There are times when even the most opinionated of us need to step back, take a deep breath, and shut the fuck up. Never do I get this feeling more than when it comes to discussing BDSM. People have raged to me before about my views on safewords, and various boundaries that I skip unthinkingly across. I do this because I am a hedonist, and often because I’m an idiot: sometimes I enjoy doing the kinds of play that experienced kinksters will warn against. In short, if you want an intro to kink I’m not the right person to come to.

Luckily I know someone who is – this week’s guest blog is from Charlie, who has written an excellent book that introduces people to BDSM in a safe, intelligent, and genuinely entertaining way. This guide is there to teach people many of the things that I’m too stupid and horny to say properly.  I’ve read it, and it’s ace. It’s also free to download as a pdf – so have at it.

So, with an intro to ‘Playing Around’, I’m delighted to welcome Charlie…

Playing Around (with punctuation): An insight into a kinky author’s suffering

Thwack!

“That should be a semicolon, Charlie,” my editor/partner [editor note: yes, I slept with them for their writing] muttered sternly, pointing their riding crop at the offending comma. “And you don’t spell ‘negotiation’ like that.”

It’s a tough life for an author, especially for those writing a book about BDSM whose editor is all-too-willing to take advice from it (not that advice is particularly needed). Yet despite this hardship, I recently released my free introduction to kink-e-book: Playing Around: A Short Introduction to Kink for the Curious.

Kink has come somewhat more into the public eye since the release of Fifty Shades of Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me, but as a (relatively) experienced kinkster, I can think of nothing more horrifying than people learning about the activities and dynamics of BDSM as a result of it:

“Whilst there’s no one right way of being kinky, there are definitely wrong ways – and the ubiquitous Fifty Shades of Grey highlights many of these: it has an incredibly poor view of consent (a contract is most definitely not a good way of going about consent. And complaining about safewording?), portrays abuse as BDSM (and vice versa), and ultimately implies that kinkiness is a problem from which to be saved…”

That’s not to say that there aren’t kink guides and resources available, but these are frequently aimed at people with at least a modicum of experience. For the newbie, the jargon-rich culture can be a little off-putting, to say the least.

I aimed to write the kind of guide I would have liked when I was a fledgling pervert, experimenting with my equally naïve partner. We had numerous conversations in hushed tones about what we would do with a short length of ribbon we acquired, or the flimsy and severely unimpressive riding crop we bought from Amazon: conversations which were, for the most part, fruitless. We could really have done with some guidance.

We were lucky: others report bigger issues. From a rather dire experience in which a favourite silk scarf was sacrificed – though only after a somewhat lengthy hunt for scissors – to an unfortunate incident where “harder” and “no harder” were confused. When you know what you’re doing, kink is both safer and more fun.

Kink, consent and communication

It’s not just the safety and fun that concerned me about, though. Fifty Shades (and society at large) has a huge problem with consent and communication: there is a worrying notion that negotiation is simply tiresome and detracts from the sexual experience. It is a vital aspect of any interaction, particularly sexual interactions – and even more so if you’re going to be tying people up and hitting them for fun. For me, it was just as – if not more – important to provide a practical guide to negotiation and consent as it was to talk about how to actually do the things in the first place.

“However you intend to include BDSM in your relationship(s)- as an introduction to an existing vanilla relationship, further exploration in a relationship where you have done some experimentation, as an active member of the scene, or anything else for that matter – you will need to communicate your needs and desires (and listen to theirs) to any partners you play with. Be honest – proper communication can only happen when everyone involved isn’t overly embarrassed or scared of voicing their feelings […] It’s likely that your partner is going to be feeling the same fear and uncertainty – be supportive!”

Not only is consent and negotiation a vital aspect of safety – both physical and emotional – it can, despite what Fifty Shades and its ilk implies – be an enjoyable experience in itself. Due to our cities being inconveniently located, Xandra, my editor/partner, and I often do this sort of thing via the wonders of the internet: it builds anticipation and ensures that we’re both brimming in excitement when we get to see each other. And of course, this also helped us to make an effective system of punishments for grammatical errors, as well as bribery with topless pictures.

Yes, it’s a tough life for an author, but for the worthy goal of turning communication into incoherent screams and moans in bedrooms across the world, I’d like to think it was worth it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me – Xandra’s insisting that they edit this post too…

Whether you’re looking to try something hot and spanky for the first time, or – like me – you’re up to your knickers in filth but still making lots of mistakes, or if you just want to find out more, download Playing Kinky: A Short Introduction to Kink for the Curious as a free pdf (released under a Creative Commons license), or head to Amazon US or UK where you can get it as an ebook.

Belts are fascinating and filthy in a way that makes me genuinely squirm. In my opinion they’re the best of all the hitting devices. Why? Because they are long, meaning they can be used to reach and beat places you might be out of reach for otherwise. They also come in all thicknesses, which means you can exactly graduate the level and type of pain you like, and balance it with other things that are specifically hot. The delicious ‘thud’ sound of a thick one, or the shivery ‘whish’ of a thinner one. Something thick that can be hefted with strength and inflict a dull, spread-out pain, or something lighter that must be used more delicately in case it leaves a trail of narrow red welts.

(more…)

When I think about pain, there’s one particular guy who comes into my head. Many of the guys I’ve been with have helped me squirm in delicious agony, but there’s one in particular who hurt me more than any other. Exquisitely.

Everything that happens in this story was heavenly. To this day, I still daydream about it when I’m horny and itching and only some hurting will do.

Softly softly

This guy was only a few years older, but light-years ahead of me in maturity. He had a neat haircut, wore suits, was chivalrous in an old-fashioned way that I’d have found adorable in someone less dominant. He had a calm, detached air – the kind that comes from knowing I’ll do exactly what he says. He treated me as if I was utterly fragile, yet still his to break.

I rang the doorbell, having refused his offer to escort me from the tube station: something about the cold walk to his house helped to focus my mind. He opened the door with a courteous smile, and ushered me inside in a way that his curtain-twitching neighbours would have approved of.

Then he closed the door with a controlled ‘click’.

“Take off your boots.”
I took off my boots.
There was silence – one beat, two beats.
I lined them up neatly next to his own shoes by the door.
Three beats. Four beats.

Then he pounced.
Grabbing me by the hair he pushed my face up against the wall, twisting my neck awkwardly so I was poised in a semi-standing crouch. Makeup smeared against the wallpaper, hands pressed against the wall to hold myself steady.

Keeping my hair firmly gripped in his hand, he used his other hand to grope me – to inspect me. His roughness didn’t outweigh his calm, though. Every movement was carefully measured – squeezing one of my tits, sliding slowly down over my waist and hips, carefully pulling up the hem of my skirt so he could run his fingers against the crotch of my knickers.

“You’re wet.”
“Yes.” I was dreading what was coming next. Please don’t make me say ‘sir’, please don’t make me say ‘sir’, please…
One beat, two beats…
“Yes what?”
“Sir.”

A few ‘sirs’ and light slaps later, and he was leading me by the hair into his bedroom. This was essentially what I’d turned up for. It’s all very well being told off in a hallway, but I wanted him to turn his controlling nature to pain.

I’ve never been much of a pain slut – I enjoy being spanked not because I like the feeling of the slaps, but because I love that the guy in question gets off on it: I like that hearing the thwack of belt on skin makes him hard. That I get to feel dirty and bad even as I’m feeling ecstatic.

He didn’t disappoint.

Stripped to the waist, with skirt hiked up around my middle, he pushed me face down on his bed.

“Knickers down.”
I wriggled out of them.
“Hands behind your head.”
Again, I did as I was told.
“Bite down on this.”
He placed a leather strap in my mouth, and I had a nervous three seconds to wonder what he was going to hit me with before he brought a slipper down onto my arse with a solid, painful thump. I twitched, and arched my back slightly for the second blow.

Thud. Ouch. On and on until my eyes watered. Each one in exactly the same place, the stinging heat growing more intense with every stroke. I could feel from the strength and impact that he wasn’t just testing me – he was drawing his arm back and whacking me with full force. Unable to see him, I pictured it in my head – his arm drawn back above his shoulder, hand holding the slipper, face placid and expressionless, then the twitch of a sadistic smile as he whipped it down again. My stomach thumped with arousal.

“Keep your head down,” he said. “Eyes closed.”

I disobeyed him – I wanted to see what he was bringing next. Through semi-open eyelids I watched him stride across the room: no rushing, still oozing calm control. He opened the wardrobe then did one of the hottest things dominant guys can do before a beating: he rolled up his sleeves. At that point I put my head down, revelling in the anticipation of the unknown. I’d told him before I arrived that I wanted him to hit me – hurt me. Push me with pain I didn’t truly like – less thudding and thick slaps, more thin whips and tingling canes. He took me at my word.

The first stroke didn’t hurt for two seconds – I just heard the whish-click as it landed across the top of my thighs. Then the sting came. Red-hot and searing through my skin, cold metal and hot coal and ice and fire and pain.

“Good,” He crooned. “Good-” whip “-girl.” smack.

He used the wire on me a few more times – each time putting a bit more swing into it, bringing it down a bit quicker, harder. I bit down on the strap and let out a muffled cry. He moved around me, no longer standing at the side but directly in front of my face. I could see his dick pushing tight and hard against the crotch of his trousers. I arched my back further and pushed my stinging arse into the air. He leant forward and hit me again – three more times, harder than he had before, until my head was swimming with pain. I dropped the strap from my mouth and groaned.

“Ow.” Once more – whish-click. “OW! Fuck. Please. It hurts too much.”

He dropped the wire and bent forward over me. I felt his hands on my arse, rubbing, kneading, pushing the pain deep into my muscles and away from the raw surface of my skin. His hands were cool, and I wanted him to keep them on me, still and calm, until the pain was over.

But he didn’t.

He stood up, unzipped his trousers, and lifted my head up so he could slide his dick into my mouth. I sucked him, hard, wanting to feel his dick twitch like I’d twitched when he hit me. When his spunk hit the back of my throat it was as warm and welcome as the stinging slaps he’d given me.

My submissive desires tell me I need certain things right now. I need strength and power and rage and pain and everything that makes me bite the pillow and cry out and cry.

(more…)

I wrote an entry a very long time ago about sexual bucket lists, and compiled a list of things I have always wanted to do. So nervous was I about one particular item on the list that I never published it. Revisiting that post now, I realise two things:

1. I have actually ticked one of these things off the list. Reach for the stars, people.

2. There is clearly one sexual fantasy that I don’t want to tell any of you about.

3. I’ll tell you the third thing at the end.

Anyway, with all this in mind, here is a list of things that I have always desperately wanted to do.

Wank a guy off with a sheath

My hand jobs will never be as good as your hand jobs – you know your cock much better than I do. But what you don’t necessarily know is the feeling of a well-engineered, lubed-up sheath that is tight, tight, tighter than the grip of my own hand. I want to wank you off to completion in a way you haven’t done yourself.

[Achievement unlocked! Collect fifty sex points, do not pass Go]

Gang bang

Obviously. Having thought about this a lot, I think the ideal number of guys is four, but if anyone has experience of this and would like to give me explicit and detailed advice in the comments, I would love to hear/rub one out over it.

Fuck a girl with a strap on while a guy fucks me in the ass

I want to know how it feels to fuck a girl – to be the powerful, penetrating one. However I recognise my nature well enough to know that I wouldn’t particularly enjoy it unless there was a guy there as well, and we all fancied each other.

I want to feel her squirm under me as every time he pounds my ass he forces my fake cock deeper inside her. I want to feel our tits squashing against each other as he leans his full weight on both of us. I want for her, and I, to come before him, so we’re ready to stop and ready to finish, but remain panting and twitching with post-orgasmic happiness as he speeds up and rams his cock further into my ass until, finally, he blows his load and says ‘good girls’ before heading off.

[Redacted]

No, really, I’m just not going to tell you this one.

Double penetration

This pretty much does what it says on the tin. I want to feel two guys almost touching each others’ cocks as they fuck me. Specifically, I want to sit down on a guy, ass-first, then wriggle in surprise as he grabs me and tips me back, lifting my thighs and grabbing at my legs to hold them apart.

Another guy moves forward, stroking his dick – spitting on the end to make it nice and wet. As I’m squirming on top of the other, he leans forward and pins me by my neck, pushing me back down onto the other guy, who forces his dick up harder and deeper into me. Then the second shifts forward, pushing himself deep into my cunt, grunting at the tightness as he fills the little remaining space.

As with most threesomes, I’ve found it’s not hard to find people willing to do it, it’s just hard finding people willing to do it who all fancy each other.

Be used as a group fucktoy

This is explicitly not the same thing as a gang bang, and anyone who insists it is will be required to take a long and arduous tour of the section of my head entitled ‘fantasy pedantry’. A gang bang requires the immediate and sustained presence of at least four dudes, all having sex with me at once. Being a fucktoy, on the other hand, simply means being used as a tame and compliant receptacle for the jizz of a number of different guys.

The difference in the scenarios can be illustrated thus: a dinner party with four guys and a girl, in which the end of dinner is celebrated by tearing the girl’s clothes off and all fucking her at once. That’s a gang bang. A fucktoy, on the other hand, might be employed giving blow jobs individually to one guy during the starter, being bent over the table by another guy just before mains, while the other men look on and chat casually. As dessert is served, one of them gets a bit horny and invites her to come and sit beside him on her knees, so he can pull out his cock and masturbate with swift and efficient purpose, emptying himself with hot squirts into her mouth. Our final gentleman doesn’t necessarily have to do anything. He can sit back, with a full belly and a rock-hard cock, while the others eat their Eton Mess (simple recipe, can be prepared in advance so as not to take up valuable sex time), casually fondling the fucktoy’s tits as a brief postprandial treat.

Later in the evening, as everyone gets more relaxed, they strap her over one of the arms of the sofa so that each of them, when the need takes them, can fuck her in either her ass or her cunt, alternating between filling her with hot spunk, and simply putting their dick somewhere warm for a while. Grunting, slapping, and casual usage of a horny girl who’ll eventually be sent home alone.

Have someone jizz on my feet

I have no idea why I actually want to do this. I don’t have a particular thing for feet, and I have never met a guy who has. I just like the uniqueness of it – the idea that someone might like feet so much that he wants to come all over mine. There’s also the combined joy of being able to watch a guy wank himself to completion, in a desperate, frothing way until he gets to jizz on something unusual. Finally, once he’s spent and dry I can rub my feet together and feel the viscous stickiness drying between my toes.

Why bother with a bucket list?

The final thing I realised, having revisited this List of Dreams about a year after I actually wrote it, is that the idea of having a Sexual List of Dreams is a little bit odd. Sure, we all have one or two things that we’d quite like to try out, but writing them down in list form seems to give them a different, more significant status. Despite potentially being relatively easy to carry out, being On The List affords them mythical status – the ‘things I have always wanted to do’ as opposed to simply the ‘thing I quite fancy trying tonight.’ I mean, look at the final entry on my list – foot-jizzing, for crying out loud! I could tick that one off this evening and never think of it again. So why haven’t I?

Probably because, although it’s hot, and would no doubt be hot if I were to do it, it’s mainly hot because of the ‘oh holy shit that’s unusual’ element rather than because it’s inherently desirable to me. Although these things are exciting, most evenings what I fancy most is a bog-standard, pull-your-knickers-down-and-we’ll-do-it-in-the-hallway shag. I suspect that if every evening I was interrupted by half a rugby team naked from the waist down and ready for a gangbang, the novelty would wear off in a couple of months and I’d be begging for a quiet one-on-one fuck on the sofa.

Sexual bucket lists are all very well, and I’ll no doubt be patting myself on the back when I tick the next thing off, but their value (on my list, in any case) lies in their uniqueness, their special qualities. Just as no one wants to swim with sodding dolphins every morning, most days I’m happy with a wank.