As is my custom, when Jenby emailed to let me know she had a new pitch for a guest blog, I immediately squealed with delight. If you’re new here, you should know that Jenby (aka @JenetalTorture on Twitter) is the most prolific guest blogger on this site, and she’s also recorded some of her outrageously hot adventures as audio porn. I am always grateful to her for introducing me to cool new kinks – bimbofication, surveillance, twinning, lactation and lots more. Today she is here to share a kickass, horny and playful story about going to a high protocol kink event. What exactly does ‘high protocol’ involve? Will it be seriousness all the way down? Over to her…

The following piece contains needle play, BDSM, whipping/flogging, the use of ‘slave’ in a kink context, piss, trampling and electroplay. 

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As someone who very strongly identifies with certain submissive nicknames (‘good girl‘ – unngh) and utterly recoils from others (‘babygirl’ – meh), I’m always fascinated by the details of other people’s kinky identities. Are you more of a ‘Domme’ or a ‘Top’? Do you see yourself as ‘Sir’ or “Daddy’? Are you a nonbinary kinkster with a fucking cool gender-neutral moniker like ‘Boss’ or ‘Your Majesty’? Love it. Today’s guest blogger, Anna Syrma, responded to my call for guest blogs from women that might be suitable for International Women’s Day with this gorgeous piece about her kinky identity. I was inundated with amazing ideas, by the way, so we’re gonna stretch IWD out for at least another month (subscribe for updates!), but I picked this as the first post because it’s all about how Anna Syrma discovered, then embraced, her kinky identity as a Goddess.

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In drama at school we used to play a warm-up game that involved cutting a deck of cards to determine each character’s status. We’d be given a scenario, let’s say person A is a teenager who’s broken a vase during a house party while their parents were away, and B and C are the parents returning home. If you just tell people to play what they think those characters should do, the scene will run in a fairly obvious way. Parents discover the accident, interrogate their kid about how the breakage happened, the child is suitably apologetic/nervous of the consequences, etc. However, if you have each person cut the deck of cards and replay the scene, this time assuming status and power depending on which card they got, things look very different. Let’s say the kid gets a Jack or a Queen, Mum gets a 9 and Dad picks a 2. Now the kid has the most power, and might end up berating their parents for owning something so expensive in the first place. Mum is the kid’s semi-obsequious sidekick, agreeing with him while occasionally sniping at Dad for not anticipating that this might happen before he booked their weekend away. Dad grovels before both of them, frantically trying to make amends for an accident that, in his low-status role, he’s entirely reframed as his fault. See what I mean? Status isn’t inherent to each character, it’s determined by the luck of the draw. And status, power and playfulness are all at the heart of my idea for a Blackadder Threesome. Here’s one for all the horny switches.

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I am sitting with my toyboy on his exceptional sofa. This is a sofa designed for fucking, and I am visiting him this evening because I want to get fucked. We’ve talked about it over WhatsApp and I’ve been thinking about it on the train on the way here. What’s more, if he’s done as he’s been instructed then he’ll have edged himself at least once a day for the last few days in anticipation of me pulling down his PJs and riding him like a show pony. If anyone could be said to be ‘in there’, it is him. And yet for some reason he occasionally forgets how to use his words. Doesn’t understand that when you want a fuck you’re allowed to just ask for it. One of the aspects of domination that I’m really getting into is forcing encouraging him to voice his desires aloud. So I decide that I won’t let him get away with wordless pleading: if he wants a shag, I’m gonna make him ask for it.

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At my first ever munch about – oooh, a million years ago now – the first question people asked was: “are you a top or a bottom?” As we mingled with a bunch of exceptionally friendly people, dressed in anything from jeans and t-shirt to ropework and pants, everyone wanted to know:

“Top or bottom?”

“Domme or sub?”

What are you?

For want of a better word, we both said ‘switch.’ Having done our research (read: furiously masturbated to a number of blog posts and forum debates) we figured that our ‘whatever we fancy at the time’ attitude probably best fit into that category. Neither of us was a particularly dominant person, nor were either of us comfortable being cast in the role of submissive, nervous that it would prevent us from having the same kind of playful back-and-forth that was a staple of our usual nights out.

Kinda silly, really, but we were young, and hadn’t a sodding clue what we were doing.

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