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Posts Tagged ‘voyeurism’

  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. An Almost Threesome

    March 13, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Happy girl kissed by two young boys


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

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

    What can I say? I’m a planner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Stay,” sir told me. “Good girl.”

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

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

    The man had gone home without ever touching me.

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



  3. Handjob Heather

    November 19, 2013 by Heather Cole

    I stood in a room surrounded by dominant women and the men and women who served them. There was a table full of food, sodas and water, and at first glance it looked like any other type of meet-and-greet. People milled around talking and eating, the new submissives in the group meeting the Dommes and asking questions. What made the evening different for me was the person who “owned” me for the evening, a Domme. This night I was Timber’s toy, and although I had a vague understanding of what that involved, I had no idea what was going to actually happen besides a thorough beating by Timber and her rifle case full of implements.

    We had spoken at length about what we liked in a scene and what we didn’t. She had coordinated with my sir, and they had both talked to me about our expectations for the night. I was wearing the outfit that Timber had picked out for me; a black silk skirt with pink beading that matched my pink bra and no panties. My hair was pulled into two pigtails and then pinned into low buns, and my makeup was done in pastel hues.

    “Look what I brought tonight!” she told a friend. Introductions were made as my skirt was yanked to the side. Timber’s hand came down with a loud smack on my thigh, and I winced. “Doesn’t she mark up nicely? She’s going to be my Barbie doll for the evening.”

    “Action Barbie?” I asked, trying to be helpful. Timber cocked her head and surveyed me for a moment like I was a piece of steak at the butcher.

    “No, I think I’ll call you Handjob Heather.” Everyone laughed, me included, but I had a serious case of the butterflies.

    Timber first caught my attention when I watched her manhandle a male submissive at rope class. Her energy and joy for domination were infectious, and it made me sit up and take notice. I felt the urge to sit at her feet and say, “pet me, pet me, pet me, pleasepleasepleaseplease!” There were very few dominant personalities that made me want to instinctively submit right out of the box, and Timber was one of them. I asked permission from sir to start a dialogue with her, and although she first thought I was contacting her for lessons in how to be dominant (yes, I’m still laughing about that) we soon began discussing a time/day to play. My first Timber experience happened at the fall Slave Hunt where she chewed up one of my sides and down the other, but it wasn’t until she borrowed me for the female domination evening that we experienced one-on-one play.

    Timber sat on a couch and patted her lap. I perched on her knee until she pulled me back against her, one arm coming around me in a tight grip. She then motioned to a male submissive that I recognized from rope class. He had also been tied up to the post with me at the Slave Hunt, but we hadn’t had the opportunity to have a conversation.

    “On your knees,” she ordered, and then she pulled up my skirt. I squeaked in surprise, and she smacked a hand over my mouth. “Dolls don’t speak,” she chided.

    I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as the submissive inched closer to my exposed pussy. Four or five people stood watching, but I couldn’t meet anybody’s gaze. It was mortifying and thrilling, and I knew I was wet.

    “Closer,” Timber commanded. “You need to get familiar with this pussy. This is going to be the doll I use to teach you how to stimulate a clitoris like you would a penis. She should be able to feel your breath on her pussy lips. Get in there!” She grabbed him by the hair with one hand and shoved his face in between my spread thighs.

    I felt a thousand things in that moment; embarrassed, objectified, desired, aroused… His breath felt cool against my hot skin, and I blushed even harder at the thought that he could smell my arousal. Then Timber told the sub he could stand, and everyone went back to their snacking and chatting. Timber stroked my hair and praised me for being a good toy. Part of me couldn’t believe that a strange man’s face had been millimeters from my vagina, but I was happy that Timber was pleased. I couldn’t wait to go home and tell sir all about my experience.

    While we waited for people to start playing, Timber told me to lie down on a spanking bench. She smiled above me and began scratching at the skin beneath my collarbone.

    “I’m going to brand you with a T. By the end of tonight you’ll be sweaty and smelling like me. Then your master is going to see this brand.” She laughed loudly at my expression. “It’s going to be like two bears scratching at the same tree!”

    Somehow she didn’t break the skin, but when the ‘T’ was red and angry looking, she began snapping a rubber band along the outline. I held my breath and wished it was finished. When I was permitted to look down, a bright red T was emblazoned on my chest, a real scarlet letter.

    When Timber indicated that it was time to play, I ended up naked and cuffed to a padded leather board. Timber set her case nearby on a stool and started throwing a flogger up and down my back and ass. It had a stingy thud that made the breath catch in my throat. I silently reminded myself to keep breathing and eventually there was a different flogger, then a wooden paddle, a crop and a dragon tail. There were other things, but I lost track. Timber checked in with me several times, and I thought I was managing, but the pain was intense. She favored the sensitive curve of skin right beneath my ass, and I knew from the throbbing heat along the back of my thighs that I wouldn’t be able to sit without remembering her attentions. I danced back and forth, pulling at the cuffs in a vain attempt to avoid Timber’s paddle. She laughed and encouraged me to continue, telling me that I was only giving her more flesh to hit. Playing with Timber felt like being buffeted by a hurricane. The intensity continued to build until I though I would yellow. Whether she knew it or not, Timber threw me a metaphorical lifesaver and told me to count down from twenty.

    “I want everyone to hear you, Heather. Count and thank me for every hit.”

    I did exactly what she told me, and having the numbers to focus on gave me the reassurance that there was an end in sight. A floaty feeling descended as I entered subspace that was amplified when the beating stopped. Timber uncuffed me. She gently turned me around, and I saw my quilt spread out on the floor. I looked at her questioningly. She smiled and told me to lie down. Apparently the demonstration part of our scene was about to start.

    It took a few moments to get situated. I laid on my back with my head between Timber’s legs. C, the submissive man from earlier, knelt at my side and held the Hitachi. It was one of those moments where the mind fuck trumped all the physical. I wasn’t thinking straight because of my endorphin high. I was unable to think in any logical order. My thoughts were all over the place, and I eyed the Hitachi like a King Cobra. I had a love/hate relationship with it, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted an orgasm or not. See what I mean about not thinking straight?!

    First Timber fastened the clover clamps on my nipples, and then she started instructing C about how she wanted him to stroke my clit. Pleasure arched through me, a golden shimmer between the undulations of pain from my nipples. I begged for permission to come, but she denied me. C’s fingers continued their teasing torment, and I begged again. Finally she gave me permission, and I shouted with release.

    I thought it was over. I was counting on it being over, but Timber placed the chain of the clamps in my teeth. “You’re going to show me how badly you want to come by pulling off the clamps using your teeth. C, turn on the Hitachi.”

    She offered me hell and heaven in that moment. The clamps were excruciating, and pulling them in increments was the worst kind of agony, but I couldn’t fight the building pressure of the orgasm. My teeth ached from biting down and with a final jerk of my head I was free. I barely had time to announce it before the orgasm swept over me.

    There were people watching. I could feel the crowd around us, but my focus was entirely on Timber and what she wanted me to do. Even when she produced the thin cane and started hitting my breasts, I was ready to orgasm again. The pain, the pleasure, being watched and used… it all combined into this cacophony of sensation. I felt boneless, the heat of my bruised body combining with the heat created by C’s pleasurable fingers. I came apart in the best possible way, and there was nothing to be done but orgasm and plead for mercy.

    Eventually the demonstration ended, and Timber wrapped me in my quilt and cuddled me on the couch. She had made food for me, so when we got back to her place, we rehashed the evening while I drank water and ate chicken bites wrapped in bacon. It was some of the best aftercare I’ve ever received. By the time I drove home to sir, I was feeling like myself. Well, a beaten and orgasm-saturated version of myself, that is. He was in bed but not asleep, and after kissing him hello, he told me to strip. I gingerly pulled off my yoga pants and t-shirt (my going home outfit) and turned in a full circle so he could see all the welts and bruises.

    “I don’t think I authorized all that,” he said, deadpan. I promptly burst into laughter, and then he demanded to see what was on my chest.

    “It’s a T for Timber,” I said.

    “Come here so I can turn it into something else.”

    I couldn’t help myself, and I started to giggle again. “Timber was right,” I said as I laid down beside him. “Two bears scratching the same tree.”

    And here’s the proof…

    Handjob Heather


  4. Porn and Me

    March 13, 2012 by Heather Cole

    My first exposure to porn was during my sophomore year of college. The guy I was seeing suggested it at dinner, I think more as a test of how I would react than because he actually liked the idea.  We rendezvoused at his dorm room, the two of us plus his roommate, his roommate’s girlfriend and her best friend. But I wasn’t scandalized. I wasn’t even titillated. I was bored. After ten minutes I had enough of the huffing and puffing on screen and started kissing my guy. This was also the night that I first had sex in front of other people. I can’t remember a single thing about the porno, but I sure as hell remember my explosive orgasm and how amazingly hot it was to fuck in front of an audience.

    For years I assumed something had to be wrong with me when I didn’t find traditional porn satisfying. It wasn’t until I began talking to B that I stumbled upon what I liked. He had a similar meh feeling about traditional porn although I didn’t know it at the time. He sent me a DM with a link to a black and white tumblr pic, and I was hooked. I loved that moment caught in time, his fingers lightly pressed against her jaw, the second before they kissed captured on camera. I liked suggestion. Just enough to let my mind and fingers do the rest. I like women and men of different shapes and sizes, and sometimes, it’s the setting that does it for me more than the people in the photo. Our tumblr correspondence was a revelation.

    The truth of the matter is that I need room for my brain to connect with the fantasy. A picture captures just enough to start my mind humming and lets me fill in the blanks. It could be a fragment of conversation, an email, a text about how you want to kiss me. It could be a story I wrote about you, me and a stranger in a hotel room, or the ex-lover you dumped but who wants to meet me. All of that is fuel for my masturbatory fantasies, I just need a picture to light me on fire. And if it’s a pic of someone I know? Oh honey, call the fire department, I’m setting the bed alight.

    My attitude regarding porn isn’t about a particular moral or religious position. Naturally I have an opinion about what I think is well done or not and what appeals to me as a woman with a brain. My ho-hum feeling is mostly due to the fact that I’m not a voyeur. Watching others fuck doesn’t get me off. I like fucking in the same room while other people go at it or being in a situation where we’re all participating. But what really rings my chimes is when they’re watching ME fuck. My lovelies, I’m an exhibitionist. I don’t want to look at porn. I want to be in the middle of it.

    And here comes a deep, dark secret: some of my favorite porn pictures are of me. *blush* Not because I think I have the perfect body or the best O-face. I enjoy seeing the evidence of a great fuck. One pic that I like best was taken in low light, and the cum on my face gleams in the dimness. Another one is of my ass after a beating, when I was laying there, feeling rapturous and in subspace. Looking at the photos of my private collection transports me back to that moment, those feelings of being consumed yet connected by sex and my partners.

    At heart I’m a good girl. I wear dresses with pearls and vintage aprons when I bake. I pay my taxes and go to church. When the camera comes out, though, you can expect the best oral sex of your life and some crazy hot fucking. In my humble opinion, that’s the best kind of porn there is.