leaders in your local kink community, and they can point you in the direction of knowledgeable rope people. Once you know a little more about rope then you’ll know better what you’re looking for in a rope partner. Classes will also give you the chance to get tied up in a public place with an experienced teacher watching over you. DON’T believe someone’s line about having a “private dungeon” where they insist on tying you alone.

    The bottom line is that the more you know about rope and your own desires, the more you’ll be able to ascertain what it is that you want for your own personal rope experience. Keep in mind that all of us are on a journey, and your thoughts and ideas about rope will change as you gain experience. Be kind to yourself as you discover your path, and be smart. Don’t go with the first person who tosses a hank of rope in your direction.

    Hugs in hemp,

    Heather

    P.S. Here’s a pic of me in a shibari tie for my next book cover.

    Edwardian2 (1)