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‘Kinky Sex’ Category

  1. Dear Nikki: How Much is Too Much?

    June 16, 2013 by Nikki Blue

    Dear Nikki,

    I have a really great group of friends who know I’m kinky. It’s an amazing feeling to finally be myself without worrying about what others think. My friends have been very supportive of my kinky endeavors and are very open about sex themselves. We love to sit around and talk about things that would make most people’s ears hurt, but lately when I bring up sex, one friend in particular changes the subject. The first few times it happened I thought I was reading too much into it. But now she clearly takes control of the conversation or clams up altogether and I feel like she’s judging me. Should I confront her about her attitude change?

    Baffled in Baltimore

     

    Dearest Baffled,

    Coming out of the kinky closet to your friends takes sizeable gonads, my kinkalicious friend, so let me give you a big high five for that brave moment. And I agree with you wholeheartedly. It is amazing when you feel safe enough to let your hair down among friends, sharing the parts of you that normally require a super secret password to unlock. It’s like you can finally breathe. This newly found freedom, however, comes with the responsibility of establishing boundaries that everyone is comfortable with.

    I remember the hot wave of relief that rolled through me the first time I divulged my kinky nature to my friends and they didn’t hunt me down like the village ogre wielding pitchforks and buckets of holy water. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, and to my surprise, a few of them unveiled their own little juicy box of lifestyle secrets. I no longer had to hide my kinky tendencies and that level of comfort is a fan-fucking-tastic feeling. So I empathize about wanting to spew the contents of your kinky wishlist to your accepting friends.

    It sounds like one of them, at least, has had her fill of your sexploits, and she may be trying to clue you into the need for a subject change by hijacking the conversation. I understand your focus may be on sharing every delicious detail of your kinky sexcapades with your friends and you may not be thinking about limits outside of a BDSM scene, but you need to keep boundaries in mind as they relate to friendships as well.

    Balance plays an important role in any type of relationship. It’s all about give and take, and if you try to make your sex life the primary topic of conversation with your friends, you’re doing all of the taking and none of the giving. And by giving I mean listening to what they have to say about their partners and what’s going on in their lives too. You’re assuming that everyone is interested in hearing the particulars of your kinky lifestyle, and I have a sneaking suspicion this assumption is what is making your friend uncomfortable. I highly recommend you put the brakes on the sexy talk, otherwise your friend may redraw the boundaries of your friendship to include less of you in her life.

    Have a heart to heart with your friend. Ask her what is bothering her and be prepared to listen, offering an apology if you feel it’s necessary. Don’t apologize for being who you are (never apologize for that), but for monopolizing the conversation and forgetting to listen. Then maybe smoke a peace pipe, slam a shot of tequila or whatever you agree on, and get back to the give-and-take that good friends experience. Don’t get me wrong though, if your audience is open to it, you can talk about group sex and slapping your partner’s cock until the cows come home. Just remember to ask what’s new in their lives, and maybe talk about the blowout BOGO sale going on at the grocery store. Or what a douchebag your best friend’s ex-husband is.

    See? It’s all about balance, baby.

    *hugs*
    Nikki

    Category Kinky Sex | Tags: ,, | 1 Comment

  2. My First Orgy

    February 5, 2013 by Heather Cole

    This past Saturday I experienced a first. I attended my very first orgy with absolutely no idea of what that would entail exactly. I had some general impressions from Hollywood, of course. I’ve watched Rome on HBO, people. If orgies were like TV, then I knew what was supposed to go down: barely clothed, toga-wearing people eating and drinking, sprawled across chaise lounges, the space full of writhing bodies and wandering… hands. I had the Hollywood idea in my head of a free-for-all sex party, but it wasn’t the nudity or sex that made me nervous; I was anxious about the “free” part.

    Over the past month I’ve realized that I share best, both physically and emotionally, when I’m grounded in the surety of my relationships with my partners. This shouldn’t have been a shocking revelation, least of all to me. But when my girlfriend, Liri, invited me to an orgy thrown for her boyfriend, Matt, the free-for-all sex party sparked some anxiety. I suddenly felt uncertain. The fearful voice in my head whispered that no romantic partner of mine would want me to attend such a thing.

    I felt torn by the contradiction. On one hand I identified as a sex slave, and part of me got off on being used for sex in whatever way my partner wished. I enjoyed multiple partners in various configurations, so an orgy would appear to be right up my alley. If the writers for Rome were correct, Saturday was supposed to be about letting go to have sex with whomever crossed my lap. The flip side of that desire was that I was painfully aware of boundaries, and it was my worst nightmare to go bungling through them. Or worse, I feared that I could make a sexual advance or indulge in a sexual act that somehow jeopardized a friendship or my romantic relationships. I asked myself if it was possible to enjoy an orgy at all while honoring the parameters of my relationships and the boundaries of others.

    Some days I feel like I over-articulate my emotions, but I’ve survived a relationship where I relied on a traditional construct, a marriage contract, to convey my love and loyalty without actually voicing those sacred feelings. I’ll never take such things for granted again. And I think what I needed to hear from Zen and Liri and Boy Scout was that they felt as committed to me, in their unique and different ways, as I was to them. I needed them to know that no matter who I had sex with at the orgy, none of that jeopardized my love and relationships with them.

    I felt better after I talked to everyone, but there was one last piece I was missing. My safe haven of rules and commands where I have one focus, to serve my Sir. My poly relationships don’t work because of a list of rules we give each other. My D/s dynamic, however, works precisely for that reason. I confessed that I needed some rules in order to navigate the orgy to both Boy Scout and Liri even though it was difficult for me to voice that need out loud. I articulated that I craved to be put in my place and marked. I needed to go into that situation knowing I was owned, and even though it was a sexy free-for-all, I had to be grounded. My poly relationships were all in order. I needed my D/s dynamic to be too.

    How does this slave go about getting her needs met in the face of an impending orgy? I called it “full-blown brat mode,” and I learned some valuable things as a result. For example, I can’t say “shut up” to Sir. I can’t call him a “good boy.” And I sure as fuck can’t eat his fresh-off-the-conveyor belt Krispy Kreme donut while he’s out walking the dog. When I opened the door to Matt’s house on Saturday, I had bruises on my back and ass, compliments of Sir and his belt.

    I walked into the kitchen wearing a short black dress and red heels and got a drink. Several guests couldn’t make it, so it was going to be in intimate orgy of seven. We stood around the kitchen island making small talk and eating hors d’oeuvres until Liri asked, “why the fuck are you still wearing clothes?” I blinked at her in surprise and replied, “you didn’t tell me otherwise.” Naturally my clothes came off (I’m a good girl that way), and she invited everyone upstairs to play the game, “let’s see how many times we can make my girlfriend come.” That’s a kick ass game, by the way. I have to add that it was also a bit surreal. At one point there were four people covering parts of my body with kisses and bites as my girlfriend used the Hitachi on my clit and Laccaria used the nJoy on my G-spot. Then there was the roundtable of friendship spanks while kissing the sweet lips of the woman across the table from me. There were ice cubes on my clit as I breathed in the sweet cleavage of a voluptuous female, and I squealed against her skin when Liri left teeth marks on my red, paddled ass. Yes, I believe that can be classified as some wanton sexual revelry.

    It wasn’t an episode of Rome, though. For one thing, we weren’t paid actors who had to pretend to have sex with people that they pretended to be attracted to. There wasn’t a casting agent to ensure that every person who attended had the correct attitude for the orgy. Nor was there a script to follow where everyone fucked and was sexually satisfied. We were real people, most of us good friends, and we had regular human concerns like having a bad bout of PMS and being stressed out from an impending move. There were relationships in flux, and people who weren’t in the mood to fuck… we were regular people at an orgy with our own baggage and our own expectations that sometimes didn’t mesh.

    I had my clothes pulled off twice before I could finally get out the door, and if I wasn’t the dedicated blogger that you read here every week, I would have stayed naked and stayed a helluva lot later. But I drove home like a good writer should and texted my people that I was safe and sound and in bed. That was the best part… saying I love you to all three of them before I closed my eyes. I really am one of the luckiest girls in the world.

    Category Kinky Sex | Tags: ,,, | 15 Comments

  3. Naughty Girls Need Aftercare Too

    June 23, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    There was a time in my life when I prided myself on my ability to have no-strings-attached sex. I could fuck like a man. And I was good at it. Whether it was a one night stand that happened after a night of cocktails or an established sexual relationship, I was able to disconnect myself emotionally. It was just sex, nothing more. That’s what I told myself anyway. I refused to be seen as a needy piece of ass, albeit a fantastic one. I thought that allowing myself to be held close after sex, showed weakness. And I was anything but weak.

    Truth be told, I didn’t understand the importance of aftercare until I met Heather and I began to unravel the twisted threads of my life that had been shoved into a box and buried. I didn’t even know there was a name for it. I didn’t know that it was an essential component of being made to feel safe. And I definitely didn’t think it applied to me. I was wrong.

    I needed the aftercare that I’d spent my life resisting. I needed it when I felt exposed and vulnerable after the handcuffs had been removed from my wrists that secured me to the bed. And I needed it after I was spanked bare-handed until I was sore and bruised. But I would have chewed my tongue off before admitting it.

    I can’t help but wonder if my life would’ve been different had I accepted aftercare on the occasions it was offered. Would I have been less guarded with my emotions? It’s hard to say. Would the struggle to understand my desires have been less painstaking? Possibly. Maybe if I had allowed more intimacy into my sexual relationships trust would have followed and I would’ve felt a sense of wholeness. Maybe my mistakes would’ve been fewer as I searched for answers. Just maybe, I would’ve been happier.

    I finally realized I needed aftercare the first time the overwhelming need to please my partner swept over me. His warm breath on the back of my neck gave me chills as he wrapped his fingers around my wrists. I wasn’t expecting the submissive in me to be unleashed as I gave him the part of my body he worships the most. But it happened. As I lay curled against him with my fingers tangled in the hair of his chest, I understood that allowing him to hold me close while reassuring me that I was a good girl didn’t make me weak or needy. It made me human.

    Our relationship wouldn’t work without those moments of raw intimacy. It’s what keeps me feeling safe with him. And that safety is what allows me to trust him with everything I am. I know that no matter how far he pushes me, he’ll respect me. And he’ll always give me the aftercare I need.

     

     

     

    Category Kinky Sex | Tags: ,, | 6 Comments

  4. The Meaning of Kinky

    March 2, 2012 by Heather Cole

    This post is dedicated to my friends, new and old, who have helped me, through their own journeys, see mine more clearly. Thank you.

     

    When I originally conceived of this post, I planned on starting with a basic vocabulary of kinky terminology. Nikki and I toss around kinky words like popcorn, but for much of our readership, there’s confusion about what it all means. In response, I made a page with a list of basic terms AND some resources that I found very helpful when I was figuring out what kinky meant to me. You can find it here.

    So why did my writing plans change? Well, because this morning I’m going for a biopsy. It will be a ten minute procedure at the doctor’s office, but the implications of what it means have been impacting my life for weeks. I’m not afraid. I know that whatever the doctors find or don’t find, I’ll deal with it. I’m strong and healthy and I have a great support network. The catalyst that spurred my spate of introspection was a comment made by my mother. Under the guise of caring and concern, she implied that the anomaly in my pap smear was a result of my lifestyle choices. I love my mother, and we’re very close, so these words were like a sledgehammer to my heart.

    Not so long ago, my mother asked what “being kinky” meant. I believe I gave her the worst explanation ever, because she didn’t want to know specifically what it meant to me. She didn’t want to know what got her daughter off, about the leather collar and the floggers and the man who dominated her. She wanted a generalized description, so I stumbled through an explanation of what I knew other kinksters enjoyed. It was a disaster all around, and I ended the call knowing that for the first time in my life, my mother was afraid for me. Afraid of my choices.

    This is the kick-in-the-nuts truth about being kinky: THERE IS NO HARD AND FAST DEFINITION OF WHAT BEING KINKY MEANS. There are as many versions of kink as there are stars in the sky. What does it for me may not do it for you. And just because we may be different, I would never say that you are or aren’t kinky. I’m beginning to agree with the Dom that Nikki referenced. Why call it kink? My sexual practices are perfectly “normal” from my perspective.

    This acceptance is sometimes hard to find in other people. It’s even harder to find within ourselves. That’s what I’ve been grappling with over these past weeks, my mother’s judgment only brought it to my attention. As much progress as I’ve made with accepting who I am as a submissive pain slut, that definition is evolving and it’s uncomfortable to feel uncertain. There’s no denying the fact that I’m a different woman today than I was even three months ago.

    I resist labels, because they’re stagnant. They work as a general, all-purpose shortcut in a conversation, but they’re not dynamic or flexible. I call myself a slave, but I have more freedom than many other submissives do. Other Doms wouldn’t tolerate my bratty mouth or my insistence at independence, but M says that I’m perfect for him. I’m a powerful human being whether I’m negotiating a writing contract, taking my child to the park or kneeling at my Master’s feet. No matter what I call myself or the toys I use, no matter who I choose to fuck and how I choose to fuck them, my sexuality is beauty, and power and joy. I engage my partners with love and respect, and I try to give as much as I receive.

    I don’t know if my mother and I will ever talk about kink again. I will answer her honestly if she asks, because I know myself and I will always try to speak my truth. Calling me kinky doesn’t really explain anything except to say that I’m different. And sweeties, that difference gives me some earth-shattering orgasms.

    Category BDSM, Heather, Kinky Sex | Tags: ,,,,, | No Comments

  5. What I Didn’t Know Was A Lot

    February 13, 2012 by Heather Cole

    When did I realize that I truly was a masochist? The day I spanked myself thirty times with a thick wooden spoon, of course. I was alone with M on the phone, his voice at its smoothest and most polite. The tone that told me my ass was grass. Or in this case, black and blue. I was bent over the back of a plush chair, my skirt bunched around my waist. The wooden spoon was the biggest size they sold at Williams-Sonoma and I had originally purchased it to stir giant pitchers of sweet tea at family picnics. Until that exact moment, I had no idea it would be an instrument of torture on my pale skin. I also didn’t know that I would be inflicting the strikes myself per the instructions of the dominant voice on the phone. This, my darlings, was the beginning of my relationship with M. At one point not so very long ago, he was my eDom. A man whom I had never met in person yet trusted with my body and soul.

    True to the nature of online relationships, our courtship was a lightning strike. He singled me out of a group tweet with Nikki as we bantered back and forth about our kids. Watching M and Nikki tweet back and forth was like watching a knife fight. They fought dirty, and after a few half-hearted thrusts, I retired to the sidelines to watch them duel. When M sent me a direct message, I couldn’t fathom his intention. He told me I’d make a good submissive, and I almost spewed coffee all over my laptop. My response was, “I don’t think I’d make a good sub. I’m usually the aggressor.”

    As I read back over the emails we traded, M came across detached and in control. I called him by his first name, and I was bratty. Brattier than I am today, if you can believe that. I told him that he’d have to “earn” the right to the title Master, and to my surprise he agreed. He explained that my submission to him was a gift and that it was his intention to earn my respect and the right to be called Master. We didn’t discuss “ownership” and he didn’t throw around a lot of kinky terminology. We eased into it together, it seems, in a way that I can only describe as organic.

    What amazed me about that first conversation was that once I accepted my submissiveness, I assumed there would be pain as well. I slipped into the role as if it were an old coat, well-used and comfortable. It was like finding the key to a mysterious lock I had been carrying around for years. Suddenly, everything seemed to fit. I wrote, “have you ever had a moment where you hear something and it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting to hear, but you never knew it? Reading your last message I just had one of those aha! moments.

    “So now I’m a quivering mass of…everything…”

    eDoms conduct their submissives and play partner relationships electronically, and it’s the perfect way to learn the ins and outs (pun completely intended) of a potential partner. M and I were a couple that needed the next physical step to real life. We knew from the start that we would have to meet. I ached to feel his hands on me, his breath in my ear as he commanded me to my knees and punished my body. Email only took me so far. Even now I need to taste, touch and fuck him to be completely satisfied. However, our online Master/slave interactions allowed us the time to explore each other in a completely safe manner.

    We traded pictures of what we liked and wrote erotic scenarios back and forth, but the big test came when M told me to fetch the wooden spoon. At one point I seemed to watch myself from an outside perspective and had the thought, “what the holy fuck am I doing?” The slave in me responded with certainty that M knew what he was doing, and that he was steering us in the direction that we both needed. Sometimes I’m a helluva better slave than independent woman, but don’t quote me on that. I don’t want M thinking I’m too pliable.

    I feel extremely fortunate that my online relationship with M was able to evolve into something dynamic and fulfilling in our real lives. But without that foundation to our relationship, I don’t think we’d be half as amazing as we are together. I know M and trust him in a way that may have been impossible if we began in person. There are as many versions of kink as there are stars in the sky, and I realize that the way we developed wouldn’t work for everyone. I’m grateful, though. Grateful to the bottom of my greedy, bratty, little slave heart.

    Category BDSM, Heather, Kinky Sex | Tags: ,,,, | 1 Comment

  6. Setting The Bar

    January 12, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    Nikki

    The search for the right playmate can be quite challenging and downright exhausting. Figuring out which avenue to travel down to find the one you seek can make your head feel like it will explode in all directions like a pipe bomb, brain matter and common sense splattered all over the wall. Clean up can be a real bitch.

    When my 15 year marriage reached the point where it was irrevocably broken, it was painfully obvious that I needed an outlet to rediscover my sexual self that had been pushed down deep into sleep mode. So with the guidance of a close friend (after Heather stole him from me), I created a profile on Ashley Madison because according to them life is short and I needed to have an affair. I was honest and straight forward when I laid my guts out on the table for all to see, exposing my wants, my needs and my desire to be dominated. Most of the inquiries I received were Photoshopped cock shots and emails laced with boorishness as they explicitly described how they wanted to bend me over and fuck me senseless having never seen my face. I decided it was hopeless and I finally hid my profile safely away from the feeding frenzy.

    On a whim one afternoon, I made it public again as I scrolled through profile after profile of hungry men touting their sexual prowess and was impressed by exactly zero of them. Disappointed again, I hovered over the ‘save changes’ button to hide myself away when I spotted an email from a member whose screen name contained one of my favorite words.

    ‘Naughty.’

    As I read his profile thoroughly, I immediately noticed his words were well written and typo free, my eyes falling on the keywords I sought.

    ‘Alpha, Kinky, Dominant.’

    Could it be? Did I get lucky and stumble across a Dominant on a vanilla dating site? The words were there and his profile screamed it, but was it too good to be true? There was only one way to find out and we wasted no time in getting to know each other. We exchanged dirty texts and had fiery hot phone sex where he reminded me often that he would be claiming my ass as well as the rest of me. I purred lustfully when he said that I’d be on my knees with his rock hard cock in my mouth within 15 seconds after walking through the door and I knew he meant it.

    I called Heather to tell her everything and her laugh grew deeper the way it tends to do when we talk about sex. “You have hit the motherfucking jackpot sweetie,” she said.

    After weeks of verbal torture, we met for coffee and desires quickly escalated to the need for privacy. I stood tall and pantyless as instructed in my 5 inch heels as I walked through the hotel room door behind him, my heart hammering in my chest because this man was exactly the type of kryptonite that would make me lose myself. He didn’t need to remind me of the ’15 second rule’ and was impressed with my eagerness to please. The afternoon crawled by as he bound my wrists behind my back and shoved my face into a pillow, doing things that made me call out to God, loudly I might add. I briefly wondered if there was any hair left on my head and how much mascara I had on my face, but the sting of his hand again made me forget it mattered.

    The problem here is that the ‘15 Second Rule’ has set the bar so high other experiences have paled in comparison. There are a couple I wish I could forget altogether. I’ve learned that a nightmare inducing jackrabbit fuck can be cleverly disguised by sleeve tattoos and overall hotness. And that surprisingly, there is a wrong way to spank. Nobody wants a bruised tailbone people. Trust me on this. And lastly, fingers are supposed to elicit feelings of desire not the need to pee.

    —————————–

     

    Heather

    This blog post had me awake at 4:00 a.m., my brain whirring along at a fast clip wondering what the hell I was going to say. I was also feeling irritated by the ghost in my house, Fred, who insisted on flushing the toilet. Seven times in a row. But I digress…

    Finding playmates is particularly challenging when you’re a mess of contradictions. The fact is that I’m still figuring out what the fuck I’m doing. I devoted myself to a traditional marriage that stifled and controlled me. Years passed where I thought that a monogamous straight relationship was what I wanted and needed. Now that I’m out, I’m a bit overwhelmed by the options and the intricacies. So that’s what you’re going to read here:  a whole lot of all over the place.

    Like Nikki, I’m certain of several things. I don’t have a ‘15 Second Rule’ exactly, but I know that I’m a pain slut. There is a part of me that can only be satisfied by being tied up and beaten. I adore a good flogging, and I have a love/hate relationship with a certain crop. There are times when nothing feels better than going to my knees with a thick leather collar around my neck, waiting for my next instruction, my heart thundering inside my ribcage as I eagerly anticipate the next bite of pain.

    I have a Master who does this to me. I am his pet, his plaything, his fucktoy, and he is one sadistic bastard. I adore him for it, and the bar he set is high. Very, very high. There are pics and video as proof, but he’s not sharing.

    I can’t be pet all the time, though. I don’t want to be. I want other sexual relationships outside of the kink world. Men and women, I want the opportunity to worship them both. Of course, I’ve learned more about what I don’t want: the kisser who slobbers all over my face and the guy who swears he doesn’t like blow jobs. (We’re talking a candidate for lunacy, right there.)

    A word to the wise, please don’t tell me my breasts are smaller than your girlfriend’s breasts. It will just make me knee you in the balls.

    Category Kinky Sex | Tags: ,, | No Comments