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Posts Tagged ‘menage’

  1. An Almost Threesome

    March 13, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Happy girl kissed by two young boys

     

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

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

    What can I say? I’m a planner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Stay,” sir told me. “Good girl.”

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

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

    The man had gone home without ever touching me.

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

    Nah.

     


  2. What Heteroflexible Means for Me

    September 11, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    Black and white photo of two sexy lady in underwear

    There has been a lot of talk about labeling sexuality lately, mine and Mr. K’s in particular. We’re always changing, it seems; evolving. One of the questions we’ve pondered is, “are we considered swingers since our playtime with other couples is really more of a tangled heap of body parts than merely swapping partners?” We’ve also mulled over, “are we true BDSM switches? Or are we simply primal?”

    Who the fuck knows anymore? But more importantly, why does it matter? To be frank, it doesn’t.

    I find the concept of labels baffling. In general, I feel like they’re unfair, tend to dislike them immensely, and work hard to keep them from sticking. In my past, I’ve been hurt by labels, and I rebelled against the stigma as I tried to make them fit the way I wanted, on my terms. Yet in the context of BDSM, I find I need a label to define who I am; the things I like.

    See? Confusing.

    It’s no secret that I’ve had sex with women. I quite enjoy it, and people who know this about me are quick to assume I’m bisexual. Maybe I am, by all intents and purposes, but for my comfort, the label is too cut and dry. It just doesn’t fit well. I don’t have the desire to date women, nor am I sexually attracted to them. However, given the opportunity, I will fuck a lovely lady in a hot minute, but only if Mr. K’s supervisory penis is within grasping distance. When I explain this, I’m usually met with lots of wide-eyed blinking, and when I label myself as heteroflexible, because ‘sexually fluid’ isn’t one, I see more of the whole deer in the headlights thing. It’s really not that complicated, though. Well, in my mind it’s not.

    Wikipedia defines heteroflexibilty as a sexual orientation or situational sexual behavior characterized by minimal homosexuality activity despite being primarily heterosexual. This differs from bisexuality.

    For the majority of people, I think defining their sexuality is relatively easy. They either distinctly identify with a certain sexual orientation or they don’t. It can be pretty basic stuff, but for those of us who flow over the lines, labeling identity can be a complex choice and widely misunderstood.

    When I began writing this blog post nearly two weeks ago… Oh stop. Have you not read The Method to My Madness? It ain’t pretty, y’all. Anyway, I had the idea that explaining my sexual fluidity would be easy peasy. And it was when I started, but then it took all kinds of turns into how the defined lines of different orientations tend to blur for some kinksters, in my opinion. Before I knew it, I found myself constructing a picket sign with “Can’t we all just get along sexually?” written in sparkly glitter.

    Clearly, I’d drifted way off course.

    To put it simply: I like to fuck women, but I need Mr. K’s penis close by or inside me to do so…I am the dominant one… I feel submissive…

    Wait, what?

    And the course shifted again. I didn’t even see it coming, but there it was in bright blue neon flashing lights with a purple outline. It was so bright, so sharp it blew up because the revelation was that powerful. Like Dirk Diggler in Boogie Nights.

    Oh, stop judging me. Like I would ever pass on an opening like that one.

    But what the fuck? When I feel submissive, it’s only to Mr. K, not to the women we play with. I am the dominant one, dammit!

    <stamps foot>

    Seriously, though. I’m not sure why I’m naturally dominant when it comes to women, but I am. And honestly, I don’t know how I would respond to a woman who wasn’t sexually submissive.

    Would I fight for dominance over her? I tend to think I would, and Mr. K agrees.

    “Unless I told you otherwise,” he said.

    I saw what he did there, which led me to believe he’s known this about me for some time.

    Well played, Mr. K. Well played indeed.

    The thing is, I’ve always been the dominant one with the sexy ladies we’ve played with. Hell, their husbands too, for that matter. I’ve seen the recognition in the way they look at me, felt it grow thick in the air between us, and I’ve fed heartily from the power of it. Mr. K has even said witnessing the control I have in those moments is what gets him off when we play with other couples.

    God, I love that man.

    When I have my wicked way with a woman, though, I don’t dare to climb inside of her head, taking great pleasure in seducing her thoughts with my words in the way I do Mr. K’s. That need doesn’t surface. What I give her is purely physical, but what I take runs very deep.

    The intense desire to please him blooms inside me under his watchful eye. I feel the heat of his gaze memorizing every flick of my tongue between soft, slick folds, every plunge of my fingers into the depths of her wanton mound as I bring her to orgasm. He is proud of me; proud that I am his. I sense his love for me, his pride. It swells– takes my breath and washes over me. It’s an amazing high.

    With all of that having been said, I’m not any one thing, sexually speaking. I flow freely in the moment, doing what feels right, whatever it may be. I am THAT girlfriend– the best one ever, according to Mr. K. He allows my sexual fluidity, encourages it and that, my friends, I wouldn’t have any other way.


  3. Bangin’ Basics: A Guide to Group Sex

    April 10, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    When Mr. K and I added swinging to our sex resume, we were excruciatingly specific about our wants, limits, and expectations. Simply fucking another man and woman in a full swap, different room– or same room –scenario held no appeal to us. We wanted a tangled pile of body parts, shared orgasms, and a pleasurable daisy chain of sorts. And what we needed was to always touch and be a part of whatever it was the other was experiencing in that moment. And because our wants and needs are what they are, “dating” other couples can be tricky. Setting out to mesh two personalities together is challenging enough, but working with four of them can be extra sticky. Heh. Extra sticky… Get it?

    <ahem>

    With that having been said, swinging is really no different from dating. In fact, it’s the same thing. Even with another couple, you will still have first date jitters, naked blunders, and sometimes, people just don’t click. And that’s okay. All of it. There are no hard and fast rules when it comes to swinging. However, if you are taking the sexy skillset into consideration, there are a few words of advice I would like to offer. Of course, it should all be taken with a squeeze of lube. And a condom. Definitely a condom.

    1. Having snacks and beverages of some sort on hand is a super fantastic idea for that sustenance intermission from group sexy-time, and trust me, you will need one. But, do NOT refer to a pause in the action as a “first quarter food break.” Or any sports related analogy, for that matter. And for fuck’s sake, let the woman eat without her boob in your mouth. It’s just weird.

    2. Orally sharing your man’s cock can be loads of fun, but it’s a difficult concept for some to grasp, apparently. And while I understand not all men are fluent in the language of cock, if you consistently try to stick your tongue into my mouth while I am enjoying Mr. K’s wonderfully hard cock, I will reach a point where I shove your mouth on it until you gag. Probably.

    3. If you play with a couple you have met in an online community for swingers, chances are they’ve taken the time to write a detailed profile, listing their experiences and fantasies. The point of it is to establish common ground and mutual desires. It’s not to be treated like a sexual bucket list. Remember, sugarbritches, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and the amount of trust required for double penetration isn’t either.

    4. Respect everyone’s limits. When a couple says ALL anal play is off limits, it’s not an invitation to push it. Whether it’s sneaking licks of her asshole or trying to shove an unwelcome vibrator up his ass, stop that shit.

    5. It seems some who enjoy the lifestyle don’t care to fuck their respective partners during group grope sessions. And that’s fine. But others, like Mr. K and myself, immensely enjoy coming together often throughout playtime. Pun totally intended. If you’re not into that, though, if you are full swap, different room players, disclose that information upfront so prospective playmates can decide whether or not you are a good fit for them.

    6. When a couple says it’s time for them to leave, don’t beg for just two more minutes. It’s kind of creepy. And when your partner whispers “fake an orgasm” into your ear, flex those acting skills, baby, and go for the gold.

    7. And finally, we all know how expensive sexy things are, so when redressing at the end of the night, double check to make sure the lacy, black panties are the same ones you walked in with. Just sayin’.

    Also, on a first date, I strongly caution against inviting your new friends for a sleepover. As fun as it may sound to frolick into the wee hours of the night, it’s just too much way too fucking soon. Keep in mind that they will probably need time alone to reconnect with each other, reflect on the evening, and re-hydrate with a big-ass Coke with lots of ice from the 7-11, erm, maybe.


  4. Dear Nikki: Sexy Time Safety

    February 28, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    Nikki,

    Just a note to ooh and ahh about your blog. I imagine sitting around a kitchen table with you and Heather over a bottle of wine while enjoying (and admittedly being incredibly turned on by) your tales in person. A room filled with laughter and suggestive lip chewing. How fun to have a girlfriend to share your adventures with. Know how grateful I am you two so candidly share via the blog.

    While I have a zillion questions may I ask just one? When you and Mr. K play with others you have referenced condoms. What ground rules did you two establish for ‘protection’ when mingling?

    Thanks in advance!
    Rachel

     

    Dear Rachel,

    Heather and I love, love, LOVE ooh’s and ahh’s! Truthfully, they make us downright giddy. And having a bestie to share the intimate and explicit details of sexy time is totally swoon worthy. Hell, Heather knows the inside of my vagina almost as well as Mr. K. There was even a time when she referred to my updates as “The Vagina Report.” Kind of like Inside Story, but way juicier.

    If you’ve read Vagina Antics for any length of time you know I’m super serious when it comes to safe sex. And because my vag is the delicate flower that it is, arriving at the decision to play with another couple made for bumpier travels than agreeing to share another woman. But the ground rules for protection in both scenarios were simple: No condoms, No penetration.

    For us, the use of condoms when playing with a couple safeguards against more than the possibility of infections. It protects the implicit trust and incredible intimacy we share in private. And that’s something neither of us are willing to trade for a bareback romp with others.

    Fingers, however, are a little more challenging to control. They can slide out of one orifice and into another before it’s realized, so if you’re terribly paranoid like me, I suggest keeping a handy-dandy pack of antibacterial wipes next to the bed for quick swipes in between.

    The use of condoms greatly reduce the risk of acquiring an STI/STD, but HPV and HSV are spread through skin-to-skin contact. This means that even if you’re nekkid dry humping or getting down with some super hot mutual masturbation, HPV and HSV can be transmitted if present. And they don’t always present symptoms which is why protection is an absolute must when expanding your play circle.

    When it comes to opening your bed up to another couple, never assume they are infection/disease free because they’re married or in a long-term relationship. And don’t wait for them to volunteer the information. Step up and ask. It really is that simple. But even then– unless you exchange test results –you only have them at their word. So unless they’re swearing on a bible in front of a Supreme Court judge, protect yourself. Play smart and play it safe.

    Hugs,
    Nikki


  5. 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.