Masturbation Monday: “Private Tuition”

[This story depicts a consensual roleplay scenario between adults. All characters are above the legal age of consent.] 

A woman lying face down on a bed wearing a black top with a lacy bottom, her butt on display. For a piece of schoolmaster cane erotica.

Gem shifts in her seat, her butt aching from sitting too long in the uncomfortable wooden chair. She glances to her left, where Hannah appears to be engrossed in her work. A few feet away, Sir sits at his desk typing on his computer. They’re supposed to be working in silence. Punishment for whispering and giggling during his lecture earlier.

Fuck this, Gem thinks. Time to make this a little more interesting.

Very slowly, one eye on their Professor at all times, she reaches a hand across the couple of feet of space between them and pokes Hannah in the side. Hannah jumps and yelps. Lightning-quick, Gem pulls her hand back and returns to her book.

“Is there a problem?” Sir asks, his gaze on Hannah.

“No, Sir.”

Gem fights to keep the smirk off her face. A minute passes. When she’s sure Sir’s full attention is back on his screen, she reaches a hand out again and – so quickly Hannah barely has time to register what’s happening – tips Hannah’s open book onto the floor. It lands with a clatter in the quiet room. Gem is already writing again, her face a picture of innocence.

“Hannah!” Sir’s voice booms across the room as the other girl scrambles to retrieve her book.

“Sorry, Sir.”

He stands, comes around to the front of his desk. “Come over here.” Hannah stares. “Hurry up, girl, I haven’t got all day.” Hannah reluctantly gets up and goes to the front of the room. Her black skirt is so short it barely covers her ass. Slut, Gem thinks.

“Do you want to explain to me why you seem to be unable to follow simple instructions like study in silence?”

“It was Gemma, Sir. She prodded me and made me jump and then she pushed my book off the desk.”

“Is that true, Gemma?”

Gem glances up, her eyes wide in feigned surprise.

“No, Sir. I’ve just been sitting here doing my work, Sir.”

Sir is sure she’s lying, of course. But he’s not going to turn down the opportunity to punish two little sluts for the price of one.

“You’ve been nothing but trouble lately,” he tells Hannah. “I think it’s time you learn what happens to bratty girls who can’t behave in my classroom.” He goes to the cupboard in the corner of the classroom. Gem feels her eyes widen, and watches Hannah’s do the same, when they both see that he’s taken out a long rattan cane, the type wielded by Victorian schoolmasters in old TV dramas.

“Bend over my desk,” Sir tells Hannah, flexing the evil-looking thing between his hands. Hannah takes a step backwards, stuttering something unintelligible. “Don’t make me tell you again, girl, or it’ll be worse for you.”

This can’t be happening, Gem thinks, all pretense of focusing on her studies out of the window, gaze fixed on Hannah to see what the other girl will do. There’s a second where Hannah glances over Sir’s head at the door, as if considering running and then deciding against it. After the longest ten seconds or so in history, she turns and bends over the desk, resting on her elbows and forearms with her butt in the air. From her vantage point, Gem can just see the crease where Hannah’s bottom joins her thighs beneath the ridiculously short skirt.

This has got to be some kind of insane dream, Hannah thinks, bracing herself against the hard wooden surface of the desk. Any minute she’ll wake up and she’ll go knock on Gem’s door and tell her flatmate all about the crazy dream she had about being caned by their sexy, straight-laced Professor. Yet even as she thinks this, she realises there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to wake up.

She’s brought back to the knowledge that this is very, very real by the touch of a large hand on her ass through her skirt. Then Sir is flipping her skirt up and over her lower back, revealing her bottom covered only by the flimsiest of lacy knickers. He caresses her again, making her draw in her breath sharply. This is so humiliating! And yet…

“I’m going to give you ten strokes of the cane. Are you going to count them for me like a good girl?” Hannah hears herself whimper.

The first stroke surprises her more than in hurts her.

“One…” she manages to gasp, catching her breath and bracing herself for the second strike.

The second stroke is more painful, landing in exactly the same spot as the first. It’s a sharp, stinging pain that settles to a dull ache.

“Two.”

He strokes her ass between each stroke, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the pain.

Thwack. “Three.”

Crack. “Four.”

She hears herself moan with the fourth stroke. The shocking realisation comes to her: she’s enjoying this. She’s always enjoyed a bit of spanking in the bedroom with boyfriends, but this is somehow different. It hurts more, yes, but it’s also more… the word comes to her, humiliating. More erotic. As the fifth stroke lands, she realises she’s dripping wet and hopes Sir – and Gem – don’t notice.

“Five.”

Gem watches, mesmerised, from her seat. The way Hannah’s ass jiggles slightly with each stroke of the cane, the beautiful red lines that are starting to appear on her pale skin, and the way her little whimpers have given way to moans have her transfixed. She can’t deny it – she’s more turned on than she can remember being in a long time. She squirms in her seat, feeling her wetness coating her knickers and wishing she was brave enough to slip a hand under the waistband of her skirt and finger herself.

Sir runs a finger along the elasticated waist of Hannah’s panties. “Let’s get these off.”

“Oh, no, please…” Hannah protests.

“Shut up, little slut, you’re not in control here.” The sh0ck and embarrassment at being called a slut by her Professor sends another rush of arousal to Hannah’s cunt. She is powerless to fight back as Sir peels the thin lace from her ass and down over her legs, leaving them around her knees.

“Hannah.” His voice is stern.

“Sir?”

“Why are your knickers wet?”

Fuck. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I… I don’t…” She’s silenced by his hand stroking her ass again, soothing the burning lines made by the cane.

“Are you enjoying this, little slut? Does getting caned make you wet?” She shakes her head vehemently. “We’ll see. Soon Gemma and I will both find out just how wet you are. But before then you’ve got a few more strokes to go, haven’t you?”

Gem’s aroused squirming has intensified. She’s rocking her ass gently in her chair, thrusting her cunt against thin air.

Whack. “What number was that, Hannah?”

“Six, Sir.”

Whack. “Seven.”

Oh, god, Hannah thinks. It hurts more without her panties – however thin – cushioning her ass, of course. But the eroticism and embarrassment of standing here, bent over a desk with her soaked knickers around her knees, is almost too much to bear.

“The last three are going to be harder. Are you going to take them for me, little slut? Of course you are. We all know you’re loving this.”

Stroke number eight makes her yelp. “Eight,” she gasps.

Number nine makes her squeal, but her cunt is wetter than ever. “Nine!”

The final stroke is the hardest, but before she’s even moaned out “ten,” Hannah finds herself disappointed that her punishment is over. She’s never been so turned on in her life. She starts to straighten up, to reach for her knickers and pull them back up, but Sir’s hand is on her back and holding her in position.

“Don’t you move.” His fingers run over her ass and dip down to just before her cunt lips. “Spread your legs,” Sir orders. Hannah obeys, burying her face against her arms on the desk to hide her blushes. She’s so very humiliated… why does it turn her on so much?

She gasps as she feels his fingers make contact with her swollen outer labia, and then trace their way along to the opening of her cunt.

“It’s a fucking flood down here,” she hears him say. “You really do like being caned, don’t you, little slut?” He strokes her cunt tantalisingly gently, running his fingers through her black curls of pubic hair, teasing her but never making contact with her clit, the centre of her desire which is now throbbing in desperate need to be touched.

Gem, unable to contain herself any more, has slid a hand between her legs and is teasing her own cunt over her knickers. Watching her sexy friend be caned, teased and humiliated has left her feeling by turns envious and thankful it’s not her, but most of all, aroused as hell.

Hannah thrusts back against Sir’s teasing hand, trying to get the stimulation where she needs it the most.

“Awww,” he taunts her, “does little slut want her little clit touched?” In answer, Hannah whimpered and tried again to grind her cunt against his hand. He pulled it away, leaving her aching. “Uh-uh, not today. You’re being punished, remember? It’s too bad you’re such a filthy girl that it gets you all squirmy and needy.”

Hannah wants to protest, to beg, but he’s already pulling her knickers back up, smoothing them into place over her sore ass, and flipping her skirt back down to cover whatever semblence of dignity she has left. She lets out an unsatisfied whimper.

“Gemma.”

A nervous knot forms in Gem’s stomach as she pulls her hand away from her wet cunt. “Sir?”

“Take her home and edge the hell out of her. It’s your job to make sure she doesn’t come before next week’s class. If she does, I’ll lock you both in chastity belts for the rest of the semester.”

Did you enjoy this piece? You can find out what happens when Gem gets Hannah home in #BonusSmutTuesday, exclusively for Patreon supporters. Sign up at any level to get access.

 

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what other deliciousness is getting people off this week.

[Guest Post] Forget Perfection, Bring Me the Glory – Life as a Disabled Kinkster by Pippin Strange

Today I am so, so honoured to be sharing a guest blog from one of my most favourite people. Pippin is my metamour – my sweetie The Artist’s primary partner – and a dear friend. Among many other things, they identify as disabled, queer and a survivor. They are also supremely wise, powerfully compassionate, ridiculously talented, and kinky as fuck in the best possible way. 

Content notes  are: chronic pain, intestinal health, ableism, intimate partner abuse and rape. Please look after yourselves when engaging with these topics.

Buckle in and get some coffee for this one, folks. It’s longer than I usually post, but I devoured every word and you should too.

Amy x
______________________

A person sitting in their wheelchair facing away from the camera looking up at a big tree.It’s a bad pain day. My joints are twinging; something untoward is happening in my lower abdomen; my neck feels like two bars of iron stuck on either side of my spine. And my fatigue levels are high – even sitting forward in my wheelchair is a challenge, and I’ve done well to make it out of the house.

Suddenly we come to a patch of bumpy pavement. The Magician increases their pushing speed ever so slightly, and every little jolt sets my buttocks singing with joyful agony from last night’s caning. It’s exquisite. Once we’re on the smooth ground again, I tell them my arse still hurts and it’s all their fault. Even before they stop pushing, I know they have broken into that devilishly handsome, sadistic grin. I shiver. They bend down and we kiss deeply, leaving me wanting more.

I’m Pippin Strange, otherwise known as the Minstrel. I’m a genderqueer, queer, polyamorous switch in my late thirties, with two delightful partners – the Magician (also known on Coffee and Kink as the Artist!), and the Ranger. My relationship with each of them includes kink – I submit to the Magician (who is my primary partner), and I switch with the Ranger.

I’m also disabled. I have joint hypermobility, and an unnecessarily interesting selection of long-term mental and physical illnesses, the former including Complex PTSD, the latter including ME/CFS and some form of seizure disorder. I’m also neurodivergent, with no formal diagnosis but the strong likelihood that I am both dyspraxic and autistic. I take several forms of medication, I’m housebound a lot, and I usually use my beloved wheelchair when out and about. For good or ill, being disabled permeates every part of my life, including my sex life, and it has done ever since I reached adulthood.

An evening in a university town, nearly twenty years ago. I’ve just come back from the bathroom. My lower abdomen is again in a scary amount of pain. The Saboteur – my boyfriend, later to become my husband – is not shy of expressing his disappointment that I’m yet again not well enough for intercourse. I’ve been close to screaming with the pain, but instead we focus on his sadness that we’re not going to fuck. I assure him, desperately, that yes I really am trying my best to sort out whatever is wrong with my innards so that he can be inside me again. I feel like a failure.

I say “an evening”. Actually this happens several times. On at least one occasion, I decide to give it a go anyway, because I can’t bear the guilt any more. The pain is too much, self-preservation kicks in, I speak out. He stops and withdraws. But he is the wronged party; I get no sympathy from him.

Fast forward to the present. An afternoon in an industrial city in the Midlands. The Ranger is above me, fucking me, and it’s glorious. His hands pin mine above my head. My lips are pressed against his collar bone, moaning words of helpless submission into the his soft skin. I know I’m not going to come like this, not in this position, but I love it, I love it so much, and I’m desperate to keep going, to feel the rhythm change and hear his gasps as he comes inside me. But my thigh muscles are too weak, and my right hip joint is complaining. This is not a sexy pain. I keep going anyway, because it is wonderful and I want it so much. But he notices something, checks, asks if I’m comfortable. I realise that I’ve been foolish, and admit that I’m not. He pulls out of me, shifts aside so I can stretch out. I breathe an apology for having to stop but he tells me I have nothing to be sorry for. He smiles at me, praises me for answering his question honestly, tells me how good I am. And seeing I’m eager to stay in the scene, he starts dominating me in a different way…

Looking back, I’ve been a sub-leaning switch for as long as I’ve had any sexual urges at all. And I suspect that I have being disabled, even more than being queer, to thank for how much I’ve allowed this part of me to blossom. My body is already othered, already weird, already unacceptable. I’m already rebelling against a cultural norm every time I use it in any way that brings me pleasure. So if conforming is impossible, at least for someone with my drives and my stubbornness, I’m damn well going to rebel in whatever way I like best. And now that I’m gnarled and middle-aged (and the hottest I’ve ever been) and I only have sexual or romantic relationships with people who are actively lovely (rather than, say, completely dreadful), kink – as both dominant and submissive – has become a crucial part of my sexual identity. And a crucial part of how I cope with the day-to-day reality of my health conditions and the impact they have on my life.

A winter morning. I’m so fatigued that my arms have mostly stopped working. But I have the Ranger stretched out at my side, beautiful and helpless and mine. I can do so little to him physically right now, but there’s so much I can order him to do to himself – and I do, stroking his face and holding his gaze with mine and enthralling him with words. I have no power to do much with my muscles, but I have so much power over him.

To be a disabled dom makes, I would say, an instinctive sense. I’m someone who feels far too powerless in my life far too much of the time. And here is the Ranger, a man I love, kind and fascinating and staggeringly gorgeous. And here he is handing temporary control of his body and mind to me, calling me “Sir”, eyes widening with pain or pleasure as he falls at my command and I play with the power he’s given me. Yes fucking please, on every level. 🙂

And the flip-side of that: one of the worst frustrations I experience in being incapacitated with fatigue so much of the time is how little ability I have to do caring, lovely things for the people who I love. Put simply, my dominating the Ranger makes him happy, and I love making the people I love happy.

When I’m submitting, it’s more complicated. I already spend far too much of my life feeling powerless and in pain. So why does, for instance, being held down by the Magician’s firm hand while they torture my nipples until I squeal not only make me wet, but also give me a welcome sense of peace, healing, well-being, and even power?

The obvious answer is that in that situation, however powerless I feel, I actually am nothing of the kind. Every instant is something I have passionately chosen. But it’s more than that. While I do struggle to feel powerful in my everyday life, something that I never struggle to feel is responsible. With PTSD, an anxiety disorder, and a mind that is by nature a constant torrent of words, the feeling of falling into subspace and allowing my mind to be quiet, slow, responsive to what is immediate rather than what is ongoing, brings an instant and glorious relief, and, ironically, a growth of true power within me that lasts long after the scene. As an abuse survivor who struggles with low self-esteem, being praised for my submission by a beloved partner is incredibly healing. As a caree who does not always feel at ease about my needs, to have a situation in which I am cherished and guarded and cared for as a submissive, and in which that adds to the pleasure experienced by the dominant, reclaims some of that space for me away from my own internalised ableism.

And the pain? As every masochist and every chronic pain sufferer knows, pain varies, in quality as well as in intensity. The angry bite of a headache, the enervating ache of a stiff muscle, the sickening dragging agony of an inflamed intestine… “pain” is one word for all these things, but they have little in common beyond it. I defy anyone to enjoy anything about having Ulcerative Colitis, but most of the pains involved in sensation play within kink are of a kind that are at least potentially pleasurable, and at no point give the kind of “wrongness” signals that the body is coming to serious harm. Even when I’m being spanked to the point of tears, I know that I’m safe, that no harm is coming to my body worse than a few bruises or welts. It is blessedly different from anything that comes from my health conditions. It’s not uncommon, even, for kink sensations, coupled with post-impact endorphins, to temporarily overwhelm and drive out my chronic pain; especially useful for me given I cannot safely take most painkillers!

The sense of achievement in sensation play is also a mighty difference between kink pain and chronic pain, and gives me a taste of something that I miss. I’ve always loved the feeling of having successfully pushed my body beyond what I believed it could do. To stand, for instance, on top of a big Scottish hill, gazing down at the incredible view, and thinking I made it. Since I now have moderately severe M.E., exerting my body beyond very narrow (and varying) limits is actively dangerous – it can make me more ill for days, weeks or even months. But a hard spanking challenges my body without that risk. And since I’m afterwards able to gaze on the Magician or the Ranger, the view’s not bad from the top of that hill either.

When it comes to sensations that are pleasurable as well as painful (clothes pegs on my nipples, a punch on my butt, a flogger on my thighs, a bite on my shoulder…), my body gets to feel something it can relish, just as much as with sensations that are purely pleasurable. More so, often, since the high background level of tension in my body can make pure pleasure paradoxically painful to me. A mixture of kink pain and pleasure allows my body to relax into the sensations and relish them intensely – and to be able to relish a physical experience in this body is a powerful thing indeed. Like a lot of people with chronic pain, I wrestle with the temptation to hate my body or feel thoroughly disconnected from it. At its best, sensation play as a sub brings me back into affectionate synchronicity with this fractious, fragile, and yet utterly wonderful meatsack of mine. It is beyond precious.

As I write this, the ring and little finger on my right hand are a trifle numb. Two days ago, with the Magician’s own chronic pain flaring but both of us feeling enthusiastic, we tried something new. They sat back on pillows, comfortably, calmly eating an apple like a (gorgeous) movie villain. And I gave them a show. Stripping at their instruction, torturing my nipples, scratching my thighs, pleasuring myself while they watched me and praised me and noted with delicious smugness that turning me into their helpless toy and slave had been so very, very easy…

It was wonderful. Squirmy and embarrassing and hot and beautiful and loving. And I wrenched my neck. It had been playing up for a few days, and the slightly unfamiliar position I was lying in did the rest. I felt odd after I came (I mean, happy! but odd), and the following day I woke up with my neck, jaw, and shoulders a mess, and the obvious symptoms of some mild and hopefully temporary nerve damage, as well as some indications that I’d had a seizure in my sleep. I don’t regret a thing about that scene (although I am thinking that I might need to go to the doctor if the symptoms continue…), but in future I’ll need to take a lot more thought about how I position myself, and ask for some Tiger Balm or ibuprofen gel as part of my after-care…

I don’t want to give the impression that being a disabled kinkster is easy. That, it certainly is not.

Events are a problem. I can’t get out of the house much, and when I can theoretically get to something, worries about access and the likelihood of running into at least some kind of ableist bullshit can be prohibitively exhausting.

Meeting new potential play partners is a problem. I’m horribly vulnerable, and already a survivor of assault, harassment, rape and ableist relationship abuse. Disabled people are on average twice as likely to be abused over the course of their lives as currently-abled people, and to say that I am very wary of the possibility of it happening to me again is an understatement. The kink scene and the polyamory scene are both riddled with ableism, from the usual cultural disdain for disabled bodies, to the fetishising of certain of those bodies in Fetlife groups, to the extreme end of Relationship Anarchy that rejects anything like a carer/caree (or mutual carer!) relationship between romantic partners – or even one that is merely stable and secure and committed, as is essential for me – as intrinsically oppressive. On top of that, anyone I go on an actual date with needs to be someone both the Magician and I trust to be, at least in a small way, my carer for a couple of hours – including pushing my wheelchair if the situation requires it. Thankfully I already have my two wonderful partners, not to mention three superb “kissing friends”, one of whom I may also start kinking with soon; I am quite beautifully polysaturated! But even if I were more interested in, say, casual play with a stranger or acquaintance than I am, it would not be remotely an option for me.

And then there’s the actual impairments. There are some activities I’d love to do that are either physically impossible for me, or which I cannot do for long. Ever tried giving a blow job with your jaw a clicky mass of pain, and when you have both a strong gag reflex and emetophobia? Not the easiest thing. 😉 I actually love sucking my partners’ cocks, both as a dom and as a sub, but my Gods do I have to be having a good day before I can, and deep-throating is most definitely not an option. And sometimes I am just too mentally ill for kink to be safe. Anxiety and depression and even flashbacks are one thing, and under the right circumstances kink can actively help, but on those thankfully rare occasions when my perception of reality is a little porous, let’s just say that telling a partner I’m their helpless captive is not a sensible plan…

But those limitations do come with their own blessings. I can’t have some perfect scene that lasts for hours and doesn’t require extensive in-scene management of my energy, pain levels, and whatever my brain might be up to. And since I can’t have it, I don’t need to try. Instead, my partners and I can get on with doing what works for us on the day – and finding creative solutions to some of the difficulties. After the Ranger and I stopped having PIV sex with him on top in the scene I describe earlier, we found another position that was a lot more sustainable for me, and in which I was able to come really quite explosively. Would we have found that position if my hips had been behaving themselves? I’m not sure we would. My difficulties with stroking his cock for any length of time I have gone some way to fixing, buying him as an anniversary gift a stroker toy that gives me a much easier grip, and which he loves in its own right (not least because it is purple!). The frankness about my body that I have had to develop to survive means that I’m good at giving accurate feedback, vital when trying something new.

The Magician and I, since we live together, engage in a lot of micro-kink: scenes that last literally seconds long and which we fit randomly into our day whenever we’re both up for it. A brisk hand or hairbrush spanking while we run a bath. Their hand closing briefly over my mouth while we’re snuggling. A glare over the top of their glasses that rapidly becomes a contest, with me trying to make them laugh before they can turn me into a subby heap (they usually win 😉 ). Even the very fact that they’re my carer sometimes creates micro-kink situations, as helping me out of bed turns into mutual fondling, encouraging me to rest becomes sternly ordering me to, and helping me undress when my arms aren’t working properly becomes, well, stripping me naked.

Perhaps this above all: every body and every brain has its moments of misfiring. The Magician is disabled too; the Ranger is also not in consistently perfect health. And they both know they can trust me absolutely to understand and empathise when it’s their needs or limitations that mean that a scene has to be changed or halted, or just isn’t possible that day. I don’t want to romanticise the lessons that being disabled has taught me, when the primary lesson it has taught me is that all disabled people live in severely ableist societies with inadequate access, respect, and understanding, and that this desperately needs to change. But I have been forced over the past two decades to teach myself something powerful about how futile it is to search for what is perfect, and how much better it is to build what is glorious instead. And if there is one thing that makes me both a good dominant and a good submissive, it is probably that.

Photo provided by the author. Do not steal it.

My Favourite Kink: 3 Reasons I Love Orgasm Control

In a revelation that will be a surprise to precisely nobody who has met me: I LOVE orgasm control. It’s my absolute, number one fetish bar none. Something like 90% of the time, when I’m masturbating, I’m fantasising, reading erotica or watching porn with orgasm control themes. (The other 10%, I’m probably thinking about gang-bangs, but that’s another post.) Seriously, this kink gets me the fuck off. (Which is ironic, really.)

A metal medieval chastity belt. For a post on orgasm control.

I’m using “orgasm control” as a catch-all here. It can encompass orgasm denial, teasing and denial, edging, ruined orgasms, coming on command, forced orgasms and post-0rgasm torture.

Today’s #KinkMonth post comes, again, from Kayla Lords’ 30 Days of D/s. Today, Kayla”s asking about orgasm control and what we think of it. I think I’ve just laid out pretty clearly what I think of it. But I wanted to share a little of the reason behind that with y’all.

So, here’s a quick-‘n’-dirty (so dirty) list of reasons why I fucking love giving someone else control over my release.

1. Because masochism.

It’s not the same kind of pain as being hit with something, but orgasm control is a form of sadomasochism in its own right. When I’ve been teased really good without release, my cunt starts to physically ache. I love it. (I also hate it, but that mindfuck is also part of the fun.)

Similarly, when I’ve been forced (or ordered – I can pretty much come on command with G-spot stimulation) to come over and over and over… it starts to get pretty damn painful. Sometime around the sixth orgasm it starts to get too much. Around the tenth, I’m begging for it to stop (and yet wishing for it to carry on forever.)

And… have you ever had an orgasm ruined? Fucking hell. That’s an ache – and a level of frustration – unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.

2. Denial makes the final orgasm more intense.

Seriously. You know how if you get really close to the edge a few times while masturbating, it’s better when you do let yourself come? Yeah. That. Only more. Coming after a session of denial, whether it’s a play session of intense teasing or not being allowed to touch at all for a couple of days…. mmmfff. Be warned: doing this to me often results in a temporary loss of ability to walk or make sentences.

3. It makes me feel really submissive

My sexuality is a really, really important part of me. Our sexuality is a a pretty fundamental part of what makes us human! So to give up control over my sexual release to somebody else, even if only for the length of a scene, feels like placing a crucial aspect of my personhood into their hands and saying, “I trust you to use this to have fun and satisfy us both, and not use it to harm me.”

For my subby brain, which is pretty much the part that’s in control in the majority of kinky situations, this is super fucking hot.

Oof. Well. If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go wank now.

Kinky product of the day: Cock rings! Check out this one, which is pure silicone, rechargeable, and part of the utterly gorgeous new Mantric range. With the launch offer, you can get 30% off if you buy two products together.

This post contains affiliate links and if you buy through them, I make a small commission. All opinions are, and will always be, purely my own.

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

5 Pervertables You Probably Have in Your House Right Now

Hey, did you know October is Kink Month? Join the conversation over on Twitter!

Pervertables are basically innocent everyday items, reimagined for naught and devious purposes. As today’s 30 Days of D/s prompt is all about pain, I thought I’d tell you a few of my favourite household pervertables for sadomasochistic purposes. They’re great if you want to get your kink on but you’re on a budget, if you want to try a new sensation without blowing loads of cash, or if you find yourself somewhere without your toybag and want to have some fun.

Three kitchen utensils including a wooden spoon on a bright blue background. For a post about pervertables

Clothes Pegs

Clothes pegs are amazing! Plastic ones with soft pads on the teeth tend to be a bit less vicious, whereas wooden ones are often more pinchy. This can vary enormously so do test them sneakily on your finger before buying if you can.

Use them on nipples, labia, clits, cocks, or most sensitive fleshy areas (keep away from the face and neck.) Try putting a line of clothes pegs along your masochist’s back, tying them all together with string or twine, and pulling them all of at once. (Don’t surprise someone with this the first time you do it – it’s quite intense and not for everyone. Consent, y’all.)

Pro tip: if you leave them on for more than a few minutes, they’ll hurt like a motherfucker when you take them off. This goes for any type of clamps.

Wooden Spoon

Arguably the ultimate household spanking implement, wooden spoons deliver a surprisingly sharp whack. Much like with canes, the pain comes in waves – initially when the blow hits, and then a few moments later as all the nerves fully register the impact. Implements like this are pretty safe when used on fleshy places like butts, though do start slowly and gently. You’d be surprised how much one of these can hurt!

Hairbrush

Traditionally associated with over-the-knee spanking, hairbrushes remain ever popular hitty implements. Different sizes, shapes and materials feel really different. Make no assumptions, build up slowly and communicate lots with your partner about how it feels. One brush will not feel the same as another. Use the back of the brush (i.e. not the bristles) and bend your sub over the bed or your lap for a delicious sexy spanking.

Ice

Ice is brilliant! You can run it over the body for a cold tease, press it to a nipple or clit, trail icy droplets over them, or even put a small piece of ice into the vagina (make sure they’re well lubricated first, or the ice can stick. Not what you want!)

Ice play doesn’t have to be painful and can be quite sensual, but it definitely can be painful if that’s what you want. Typically, ice in very sensitive places will become painful quite quickly. You could also try pressing it to one spot for a few seconds. Don’t let your partner get too cold, though – get them dry and warm after ice play.

Kinky item of the day: I just listed them! Go forth and pervert. (And tell me YOUR favourite pervertables in the comments or on Twitter.)

Ginger

At some point I’m going to write a whole post on figging – the practice of sticking a piece of peeled ginger up someone’s butt. But for now, just believe me when I tell you, that shit is INTENSE. The best description I can come up with is that it’s an intense burning sensation.

Some people love it, some hate it. If you’re curious, give it a go, but don’t expect to be able to keep it in long… and remember, the burning can take a little while to fully settle down even when the ginger is removed. (On my first experience, I had some discomfort for about an hour afterwards, which settled down a lot when I took a really thorough shower.)

Kinky item of the day: They’re all listed above! Go forth, pervert innocent objects, and don’t forget to tell me your favourite pervertables in the comments.

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

Beyond Safewords: Tools to Help You Stay Safe

It’s #KinkMonth! I’m celebrating by writing posts inspired by Kayla Lords’ fantastic 30 Days of D/s project, which you should totally check out.

Today is all about safewords, a subject about which I have Many Feelings. Kayla and John ask simply:

So, the question today is, what’s your safeword? If you don’t want to have one, why not?

A set of traffic lights on s dark background, red, amber and green, for a post about safewords

I love safewords. Truly, I do. There are fairly few things in kink I take a really hard line on, but you need to have a safeword is one of them. (Along with “thou shalt not cheat” and “it’s all a game at the end of the day.” But those are both subjects for other posts.

A safeword, for those not aware, is basically a word that means STOP IMMEDIATELY. It’s useful in scenes where words like “no” and “stop” are not supposed to be taken at face value – resistance play and certain roleplay scenarios, for example. The most common safeword is “red,” but any word you wouldn’t normally use in a kinky context will work. My first safeword was “canary.” I also used “aardvark” at one point.

Again: safewords are really, really important. If you’re playing any kind of scene where “no” might not really mean no, you must have a safeword. Others will disagree with me, and that’s fine. But again: I take a really hard line on this. Have a fucking safeword.

But safewords are not the be-all, end-all of safe BDSM. So here I want to suggest a few other tools you might want to have in your “safer kinky fuckery” toolkit.

The word “no.”

In the absence of very explicit negotiation to the contrary, “no” is the untimate safeword for everyone. Unless you’ve very clearly spelled out “for the length of this scene (or relationship, I suppose,) no doesn’t mean no”… guess what? No means fucking no.

A “check in” or “adjust” word.

The most popular of these is “orange” or “amber” (usually alongside red, like a system of traffic lights. “Green,” though less commonly used, means “keep going!”) This is valuable because it differentiates between needing to bring the entire scene to a screeching halt, and just needing to adjust something.

Mr CK and I have agreed that if I say “red,” the scene is finished and we’ll stop playing, commence aftercare and debrief about what went wrong. “Orange,” though, could just mean “I’m nearing my limit, maybe spank a little more gently” or “my arm’s going to sleep, can we change positions?”

Really robust negotiation.

You’ve fully negotiated before you began playing, right? (Read this post for tips and tricks on doing just that.) Of course, things can always go wrong and there’s no shame in that as long as everyone was operating in good faith. But the more fully and clearly you negotiate, the better chance you have of having a hot, sexy scene where everything goes well.

A 1-1o scale.

This is mostly useful if you’re engaging in pain play of any kind. 1 typically means “I can’t feel it,” whereas 10 means “I am about to use my safeword.” The sweet spot will vary from person to person, and you should be ready to communicate yours to your partner if you use this scale.

For me, anything between a 4 and an 8 is enjoyable. Lower than 4, and I’m probably not getting much out of it. 9 is well into the “I’m enjoying the endurance challenge of this but not the pain itself” territory, and 10 is pretty much synonymous with “orange, stop hitting me right now.” I once Topped a guy, though, whose goal was to hit a solid 9 and stay there for most of the scene.

Again, no one size fits all, but the scale is a useful way of communicating if you’re engaging in pain type play.

Body language and non-verbal communication.

If you know each other well, you probably know each other’s body language and non-verbal cues pretty well.

Does he go silent when something’s wrong? Do deep, guttural moans mean she’s having fun, but high-pitched squeaks mean she’s reaching her limit? Do they clench their fists when they’re having a tough time with something? Is crying good or bad?

Body language is far from foolproof, and should go alongside using your words, but it’s a massive part of how we communicate as human beings and can be a really, really valuable tool if you take the time to tune in.

References.

If you want to play with a new person and they’re active on their local scene and/or Fetlife, it’s a good idea to do some asking around and see what their reputation is. Most people won’t hesitate to tell you what their impression or experience of someone is.

Sadly, this method has its problems, and how useful it is will likely depend upon your local scene politics. Kink communities often have a problem with sheltering abusers (especially if the abuser is popular, charming or throws good parties.)

Ask around, always seek a second opinion whatever you hear, and don’t rely solely on this information to keep you safe.

Safe-calls.

This is where you arrange to call/text/otherwise contact someone – perhaps a friend or another partner? – at a prearranged time, during or after a date, to tell them you’re safe.

For example: “I’ll call you by 4pm. If I don’t, please call me. If I don’t answer, I’m in trouble, here’s where I’ll be.”

Aside from the obvious benefit of having someone who knows where you are, who you’re with and can alert the relevant authorities quickly if something happens to you, setting up a safe call and informing them about it can also tell you a lot about the person you’re going to play with. If you say “I need to call my friend at 4pm to let her know I’m safe,” a good play partner will say “sure, maybe set an alarm to remind yourself” and not “WHAT THE FUCK WHY DON’T YOU TRUST ME I’M A NICE GUY!!!”

If it’s a variation on the latter, run.

A spotter.

Lastly, a tool which I feel is under-utilised but really, really valuable. A spotter watches the scene but is not directly involved unless they’re needed. For example, a more experienced rigger might watch a rope scene to make sure the tie is safe. Using spotters is brilliant when you’re learning new skills, but their usefulness extends beyond just beginners. If you’re playing with someone new or someone you don’t know very well, having a third party to observe and check in if necessary can help to keep you safe – especially if it’s someone who knows you, and your reactions, particularly well.

What tools do you use to keep yourself and your partners safe, beyond just safewords?

Kinky item of the day: Jacks Floggers’ pocket singletail. This is not an affiliate link and I have no connection to the company, I just love the hell out of his stuff. I bought this whip for Mr CK last Christmas and we both adore it. (MASSIVE SAFETY DISCLAIMER: singletails are dangerous. Please do not use one on a person until you’ve been taught how by an expert and had adequate practice.)

The image in this post was offered for use under creative commons licensing.

The Hard Limits That Changed

It’s #KinkMonth this October. To celebrate, my lovely affiliates over at Lovehoney are offering 15% off any purchase of £50 or more and I’m writing a post a day inspired by Kayla Lords’ 30 Days of D/s project.

Today is all about limits. Kayla and John ask:

Do you know what your hard limits are? Are there a few things you’d like to try but you’re a little nervous? They’re such a big part of D/s and kink, it’s never a bad idea to think about them no matter where you are in your relationship.

A close up on a section of a barbed wire fence for a post about hard limits

Hard limits are an interesting thing. In a nutshell, a hard limit is a thing you absolutely will not do under any circumstances. We all have them and we must respect and honour our own and our partner’s.

What people won’t often tell you, though, is that hard limits can change. Some will never change, and that’s okay. But some will shift over time. A “fuck no” might become a “well, maybe…” From there, it might go back to being a “no,” or it might become a firm “yes.”

Mine have certainly shifted over time. I have a few that will almost certainly never change (DD/lg, ageplay, scat, cutting, to name just a few) but others, like those included below, have fluctuated and evolved over the years.

Anal sex

I wrote a post about my turbulent relationship with anal sex over the years. Pressure to engage in it long before I was ready made me shut down and close myself off to the possibility. For a long time, I declared anal a hard boundary and made it clear to anyone I had sex with that butt stuff was off the table.

The secret to cracking this limit was that I had to come to it in my own time. I had to be in a situation with enough love, trust and intimacy to enable me to explore it safely. In other words, I needed a space where I could peek around this particular door, knowing it’d be safe and okay to slam it shut again if I needed to.

I’m only engaging in it with Mr CK at the current time, but anal sex has moved from a hard limit to one of my favourite activities in the space of a few years.

Topping

Yep. Your card-carrying Twue Switch over here once insisted that she would never, ever Top or Dominate somebody under any circumstances. I once safeworded out of a threesome because the guy tried to Dom me into Domming the other woman.

And then, well, I got curious. I wanted to see what it was like. For science, you understand. To better appreciate the other side of the slash. What I didn’t expect was to like it as much as I did. (I wrote a little about that, too!)

I’m still about 80-90% sub (percentages vary on any given day!) but switchiness is a pretty key component of my sexual make-up and how I like to play these days.

Play-piercing

For years I simply could not understand the appeal of this. The idea of it viscerally squicked me the fuck out.

So why did I try it? Mainly, I think, to say I had. I thought it might be a funny story, a crazy anecdote to share about that time I explored a super edgy activity. And also, a little bit, because I was annoyed at myself for being so afraid of it.

It’s still very much in the “soft limit” category – a very occasional activity (literally three times ever) and one I have to be extremely careful with, for mental and physical health reasons as well as obvious safety concerns. Not to mention, of course, the sheer amount of trust required and the fact that I wouldn’t let anyone do this to me who hadn’t been trained in at least the basics by an expert.

And one that changed back: 24/7 D/s

This one could be a whole post by itself, and I may write that post at some point. For years, I insisted I would never do a 24/7 relationship – the idea of letting somebody have that level of control over me was, frankly, too terrifying to comprehend.

So why did I decide suddenly, in my early 20s, that I wanted it? Why did I ask my sometimes-Dom boyfriend to be my Master? The answer to that is complex and multi-faceted, but sadly the kernel at the core is this: I did it to justify to myself the fact that he already had pretty much complete control over my body, emotions, heart and life. I already barely breathed without permission, so why not stick a collar on it and call it kink?

Of course I understand that not all 24/7 relationships are abusive. There are some great and wonderful ones out there! (Hi, Kayla & John!) But that experience was valuable for me, if only because it taught me that that life isn’t for me. I don’t want to answer to anyone except in very limited and negotiated capacities. I certainly don’t ever want to hand over control over my entire life again.

Remember: limits can change! And that’s okay!

I now have three categories of limits: hard limits (NOPE NEVER ABSOLUTELY NOT,) soft limits (sometimes, under certain circumstances, with lots of negotiation,) and only-with-Mr-CK limits (things I won’t do with anyone but him.)

Your limits will change over time too. We’re humans and change is part of what we do. What’s important is to check in with yourself regularly, and keep communicating with your partner along the way!

Kinky item of the day: Jute 5mm, my bondage rope of choice. The smell, the feel, the tightness across my skin… mmmm! (This is not an affiliate link and I have no connection to the company, I just love their rope.)

[Kink Product Review] Rouge Garments Leather Spiral Flogger

Did I mention that sex bloggers get the BEST goodie bags at our events? Well, we do. The lovely people at Rouge Garments provided various goodies for the June Lube and Laptop meet, and mine turned out to be this fittingly red red red (seriously this thing is so red) leather flogger.

The bright red Rouge Garments Leather Spiral Flogger. For a review post.

This flogger is pretty hefty. End to end it’s about 71cm, of which 51cm is the falls and 20cm the handle. (On Rouge’s site it lists the length of falls as 47cm, so mine may be a slightly over-long prototype.) Either way it’s got a lot of length to it.

My Ratings (all scores out of 5★)

Price: ★★★★
The flogger retails on Rouge Garments’ own site for £29.99, which is a very reasonable price for a real leather product.

Materials: ★★★★★
It’s 100% real leather, which is my material of choice for hitty items in general. Vegans and stricter vegetarians may want to steer clear, but that’s a matter of personal choice. (I’ll hold my hands up as a hypocritical vegetarian who loves leather here.)

Appearance & Quality: ★★★
It comes in black or red, which are pretty standard colours for BDSM equipment. I’d love to see more variety in this area in general! The design is fine though I don’t think it’s the prettiest item in Rouge’s store – my personal aesthetic tastes lean more along the lines of leather falls with a wooden or metal handle, rather than all-over leather, but that’s a matter of preference. It seems generally solid in terms of craftsmanship, but my one gripe (and it’s a pretty major one) is with the length of the falls. They’re not cut evenly and there is a disparity of more than an inch between the longest and shortest. This does, unfortunately, make an otherwise well-made product look somewhat cheap and slapdash.

Ease of Wielding: ★★★
Like all longer floggers, it takes some practice to wield effectively, but this isn’t a criticism of the product. Generally the longer the hitty thing, the harder it is to wield. It is very light for its size, though, which is a plus point. I could use it for quite a while without my arm getting tired, and I’m far from the strongest person around. Mr CK pointed out that, due to the handle not being smooth (the leather is effectively wrapped around in a spiral shape,) the ridges did start to hurt his hand after a little while.

Feel: ★★★
I adore the feel of real leather on my skin. For me, this flogger is just about the perfect thud/sting balance. The weight is just enough to give it a nice thud, while the thin falls follow that initial thud with a little bit of bite. The uneven falls do increase the tendency for mishits to happen, though, which led to a couple of “BAD ouch” moments. Not recommended for anyone who wants pure thud or intense sting, but a good option if you like a mix.

Overall Score: ★★★
Not the greatest flogger I’ve ever used but far from the worst, either. I’d recommend it for people with some flogging experience who want to try out a larger flogger, and for anyone who wants to add some real leather to their collection but is on a budget. If you want pure beauty and craft, though, I’d skip this one and head on over to Jack’s Floggers or Kabunza instead.

Rouge Garments generously gifted these products and asked for honest reviews. All opinions are, and will always be, my own. There are no affiliate links in this post.

Masturbation Monday: “Pinwheel”

Two firsts for me on the blog today: I’m taking part in my awesome friend Kayla‘s Masturbation Monday challenge for the first time (you can too! Click the link for details and to see everyone else’s smut.) I’m also writing erotica from the point of view of a person with a penis for the first time.

The header for Kayla Lords' Masturbation Monday project, for an erotic story titled Pinwheel

The prompt post is here (I’m not adding the picture because I don’t want the blog to get shut down due to images of genitals.)

Here’s my Masturbation Monday effort. It includes female dominance and male submission, tease/denial, and mild genital pain infliction. Usual disclaimers apply: all characters are legal adults and giving informed consent to everything portrayed here.

If you like this work and want to see more of it, become a Patron or buy me a coffee to say thanks!

“Pinwheel” © 2017 Coffee&Kink

‘Do you want your cock touched?’ she asks, her fingers teasing the unyielding plastic of my cage as my dick strains against it, trying to get hard, trying to feel something.

‘Please…’ is all that comes out. She giggles, this woman I love, my wife of fifteen years and now also my Mistress of just over a year. She twirls a strawberry blonde curl with her left hand, while her right moves from my caged cock to my swollen balls.

‘But it’d be such a shame. You’re so obedient when you’re frustrated and I’m worried that if I let you out now, you’ll just come and then all my hard work will be ruined.’

Continue reading “Masturbation Monday: “Pinwheel””