[Kink Product Review] Dominix Deluxe Lockable Chastity Belt

If you’ve been reading my blog for more than five minutes, you probably know that I have an orgasm control kink a mile wide. This manifests in lots of ways – edging, denial, forced orgasms occasionally and, yes, chastity.

Chastity belts for folks with vulvas (often called “female chastity belts”, but let’s not gender things unnecessarily!) are tricky to get right. They’re either wildly impractical, wildly expensive, or often both. Unlike the cock cages for penis owners that you can buy from almost any sex shop, they’re considered far more niche kink items.

Lovehoney were kind enough to send me the Dominix Deluxe Studded Leather Lockable Chastity Belt (to give it its full title) for review. How did I get on?

A Closer Look at the Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt

The Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt is made of real leather. I’ve spoken before about my uneasy relationship with leather – my kink brain loves it, but my ethical vegetarian brain feels conflicted. You must make your own decisions about how comfortable you feel buying, wearing, and using leather kink gear.

Lovehoney Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt

The Lockable Chastity Belt has a wider panel at the front, which covers most of the vulva, and then thinner straps between the legs and around the back. It is decorated with metal studs on the front, and features three metal buckles, each with a mini padlock. Each padlock comes with two keys. As far as we can tell, the padlocks and keys are interchangeable.

How Comfortable Is It?

The Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt is fairly comfortable once it’s been worn in. The leather is a little stiff at first but it softens up as you wear and handle it. I found that wearing it around the house over my clothing helped to speed up the leather softening.

Some other reviewers have complained about the leather digging into their inner thighs, but I didn’t really find that to be a problem. It might just be a personal thing depending on how it sits on your body.

Lockable chastity belt female chastity belt from Lovehoney

The Lockable Chastity Belt is very adjustable, with ten holes for each buckle. I’m a UK size 12 at the moment and it fits me with plenty of room to spare. According to the product page, the waist adjusts from 26 to 46 inches and the crotch strap adjusts from 14 to 23 inches.

How Secure Is It?

Welllll…. it depends what you mean by “secure.”

The padlocks are pretty flimsy. The wearer could probably break them fairly easily if they were so inclined. But given that the point of being locked in chastity is (presumably) because the wearer wants to be locked in chastity, I don’t really see why they would. If you want to make the belt more secure, you could easily swap out the provided padlocks with larger and more robust ones.

When I’m wearing the Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt, even when it’s fastened pretty tight, I can still get to my vulva… kind of. I can get at least a couple of fingers under the leather. So it doesn’t completely prevent all contact, but it makes it hard to impossible to touch myself in the way that would actually get me off.

Incidentally, the leather is pretty thin and I think I could probably press a wand vibrator to the front and still reach orgasm. So yes, if you want absolute security against any and all stimulation, this probably isn’t the belt for you.

How Practical Is It?

Honestly not very at all, but I think that’s a symptom of the reality of chastity belts for vulva owners rather than anything wrong with this particular product.

When I read erotica about chastity (which, erm, I do quite a lot) the belts tend to be super high tech and allow for all-day wear as well as using the bathroom… and somehow stay hygienic. I’m going to chalk this up to an unrealistic fantasy that doesn’t currently exist. I bave never seen a chastity belt for vulva owners that could even remotely be described as practical. If someone has created one, please let me know!

So no, you (probably) can’t wear the Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt all day and you (probably) can’t sleep in it or anything like that. Incidentally, since leather is porous, this piece should also be fluid-bonded to one person once it’s been worn without clothing underneath.

How Sexy Is It?

The aesthetic of the Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt is a classic black leather BDSM look. It’s pretty sexy in its simplicity and I do like how it looks when I’m wearing it. I think it’d be fun to wear out to a kink club when we can go to those again.

Chastity play, like so much of BDSM, is at least as much about the mindset and headspace as it is about the physical acts. I’ve been doing denial/chastity play with lovers for years and have never really used a physical device until this one arrived.

The fun for me isn’t so much in the device itself, but in what it represents. Even though it doesn’t actually completely prevent me from touching myself, and probably wouldn’t completely prevent me from reaching orgasm, the physical barrier serves as a reminder that while I’m wearing it, my pleasure belongs to somebody else.

And that is sexy as hell.

Final Verdict

My verdict here really depends what you’re looking for. If you’re looking for a genuinely secure chastity device that stops all stimulation, this isn’t it. But if you’re looking for a fun and relatively comfortable piece for scene play, kink club outings, or short-term fun, then this is a great buy.

The Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt retails for £39.99 from Lovehoney. Use my code coffkink10 to get 10% off at checkout!

Thanks to Lovehoney for sending me the Dominix Lockable Chastity Belt for review. Pics courtesy of Lovehoney because I am way too shy to post pics of myself actually wearing a chastity belt! All views, as always, are mine. Shopping with my affiliates sends me a small commission which supports the blog!

[Guest Blog] Vote by Mr CK

Today’s bonus post is a piece of guest smut by none other than Mr CK himself!

Content note: this is a medical play scene featuring aspects of CNC, public humiliation, voyeurism, and mindfucks. If any of those things are difficult for you, feel enormously free to skip this one. All characters are fully consenting adults!

Five (More) Smutty Flash Fictions

I wasn’t kidding when I said y’all delivered with the prompts! To that end, for my third post of Smutathon 2020, here are five more smutty flash fictions inspired by the one- and two-word prompts I requested on Twitter.

Follow the Twitter account to keep up with the event – and don’t forget to donate!

Afterward

(Prompt: “biscuits,” offered by @V_greyauthor)

My wife fucks other men.

She does it with my blessing. In fact, I really, really enjoy it. Knowing that she’s out getting laid, while I’m at home wondering what she’s up to and who with, makes me so fucking hard I can hardly stand it. Which, of course, is the idea.

I’m not allowed to get myself off while she’s out. She expects me to be hard and waiting when she gets home. Her sex drive is such that half the time, getting laid just makes her hornier for more. If she’s in the mood when she gets home, she’ll push me down on the bed and ride me until I explode inside of her recently-fucked cunt, then have me eat her out until she comes two or three more times.

Of course, sometimes she’s too tired when she gets home. Then I have to wait until the next day. On those nights, I go to sleep with my cock throbbing, aching for release.

Whatever happens, we always end the night cuddling, eating biscuits, and talking about her adventures.

My wife fucks other men, and I get off on it. But I also love knowing I’m the only one she’ll come home and eat biscuits in bed with.

Unrequited

(Prompt: “you wish,” offered by @makeupandsin)

Unrequited love is the fucking worst.

He doesn’t want me. He’s never wanted me. I know the kind of women he dates, and they’re nothing like me. Truth is, feeding this hopeless crush – this hopeless love – turns me the fuck on. It’s like a bruise I can’t stop poking. The little jolt of emotionally masochistic pleasure is addictive.

Night after night I lie in bed, rubbing my clit and thinking of him. I imagine him pinning me to the bed with those strong, muscular arms. Sometimes, in my fantasy, he tells me I’m beautiful and he loves me. Other times, he tells me I’m a filthy little slut and it’s pathetic how long and how obviously I’ve mooned over him.

I’ve tried to train myself out of this habit. I’ve tried to read erotica, watch porn, fantasise about other men, fantasise about women. But it always comes back to him. Even if I manage to get into another fantasy, at the point that I reach the point of orgasm it’s always his face I see, his voice I hear.

Unrequited love is the worst, but thinking of him gives me the best orgasms I’ve ever had.

Multiples

(Prompt: “once more,” offered by @QueerCourtesan)

(TW: CNC, forced orgasm)

He buries his fingers deeper into me, pounding my G-spot. “Again,” he orders. I don’t want to obey the order, but my body is conditioned to do as he says.

“Again.” 

“No, please…” 

“Fucking do it, slut.” 

He’s made me come so many times already that I am long past the point of pleasure. This is what he does after he’s denied me for a long time – forces the orgasms out of me until I beg for it to stop. The first one is blissful relief. The second and third, satiating pleasure. After that, I start to get oversensitive. By six or seven, it hurts. We passed ten a while ago and I’ve lost count. 

The torment comes from knowing this is a game I can’t win. As soon as I safeword, he’ll stop. However, until then, he’ll make me come as many times as he likes. Every forced orgasm takes one day off my next chastity sentence, which starts at six months.  

“Again.” The orgasm racks my body, making me buck my hips off the bed as another rush of wetness leaks out of me. 

“Again. Again. Again.” This time, they’re in such quick succession that I don’t have time to catch my breath between.

“Red!” The word slips out of my mouth before I can pause to decide if I can take any more of this torment in exchange for a shorter period of denial. 

“Seventeen. You did well this time. Your sentence is reduced to five months and fourteen days.”

Sharing

(Prompt: “your turn,” offered by @WitchoftheWands)

Master likes to share me with his friends at these parties. I love it, too, of course. It satisfies my slutty tendences without me feeling like I’m putting our D/s dynamic aside.

They’re all trusted friends, experienced in the lifestyle and trusted by Master with his favourite toy – me. I have a safeword, of course, but until I use it, they can do whatever they want with me.

Sometimes they want to spank me, bending me over their laps and reddening my ass in front of the whole room. Sometimes they just want service, sending me to fetch their drinks or shine their shoes.

I like it best when they want to fuck me. It seems that that’s what tonight is going to be. Being at the centre of a gangbang, with five or six men who all want me desperately. I might be the submissive, but god it makes me feel powerful.

The second man of the night is fucking me and I can tell he’s getting close to coming. I watch his muscles tense, listen to his incredibly fucking sexy groans. I won’t come unless one of them decides to be kind enough to give me the clitoral stimulation I need. But that’s okay. I get more satisfaction out of service than I do from orgasm.

When they’ve all finished with me, I know that Master will use me last. He’s happy to share, but at the end of the night, we both need the reminder that I’m his.

Anonymous

(Prompt: “swords,” offered by @just_a_gremlin)

I never knew her name.

We met in the queer bar downtown the first week I moved here. I didn’t ask her name, and she didn’t offer it or ask for mine. Her hair was shoulder length and dyed the colour of blood. She had a sword tattoo on her left arm.

She kissed me on the dance floor with lips that tasted of vodka and coke. Later, she pushed me up against the wall in a locked bathroom cubicle, pressing her fingers to my lips to keep me quiet and sliding my other hand down the front of my skirt.

Her fingers manipulated my cunt until I squirmed helplessly against her hand. When she made me come, she kissed me to swallow the sound I made. I wanted to reciprocate, but she didn’t want me to. She kissed me once more and slipped away into the night, leaving me still trembling.

I haven’t seen her since, but every time I come to the club, I still look out for a flash of scarlet hair and a sword tattoo.

I hope you enjoyed these smutty flash fictions! Thank you to everyone who offered a prompt. Please donate to Endometriosis UK using the link above!

Masturbation Monday: Five Fantasies

For today’s Masturbation Monday, I thought it might be fun to share a few of the things I most commonly think about when I’m wanking. My fantasy life is broad and varied, but a few themes crop up again and again. So these are the five scenarios that most frequently feature in my fantasies.

TW: mention of degredation play, objectification and playing with non-consent.

Extreme orgasm denial

Hi, if you’re new here – this is my main, ultimate, One Kink To Rule Them All! It frequently goes to places in fantasy where I’m not sure I’d want it to go in reality. Long-term denial, enforced chastity, only being allowed ruined orgasms for weeks or months, and being tied down and edged until I cry are all common themes (okay, maybe I actually do want that last one!)

Cuckqueaning

I have a theory that we often eroticise the things we’re most emotionally afraid of. For me, that’s being left for somebody else or my partner liking somebody more than me. So why does the idea of being forced to watch my partner fuck someone else, while I’m not allowed to join in and I’m mostly kind of ignored, arouse me so much? It definitely plays into the orgasm denial kink, and it definitely plays into my humiliation kink. Beyond that? It’s a mystery.

Gang-bangs

Well, group sex in general, but gang-bangs have a very specific place in my fantasies. I don’t know if it’s the idea of being used that gets me, or the idea of a whole room full of people who desire me… I think possibly both. Either way, the idea of just being fucked, one person after another after another, is a recurrent fantasy that I sort of hope I might get to make real someday. (With trusted friends in a controlled setting, obviously.)

Objectification

Objectification can take many forms. Being loaned out as property for others to use at my partner’s whim, being used as fuckable furniture, and being talked about as though I weren’t there are all recurring fantasy-fodder. The key is that I want to feel like an object, like what I want doesn’t matter and I’m just there to service others or be decorative.

Consensual non-consent

This is the type of scenario where I say no, but ultimately the person does what they want anyway. It particularly works for me if it’s accompanied by the sense that they know I want it really, because I’m a little slut who just wants to be fucked. As a survivor, playing with CNC with a trusted partner is part of how I’ve reclaimed my agency over my body after what happened to me.

So there you have it – a little sneak peek into the workings of my strange, horny mind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go masturbate…

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Masturbation Monday: Discovering My Denial Kink

Eventually, my Masturbation Monday pieces will probably move back into the realm of erotic fiction. But for now I’m not really feeling it so much. While thinking what to write this morning, I realised – I can’t believe I’ve never written the origin story of my main, ultimate, One Kink To Rule Them All fetish! So let’s talk about how I learned I have an orgasm denial kink.

Content warning: this one talks about mental health and makes brief mention of abuse in a relationship

An unfortunate side effect…

SSRIs can be brilliant. They can also be the fucking devil. For me, they were both. I was 21 and in my final year of University when my mental health took an extreme downturn, almost entirely – I realise now – as a result of being with a seriously abusive partner. You can read the story about how I ended up taking SSRIs here, but please heed the content warnings and look after yourself.

After a couple of weeks on citalopram, it actually did help. Somewhat. It mellowed out my extreme anxiety and took the edge off the worst of my depression. But it also had another effect: it made it impossible for me to orgasm.

I didn’t own any sex toys at that point, and always masturbated with my fingers. I first realised that something was wrong during a solo session where, whatever I did, I simply could not get myself over the edge. The same thing happened when I had sex with my then-partner. Things that usually worked just… didn’t. It was like there was a thick blanket between my cunt and anything that touched it, dulling sensation and making things that had previously been reliable orgasm triggers just feel… sort of nice.

Discovering denial…

I eventually broke through this orgasm block with a high-powered vibrator, and things got better after that. (Temporary anorgasmia is, it turns out, a known side effect. And I’m sure that part of the problem was psychological – worrying about whether or not you’ll be able to come is hardly conducive to great orgasms.)

But the weird thing was that, on some level, I kind of enjoyed it.

I didn’t enjoy not having the choice. I didn’t enjoy the fact that my body seemed to be betraying me. But the lack of orgasms itself? Yeah, I realised a few times that I was definitely getting a kick out of that. The frustration was, in and of itself, powerfully erotic. Finding myself constantly horny, almost always thinking about sex on some level, my cunt getting soaking wet so damn easily. The way that I’d still be aroused and unsatisfied after a sex session, and have to stop myself from squirming too much as my Dom slept peacefully next to me. Feeling my clit twitching, demanding attention that I knew wouldn’t be satisfying.

I vividly remember the first time I reached a hard edge. I was rubbing my clit harder and harder, feeling the wave of orgasm rising, sure that this was the time I’d be able to get myself over the edge. But it just… hit a certain level and then stopped. There was no peak, no satisfying spasms or clenching, no relief or release. I did it again and then again, trying in vain to push myself over the edge. I had to stop eventually because the overstimulation was starting to hurt. But that awakened something in me right then. Something that has played, to a greater or lesser extent, into the overwhelming majority of the sexual fantasies I’ve had in the years since then.

After breaking through the SSRI-induced orgasm issue, I mentioned this to my then-partner and asked if we could play with it. We did. I’m not ready to write about sex things I did with him in a positive way – honestly I’m not sure I ever will be – but suffice to say that getting to explore this kink was one of the few good things that came out of that time.

How did you discover your favourite kink?

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Masturbation Monday: Re-learning How to Masturbate with My Fingers

It seems strange to me, now, to think back to a time before I owned sex toys (or when I’d only tried bad or ineffective ones.) Up until Mr CK bought me my Doxy and then a few months later I started this blog, the vast majority of my masturbation was done with my fingers.

Over the last few years, as this blog has grown and I’ve tested more and more sex toys and found a growing number that I really love, I just… stopped masturbating by hand. It was never a conscious decision. But when you have toys to test and write about, you use them. And after a while, it becomes a habit, and then the new normal.

Now, I still love my sex toys, of course! (Some more than others.) But I recently re-remembered just why I used to enjoy masturbating using nothing but my fingers.

It started because I’d forgotten to charge any of my usual go-to toys. I didn’t have time to stick one on charge and wait an hour or two, because I was ready for bed and just wanting a quick orgasm to help me sleep. So I decided to see if I could still get myself off with nothing but my hands.

Something I really enjoy doing is working myself up by watching porn or reading erotica, and seeing how long I can go before I simply have to touch myself. This is partly a way to indulge my denial kink by myself, partly a way to make masturbation more comfortable by ensuring my body is really ready for it, and partly a way to make my eventual orgasm really explosive. So I pulled up some erotica and started reading.

I found a really, really hot story which spoke to my kinks perfectly, and it wasn’t long before my cunt was dripping onto the bed. I dipped my fingers in and spread my wetness all over my labia, circling my clit but avoiding touching it directly. Making myself really desperate. Stroking and teasing my inner thighs, pulling gently on my outer and inner labia, thinking about having a hot sadistic Dominant making me beg to be allowed one little touch where I most needed it.

Flipping to the next chapter in the filthy smutty story, I finally allowed my fingers to drift to my aching clit, rubbing it oh-so-gently at first. I’m very quiet when I’m masturbating – a habit learned from years of living first at home and then in shared housing – but if I’d been playing with another person, this is the point where I would start barely-coherently pleading for them to rub harder, faster, stop teasing me (and yet sort of hoping they continued to tease for just a bit longer.) As it was, I couldn’t help thrusting against my own hand, torn between my body’s need for more friction and my desire to hold back and enjoy the clenching, frustrated ache.

When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I allowed my fingers to move faster, rubbing my clit in circles. It brought me to the edge ridiculously quickly. I pulled my hand away and this time a little needy whimper did escape. My hand grasped at a handful of the bedsheet as I spread my legs wide and forced myself to wait, counting thirty seconds to allow my cunt to calm down and come back from the edge.

I edged myself again and again and then again, sucking my own wetness off my fingers in between each one. Every time I pulled my fingers away just before tumbling over into orgasm, I thought of that same sadistic Dominant, speaking to me in a level, measured tone in perfect contrast to my increasingly frantic whimpers and pleas. “Not yet, Kitten. You can wait just a little bit longer, can’t you? I know it hurts but you want to be a good girl, don’t you?”

I seriously considered not allowing myself to come at all, and going to sleep wet and needy. But I was worried about my ability to sleep, so decided to save that particular self-inflicted torture for another occasion.

Allowing my fingers to drift back to my clit, I focused on circling it slowly and deliberately, bringing myself back to the edge. By this time I was so aroused that even the most feather-light touches were enough to get me close.

“This is all the stimulation you’re getting,” my imaginary sadist told me, as I resisted rubbing harder. “If you really need to come, this will be enough.”

That’s what was in my head when I let myself fall over the edge, my toes curling and legs shaking with one of the most intense and satisfying orgasms I’d had in a very long time.

Sex toys are brilliant, but sometimes I need to be reminded that my fingers were my clit’s best friends for a long time for a reason.

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The Question Game

For Smutathon 2019, I promised to write a bespoke story for the first person who donated $200! That wonderful person was @SuperSleepyEnby, 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!

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.”

What Sexual Happiness Means to Me

This week is Sexual Happiness Week! I think that’s a sentiment we can all get behind, no? (If not, why are you reading this blog?) My pals at Lovehoney asked me in an email “what does sexual happiness mean to you?” and, of course, it got me thinking.

My initial reaction was to give my working definition of sex positivity: “supporting the right of all consenting adults to have sex, or not, in whatever ways work best for them, free from stigma or shame”.

And while I stand by that, I think sexual happiness is something a little different. So I started making a list of some of the things that make up “sexual happiness” for me. It’s different for everyone, so your mileage may vary. Why not tell me in the comments what YOUR definition of sexual happiness is?

1. Feeling in harmony with my body

My body and I have… an uneasy relationship. We haven’t always been friends and honestly, we sometimes still aren’t. Feeling good about my body is something I am mostly struggling to access right now, but in order to experience sexual happiness I do at least need to feel comfortable – neutral, if you will – about it.

I can’t have good sex if all I can think about is how much I hate my stomach and how my thighs are too big. But I can get to a happy place sexually if I can turn off all that noise and, if I cannot love how my body looks, at least appreciate it for the things it can do and the sensations it can feel.

2. Having partners I can really trust

You cannot have really good sex without trust. This is something I firmly believe. For me, trust is more complex than just “you’ll do what you say you’re going to do”. Trust means that I know you’ll show up for me if I need you, outside of a purely sexual space. It means I can be vulnerable with you and know that you will hold space for that and not use it to harm me. It means I can rely on you to show up and keep your commitments to me, not because I force you to but because you want to.

My bar for ongoing sexual partners is now much higher. We might or might not fall in Capital L Love with one another, but if I don’t trust you, we have nothing – not even a casual something.

3. A frequency that works

I’m a very highly sexual person much of the time (duh, you all think as you read my sex blog). This means that, much of the time, I’d like to be having quite a lot of sex. Much as I joke about liking my sex like I like my coffee (“hot and several times a day,”) my actual ideal frequency for sex tends to fall around the 4 – 5 times a week mark, a little more when I’m not busy. (LOL, as if there’s ever a time I’m not busy.)

But the key to sexual happiness for me is a frequency of sex that works with where my life is at that time, and works for the relationship I have with that partner. Right now I probably have sex with The Artist about once a month, but that’s… most of the times we see each other. Whereas with Mr CK, it probably averages out to once or twice a week – but we live together and see each other every day unless one of us is away, so we have days when we’re together but don’t have sex much more often. The key to happiness is a frequency that works for everyone.

4. Exploration and new experiences

At my heart, I am a curious creature with a lust for new experiences and plenty of adventure. Sexually, this can mean a lot of things. New partners, yes – sexual variety is one of the reasons I practice consensual non-monogamy. But also trying a new kink act, a new toy (my job as a sex writer blesses me with the ability to do this frequently!), a new position, or a new sex party or club all fall under the umbrella of “variety”.

Basically I want to try shit out. Being with a person for a long period of time and keeping a sexual spark alive comes quite easily to me, as long as there are plenty of adventures to be shared.

5. Plenty of attention given to my pleasure

I nearly wrote “orgasms!” for this one, but, well… I have an orgasm denial fetish. So I’ve amended it to needing a partner to give plenty of attention to my pleasure, in whatever way that looks. It might mean making sure I come, of course. But it might also include teasing me in the way I like, or spanking me in just the right way, or honestly just regularly checking in to make sure I’m having fun and getting what I want out of the scene. Nothing will turn me off faster than a partner who treats me like a sex toy. (Unless that’s a specific roleplay we’ve negotiated… in which case I’m getting something out of it too, so the point still stands).

Today’s post is brought to you by Lovehoney’s Sexual Happiness Week. Check out the great deals on offer. If you buy through any of my affiliate links, I make a small commission.

Great Reasons to Try Chastity Play

What do we mean by chastity play? Broadly speaking, it’s a form of kink play where the submissive abstains from orgasm – and sometimes from any form of sexual contact – for a period of time as determined by their Dominant. If you’re not currently in a relationship, you can also play with it by yourself, of course. This might or might not include the use of a physical chastity device such as a cock cage or chastity belt. It’s also sometimes referred to as orgasm denial, orgasm control, no-touch, and other variations.

So what are some great reasons to give it a go?

It’s a great way to enhance your submission/Dominance

Giving someone control over your sexual release is, in some ways, the ultimate surrender. Whether this involves handing over the keys to your chastity device to a “keyholder”[1] or simply pledging not to touch yourself until given permission, needing someone’s say-so to experience pleasure and orgasm is likely to make you feel submissive to that person really quickly! And for the Dominants amongst you, having someone’s release at your mercy is awesome. Hearing them beg for it is a hell of a power rush.

The eventual pleasure is so much better

When I’ve been denied for a period of time, the eventual orgasm is just so much stronger and more satisfying. A bit like that first bite of your favourite meal when you’re starving hungry, an orgasm after a period of chastity is like no other orgasm you’ll ever experience.

It keeps your mind on your service even as you do other things

Going about your day to day life and feeling your chastity device under your clothes or just remembering you’re not allowed to touch is a great way to feel connected to your Dominant and to your feelings of submission, even when you’re not actually playing.

It’s really fun for long-distance relationships

If you’re long distance, you might wish to implement a rule such as that the submissive is always in chastity when not with the Dominant. A less extreme but still fun version is only allowing your submissive to masturbate and orgasm when on the phone with you. Or you could play edging games on the phone, only to lock your poor submissive up again without release at the end. The possibilities are endless, and playing with chastity is a great way to feel close when you’re apart.

Pleasure can act as a motivator

Are you trying to train your submissive and instill desirable behaviours (or break problematic ones)? Chastity can be a great motivator! Perhaps they only get to touch themselves if they drank their 8 glasses of water today. Maybe you’ll only let them orgasm after they’ve got all their writing done. Or perhaps they get an extra day in the belt for every day they forget to eat breakfast. I’m a big proponent of using kink as a tool for self-improvement. Release-as-reward is one fun way to play with this.

Do you play with chastity? What do you love about it? Tweet me or comment below!

[1] A word of safety caution: if you’re using a physical chastity device, ALWAYS keep a spare key in a safe place where the wearer can access it if they need to. You never know when a medical emergency or similar may crop up.

Masturbation Monday: “Take a Seat”

I didn’t know what I was going to write for today’s Masturbation Monday and was pretty much all out of inspiration. I usually ignore the photo prompts and just write what I want. This week, though, I clicked over to the page to see what the image prompt was, and… well, look at it! My mind started to spin, and this is what it came up with…

A glass butt plug on a white chair.I try not to squirm too much in my seat. She hates when I do that – she interprets it as complaining, which I’m not allowed to do. Across the table from me, my Mistress calmly eats her salad, occasionally looking up from her plate to flash me that devilish smile. Her strawberry-blonde curls tumble to half way down her back and her breasts look fucking incredible in that black dress she knows I love and, undoubtedly, her favourite push-up bra beneath it. Her fifties have been kind to her – in the thirty years I’ve known her, she’s got more beautiful with every passing year.

As for me, I’m wearing my best suit – it is our anniversary, after all, and this restaurant is very expensive. I’m sure to anyone observing we just look like a normal, middle-aged couple out for a special dinner. What no-one else knows is that under my trousers, I’ve got a glass butt-plug nestled deep in my ass.

She bent me over our bed before we left, lubed up the plug and slid it into my ass, telling me that I was going to be a good boy and wear it for her all night – without giving the game away in public, of course. And so here I am, feeling it inside me with every movement and trying not to let my face betray our secret.

She pops a forkful of food into her mouth and her eyes lock with mine. Her eyes smoulder with lust and I just know she’s wet and not wearing knickers under that dress. Tormenting me is her biggest turn-on. My cock twitches, unable to get hard in its prison but straining at the metal walls nonetheless. My ass tightens around the hard glass of the plug, sending a rush of pleasure through me.

She swallows her mouthful and mouths a single word at me. Her favourite word. “Mine“.

I am hers, every inch of me from the greying hairs on my head to my plugged ass to my caged cock. I only hope she will let me eat her beautiful cunt when we get home, while I get no pleasure at all.

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

Image is by the fabulous Exposing 40 and was originally published as Take A Seat.