The Question Game

For Smutathon 2019, I promised to write a bespoke story for the first person who donated $200! That wonderful person was @SuperSleepyDude, and they requested a first-date hypnokink story involving a pocket watch. I added a bit of orgasm control because, well, that’s my jam. I hope they – and all of you – enjoy it!

A pocket watch. For a piece of erotica called Question Game

One: Them

I watch her across the table as she sips her drink. She way her eyes flutter closed just for a second, the faint kiss of purple lipstick she leaves on the glass… god, she’s gorgeous. She swishes her drink around in the glass, intently watching the pale pink liquid. I suspect this is so she can buy herself another second before she has to meet my gaze again. I know she’s shy. The way she blushes just makes me want her even more.

This might just be the best first date of my life, and we haven’t even touched yet, apart from a quick hug and very chaste cheek-kiss hello. This woman is whip-smart, hilarious and pings all my kink buttons, as well as being just the kind of femme cutie I can’t resist.

For the last half hour – dessert long since cleared away and our second round of drinks recently delivered – we’ve been playing the Question Game. We take turns to ask each other a question. They started off tamely enough – what was your favourite subject at school? Tell me about your relationship with your siblings? Gradually, as the hour grows later and drinks make us bolder, they get more risque. What was the strangest place you ever had sex? Tell me a fantasy you’ve never told anyone before.

I drain my glass of whisky and signal to our waitress to bring me another.

“I believe it’s your turn,” I tell my date.

She meets my eyes. There’s a wicked smile playing around the edges of her lips. The question that comes out of them, though, is not what I was expecting.

“What’s in your jacket pocket?”

“My… what?” Caught off guard, my hand goes automatically to the pocket.

“There’s a chain poking out of your pocket. What is it?”

“Oh. This.” I take out my pocketwatch and hold it out for her to see. I slip it into her hand so she can look closer and she turns it over, admiringly, pops it open then closes it again.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

“Family heirloom,” I say. “It goes everywhere with me. For good luck, I suppose. Or something.” I wonder if she’ll notice the faint note of mischief in my voice. It’s there, but faint enough for her to pick up on if she chooses and leave aside if not.

I take the watch back and slip it back into the breast pocket of my jacket. “My question. What were you hoping it would be?”

“I didn’t have hopes. I was just curious.” She rests her chin on her interlocked fingers and regards me with a gaze that says she knows exactly what she’s doing. “So is it true?” She says after a second. “The myth about hypnosis and pocket watches?”

“Do you want it to be true?” I’m reasonably sure I know the answer – my hypno-kink experience and her curiosity about the same occupied a good portion of one of last week’s late-night IM chats, after all.

“Uh-uh. My turn to ask the question,” she says, a flash of what she calls her latent switchy energy coming to the surface.

“Yes, it’s true.”

“And how does it…” she begins, but I cut her off.

“My turn.”

She sits back and grins. We’re sparring with each other now, and it’s hot as fuck. She mimes zipping my lips shut and waits for my question. I consider it, and decide to take the gamble.

“Do you want to see how it works?”

“What?”

“That’s my question. Do you want me to give you a demonstration of how it works?”

She’s thinking. She purses her lips, takes another sip of her drink, then sits forward and leans her forearms on the table. “Sure. And since that makes it my turn for a question… your place or mine?”

Two: Her

Half an hour later and I’m in their bedroom. A quick pre-negotiation covers the boundaries, and they explain to me their fundamental axiom that governs this type of play: “I can only hypnotise you if you consent to being hypnotised. It’s not mind control. I can’t do it to you if you decide not to let me.” I tell them I agree. I tell them I really, really want this.

The preamble out of the way, they tell me to lean back against the pile of pillows at one end of the bed. I sink into it and they kneel in front of me. We’re both fully clothed, still. That somehow makes it hotter.

They pull out the watch. I resist the urge to giggle, suddenly, at what a stereotype this is. When I asked if the pocket watch thing was true, I didn’t really expect to be offered a demonstration (though, if I’m honest with myself, in my deepest fantasies it’s exactly what I wanted.) They stifle the giggle before it surfaces by fixing me with such an intense gaze I think I might just melt into a puddle on the spot.

“Now I want you to focus on the watch. It’s going to start swinging very gently back and forth. Follow it with your eyes. That’s it. Listen to the sound of my voice while you keep watching it. Watch it swaying, feel the rhythm, you can’t look away, just keep following it and listening to my voice…”

The specific words start to become meaningless after a while. As I keep my eyes fixed on the swaying watch, I begin to feel as though my upper body is swaying gently along with it.

“You’re going to start feeling like you want to close your eyes. When you feel that, it’s okay to do so. That’s it, be a good girl and close your eyes for me… feel your eyelids getting heavy…”

I’m not sure it’s even accurate to say that I obey them, because it does not feel like a conscious choice. Rather, my body follows of its own accord. All it wants to do is what that gentle, soothing, encouraging voice tells me to do.

Three: Them

The thing with hypnosis is that some people are much, much more susceptible to it than others. Some people just can’t really get there – a part of their brain just won’t switch off enough to allow it. But the woman in front of me is definitely, definitely susceptible. I can’t remember the last time I saw someone trance so quickly and easily.

Fuck. I feel my cock getting hard as I think of all the sexy possibilities. Not tonight, though. Tonight I’m not even going to touch her. Not directly, anyway.

“Put your left hand down by your side,” I instruct, taking care to keep my voice low and calm. A first-time trance can be fragile and I don’t want to break it. She does so. “That hand is tied there. You cannot move it again until you’re given permission. With your right hand, I want you to put it between your legs and touch yourself the same way you usually do.”

I pause for a moment and watch her. She slips her hand into her skirt and panties and a whimper escapes her lips as her fingers find her clit. “You’re going to rub slow circles on your clit for me. One… two… three… yes, good girl, keep that rhythm going. You will not speed up, slow down, stop, or orgasm unless I tell you to.” I pause and watch her. God, this is so unbelievably sexy. “I’m going to be asking the questions now, and you’re going to answer them honestly for me. Can you do that, pretty thing?” I ask her.

“Yes, Sir.” The voice that comes out is quiet, compliant, submissive. Exactly the state she told me she gets into when she’s in deep subspace. Perfect.

“First question. How aroused are you right now, with a one being not at all and a ten being at the point of orgasm?”

“Five, Sir.”

“I see. And is that because being under my control gets you going?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you want me to take control of how aroused you can get?”

“Yes please, Sir.”

“Then I’m going to give you a number from one to ten. That number is how aroused you’ll be and how close to orgasm. You will not stop what you’re doing or change the pace at all. Now, I think you’re a little too excited for this early in the game so let’s take you back down to a three. That’s it, good girl.”

Her breathing steadies, but her fingers keep moving. Good. This is working very nicely.

“Now let’s very slowly ramp back up to a five… remember to keep those fingers moving exactly the way I showed you, no faster or slower… one… two… three… four… let your arousal slowly increase.”

I decide to take the risk and try something. “Now for five seconds, you’re going to be right up at an eight. Ready? Now.” She moans and the hand that I’ve bound clutches at a handful of sheet, but remains in place. She squirms as I count down the five seconds. “Was that nice? Good girl, now let’s calm you back down to a four…”

I sit back and watch her, a little mesmerised myself by the rhythmical, steady movements of her fingers on her clitoris.

“Next question. If I let you pick any number right now, what number would you pick?”

“Nine.”

“Nine? That sounds like somebody wants to be on the edge but not quite coming. Is that right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Perhaps we’ll go to a nine a little later. Let’s get you to a seven right now.” I’m not sure if the whine that comes from her lips is pleasure or frustration, but I love it either way. I’m rock hard and I know I’m going to be jerking off to the memory of this for a long time to come.

“That’s it, hold that there for me, sweetheart. Such a good girl. Keep those fingers moving, don’t speed up, don’t slow down… hold that seven for me, good girl.”

“Next question. Do you think you’ve been a good enough girl to be allowed that nine you asked for?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Mmmmm. Yes, I think so too. As you wish… nine. Feel your arousal increase. You’re so close to the edge now, aren’t you? I love knowing you’re so close but I have such control over you that you can’t tip over into orgasm unless I give you that magic number.”

She’s squirming, seemingly uncontrollably, humping her own hand as if trying to get more stimulation but not able to rub any harder or faster than I’ve told her to. Her sounds are sometimes moans and sometimes whimpers, but always fucking music to my ears.

“Feel the orgasm building inside you, so close you can taste it but not able to wash over you unless I let it. It hurts, doesn’t it? Feel that exquisite ache, feel how much your body wants it… but it wants to obey me even more. Keep that hand moving nice and slowly. Good girl.” The calmness of my voice, juxtaposed with the writhing and whimpering of the desperate, tranced girl on the bed in front of me, amuses me. I feel my inner sadist poke their head out.

“Bring it back down to a 7 now. Good girl, come down off that edge. You’re still really aroused, though, aren’t you? Hold it there. Good girl. Last question. Do you want me to give you a ten and tip you over into orgasm?”

“Yes please, Sir!”

“Take your hand away. I think that’s enough for our first session. Time to start bringing you back to earth, sweetheart.”

Unlearning Sex Negativity

I’ve been meaning to write this piece for a long time. So today for Smutathon seems like as good a time as any!

A white rose. For a post on unlearning sex negativity.

I need to start by admitting something that doesn’t make me look good. When I was younger, I engaged in a lot of slut-shaming. I held a very, very strong belief that people should only have sex in the context of Capital L Love. I kinda low-key considered myself better than other girls because of the small number of people I’d had sex with and the fact that I insisted on a strong emotional bond before I would consider it.

To be clear, I am NOT demisexual. Obviously some people are and this is a completely legitimate sexual identity. However, I experience sexual attraction and desire outside of emotionally committed relationships. Definitely not demi. I just… had some very strange moral ideas about sexuality. I would, in my late teens and early twenties, quite often find myself wanting to have sex with someone but insisting I couldn’t because it would be *wrong* because we weren’t In Love. Even when I became polyamorous, I was one of those insufferable “it’s not about SEX! It’s about LOVE!!!!!!” people.

And now? Well, I’m a swinger! I love casual sex! I’ve had threesomes and foursomes and orgies. I’ve been to countless sex parties and facilitated a few. The number of people I’ve slept with is probably still not particularly impressive to some, but I stopped counting at thirty which is way above the national average.

So… what the fuck happened?

The short answer is that I learned. The longer answer is that I took the time to step back and consider my position – really consider it – and couldn’t find any morally defensible reason for continuing to hold it. I also realised that I could be a whole lot happier if I actually allowed myself to have what my heart and body wanted, rather than holding on to some strange morality that didn’t actually stand up under scrutiny.

I have a fairly clear idea of where my ideas about sexuality came from. Though I wasn’t raised religious, I was brought up in an environment where long-term monogamy was held up as the Right Way and sexual promiscuity was shamed. In addition, my first long term relationship was with an older guy who was very clear that he prized me for my Purity. Because I was a virgin when we met (I was fourteen!) he expected me to somehow stay all innocence, naivety about sex, and wide-eyed-inexperience forever. He slut-shamed me for liking some of the sex we had together (I was supposed to put out, but seem reluctant about it – make of that whatever you like!) In turn I slut-shamed myself and internalised the idea that I wasn’t supposed to enjoy sex and that being into it made me less appealing to the men I was having sex with.

To be clear, I don’t think my experience was anything particularly atypical. Girls in our culture are often brought up under the weight of massive sexual shame, in a society that still stigmatises and even pathologises female desire and sexuality. Girls are taught it’s their job to say no to boys, to resist any whiff of sexual activity… but then somehow know exactly how to “please their man” once they’re in a socially-sanctioned relationship. It’s fucked up.

No-one who is brought up in this kind of environment can escape without internalising some of it. It’s almost impossible. Some of us fare better than others, of course, but we’re all swimming in this toxic sex-negativity. To escape from it takes a real effort.

It took me years to unlearn some of these toxic beliefs about sex, and to be honest that work is still not entirely done. I still occasionally have to catch myself when I find myself playing down my eagerness for sex or being tempted to lie when someone asks me how many people I’ve had sex with.

But the actual unlearning was a process. First, it required consciously acknowledging that actually, being promiscuous and engaging in casual sex was something I would enjoy. Then learning how not to judge myself, or others, for these types of behaviours. And that took a lot of reading, a lot of critical thought, a lot of listening and talking to others and questioning questioning questioning my beliefs at every step of the way.

I still vividly remember the first time I had sex with someone I didn’t love. It felt as though an enormous weight had lifted off my shoulders. I’d kinda wanted to bang that particular person, a good friend with whom a romantic relationship wouldn’t have worked, for a long time. But I’d always denied my interest and said no because I had this weird moral conviction that it would be somehow wrong and say something bad about me as a person if I engaged in Sex Without Love.

Sex with love attached is great. And sex without love attached can also be great. Sex, in the context of a consensual exchange between adults, is fucking awesome.

If you want to only have sex with the one person you’re married to for your entire life, I support that. If you want to have gangbangs with thirty strangers every weekend, I also support that. When we free ourselves from arbitrary sexual morality, we can look at the things that really matter (consent, agency, risk-aware practices, pleasure) and stop judging ourselves and each other so harshly for the consensual sex we engage in.

This post is part of Smutathon 2019. Please donate if you can and help us raise lots of money to support abortion access!

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Ten Tips for Getting the Most Out of Fetlife

Ahhhh, Fetlife.

Love it or hate it, the “Facebook of kink” is still the absolute number one place to be on the internet if you’re a kinky person who wants to interact with the BDSM and fetish community outside of your bedroom.

But if you’re not careful, it can be a bit of a cesspit. Here are my top ten tips for getting the most out of Fetlife.

Fill out your profile

You really need to fill out your profile if you want to use Fetlife to help you build a community. You don’t have to post an essay, but “I dunno just ask me” or “I hate talking about myself” do not constitute a profile.

Tell us whatever it is about yourself that you’re happy to share. For starters, try: how long have you been on the scene, what does kink mean to you, what your relationship(s) look like, and what you’re looking for. You could also include an outside-of-kink hobby or interest or two!

Choose your role carefully

There are tonnes of different role options you can choose from. Of course there’s the ubiquitous Dom/Sub/Switch, but there’s also Kinkster, Hedonist, Pet, Brat, Daddy, Princess, and many more. Choose the one that best suits you (and, if you want, say something about what it means to you in your profile!) Remember you can always change it, too, so don’t be afraid to swap things around as you gain experience and change as a kinkster. I wrote a deeply personal post last year about the different role descriptors I’ve used over the years.

Consider your location

The running joke is that there are more kinksters in Antarctica than people, because so many Fetlife users put “Antarctica” as their location to avoid revealing where they really live.

If you need to conceal your location, I’m absolutely not judging. Please do what you need to do in order to be safe! But if you can, consider putting your actual town/city or at least somewhere close to it. (Or a general area, like your state or county.) This makes it easier to connect with people who live near to you, and also means you’ll get event recommendations based on your location. (Not many dungeon parties in Antarctica, funnily enough!)

Say what you’re looking for

In your profile header, you can pick “What I’m Looking For” from a dropdown menu. Options include everything from “a Master/Mistress” to “a lifetime relationship” to “Events” to “Friendship.” You can choose more than one. Consider carefully what it is you’re looking for and be honest here! Saying you’re only looking for friendship or events won’t entirely stop the creepers from messaging you, but it will cut down on it. If you say you’re looking for a romantic, sexual or kinky partner, it’s a really good idea to delve further into what you’re after in your profile (or by using the “Writings” feature.)

Read profiles before messaging!

I really cannot emphasise this enough. Please read someone’s ENTIRE profile before messaging them – and pay attention to what it says. My profile states very clearly that I have no interest in submissive cis men and that they should not under any circumstances message me. I still get an average of one “HeLlO MiStReSs CaN i LiCk YoUr BoOtS?” type message per day. I also say I don’t add strangers as friends, and yet the random friend requests still flood in. Read a damn profile, and heed what it says. You are not the exception.

Message respectfully

So you’ve read someone’s profile and they’ve sparked your interest enough to want to make a connection. The first message can really make or break things here. Don’t go in with sexual content straight away (yes it’s a fetish site, but there are human beings on the other end of your message!) Don’t make demands, make assumptions of roles (this means no calling someone Sir, Mistress, Daddy, slut, slave or any other kinky title without consent!) or ask people to meet straight away. Do at least a cursory check of your spelling and grammar (graduate thesis level perfection is not expected but making an effort is nice.) Don’t wall-of-text. Don’t ask someone to meet straight away. Just… be a friendly, normal, respectful person.

Join groups

There are literally thousands of groups on Fetlife! These operate as discussion forums based around topics. Many are for specific kinks or fetishes (for example, Spanking, Orgasm Control or Needle Play.) Others are based around a specific geographical location, or even a specific event (Attendees of Fetish Fest 2020, for example.) There are even non-kinky groups where you can just discuss a topic of mutual interest! I’m in book groups, health and fitness groups, groups for people who are childfree-by-choice, and many more. Pick a few interests and join groups.

Read and obey group rules

All groups have rules governing the kind of content that is allowed in them. Many, for example, will specify “no personal ads” (cruising for dates/play,) “no advertising” (commercial or business content or advertising your event,) or even be limited to a certain demographic (such as under 35s, women, or LGBTQ folks.) Disregarding group rules is likely to get your posts deleted and may even get you kicked or banned from groups. It also wastes moderators’ time, annoys group members, and makes you look like a dick. Just read the rules and follow them.

Don’t pay too much attention to Kinky & Popular

Ugh, Kinky and Popular. This page highlights posts (photos, videos and writings) which have garnered a lot of attention in a short space of time. No-one is 100% clear how the algorithm works, but that’s the gist of it. The thing is, K&P is mostly full of what can best be described as “vanilla porn” – videos of fairly heteronormative, vanilla sex acts and nude pictures of skinny, young, normatively attractive white girls. Which are fine if these are your thing, but they’re not really what most people go to Fetlife for.

K&P also generally makes people who don’t fit into these narrow beauty standards feel shit about ourselves and our bodies. There are occasional K&P writings that are absolute gems, but you have to weed through a lot of crap to get to them. Just ignore K&P is my advice. Kink isn’t a popularity contest.

Reach out to community leaders and prominent figures

See someone who looks like they’re a leader, event organiser or prominent and respected person in your local community? Reach out to them! Amongst all the crap in my inbox, I love receiving the “I’m new to the scene in [place where I live,] saw you’re pretty active and wondered if you’d be willing to be a friendly face at [the munch next Tuesday/Bob’s party on Friday night/the next Peer Rope workshop] as I’m a bit nervous” type messages. Community leaders become community leaders because we love helping people and helping the scene to thrive. Reach out. Be polite, be respectful of their time, and be specific if you can in what you’re asking.

Erotic Literature

A narrow corridor in a bookshop, the shelves and floor piled high with books. For a story called Erotic Literature.

I manage not to blush too deeply as she starts ringing up my purchases. That’s progress, at least. I’ve been coming to this bookstore for the entire three years I’ve lived in this neighbourhood, and most of my purchases are from their incredibly well-stocked “romance” (read: erotic fiction) section.

I don’t give a fuck when the older male owner is working the cash register, or the college student who must be all of nineteen. They can think what they like. But when this girl is working – this thirty-something soft-butch with her short turquoise hair and well-tailored shirt and lip-ring – I get all tongue-tied and feel like a clueless teenager buying her first Jilly Cooper and furtively skipping to the naughty bits, not a sexually confident woman of twenty-nine.

“You must really like this author,” she says, holding up one of my purchases. “This is the third one you’ve bought this month.”

“I…” I stammer over my words, feeling suddenly caught out as I hand over a twenty pound note. “Yeah, she writes great… characters.”

A raise of an eyebrow. “Characters. Sure, sweetie.” She drops my books into a bag and hands them to me. “Enjoy.” She winks. “By the way, you’re cute when you blush.”

“I am not bl…”

She cuts me off by leaning over the counter and planting a kiss, quick and soft, on my lips.

We stare at each other. She seems almost as shocked as me. “Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have asked..”

“No. Don’t be. I liked it. I mean, I like you. And…” Fuck. What’s the correct way to say every time I’ve seen you for the last three years I’ve been wishing you’d just fuck me against one of these bookshelves?

She comes around from behind the counter and switches the door sign from “Open” to “Closed.” Flicks the latch to lock the door. Then she comes to me, lifts my chin with her hand to make me meet her eyes. Her eyes ask the question before she asks it out loud.

“Yes?”

“God, yes.”

Her lips press to mine. She tastes of peppermint chapstick. As our tongues entwine she pushes me back against the hard edge of the counter.

Her hand finds the waistband of my skirt. Yes, yes… but she pulls back at the last second. “Much as I want to fuck you right here, anyone walking past could see us. And while I’m sure they’d enjoy seeing you being a dirty little slut, I don’t want to get fired. Come with me.”

The back office is small, messy, and piled high with books. Books in boxes, books in piles on the floor, books strewn haphazardly across the desk. She sweeps a few papers off the desk chair and points to it. “Sit.” Powerless to resist her dominance and not even wanting to, I do.

“Now,” she says. She takes the carrier bag I’m still clutching from my hands and pulls out one of my purchases. She opens it and hands it to me. “You’re going to sit in that chair and read for me from this smut you like so much. While you do, I’m going to eat your cunt. If you stop reading, I stop licking. So if you want to come, you’d better do a good job for me.”

Fuck. Seriously? My cunt definitely likes the sound of this game. I worry I’m soaking through my knickers.

She goes to her knees and reaches under my skirt, putting her hands on my thighs to spread my legs. Then she peels my knickers off and grins wickedly up at me. “I might be on my knees, pretty girl, but don’t forget who’s in charge. Now start reading.”

I bite my lip and look down at the page. Concentrate, I tell myself. Hesitantly at first, I begin to read. My face flushes at hearing the kind of erotic filth I like to read spoken out loud. Her tongue makes contact with my clit and I fight back a moan. Keep reading.

The scene heats up quickly and by the time I’m on the third page, her flicks of my clit with her tongue mirrors what’s happening between the characters. I try not to squirm too much and to concentrate on the words in front of me, though they’re all starting to swim together. God, she’s really good at this. I can feel my wetness dripping onto the chair underneath me.

She slides two fingers into my cunt and my voice falters as my eyes flutter closed. She takes her mouth away from my cunt just long enough to say sternly, “don’t you fucking dare stop reading.” As if to emphasise her point, she nips she inside of my thigh with her teeth. I squeak at the sudden pain.

Fuck, she’s really good. My legs are shaking and the hand that isn’t holding the book is gripping the edge of the desk, white-knuckled. Her fingers stroke my G-spot in the come-hither motion I love as she laps more forcefully at my clit.

The words are coming out of my mouth more erratically, now, as I frantically try not to lose my place. Until now I’ve always assumed I need perfect concentration to be able to come – but her tongue and fingers are pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

She looks up from between my legs and her eyes meet mine. “You can come when the girl in the story does,” she says.

Knowing I’m not going to last much longer, and desperately not wanting to disobey this gorgeous dominant woman, I try to speed up my reading to reach the climax – ahem – of the scene.

Getting close!” I read as the woman in the story is finger-fucked by her partner.

“Her fingers worked their way in and out of me, harder and faster, and I knew I was seconds away from coming and that I was probably going to gush all over her hand…” I read, my voice now shaking. The woman between my legs presses harder against my G-spot and encircles my whole clitoris with her warm mouth.

“I’m coming…” I read. And with one last flick of her tongue, she pushes me over the edge at the same moment as the woman in the story. I feel the rush of fluid from between my legs and I know she’s made me squirt. The book drops from my hand to the desk as I hold her head against my cunt, fucking her face until the last waves of orgasm have subsided.

She sits back, licking her lips and looking very pleased with herself.

“I just realised,” she says. “I forgot to ask your name.”

This piece was written as part of Smutathon. Please donate if you can – all funds raised to go support safe, legal abortion access. You can read everyone’s smutty work at the Smutathon website.

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Group Sex Does Not Ruin You For 1-on-1 Sex

Believe it or not, this post title has been in my ideas list for ages… and then Exhibit A said almost exactly the same thing in one of his Smutathon posts! So this forms my final post of the day (probably, unless this is quicker than I think it’s going to be and I end up rattling off a sixth one). If you still want to donate to our fundraiser for Abortion Support Network, you’ve got time!

A snowy slope with a ski lift. For a post about group sex and the slippery slope fallacy.
This is a slippery slope. Sex and kink is not one.

I get asked this question surprisingly often. “Doesn’t group sex mean you can’t be satisfied with one on one sex any more?”

The short answer is no. The long answer is…

Things, and people, don’t work that way. Are you no longer able to enjoy a simple but delicious meal simply because you occasionally go to fine dining restaurants? Are you unable to appreciate quiet drinks with friends because you’ve also experienced wild, dancing-on-tables nights on the town?

No. Because people don’t work that way. Sex is exactly the same. The idea that things always have to get more and more and more extreme in order to keep a person satisfied once they’ve had a taste of the “exotic” just doesn’t stack up. Sex isn’t a drug – you don’t need a bigger hit every time to get the same high.

I love group sex. Love it love it love it. The tangle of bodies, all the hands and mouths and cocks and cunts and… oops, sorry, got a little carried away there. Point is that it’s brilliant. No matter how many times I do it, and how often and in what combinations, it’s still fucking amazing. I honestly don’t see that ever changing.

But you know what? One on one sex works exactly the same way! We might have had nine-person orgies (that was a great birthday party) and group spanking parties and kinky threesomes and wild nights with other couples… but none of that takes away from the simple, perfect loveliness of my partner’s lips on mine and his cock inside me. Enjoying four or six or eight hands on me doesn’t mean I can’t still delight and find bliss in the same two hands that have known and loved me for years.

It’s the same with kink. I have done some wild kinky shit in my life, and loved every second of it. But it doesn’t mean every session needs to be wilder and more extreme than the last! Despite what some scaremongers would have you believe, spanking is not a slippery slope to being strung up from the ceiling on meat hooks. (Hook suspension exists, don’t google it if you’re squeamish, #YKINMKBYKIOK!) The intense stuff I’ve done has been brilliant and I’m sure it will continue to be brilliant. But it doesn’t mean I’m always seeking harder, crazier, more. A light spanking can still thrill the hell out of me exactly as much as it did the first time I experimented with it. A good old vanilla-ish shag with my partner is still super satisfying, too!

Sex is not a drug. You cannot “ruin” yourself for one-on-one sex by having group sex. Liking kink is not a sign that your desires are getting out of control or that you’ll end up doing something dangerous to get your rocks off. Enjoy what you enjoy, and don’t stress – you’re not going to lose control.

Masturbation Monday: “Blue Dress”

A mostly-true story for Smutathon 2018: Smut for Choice edition. There’s still time to donate and enter the raffle!

A girl in a blue dress from the back, for a Masturbation Monday post about fucking after a wedding“No, keep your dress on.”

The order is sharp. His voice is low – our hosts are asleep in just the next room, after all – but there’s no mistaking the do-as-you’re-told, no-arguments tone. I pause from unzipping the side of my blue silk dress.

“Bend over the bed and keep quiet.”

I lean over the bed, my face buried in the duvet, the wooden frame digging in to the front of my thighs. He lifts the hem of my dress, flipping it up over my back, and runs a hand over my ass. He saw me put on the red knickers I know he likes this morning, and I’m sure he’s been thinking about them ever since as we’ve been terribly well behaved at the family wedding. He’s pulling them down until they sit around my ankles. I’m still wearing my sparkly dancing shoes, and my hair is still somehow, unbelievably, tamed into the impossible style that took the miracle-worker at the salon an hour and a half this morning.

I’m not really completely ready for him when he starts to push his hard cock into me. I wasn’t expecting this and we didn’t bring lube with us. But the humiliating position and the feeling of him fucking me with my dress still on are getting to me. It hurts just a little bit, but I like that. My gasp spurs him on and he buries the full length of his cock in me.

“Keep quiet,” he tells me. I bite my lip and bury my face further into the bed. The sensation of being used is unbearably erotic and I can already feel myself edging closer to orgasm. Perhaps he can feel my telltale spasms, because he says, “come for me. Just do it quietly.” The order is enough to push me over the edge and I come hard around his cock. In response, he thrusts harder.

When I come a second time, it pushes him over the edge too. He releases into me with a low groan.

My beautiful hairstyle is ruined, my makeup smudged and my best knickers stained with his come. The perfect end to the night.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week. (I’m the prompt!)

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.

I Tried to Make Him Hit Me.

This was written as part of Smutathon 2018: #SmutForChoice edition. I’m sorry it’s not very sexy, but it’s sex-adjacent and it needed writing. If you’d like to support abortion access, please click below and donate – you can also win sex toys!

A giant male hand holding a female figure crushing her. For a post called I Tried To Make Him Hit Me.The one thing he never did was hit me.

He screamed at me, including in the middle of the night, including where my flatmates could hear, including when I had no idea what I’d done. He controlled so many facets of my life, and not in ways I’d consented to as part of a kinky dynamic. Guilting and ignoring your partner because they went for an innocent coffee with a friend who happens to be of a different gender is not fun D/s. He monitored my weight and shamed me if I gained a few pounds. I was pushed on to medication. He would even punch, kick and throw objects in front of me, just so I was in no doubt how scared he wanted me. It goes on.

I have a secret confession: I tried, a handful of times, to make him hit me. On these occasions, when he shouted at me, I didn’t cower – I sassed back, very occasionally even yelled back. I called him out on his bullshit. I even, on one particular occasion, told him “you’re abusive”. That was the time I most thought he was going to throw a punch at me.

I wanted permission to leave. I wanted something that would tell me unequivocally, this is bad and you can get out. The part of me that still loved him would, I thought, quiet down if he actually raised a hand to me. The part that was sure he was the best I’d ever do would snap out of the stupid trance he’d got me in. I realise now that it probably wouldn’t – I’d probably have justified it and convinced myself that I deserved it and stuck around anyway, the subservient fucking lapdog that I was.

Just fucking hit me, I thought, and then I can leave and I won’t be the bad guy. Because if I left, I knew he’d demonise me. I couldn’t love him as he was. I couldn’t be good enough to make him happy. I’d be the girl who couldn’t handle it.

We teach women and girls that they should leave if a partner physically hurts them. But we don’t speak enough about emotional and mental and psychological abuse. Too often, the message women get is try harder, try harder, try harder! Love him into not abusing you! We romanticise control as being “protective”.  We play off screaming as “it’s only because he cares”. This starts in childhood, when we tell little girls he’s mean to you because he likes you, and it continues and continues and continues and the next thing you know you’re in your 20s and sobbing on some guy’s floor because he yelled at you again and you just love him so much you’re sure you’ll die if you leave. THEN they have the fucking nerve to say “at least he didn’t hit you.”

He never crossed that line, and in his eyes that made him not-abusive. In mine, it just meant I had to wait for the abuse to get bad enough before I was “allowed” to leave. That took a long fucking time. Learning earlier that physical violence wasn’t the only form of cruelty I should Not Tolerate might have made all the difference.

Parents, teachers, adults: we must teach our girls that they do not have to tolerate cruelty of any kind. That they don’t have to tolerate the mental torture until he finally snaps and hits them. Please let’s do better for the next generation of girls.

[Toy Review] Happy Rabbit Thrusting Realistic Rabbit Vibrator

This review is my first 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! Now on to the review…

A Thrusting Vibrator?

I have a complicated relationship with rabbit vibrators – I occasionally find one I love, often find one I hate, and am frequently quite indifferent to this whole category of toys. The main reason for my struggle with dual stimulation toys is that I just don’t like vibrations inside my vagina. My G-spot, as I have mentioned previously, either wants to be pounded, caressed or left alone – never vibrated. (Coming up later will be a guide to choosing a rabbit, so look out for that!) So when I saw that Lovehoney’s new line of Happy Rabbit vibrators includes a rabbit with a shaft that thrusts rather than vibrates, I simply had to try it out.

The Thrusting Happy Rabbit standing up on a wooden dresser.Bunny Bits ‘n’ Bobs

The Thrusting Happy Rabbit is one of seven toys in Lovehoney’s new Happy Rabbit range. It’s quite a large toy at 9 inches in total length, 4.75″ of which is insertable, and a diameter of 1.5″.

There are two control buttons, one to control the thrusting motion and one to control the clitoral vibrations in the ears. The one-button control for the vibrations is annoying, as you have to scroll all the way through in order to go back to a previous setting. Toy designers: up and down buttons, please!  I do also wish it wasn’t quite so pink.

The Thrusting Rabbit is fully waterproof, and is USB rechargeable, giving a decent 120 minutes play time from a 150-minute charge.

A hopping good time

A gif of the Thrusting Happy Rabbit in action.I admit I looked at this toy and gulped – I normally need a good amount of warm-up to take something this size internally. Thankfully, apparently “haven’t had an orgasm in a few days” + “lube” = sufficient warm-up.

What surprised me even more was that it brought me to orgasm in under five minutes!

The thrusting motion feels amazing. There are three different speeds of thrusting motion to choose from. I preferred the slowest speed, but as ever your mileage may vary.

The “ears” are thick and firm, and have a massive fifteen different vibration settings. They’re not the most powerful vibrations you’ll ever find, but they were more than sufficient to get me off. The clitoral arm has some flexibility, so you can maneuver it to fit with your body.

The main downside in this toy, for me, is the sound. It’s not exactly loud – my partner couldn’t hear it from the next room with the door shut – but the thrusting motion sort of… squeaks? It wasn’t distracting enough to stop me enjoying all the good points of this product, but if you’re very sensitive to sounds (particularly higher pitched sounds) it’s something to be aware of.

Materials & Cleaning

The entire Happy Rabbit range are made from body-safe, non-porous, phthalate-free silicone. A far cry from the horrible jelly things that everyone went mad for after that episode of Sex & the City aired 20 years ago!

As the Thrusting Rabbit is completely waterproof, clean-up is a breeze. Just use some warm water and gentle soap for a thorough clean. For a quick clean between uses, a body-safe sterile wipe will work just fine.

A word of caution on cleaning: due to the creases in the thrusting mechanism, germs and bacteria can easily get trapped in there. Take extra care around these folds to make sure you get all bodily fluids and lube out.

The insertable part of this toy is condom-compatible. As ever, water-based lube is recommended.

So did the Thrusting Rabbit make me happy?

Yes! If, like me, you enjoy dual stimulation but don’t want internal vibrations, this toy is a great choice for you.

It is on the pricier side, retailing for £79.99 ($119.99 US.) However, it’s cheaper than Fun Factory, probably the most popular thrusting vibes on the market right now, and much cheaper than a fucking machine. So if you want a good quality thrusting toy, this is a really great option.

Thank you to Lovehoney for sending me the Thrusting Happy Rabbit in exchange for an honest review. If you purchase through any of my affiliate links, I make a small commission – however, any affiliate income made this weekend (Saturday 11/Sunday 12 August) will be donated to Abortion Support Network!

Smutathon 2018: #SmutForChoice (plus: win sex toys!)

A mug of coffee, notebook and pen on a wooden surface. For a post about Smutathon 2018What is Smutathon?

Many of you will remember #Smutathon2017, a mad idea I had in the middle of the night and which some of my wonderful writing friends were kind enough to go along with. It was essentially a 12 hour writing marathon challenge. We raised £2000 for charity, which we split evenly between Backlash and Rape Crisis England & Wales.

Well, Smutathon is back for 2018, and it’s bigger and better than ever! This year, we’ll be holding the main event at a Mystery Location… okay, it’s not actually a mystery, it’s a large Air B’n’B in Cheshire. It’ll be taking place on Saturday 11 August between 10am and 10pm, where we will write our hearts out for 12 hours and ask you to please sponsor us.

The Participants

Smutathon 2018 participants are:

The in-person event is now at capacity, but we welcome remote participants from all over the world! You can even adjust the time to suit your timezone, if you want. All you need to do to get involved is let us know, share the fundraising page, and write!

#SmutForChoice: Our chosen charity

This year we’re fundraising for Abortion Support Network. Chosen in honour of the recent “Repeal the 8th” campaign in the Republic of Ireland, ASN is an amazing organisation that supports people who need to travel from Ireland or the Isle of Man to England in order to access abortion. They, like us, believe that abortion should be free, safe and legal. From their website:

“ASN is not a campaigning or lobbying organisation. While other organisations campaign for much needed law reform, our volunteers work hard to provide immediate, practical support to women who are unable to access safe and legal abortion in their own countries.”

So… tell us about winning sex toys?

Yes! We decided to hold a raffle this year to boost our fundraising and we’ve got some amazing prizes for you. Unless marked below as UK only, all prizes can be shipped anywhere in the world. If we draw your name for a UK only prize, we will randomly assign you a different prize that we can send.

The Prizes

How To enter

There are two ways to enter the Smutathon 2018 raffle. Entries are £2 each, you can enter as many times as you like, and the draw will be done (and shared live on Twitter!) at the main event on Saturday 12 August 2018.

  • ENTER VIA JUSTGIVING: donate to our JustGiving page and put “raffle” + your Twitter handle or email in the message/ comment box. If you don’t want this info available publicly, contact me to let me know the name you paid with so I can record your entry.★★★Very important:★★★ if you are entering the raffle via Justgiving, do not tick the box when asked if you would like to Gift Aid your donation. Raffle entries cannot be Gift Aided. This is a legal requirement and if you do tick the Gift Aid box, your entry will not be counted.
  • ENTER VIA PAYPAL: Paypal your entry money (multiples of £2) to coffeeandkink69 (at) gmail (dot) com. (Please select the “friends/family” option so neither of us get hit with extra fees!)

How else can I help?

  • Donate, of course, and/or enter the raffle.
  • Share this post and our fundraising page on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram or whatever your favourite social media is.
  • Donate a prize to the raffle. Body-safe sex toys, lube, lingerie, kink gear and event tickets are all very welcome.
  • Volunteer for or support Abortion Support Network in any way you can.

Thank you for joining us on this adventure for the second year in a row. Follow along using our official hashtags, #SmutForChoice and #Smutathon2018!

Kink of the Week: Fingering, the Most Underrated of Sex Acts

Fingering is one of the first sexual activities a lot of us do. It made up a huge portion of my first year of sexual exploration with another person (amidst occasional oral) when I wasn’t ready (or legally old enough) to have PIV sex. In my humble opinion, it’s also one of the most underrated sex acts.

A black and white shot of a male hand under running water. For a post about fingering

I’ve been having sex of various kinds with other people for just about 12 years (bloody hell.) It all started on a hot summer evening on the single bed in his teenage bedroom. I still remember the skirt I was wearing – green silk. I can still call to mind his voice, the murmured ‘may I…?’ as his hand was already half way up my thigh. I remember freezing, managing to nod – definitely consent without seeming keen, which is very important when you’re a teenager- and the way my cunt just gushed when he ran his fingers over it, first over and then, tentatively, under my panties.

I didn’t come that first time. It was weeks later when he made me come. He asked me if it was my first ever orgasm. Of course it wasn’t. I’d been getting myself off every night for months by that point. But I lied and told him it was anyway. Giving me my first was very important to him. But it was my first orgasm with another person, and for a long time fingering was the most reliable way to get me off.

I’ve done all the kinky shit you can imagine since then (well, probably not all of it… some of you have truly filthy imaginations… but lots of it.) And yet. There’s still nothing like a lover’s fingers pushing into my cunt or someone playing with my clit just right.

My body has changed a lot since those early days. My clit is a lot more sensitive than it used to be. This means it’s easier to overstimulate it to the point of pain and harder to get me off through clitoral stimulation – though these are still my hardest and best orgasms when I do get them. I’ve also learned to have orgasms – hard, fast and repeatedly – through g-spot stimulation.

I love being finger-fucked hard, until I come again and again and again until it hurts… or until I would come again and again, but I’ve been ordered not to so instead I just hover on the agonising edge. I love someone rubbing my clit, whether it’s the persistent circular motion that gets me off or the gentle teasing that gets me dripping wet and begging to have my holes filled. Fingering is fucking great.

Too often, we think of it as the realm of horny teenagers who aren’t quite having “full” (ugh) sex yet, or as something we do for five minutes before a P enters a V. But fingering doesn’t have to be foreplay[1]. It doesn’t have to be the starter before PIV. Fingering can be the main course, delicious and satisfying and a complete experience all on its own.

And while we’re on the subject, I fucking love fingering a woman. I love feeling her cunt yield to my fingers, feeling her clit stiffen and swell under my hand, feeling fer vaginal walls clench hard around me when she comes.

[1] I actually want to burn the entire concept of foreplay to the ground. This might be my next post.

This post inspired by Molly Moore’s Kink of the Week and is part of #Smutathon2017.

The image featured in this post was offered for use under Creative Commons Licensing. Kink of the Week and the above logo are owned by Molly Moore.