Men: Her Orgasm Is Not About Your Ego

This is my third post of #Smutathon2018: #SmutForChoice Edition. Please donate to our page for Abortion Support Network, and don’t forget to leave your email address or Twitter handle so we can enter you into the raffle to win some awesome sex toys!

Dear Well-Meaning Cishet Man,

This one’s for you.

You’re a good guy, right? You care about your sexual partner’s pleasure, and her orgasms. You even eat pussy! When DJ Khaled’s comments surfaced about “different rules” for men re. oral sex, you probably tweeted furiously “I’M A GUY AND I LOVE EATING PUSSY”.

A man and woman kissing. For a post about ego and sex.Well, okay. But slow down. I want you to read this with an open mind, and try not to feel attacked. That’s not my aim.

However, please – please – stop making your female partners’ orgasms about your ego! Let me explain.

When I started having partnered sex in my mid and late teens, my boyfriend compelled me to tell him I’d never had an orgasm before I met him. He’d decided this was the case.  Telling him it wasn’t seemed like it wouldn’t achieve anything but bruising his ego. He was very into the fantasy of me as the perfect innocent. So I went with it.

I think a lot of young women have similar experiences. Their (also young and often inexperienced) boyfriends want to feel like sex gods who introduce them to a world of pleasure they never knew existed before. They don’t want to hear “I’ve been having orgasms by myself for years”. This narrative is a big part of the Fifty Shades of Grey fantasy. Ana has not only never masturbated or had an orgasm. She’s never even thought a sexual thought until Christian “I-Don’t-Make-Love-I-Fuck-Hard” Grey deigns to deflower her.

How this played out for me was thus: he didn’t really know what I liked. I knew what I liked, but couldn’t tell him because then he’d known I’d – gasp – had sexual feelings and even touched myself before he showed up. So a long time was spent with him trying to get me off, and either getting pissed off that it took so long (when I got there at all) or me faking it because dude, it’s been two hours, my clit is rubbed raw. 

This is, of course, a sex education problem. We don’t teach young women that exploring their bodies is okay. We don’t teach boys that girls masturbate and hey, she might know a thing or two about her own body! Instead, we glorify this notion of “I’ve never felt anything like this before!” even when you’ve totally felt something like that before… a lot.

A big part of the problem, though, is that these attitudes don’t really change as we get older! I remember reading in a glossy magazine (it was probably Cosmo?) advice along the lines of “when he whips out a new move in bed, tell him you’ve never done that before, even though you totally did that with your ex”. (That’s how Cosmo speaks, right?) The point is that women are still supposed to coddle our male partners’ egos to the point of straight-up lying to them, in order to pretend they’re the only person who has ever unlocked our sexuality.

This also plays out in other ways. I hang out on the Sex Toys forum at Reddit and also similar groups on Fetlife, and time and again men will post: “looking for a sex toy for my partner, but it needs to not be too big or powerful. Don’t want it to replace me!” But what if that big dildo or power-tool vibrator could give their partner the best, most explosive orgasms of her life? I guess it doesn’t matter – what they’re thinking about is not her pleasure, but being upstaged.

Men: women’s sexuality does not exist to stroke your ego! If your partner has a rich and fulfilling erotic life with herself, and/or had a rich and fulfilling erotic life with other partners before you came along, this doesn’t imply anything about you! When she uses toys, she’s not replacing you!

If you want your partner to never have masturbated (or to pretend she’s never masturbated,) or if you want your partner to have never had good sex with anyone else until you came along, you are not being sex positive. You are not being a good lover. You’re making your partner’s sexuality a receptacle for your ego.

And this brings me on to the Great Pussy Eating Debate of 2018, and the problems I see with it. Obviously, what DJ Khaled said was gross, as are all the other ridiculous things straight men have said about going down on people with vulvas. However, a lot of the responses pissed me off too. A lot of men felt the need to weigh in on how THEY always go down on their partners. Which… might seem harmless but is actually indicative of a particularly insidious form of virtue signalling that often comes into play around (particularly heterosexual) sex.

Prioritising your partner’s pleasure isn’t something to brag about. It’s the bare fucking minimum.

The other place I see this kind of ego-tripping manifest is around the issue of whether or not a woman orgasms during a sexual encounter with a man – and how that orgasm happens, if indeed there is one.

Too often, I hear “I want to make her come from intercourse, no clitoral stimulation, what am I doing wrong?”.  What you’re doing wrong, my dude, is prioritising your fucking ego over her fucking orgasm. The vast majority of people with vulvas don’t experience orgasm from penetration alone. This is normal. What you need to do is realise you don’t actually have a problem that needs solving. Talk to your partner, and stimulate her fucking clit the way she likes.

Basically: sex is much better when you take your ego out of it. I promise.

Masturbation Monday: The Wedding

[For today’s Masturbation Monday, I was given the prompt “ex’s wedding.” Okay then! The set up is kind of long, but I hope the sexy pay-off is worth it.]

A room and table setting for wedding reception. For a Masturbation Monday post about an ex's weddingI didn’t want to go to this fucking wedding. This is kind of out of character for me, as normally I love weddings. I’m usually the first one to cry at the speeches and the last one still on the dance-floor at the end of the night. But who the fuck wants to see their ex get married? And most especially who wants to see the ex who cheated on them get married to a 5’11” blonde marathon runner?

As well as my ex, though, Sam is also the son of my parents’ oldest friends. And it’s not like I still have feelings for him. (She says, trying to convince herself). We were over years ago. So here I am, uncomfortable in my too-tight green dress, bored out of my mind, and taking full advantage of the open bar.

I’ve been glancing over at her all day. Pixie-cut dark hair, curves to die for, the swish of that floaty emerald dress every time she moves… I don’t know who she is but she’s definitely my type. She’s sitting on her own right now, nursing a glass of champagne and with a forced smile on her face as she watches the dancing. Yep. Time to make a move.

“Hi, I’m Rob. What’s your name?” She jumps as though startled from a reverie. Close up, I can appreciate the soft hazel of her eyes. She smiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Well, hello! Even in my funk, I can see that this man is attractive. The grey suit looks good on him and contrasts nicely with the artfully unshaven face and dark ponytail.

“Hi Rob. I’m Sophie”.

Without being invited, he plonks himself down in the seat next to me. “I fucking hate these things, don’t you?” he asks.

“Normally I love weddings, but…” I trail off. Reign it in, Soph! I sip from my champagne. I must have drunk a hundred quid’s worth of the stuff today already, fucking hell.

“How do you know the happy couple?” he asks. God, this is such cliched wedding talk it’s not even funny. And there was me thinking he might be coming over to hit on me.

“Sam and I used to go out,” I find myself saying.

“No kidding. Ex’s wedding? That’s rough.”

I shrug. “Eh, it’s no big deal, really. Our parents are friends. We grew up together. Went out from when we were fifteen until we were twenty-two. He cheated on me. I don’t blame him. We weren’t right for each other in the long run”.

She looks surprised at herself, as if she didn’t mean to blurt out the whole story. I feel for her, of course. I know something of how she feels. Caitlyn invited me to her wedding two years ago, and I tore the invitation into a dozen pieces before I’d allowed myself to even consider going. No point torturing yourself, after all.

I watch Sophie sip her champagne. Her hands – I always have a thing for hands – are beautiful. Long fingers and perfect skin contrasts with the unmanicured nails. I allow myself, just for a moment, to think about how those fingers would feel wrapped around my cock.

Her eyes meet mine as she catches me looking. Apart from a thin rim of eyeliner, I notice she’s not wearing any makeup. There’s no doubt about it, this girl – this woman – is gorgeous.

She drains her glass and sets it down on the table. Fixes me with a penetrating stare. “Want to get out of here?” she asks.

“I… what?” He looks as though he’s not sure he has heard me correctly.

“You just said you hate weddings, and I’m sick of watching the man I always assumed I would marry arm-in-arm with Perfect Fucking Tiffany, telling everyone about their Perfect Fucking Honeymoon to the beautiful tropical islands of wherever. Why are we torturing ourselves? Want to go bang in my hotel room?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol giving me bravery, or maybe it’s the shitty day I’ve had. I don’t know and right now, I don’t care. All I know is that me and this beautiful man could have a much nicer time in the privacy of my Super Deluxe Plus room – a treat to myself in exchange for sitting through this stupid wedding.

Rob opens his mouth and then closes it again. He’s surprised. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised at myself. I watch his face and, in the five seconds it takes him to reply, convince myself that he’s going to laugh and brush me off.

“You’re sweet, but I’ve got a girlfriend”. “It’s a nice offer, but I prefer to move slowly”. “You’re attractive, but you’re not my type”.

Instead, he grins broadly at me and says, “okay!”

We sneak out of the ballroom like teenagers sneaking around behind their parents’ backs. Not that anyone is paying any attention to us at all. She takes my hand and leads me down the long corridor to the stairs, then up one floor, then along another corridor until we stop outside her room. Number 70.

“I wish it had been one number lower,” she says, with a mischievous raise of an eyebrow. She slips her key card in the lock, stands back to let me in, then clicks the door shut behind us. I flip the light on, and see she’s already fumbling with the zip on the back of that gorgeous dress. A second later, she drops it, steps out of it and kicks it to one side. And this woman I met not fifteen minutes ago is standing in front of me in just her cream lacy knickers – no bra. Fucking hell! However I thought tonight was going to go, this was not on the cards at all. 

“What do you want?” I ask her. She steps forward, reaches up her hands to loosen my tie – which she does clumsily, probably as a result of all the champagne – and presses her lips to mine. Inside the tight suit trousers my cock, already at half-mast, springs fully to life. I kiss her back, sliding one hand around to the small of her back to pull her closer, and using the other to unbutton my shirt.

“I want you to fuck me,” I tell him. “None of that go down on me for half an hour first because you feel like you have to stuff, I hate that. Just fuck me”. I successfully get the tie loose enough to pull it off over his head, and he slips out of his shirt too and tosses it aside. His chest is perfect: not too muscular, covered in dark hairs. I run my hand through it and then kiss him again.

I slide my hand down and unbutton his trousers. Slipping my fingers into them and under the waistband of his boxers, I can feel that his cock is fully hard already. I stroke it a few times as we make out, listening appreciatively to the way that he moans, adjusting the speed and pressure according to his reactions. Somehow, we move together until we’re by the big King bed, and he pushes me gently towards it. It’s not really a shove – I could easily keep my balance if I wanted to. But I let myself fall backwards onto the bed, wanting him on top of me, wanting him inside me.

In a second, he sheds the trousers and underwear and pounces on me again. He kisses me harder, and one hand moves between my legs and presses firmly against my cunt. The flimsy lace of my knickers is already soaking. He rubs my clit experimentally a few times. The sensation is nice, but I’ve never been much of a clitoral girl – I really just want things inside me. Fingers, toys, cocks. That’s how I get off.

“Put your fingers in me,” she moans. Well, okay then! I do love having sex with a woman who knows what she likes and can give clear instructions. I hook my fingers under the elastic of her knickers and she obligingly lifts her ass so I can peel them off. A shame, really, as she looked so pretty in them – but underneath, her cunt is even more beautiful. The curly wisps of black pubic hair are so inviting.

She parts her legs more, inviting me in. I thrust two fingers inside her, marveling at how wet and ready she already is. I slide them slowly in and out while she writhes beneath me, face and chest flushed, beads of sweat already appearing on her brow.

Finding her G-spot, I press my fingers against it. Gently at first – I’ve been with women who found hard thrusting painful. I rub it with my two fingers and watch her reaction.

“Harder…” she moans. I increase the speed and pressure, until I’m properly fucking her with my fingers. Her perfect fingers clutch a handful of the sheet and she throws her head back.

“Going to come…!”

I double down on my efforts. She lets out of half moan, half yelp of pleasure and I feel her cunt tense around my fingers, squeezing them. Her whole body relaxes as I slowly withdraw them. I notice there’s a wet spot on the sheet beneath her. So she’s a gusher.

“Oh, fuck yeah, that was good,” I murmur, catching my breath. I pull him in to kiss me. “Want to fuck me? I’m ready for your cock now”. The beautiful thing about being multi-orgasmic is that the first one just makes me hungry for more.

“Oh hell yes. Do you have a condom?” he asks. So responsible! I love it when they bring it up first and I don’t have to ask (/beg/plead/cajole) them to wrap it up.

“Nightstand. Top drawer.”

I hear the telltale rustling of a packet. A moment later, he’s positioned back between my legs, cock still fully hard and now coated in latex.

“You want this?” he asks, teasing my entrance. Oh yes, I fucking want this. In answer, I bring my hips up to meet him. In one thrust, he’s inside of me. I gasp at the exquisite pleasure, my cunt already sensitive from the orgasm just moments ago.

He fucks me perfectly. Long, slow thrusts at first, building up to hard and fast pounding. It takes less than a minute for me to come again, and then again, around his cock. He moans each time I come, and I wonder if the muscles of my cunt are squeezing him hard enough to add to his pleasure too. I hope so.

God, her cunt feels incredible. I’m not going to last long at this rate! I marvel at the ability of the vulva to produce orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Is there a limit to how much she can come? I feel the trickle of fluid each time she does, and am sure the mattress beneath us is soaked by now.

As I feel her cunt spasm with the fifth (sixth? I’ve lost count) orgasm, I start to feel the telltale build up of pressure, my pleasure reaching towards its climax.

“You feel so fucking good,” I tell her. “I’m not going to be able to hold off much longer.”

“Come in me,” she tells me, a blissful smile on her face. Her short hair is now sticking to her face with sweat. 

That does it. The invitation, her eagerness for it, pushes me over the edge. I press my lips to hers again, kissing her hard as my own orgasm pulses through my whole body. Damn. I haven’t come this hard in a long time.

I love the moment where they come in me. Watching a man’s pleasure as he surrenders to it and loses control, knowing it’s me who has had that effect on him… it’s intoxicating.

I don’t love so much what usually comes next. The extricating of bodies, the quick dressing, the awkward goodbye at the door, the do I give him my number or will that seem too needy? calculation. I love casual sex, but sometimes I’d like to feel like the men I fuck care about me after they’ve come as well.

“Will you stay for a bit?” I ask Rob, aware that I now sound very different from the confident girl who invited him to – what was it? – bang in my hotel room an hour ago. “I wouldn’t mind the company”.

He rolls over and grins at me, as if he’d just been waiting for the invitation. “Want to cuddle and watch crap TV and order room service? I think we missed dessert and I could murder a massive slice of cheesecake right now.”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Vanilla”

I don’t often write about vanilla sex. Let’s see how this goes…

A women wearing black knickers straddling a nude man, for a Masturbation Monday post about vanilla sexSometimes I don’t need pain. Sometimes I don’t need a hand on my throat, threats whispered in my ear, or to be called the kinds of horrible names that make me drip. I love all those things, of course. But sometimes, I don’t need an imbalance of power between us.

Sometimes all I want is your lips on mine. In these moments, all it takes to make me gasp and tremble is the softest stroke of a hand across the small of my back. All it takes to send me soaring is the grounding, anchoring reality of the feel of your skin, the smell of your body spray, the desire blossoming out from the point where our tongues meet and entwine.

I grind my cunt against your thigh, a gesture that says, I am yours. My hands circle your hips and pull you closer, a gesture that says, you are mine. When you push your cock inside of me, it’s because we have reached the silent understanding that we can no longer bear to have a breath of space between us. My body takes you in, warm, inviting, holding you tightly at the point where we meet. You swallow my gasp, which escapes unbidden as you touch that place deep inside me that needs you so much. I am undone. Lost. When I pull back from your lips long enough to look into your face, your eyes wear that expression, the one where you communicate your love without saying a word.

I kiss you as though I will drown. I kiss you as though we are the only two people in the world. Because for right now, we are. Here and now, you are everything. You fuck me as though making me come is the only thing that matters.

Sometimes, afterwards, I cry. Not because I am unhappy; no. But because this intimacy cracks me open, exposing every vulnerability and every place that is scared and small and hurts. Making love to you pulls me apart and puts me back together, a little more whole than before.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the link to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

 

[(Not a) Toy Review] Here’s What Happened When We Tried a Terrible Cock Ring

From whence it came I do not recall. It must have found its way into my freebie bag at one sexy event or another. But somehow, this monstrosity came into my possession:

The Skins Vibe Ring, a clear jelly rubber cock ring with a small bullet vibe, sitting on its box. For a review.Because Mr CK is a very indulgent partner, and supportive of my penchant for putting strange things on my genitals and then oversharing about it on the internet, we decide we’d test it. Just for fun.

Well, it was… something. I’m not sure fun is quite the word.

This ‘Vibe Ring’ vibrating cock ring by Skins (better known for making mediocre condoms) looks and feels like something you’d buy for £3 from a machine in a seedy nightclub. It’s made of some kind of jelly rubber (the packaging is mysteriously quiet about its actual material) and just from handling it for a couple of minutes I can see its porous as fuck. Sweat and oils from my hands have leached into the rubber, turning its clear appearance opaque, and the squishy texture and dodgy chemical smell coming off it are dead giveaways for phthalates.

As a cock ring, it’s worse than useless. A cock ring is designed to restrict blood flow away from the penis, creating a stronger and longer-lasting erection. A lot of penis-owners report that this can be very pleasurable and give them stronger orgasms. This thing, though?

“I literally can’t feel it!” Mr CK declared when it was around his cock. It’s too stretchy and flimsy to do anything. Still, we were determined to give it a fair hearing, so we turned the little vibrating bullet on and I  hopped on board and started fucking him. In the me-on-top position, I could at least feel the vibrations – if you can call them that – against my clit. But, unsurprisingly, they were too weak and too buzzy to give me anything that I could define as pleasure. Mr CK reported that he could just barely feel the vibrations through his shaft but they were nowhere near to being pleasurable for him either. (And this is a man who definitely enjoys vibrations!)

We changed positions, him standing and me on my back, legs spread, on the end of the bed. This was worse. With every thrust, the damn thing buzzed against me in its completely useless and mildly distracting way. It was low-level annoying in the way that a mobile phone vibrating in your pocket can be. Only, you know, less likely to give me an orgasm.

“Ooh, it made you come!” Mr commented as he felt my cunt muscles clenching around his cock.

“Nope. That was all your dick, babe.”

“Shall we take this thing off?”

“Yes, lets do that.”

We tossed it aside and finished our fuck, which was much more satisfying once the stupid ring was safely on the other side of our very large bed. Afterwards, we snuggled in the afterglow and laughed about how utterly terrible this ridiculous excuse for a sex toy was.

“It feels like it would fit around my head,” he said, stretching it experimentally.

“Try it!” I dared.

And that, my friends, is how a sex session finished with my partner and I taking turns to wear a cock ring like a head lamp. I hope you enjoyed that mental image. You’re welcome.

TL/DR: Do not buy this toy or any other cheap, rubbery “single use” cock ring. For a simple, high quality cockring, try the Beginner or the Super-Soft C-Rings from Tantus. If you’re after one that vibrates, try the Desire Rechargeable from Lovehoney (and don’t forget to use discount code COFFKINK10 at checkout!)

The image featured in this post was taken by me. Don’t steal my photos, please! Links above are affiliate links. Doing your sexy shopping with my affiliates helps support me to keep the blog going.

It IS [Mostly] All About the Sex

For today’s #KinkMonth post, it’s all about SEX! As you’ll have gathered (unless this is your first visit, in which case – welcome!) I’m doing posts inspired by Kayla Lords’ 30 Days of D/s. Today, Kayla asks:

Have you ever considered D/s without a sexual component? Would you be interested in something like it? How important is sex to your current or future D/s relationship?

A pair f black lace panties lying on the floor next to two condom packets, one torn open. For a post about people saying BDSM is not about sex

I do it because it gets me off.

For some reason, it seems to be a thing to deny that BDSM is mostly, or entirely, about sex. And for some people, this is probably true. But, if I’m completely honest, I’m a bit sick of it.

For me, kink and BDSM are, and always have been, overwhelmingly about sex. Yes, they’re means of connecting with people I love. They’re sometimes spiritual. But for fuck’s sake, the vast majority of the time, I do this stuff because it makes my cunt wet and gets me off.

People have tried to divorce BDSM entirely from sex. I am willing to entertain that there are some people – folks at the far end of the Ace spectrum, for example – for whom this is the case. But at its core, I do believe it’s fundamentally a sexual or sex-adjacent practice 99% of the time.

I don’t fuck everyone I scene with, but I do get turned on during pretty much any good kink interaction. It’s part of my pre-negotiation with new partners: “you don’t have to do anything about it, but you need to be okay with the fact that if we have a good scene, I WILL be aroused.”

What’s wrong with sex anyway?

We live in a world where it’s pretty hard to admit that something we do is mainly or entirely about sex. Sex is not seen as a good enough reason to do something – there has to be a higher purpose, a better reason.

Confession I’m seriously not proud of time: pre-20, I was really judgy about people who have casual sex. “I only have sex when I’m in LOVE,” I proclaimed loudly, as if it made me better than other people. Thankfully, I 1) grew the fuck up and stopped being a judgemental bitch, 2) learned the awesomeness that is good casual sex.

A lot of polyamorous people – and yes, I used to be one of them, much to my embarrassment – go around saying “it’s about LOVE, not SEX!” This often goes hand in hand with, “we’re not SWINGERS!” The problem with this is that it implies being a swinger is a bad thing, that love is inherently superior to sex, and it neglects the fact that sex is a hugely important part of romantic love for a lot of us. In this way, people who are ostensibly part of the sex-positive community fall into sex-negative and sex-shaming patterns.

It’s easy to do and I sympathise with it. We’re taught, more or less from birth, that sex is bad. Dirty. Gross. That sex is only “when mummy and daddy love each other very much and want to have a baby.” A huge part of sex-positivity and the sex-posi movement, in my view, is about unlearning these toxic narratives and trying to do better.

Real talk: I don’t have an IUD to control my period (though that’s a nice side effect.) I have it for sex.

For evidence of pervasive anti-sex sentiment, see also: “I use birth control for reasons that have nothing to do with sex, like controlling my painful periods.” Again, for a lot of people with uteruses (uteri?), this is entirely true and it’s completely valid.

However, lots of us DO use birth control for sex, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Saying that it should be freely available BECAUSE it has uses that aren’t sexual is really problematic. It should be freely available because it’s a normal part of healthcare, and lots of people like sex while also liking not being pregnant.

Let’s all just admit that some things ARE about sex

My challenge to you, and to myself: next time you find yourself wanting to defend a part of your life or identity with “it’s not about sex!” …Stop. Think about it. And resist the temptation to jump to this defense. Because sometimes, it is about sex. And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that.

I’ll leave you with my favourite quote from the great Oscar Wilde: “Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”

Kinky item of the day: Condoms! If you engage in penetrative sex or share toys in non fluid-bonded relationships, you need condoms to keep things sexy and safe. Buy 2 packs for 20% off.

Heads up: this post contains an affiliate link.

The image featured in this post was offered for use via Creative Commons Licensing.

Four Things That Don’t Make You Less Dominant

It’s October, which means it’s Kink Month for my lovely affiliates, Lovehoney. (Don’t forget to use reader code COFFKINK10 for 10% off any purchase before the end of 2017!) To celebrate, I’ve signed on for Loving BDSM’s 3o Days of D/s programme, and am going to aim to write a post each day inspired by that day’s subject.

A close up on a pair of metal handcuffs and keys. For a post on things that don't make you less dominant

Day One’s prompt was all about Dominance. Kayla and John ask:

What does dominance in a relationship mean to you? What traits will a Dominant have? How should a Dominant behave?

There are a lot of stereotypes of Dominants (and indeed submissives, but that’s another day) out there. Most of them are, to put it in very crass and British terms, complete stark raving bollocks. One only has to peruse the depths of Kinky & Popular on Fetlife to see all the One True Way-ism at play, people who are absolutely convinced that their particular brand of Dominance (or submission, or Mastery, or slavery) is the only real and correct one and that we should all just follow their lead if we want to Do It Right.

“A REAL Master always…”

“A true Dominant would never…”

It. Is. Bullshit. Dominance, like masculinity, is only as fragile as the owner allows it to be. If you’re secure in your identity as a Dominant or sometimes-Dominant person, no-one can take that away from you, the One Twue[1] Way be damned.

So here are four things that seem to give (particularly but not exclusively new or inexperienced) D-types anxiety about their Domly credentials.

Giving oral sex does not make you less Dominant.

If I could smash one stereotype with a mallet the size of my head, this would be the one. The length of time I stayed in a relationship where I didn’t get oral sex because my partner believed it was inherently beneath them as my Dominant was… well, let’s just say it was far, far too long.

This has been a bugbear for me for a really long time and I just recently discovered that Kayla also wrote an article on this very subject, way back when. It’s great. Go read it.

We do this kinky shit because it’s fun. As it turns out, a lot of people enjoy getting their cunt eaten or their dick sucked. Giving this pleasure to your partner doesn’t make you any less Dominant. In fact, there are lots of ways to explicitly frame it in a Dominant manner if that’s something you’re looking to do.

[Don’t believe me? Try shoving your submissive down onto the bed and growling, “spread your fucking legs, I’m going to eat you out until I’m satisfied. And don’t come, it’s for my pleasure, not yours.” You’re welcome.]

Loving your submissive does not make you less Dominant.

Where did we get this idea that Dominants are all cold, unfeeling monsters who are incapable of love? (And, incidentally, can we burn the Fifty Shades trilogy to the ground for, amongst MANY other sins, perpetuating this stereotype?)

BDSM and D/s is often a relationship build on profound vulnerability, trust, affection and love – on BOTH sides of the slash.

I’ve been madly in love with Dominants who just viewed me as a toy to use and then throw away, and couldn’t have given fewer fucks about me if they’d tried. I don’t recommend it.

Now, though I’ll play submissive for casual partners, I won’t deeply submit to someone unless I’m absolutely sure they love me. And that love, when I feel it, and the protection and care I feel coming from them as a result? That doesn’t diminish their control over me. It increases it.

Switching does not make you less Dominant.

Look, lots of us enjoy both sides of the slash to a greater or lesser extent. Whether you’re primarily a Top who enjoys getting flogged or tied up occasionally, the mythical fifty-fifty-down-the-middle Switch, or primarily a bottom who just has Toppy feels towards one specific partner… it doesn’t matter.

I actually really love submitting to Switches. I love it because they’ve experienced what it’s like on the other side of the whip (so to speak). This often results in increased empathy for my experience… as well as, sometimes, some truly wicked ideas that they’ve learned via the things they’ve previously had done to them!

Don’t ever let anyone tell you that True Dominants or real submissives stay in their lane and never experience the other side. Switches can be really Dominant AND really submissive. We’re not a watered-down approximation of both.

Being penetrated does not make you less Dominant.

Obviously, everyone gets to choose the acts they do and don’t want to engage in, and not everyone is into penetrative sex. But when I hear of female Dominants who’d really like to get fucked but feel they can’t have P-in-V sex with their submissive because being penetrated undermines their Dominance, or male Dominants who love anal pleasure but feel they can’t possibly take something in their ass or it’ll make them submissive… well, it makes me really sad.

Order him or her to fuck you until you’re satisfied. Make them fuck you but don’t let them get off until you’ve had your fill. Order them to fuck you in exactly the position, speed and depth YOU want to be fucked. Receiving P-in-V-or-A sex can be Domly as fuck.

In conclusion:

If you identify as Dominant, always or sometimes or occasionally or only on Fridays during the full moon or just in this specific relationship, you’re a fucking Dominant. There’s no set list of required or prohibited activities. We do this shit because it’s fun. So go forth and have some kinky fun.

[1] Not a typ0.

Kinky item of the day: bondage tape for securing your lover to the bed while you ravish them thoroughly.

FYI: this post contains affiliate links and if you use them, I may make a small commission. The image featured in this post was offered for use under Creative Commons Licensing.

CK & Exhibit A on… Dick Size

I did a discussion-based joint post on pegging with the awesome Exhibit A for his site a while back, and it was so much fun we decided to reconvene for another one. Inspired by our friend who wrote in about being insecure about his girlfriend’s toy usage, this time we’re talking everything to do with dicks, and specifically the size of them.

]Note: we use some cis-centric language here, referring to people with penises as men. This is due to the experience we’re writing from (EA is a cis man and I’m a cis woman who has fucked a lot of cis men) but we acknowledge this shortcoming. In no way did we mean to imply that women can’t have penises, men can’t have vulvas, or that these are the only two gender options.]

A half uncoiled tape measure on a red background. For a post on Dick Size with Exhibit A

Exhibit A lives in London, describes himself as an “urban fox,” and likes to “write stories and get naked (usually not at the same time.”)

Here’s what we had to say about dicks.

CK: So this conversation started because of a reader question I answered, where the person was jealous of/intimidated by his girlfriend’s sex toys, specifically because he feared her using toys meant his penis isn’t “big enough.”I approached it from a very much “you’re fine as you are, talk to your partner and work on your insecurities” angle but, as a vulva-owner, I don’t really get the penis insecurity thing. Especially because, for me at least, dick size is such a tiny factor when it comes to whether or not I want to have sex with someone! But I think you had some thoughts to add to this as a penis-owner?

EA: Well yes – when it comes to dick, I have lots of thoughts, some of which are about size. On this occasion, what I found interesting about your answer (especially in light of what you just said about your own preferences) was that you didn’t give the generic “hey, size doesn’t matter, your penis is definitely big enough so stop worrying” response that other, more mainstream sex columnists might have gone with. You sort of acknowledged in a tacit way that size is important to some people, and that it’s fine for that to be the case.

CK: Yeah, because I have no way of knowing what his girlfriend’s preference is. I did tell him that his dick is fine as it is and that all genitals are beautiful, because this is what I believe, but whether it’s actually “big enough” for HER personal preferences? That I can’t speak to because I’m not her.

EA: Yep, exactly that. I thought it was quite a nuanced way to handle the question, and the (sensitive) issue of dick size more generally. In his position, I think I’d find that perversely reassuring. It’s often helpful, when you have a nagging worry (whether it relates to your body, your job, your friendships, whatever) to have someone around who won’t sugarcoat things or BS you with stuff they think you want to hear. Makes it easier to say “ok, what am I actually going to do about it?” And when it comes to dick size – or more specifically to a gap between what one partner has and what one partner might (in an ideal world) want, there’s PLENTY you can do about it, of course.

CK: Yeah, that’s really true although one obviously has to be VERY careful with it because: self esteem is fragile. There’s absolutely loads you can do about it – including, ironically, toys!

EA: Yes! Toys are awesome for this and they’re awesome in their own right, which is kind of the point. It sounded like your correspondent was intimidated by them because he saw them as a penis replacement – as a way of his girlfriend getting something he couldn’t provide – rather than as something that could enrich their sex life in a more holistic sense.

CK: Yes, exactly – and I tried to tackle that as well by suggesting he try using toys in their sex together and possibly also in his solo sex life. So tell me: is it true, in your experience, that the majority of men are hung (heh) up on their dick size? And if so: why?

EA: I already heh’d earlier at your ‘dick size is such a tiny factor’ comment – apparently we’re all about the puns today.

CK: I am ALWAYS about the puns, especially if they involve cock.

EA: I don’t know that the majority of men are hung up on dick size, but I’d certainly say that for most guys it’s a consideration we’re aware of. Cultural considerations play a big role in that. Whether it’s Sex & the City, suggestive TV advertising, columns in women’s (and lads’) mags, dick size is very much seen as fair game for discussion, analysis, (occasionally cruel) humour, and fetishisation. As a guy, you absorb all that and of course it has an impact on the relationship you have with your own penis.

CK: Absolutely. And it seems to be an easy/lazy attack to throw at a guy.

EA: An attack, and vice versa – having a big dick is seen as something to be proud of, or to brag about. So of course we do, especially as teenagers and young men, whether we actually have one or not.

CK: I kinda think “you have a small dick” to a guy is the equivalent of “you’re fat” to a woman. Whether it’s actually true is irrelevant (and the body positive amongst us know that neither of these things are bad anyway!) but it’s an easy way to hit someone’s self esteem. With one exception, all the guys I’ve had PIV with have been on the bigger side. I don’t know why, because it’s not something I look for! Interestingly, the one who was on the smaller side had a really big complex about it, while all the others didn’t seem too fussed one way or the other.

EA: I spent years in the changing room at school trying to hide my lower half when I got (un)dressed, because I was convinced that a) I had a small dick, and b) people would laugh/take the piss out of it.

CK: That’s really sad but seems to be a really common experience. Can you talk about how your relationship with your dick has grown (hehe) or changed over the years?

EA: To form that insecurity at the age of 14/15, before I’d had sex, and before I’d even really been exposed to porn and the kind of content where dick size is openly discussed, invites an interesting discussion about where it comes from, I think. Both my dick and my relationship with it have grown since I was 15!

CK: Oh gosh yes! Do you think that insecurity came from the kind of harmful “banter” you were just talking about? Hearing other guys bragging?

EA: Perhaps. Perhaps I’d also absorbed cultural messaging without even realising it. There was also some residual insecurity, I think, from being the only circumcised boy in my swimming class at primary school, and having other boys openly stare/draw attention to that, in a negative way. But yes, over the years I’ve come to love my penis for what it is, and to stop worrying about what it’s not.

CK: Yes, cultural messaging is all around us for sure… a bit like the way really young girls are now super insecure about their bodies and thinking they need to diet.

EA: Some of the change was just growing up, I think. Some of it was reading about dick size – like, getting the facts, rather than just believing my mate in the lunch queue when he casually mentioned that 8 inches was average. And inevitably a lot of it was affirmation, love, and happy sexual experiences with/from sexual partners. In an ideal world, none of us would need external validation/affirmation to feel good about our bodies. In the world we live in, of course it tends to help!

CK: Absolutely! That’s one reason I wish we had more comprehensive and accurate sex ed. Such a simple way to make a lot of teenagers more secure about their bodies and stop them absorbing quite so much toxic false information. Apart from more good information, what else do you think would help guys feel more secure about their dick, whatever size it is?

EA: I’ll say this, actually – one additional thing guys have to deal with is the harmful trope that penises are ‘ugly’. If you’re already worried about size, the idea that it’s just making your dick even less attractive from an already low base is pretty depressing

CK: YES! I don’t believe so many people think genitals are ugly, they’re gorgeous – especially when they’re attached to a human I like.

EA: It really helped me when I started to have partners say things like “your dick is beautiful” or “I love the way your dick looks”, rather than just ascribing it a practical/functional value. Getting my head round the idea that women could (and do!) find penises aesthetically pleasing/attractive was a big (and happy) thing for me…again, pun absolutely intended.

CK: So people who have sex with people with dicks definitely have a role to play in this issue?

EA: They do, yes – though it’s important to qualify that by saying they’re not ultimately responsible for the body/penis image of men with dicks. As guys, that’s ultimately down to us.

CK: I think it’s everyone’s responsibility ultimately to work on their own insecurities/hang-ups, with the help of partners and loved ones for sure… but it has to come from within.

EA: But sure, the more external support/affirmation we get, the easier it becomes to ignore any negative messaging, whether that’s coming from within us or from the wider world.

CK: So what IS a guy to do if he’s smaller than his partner would ideally prefer, but they love each other and want to have great sex? And, conversely, if he’s bigger than average and this makes sex difficult? Because my first sexual partner was way above average size and that shit HURT when I was 16 and didn’t have access to lube or proper information.

EA: I was just about to bring it back round to that by saying that I have had relationships – casual and more serious – with women who have been open about their preference for larger dick than I’m packing.

CK: Ooh! And how does that work for you?

EA: Hmm, I actually found it quite easy to rationalise/deal with in the end. I think there are a few keys to overcoming it.. 1. It’s important to acknowledge that whether you’re talking appearance, personality, job, wealth, hobbies, or whatever, our real-life partners are never going to match up in every area with the ideal partner we might create in our head.

CK: That’s SUCH a good point for life in general.

EA: 2. Once you accept that, it becomes easier to kind of interrogate your insecurities. To ask yourself ‘well ok, would I be this bothered if she told me she typically went for really tall guys, just because I’m only average height?’ Or on the flip side, to remind yourself that you tend to eye up women with brown hair, but still fancy the pants off her ‘even though’ she’s blonde. 3. We are the sum of our physical features, our personality traits, our experiences…we can’t and shouldn’t reduce ourselves to one element of them. Obsessing over the fact that your girlfriend prefers hung guys means ignoring all the things she finds hot or attractive about you, and all the reasons why she fucks you, rather than Johnny Big Balls with the 9″ monster cock.

CK: So much yes to all of that.

EA: Also, by focusing solely on the disparity between the dick you have and the dick you imagine she wants, you’re making sex all about…well, all about dick. And that’s a pretty gross way to look at it. When I was in those relationships, it never crossed my mind that my partner wouldn’t enjoy sex with me, just because in a fantasy world where genies came flying out of lamps, she might add an inch or two to my cock.

CK: Also if your partner reduces you to just your dick size or any other physical attribute, they’re kinda… well, being a dick.

EA: She enjoyed sex with me because we had awesome chemistry, and similar kinks, and gave each other great oral, and loved to kiss for hours, and all those other awesome things. Reduce love or sex to any one element and you risk going down a very dangerous path, IMO. I focused on being the whole package (heh) for her in bed, knowing that actually, dick size expectations was one of the easier hurdles to overcome.

CK: That’s such a great approach to sex.

EA: Going back to toys, I would gleefully fuck the shit out of her with an 8-inch dildo while she sucked my cock, or tie her up and stretch her slowly with something thick, knowing that she’d find something equally awesome to do to/with me afterwards. It’s a lot harder to find ways around other problems someone might have with you. Or rather, other preferences someone might have.

CK: Absolutely. And therein you’ve captured perfectly why I advised our insecure friend to use toys with his girlfriend!

EA: I hope he took your advice! By the way, while there are definitely wrong ways to go about doing it, I actually have a lot of time for women who aren’t ashamed/afraid to declare a preference for larger dicks. If they do it in a sex-positive, happy way, rather than a sneering or mocking one, well, I think that takes a fair bit of balls and some good self-awareness/knowledge of their own bodies/preferences.

CK: Yes, that definitely makes sense. I also wish that women who stated we don’t really care/don’t prefer huge dicks would be taken at face value about our preferences!

EA: Women get so much shit for loving sex (or being greedy about it, or wanting to ‘fuck like men’) that to hear someone come out and say “fuck it, I love big dicks” is kinda hot. What you just said, though, that’s the irony of our collective male insecurity about dick size: w’ve cultivated it to the point where women who come out and say “I don’t actually care either way” or even “I prefer smaller/average dicks” – messages that should be music to our ears – simply aren’t believed! Moral of this story? Believe women when they talk about what they do/don’t want. It will be much easier for all concerned.

CK: Also good advice for life. to be honest. Believe people about their own preferences!

EA: Fuck yeah. And talk about those preferences with them! Don’t just assume that “I prefer this” means “it’s my #1 preference, it’s an absolute preference, it exists independently of any/all other preferences, and because you don’t conform to it, I can’t find anything else in you to love/fancy/desire.”

CK: Preach! (Example: my partner prefers naturally hairy women but ultimately having body hair is a small part of the whole package of what he’ll find attractive in a person.)

EA: We all have a preference set. They’re often fluid, nuanced, interdependent, and liable to shift as we experience new things. That’s part of the beauty of being human, and of having sex with other humans.

CK: So the thesis is basically: genitals are great. Dicks are hot. People have different preferences and we should listen to each other. And TOYS ARE GREAT ALWAYS.

EA: Nailed it.

Thanks for reading and we hope you enjoyed our second co-authored piece. Remember to check out EA’s blog and, if you like the work I’m doing here on Coffee & Kink, consider becoming a sexy patron.

Can the Concept of Foreplay Just Die in a Fucking Fire?

Controversial opinion time: FOREPLAY IS NOT A THING.

The lower half of a woman's face, sucking on a strawberry in a seductive fashion. For a post about foreplay

There’s a big problem with the concept of foreplay. I don’t mean the acts it entails – fingers, tongues, mouths, toys, making out, massages, undressing each other and more. All of those things, and many more, are wonderful and valid expressions of sexuality.

But those things? They are not foreplay. They are sex.

Let’s break this down. ‘Foreplay’ implies that it comes before something – namely, of course, penis-in-vagina (hereafter PIV) sex. And this is problematic on a number of levels.

First of all it’s heteronormative as fuck. Not everyone is straight and cisgender. Not every sexual pairing consists of one penis and one vagina. The implication here is that only heterosexual, cisgender people have Real Sex (TM) and everything else is ‘merely’ foreplay.

Secondly, and this may come as a shock – not all straight, cisgender people like PIV sex! Even pairings of one penis-owner with one vagina-owner does not necessarily imply that PIV will be their favourite sexual activity or even part of their sexual repertoire at all.

Personally, I love PIV sex. I come really fast and repeatedly from g-spot stimulation and Mr CK’s cock hits that sweet spot just perfectly. But there was a time – a long time – when it wasn’t my favourite sexual activity, because earlier in my development intense g-spot pounding did very little for me.

I’ll let you in on a secret – even though I love it, loads of the sex I have isn’t PIV focussed. Plenty of the sex me and the Mr have together doesn’t involve penetrative fucking – just last night, for example, he caned my ass then watched and talked dirty to me while I got myself off with my Doxy. And it was a wonderful and fulfilling session. For various reasons relating to non-monogamy agreements, the Ace spectrum and people’s boundaries, I’m only quite rarely having PIV sex with anyone other than Mr CK right now. The sexual relationships I have with other people are still amazing, hot and fulfilling. And sometimes, this queer girl even fucks other people with vaginas! (Shocking, I know.) Those sexual encounters with other vagina-owners are not, I promise you, any less amazing than those with penis-owners.

When a guy bends me over his lap, spanks me until I’m dripping and then fingers me hard while telling me what a dirty slut I am? That’s sex. When I pin a girl down while Mr uses the Doxy on her until she comes and he doesn’t even take his pants off? That’s sex. When I’m playing with another woman and I go down on her and she finger-fucks me until we both come? Sex. When he holds me and reads a filthy story to me or talks me through a hot fantasy while I wank? You guessed it… sex.

That’s why I want to kill the idea of foreplay forever. It places PIV as the pinnacle of sexual experience and everything else as something lesser, something not quite real, something before.

There is no such thing as this thing called ‘foreplay,’ because there are a million things under this amazing, huge umbrella that we call ‘sex.’

This was my final post of #Smutathon2017. If you’ve enjoyed it, please donate to the amazing charities.

The image featured in this post was offered for use via Creative Commons Licensing. It’s the pic that came up when I searched “foreplay” on Pixabay and it amused me, so it stays.

My Top Five Sexy Products

Hello perverts and gentlequeers! I hope you’re all having a sexy Monday so far. (Is there anything less sexy in general than Monday morning?)

A quick one today, before I head out to work.

There are so many amazing sexy products out there on the market today – SO many. And we all have our own preferences for our own reasons, which is wonderful. Today I wanted to share my current Top Five bedroom aids with you all. (Subject to change, because I’m always discovering new stuff and also my cunt is fickle.)

#1: Doxy Wand
The Doxy is the world’s most powerful wand massager. It’s mains powered and a giant beast of a toy. Mine was the first gift Mr CK ever gave me and remains the best present I have ever received from a lover. It’s the only toy that is more-or-less guaranteed, if it’s held in the sweet spot, to give me a quaking clitoral orgasm in ten minutes or less. (Two minutes or less if I’m really worked up.) Seriously, I could be a sales person for this toy, I don’t even know how many friends and lovers have bought one on my glowing recommendation. (Hey, if anyone from Doxy is reading this and fancies a sponsor partnership, get in touch…)

#2. Sliquid Lube
I’m sure we all know the importance of good lube. I’d been having sex for about 4 years before one of my partners introduced me to the miracle of lubricant (the men I’d been with before then had been very much in the camp of “if you need lube, you’re insulting my masculinity. GET WET WOMAN.”) I’ve tried loads of different lubes over the years but Sliquid is my favourite by far. It’s water-based, all natural, body safe, vegan, unflavoured, unscented, easy to clean up, and there’s even an organic range. Particular shout out for the Sassy Booty Gel, specifically designed for anal sex (and ohhhh so good.)

#3: Rope.
Anyone who knows me will know I looooove rope. I love it for many reasons: the scent (I’m a natural fibres girl and it just smells so beautiful,) the aesthetic, the coarseness or softness against my skin, the safety of being tightly held by my lover’s ropes or the thrill of having them helpless in mine. Most of all, though, I love the versatility. A partner can tie me to the bed for a quick-and-dirty fuck, or they can spend an hour or more doing an intricate tie where the rope itself is the sole purpose of the scene and our underwear doesn’t even come off. Rope can be sensual or painful, loving or cruel,  a means to an end or the end in itself. And whichever of these it is, I just love it. (My rope of choice is 4mm or 5mm poly-jute, but you should seek advice and choose what’s right for you.)

#4: Ben-wa Balls
Now these are interesting. They’re essentially little weighted silicone balls that go inside the vagina and are held there by the vaginal muscles. They’re great for kegel toning (which can lead to a stronger pelvic floor and, in theory, more powerful orgasms,) but that’s not why I love them. For me they’re a dirty thrill, a sexy little secret: I can wear them under my work uniform, under a ballgown at a posh dinner, under my running clothes, and no-one is any the wiser. This is particularly sexy when a Dominant lover has ordered me to go out in them, knowing they’ll keep me worked up and horny the whole time they’re in. Not to mention that I can clench my muscles around them repeatedly and bring myself to a vaginal orgasm in less than a minute. (Mine are the Main Squeeze Double Kegel Balls from Lovehoney, but there are loads of options out there.)

#5. My strap-on.
I love gender-fuckery. I love fucking a guy in the ass. I love fucking a woman’s cunt. I love love love watching a partner’s pleasure when they’re on the receiving end of my cock. Is there any wonder I love strapping it on? Strap-on sex is a great equalizer – anyone can wear the toy and anyone can receive it inside them, regardless of gender or anatomy. It removes assumptions of who will be the fucker and who will be the fuckee based on genital configurations. (Mine is the Beginner’s Unisex Strap-on Harness Kit with 5-inch pegging dildo from Lovehoney, but again there are loads of options and you should shop around to find one that works for you.)

A toybag can tell you as much about a person as a bookshelf. What are YOUR top five?

[Offsite] My work in Exhibit A’s International Women’s Day Special

My erotic vignette Four Minutes featured in Exhibit A’s International Women’s Day fantasies special alongside work from The Other Livvy, Hannahlects, @19Syllables and several other anonymous authors.

Here’s the teaser:

A lot can happen in four minutes.

It’s long enough for him to sidle up behind me as I’m towelling off after my shower, him already dressed and ready for the day. Long enough for him to slide a hand along my hip, over my still-damp stomach, and up to grab a nipple between his fingers. To squeeze, hard enough that I bite my lip but not hard enough to elicit that squeak I know he loves…

Read it all here!