O Self

A Sex Shop Date With Wildcard

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sushiLast Saturday, Wildcard identified my doldrums as needing fixing, s we went out to watch Dr. Strange and then gorge on sushi, the latter activity almost  meaning a visit to the nearby sex shop, called “Romance“.

Every relationship has its rituals. I have an undying love for salmon, particularly raw or smoked. Wildcard has a tradition of eating his feelings in delicious all you can eat buffet omnoms. Having a favourite fishing hole, and being fond of me, he shared the location and now we make monthly pilgrimages. Faces get stuffed, then we invariably go sex toy shopping.

At first the shopping trips were an accidental extension of geography. The store just happens to be between us and where we always park. Honestly, showing up there started with very little expectation other than having a giggle at the hilari-bad porn DVDs.

This branch is open absurdly late, which was probably the first draw.  Plus, in addition to the breast shaped macaroni and strawberry flavoured lube (euch), they have an upstairs BDSM and fetish section. It’s an Adult Novelty style shop, but it is more than dick hats and copies of Pink Eye 2.

Still, why pay the markup?

You might wonder our motive for being there. After all, it is never going to be as cheap as shopping online. No brick and mortar store is going to beat a fresh-from-the-warehouse site like pinkcherry.ca in cost. If I want a bouquet of a half dozen riding crops,  I will never argue meatspace is cheaper.

I keep going back to Romance, because they beat even my favourite online retailers in immediate customer engagement. The staff cares about and is knowledgeable about all their stock. And, while online sites offer reviews, at a certain point you can’t beat actually touching the merchandise.

Going Hands On

Does it bounce well in the hand with a fleshy weight? How strong are the stitches in the leather? Can you slap it against your thigh to feel the thud or the sting? How does it stand up to my personal tastes? You can tell right away what will and won’t work for you.

For example, this time I wanted a cock ring for Wildcard. We’ve basically maxed out on vibes and insertables, but I wanted to take my teasing game a little further and make his erections more persistent.

Sure cock rings are a cheap grab. They seldom cost more than $20, unless you are moving into the territory of elaborate gilded ornaments. Still, I could have bought multiples online for the price of the one I got.  I paid the store markup because I wanted to actually handle the products properly, and get Wildcard’s immediate feedback. After all it was his penis about to be cinched.

At Romance, anything is available for reasonable in store testing, and I had six or so different sizes and models to play with and figure out which was best. Otherwise, I would either need to borrow a friend’s personal items (assuming I knew someone who did have one), or try my luck with buying before I try. Why gamble and create waste?

Curation Matters

Romance doesn’t stock the super high end, gold plated luxury brands, and while they have a few of the lower quality toys, they are carefully screened for skin safe material. The quality and price point runs a range, but nothing will cause a rash. They have recognizable brands, like Tantus, and various versions of the standards in less recognized brands: glass, masturbation sleeves, bullet vibes, etc… Nonetheless they have their share of the cheap quality stuff.

However, what makes me trust in the quality of their offerings are how they handle duds and poor purchases and how they constantly make purchasing a conversation.

corsetback

For example last shopping trip, I impulse bought a Music Legs branded corset back fishnet tights set. That’s not a band I’d expect much from, but even so, the quality was terrible, neither matching the claimed colours on the package, nor coming laced. Indeed the wretched things gave you your lace as a single length of uncut ribbon- unacceptable for an item fragile enough that the first wearing was likely the last.

Online shopping, you write an irate review, and maybe process a return with shipping at your own expense. The smaller ones have time to address you complaints, but there’s a lot more time and distance involved. Here, you get the immediate feedback and from the staff, checking if it was a one off and pulling the defective product, as well as making a note to discuss the problem with the supplier.

And their relationship building also works in the opposite direction. I admit a certain degree of entertainment in getting a post purchase inquiry into the effectiveness of other toys. As much as they are ready to take unsolicited feedback, when you shop they ask questions- and if they know you bought something in the past, they ask you about what your experience was.

So in all, I might buy most of my toys online or seek out pervertables from cooking supply and hardware stores, but the post sushi sex shop date isn’t going to stop any time soon.

Disclosure: I affiliated with pinkcherry after I realized I was giving them a bunch of business from simply bulk ordering cheapo toys and talking about it. Romance and Priape offer no compensation for being mentioned. The sushi pic is free stock photography from clker.com

 

Femdom Life: NO-vember Begins

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A sleepy femdom made out of free clip art.November is prostate cancer and men’s health, diabetes and national novel writing month. It’s also the first quiet period I’ve had in a long time. Thus begins the month of Pearl Not Doing Things.

A major vanilla project I’m working on has started to wind down. I’ve dealt with the whole (alleged) serial rapist in the community and pitched a friend from my social group for less severe but definitely horrible things. Those of you that follow me on social media know it was an intense experience that drained a lot of my energy. That and I’ve got one of those persistent low grade health thingees that I need to spend some Canadian Healthcare on. And I was a bridesmaid, which did not entirely agree with me for various reasons mostly to do with being surrounded by happy other people’s families makes me sad mine sucks.

My job has suffered around all that, and I kind of need to focus harder on it. Bleh.

That being said, it hasn’t been all bad. Phantom review sent me a lovely package. You guys were incredibly supportive through the Herr Kommandandt thing and made a serious difference to getting the word out.

But I’m very, very tired, so I am taking the remainder of this month to catch up. I’ll still be on social media but I am adamantly refusing to organize any parties outside the pre-scheduled monthly munch, or worry about accomplishing anything with any sort of plan, deadline or performance expectation. Of course 99% of this is just removing hiatus guilt, since this blog has never been on any sort of sensible schedule, but I’m hoping to do crafts, read novels and if I write or make art, have it be for fun.

Although a part of me is super excited to start cleaning my apartment. Because of course that’s the kind of weirdo I am.

Oh and I want to make more time to actually have sex and less time to writing about it, or scolding people for being terrible about consent.

… I freely admit that about a week in and I’m still getting “omg I need to be USEFUL” jitters and trying to find something to plan and work on.

 

Fall, Projects, Relationships and Stuffs

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cozyIt’s cuddling weather! <Squeeeeee>

Summer heat saps my energy, zapping my will to move and probably putting me at my most emotionally meh. Yeah, I have air conditioning, but then there’s a noisy fan and that weird dry-cold draft.

For me, the encroachment of fall always comes with a little burst of enthusiasm for life, something about the colour of the light, and the cool air. I’m about as far from Agrarian/Pastoral as you can get without living on the ISS, but the moment I can put on thick knit black tights is the moment I start skipping and hopping about.  And it’s the time when Wildcard stops scuttling to his side of the bed with a “don’t touch me you’re too WARM!!! T_T”

So what’s up with me?

The massive (vanilla) project I embarked on at the start of 2016 is starting to settle down, so as of February 2017 I have actual breathing room to work on other projects. The blog overhaul is basically done, although I might look into a better mobile browsing template and tweak a few things, for example making the title and logo smaller. I like it, but yes it occur

Again, a big thank you to the various people who helped out, particularly the Phantom Reviewer and the people who drove themselves crazy trying to figure out the source of the mystery space in my sidebar design. That’s resolved and my general web presence is much more part of a connected unified whole. I know because I’ve started getting messages on fetlife and elsewhere from blog fans going “ZOMG IT’S YOU!”

For such things does one write.

Yeah, yeah what about the porn?!

Writing-wise, as of January, I have a few projects I want to work on, including finishing up some story requests from people- JT is due for a misuse-of-professor story, while I have a second chapter of this superman porn parody 3/4 done, and of course that sequel to The Pet Gentleman is languishing, waiting or me to sit down and finish it already. Part of my goal for the first 6 months in 2-17 are setting aside time to bash what’s written into some semblance of sharable- something that’s been embarrassing delayed in a George RR Martin fashion for far too long.

That’s not even mentioning that I’d really rather be creating more general femdom stories for the blog than my current once every three months output. I suspect I’m not posting as much because I am getting exceptionally focused on perfection. The Friday femdom fiction in particular tends to stretch too damn long when I start writing them, which is the antithesis of what started as 500 word shorts to be dashed off in quantity. I managed one last week, but I can’t say I expect to have breathing room until October has passed.

Also video

In the mean time, I’ve also gotten into doing Periscope live feed videos, with an eye to eventually creating a youtube show. The trick is, of course the topic as I am currently just rambly, which is a topic in its own right, but I feel like I need more effort. Maybe I’ll vlog! Part of that is I finally said fuck it and put myself out there- I spent a good part of the last decade being careful “just in case” and have come to believe that while I don’t want to be stalked and harassed as much as the next person, I am never going to be vanilla-important enough to be penalized if I get recognized at my day job.

For the record, my day job is something that uses all those obnoxious high school math things I was very sure I wouldn’t need. Basically imagine me wearing a giant pair of headphones and hiding in a back cubicle somewhere slapping data into shape, not exactly the career path that gets derailed when someone sends your boss a nasty letter telling them that they employ a woman who likes certain aspects of sex. Also I’m out to my parents (my dad approves of my art as long as it makes money, I’m estranged from my mother, but she knows this exists).

So yeah, if you do Periscope, you can hear my voice and watch me flop about in hilariously low res. Also see the derp-tastic thumbnails the app captures. o_-

Love? Kink scene?

Wildcard and I are moving towards year 3 of our relationship. The official date is fuzzy, since we basically fell into bed shortly after he broke up with his ex, but held off putting a precise label on it for a while after, even if I have basically been living with him since November of 2013. We continue to be a part of the Montreal kink scene, with me running my monthly munch for four years, more or less. (Eeesh)

My love life goes as it should. It is not a D/s or M/s relationship, but it is a femdom relationship in the sense that I am a female dominant and I am in the relationship. Yeah, it’s complicated, but honestly if other people’s anecdotes are anything to go by, an explicitly power exchange dynamic isn’t really easier or more smoothly role defined.

Meanwhile the 18 to 35 meetup is one of Montreal’s more popular, long running events, filling a much needed niche and spawning other events. I won’t call them “copycat”, but they’re certainly on the same theme:  a 25-45 event, and 45+ exclusive thing. Although they are by function exclusionary, they end up creating more participation by serving one or more specific groups, sometimes accidentally- 1835 ate the flailing QueerNonBinaryLesbian bits that weren’t all supported at the time, and although there’s now a woman only munch (M.E.O.W.) I benefited from being a good space for lovely people.

Now we’re continuing to evolve as the kink scene in Montreal continues to get larger and larger. My biggest challenge for the coming months will be maintaining the great culture of the group, which is not a bad problem to have. That and at 30 I eventually need to consider phasing out of this and finding qualified volunteers to take over.

So I’m very much looking forward to what the end of the year will bring, but also the potential to hunker down and take a well needed break.

—

Art is borrowed from Hannah Hamilton of Verbal Vomit.

Busting the Burglar

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It was (punish) Tuesday again, and I’ve been itching to try something. Usually, I’ve taken these preplanned interludes to practice my topping skills. They end with Wildcard in shuddering convulsions, the sign he’s taken his limit of cruel, hard hits. It’s very rewarding in its own way, the warm up, the steady pattern of ever increasing intensity and then finally the painful pulverization. He always asks to have his wrists bound and I tease my masochist when I check in, to see where he’s at, asking “more weight“, the defiant last words of the only sane man in Salem.

But it wasn’t a night for that. I could read, mostly from his desultory masturbation, that his stamina was limited. I had a long day too, and after spilling my guts at a therapist was in no mood to build a carefully accommodating psychological trap to compliment whatever implement I was going to pulverize his butt with.

I got him to put on all his clothes- he has starting in just a shirt. He didn’t know what to expect, although he knew I was taking control.

Then I ordered him to pick up his laptop and stand by the window, as if trying to escape.

While he had dressed I’d found a plastic water pistol, the safe, orange kind designed to not fool passerbys into a panic, and armed myself to defend against the “home invader”. I held him at gunpoint and berated.

He took a moment to understand, looking puzzled, but back in the day he was captain of his college improv club, and we met at a LARP, so he’s a quick study. Honestly narration comes easier than dialog- I’m impressed with myself too. I took the lead and he fed off my “reactions”, making himself into the scared thief I wanted.

I threatened to shoot him and made him put the stolen computer on the bed. Considering my prey, my talking turned from briskly intimidating to giving him glimpse of hope. By appeasing me and stripping, I made him feel he could escape the police or worse, a bullet. He was forced to accept my examination and fondling, play with himself until he was hard enough to meet my satisfaction.

I pushed him up against the wall by his throat and nudged his balls with the muzzle. I told him about my neighbours who would love to take advantage of a naked man in this bad, bad neighbourhood. I bent him over the bed and bare handed spanked him. Whenever he started to lose the least little focus, the gun was there as a reminder, pushing him into compliance. I needed to believe that I could scare him enough to make his strength stay suppressed.

In the two years since we started dating, Wildcard has put on muscle and confidence. I’m a good girlfriend and a good dom- campsite rules apply, and he’s better than when I found him- although I admit the work has been his and I’ve merely made a supportive environment for him to grow into. The change is that the man I’m dating now is not the sick, skinny and shaken person I could pin and lift and beat in a physical fight. I no longer have to worry I will steamroll him by simply expressing myself. Hence the orange plastic gun is a fig leaf, a symbol of the sincere submission and surrender he is giving, and I hold it in my hand with a great deal of joy.

I threaten him, pushing him all the way into the vestibule until he’s close enough to the smoked glass to see through the fog and pick out details on the street. He’s just a little terrified, like a roller coaster makes you think you’ll fall, he’s able to see the risk of being shoved out the door for everyone to see his nakedness, and feel like it’s real.

I talk up the risk. Through my words he knows that there is an involved, aggressive “sorority” down the street, an invention based on the female neighbours in my own past college residence, who reacted to a real, harassing flasher by rising together to prepare for battle. I’m keeping things light even as I talk about killing him, layering on the erotic with an eye to how his fetish for exposure gives me leverage.

There’s two tracks of dominance- one where there’s an angry woman blackmailing a burglar, and one where Miss Pearl knows every one of Wildcard’s buttons and just how to push them.

Bu the time the scene ends, and I give him only his shirt back, to cover himself in a clutched grip before banishing him to whatever fate awaits him on the street, he’s full of happy energy. In the vestibule, freed, he picks me up and bumps his crotch to mine, both of us giggling as he almost tipped over and dropped me on the floor. This is love.

On Tantric Massage And Teasing

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Tantric massages meets dark tantraTantra is a meditative practice using the sex between two people as a transcendence, a way of blurring the self/other boundary. It’s an infectious idea that slithered it’s way, cross colonial style, along with the Tao-ist sexual practices it blends into. When I talk about integrating tantric massage into my bedroom life, it is first important to acknowledge that it is a spice, like cumin and chili and cinnamon, imported and used in ways that the people who discovered it probably never intended.

But sex between humans is a beautiful perversion of a simple bodily function, more than just the raw exchange of genetic information. Leave the instinctual simplicity to fish and cows, even if you are about as spiritual as a rock, we are all deviants. Even the vanillas. You can’t talk about orgasm or romantic love without shades of something bigger than you behind it- it’s the doorway through the profane to the same divine chased with supplication and worship. The same enveloping bigness of Jesu, our Hearts Desiring or Hare Krishna ecstasy spring from a genital, venal root. Why wear robes of priests and clergy and sit in drafty temples, when you can open yourself in the naked comfort of your bedroom? Touch. Taste. Kiss. Torment. Fuck. This is the way we pray.

And D/s, and BDSM play are very much about energy and connection, and even the most materialist and rational kinkster still feels that rawness, exchanging power in a hierarchy of our own construction. The principles of tantra are particularly alive in the tease, that key component to briefly obliterating the anxious, busy, distracted self into the erotic.

I make things ready.

The first thing, as in an scene at home, I clean. I strip the bed and change the sheets, fluff the covers flat, and knowing that I’m about to get messy, I take a smooth, clean, wide top sheet and stretch it out over everything. I do things topsy turvy, because I am me. Some couples, the sub does the setting of the place. Either way,  the foreplay begins long before we first touch, in thoughts and plans and this preparation.

A lot is said about achieving a submissive mindset. There’s a knack to it, tricks and shortcuts through those everyday fetishes, power symbols and ritual. But when you take on the lofty perch above someone, you take those same tools to elevate yourself. If I am to feel myself and in control, I want the space to be perfect. I want to prepare myself with a shower beating down on my naked skin, washed and fresh, dried with care. The first secret to feeling attractive is to treat yourself like you love yourself, and this is where I start.

In dominance, I bring the comfort I have in my own skin to my partner. I am, when I dominate, beautiful, and I share that beauty with him or with the room. How could I not be, when I am my most happy self? With an audience, I can make them into my tools, adding them to the pull and push on the submissive, or I can block the eyes from my mind, cloaking myself in confidence.

You can see why I speak of seemingly fuzzy concepts like tantra when I talk about my sex life, because the ability to do that is a magic trick that mystifies people. I’ll tell you a secret, my secret of how the trick is performed: bring an utter openness to the moment and be prepared to take what your bottom or sub can give or reject it as suit you.

I started this time a day early, telling him I wanted to give him a proper massage.

I mixed fresh herbs from my window boxes, mint and rosemary, with warm sweet almond oil. I laid out cloths, and my tools: a knobbly thing for working tough spots and glass marbles for the rolling pinpoint sensations. I started early because I wanted to avoid surprises, and have things flow.

We had a conversation through my fingers, finding him locked up, tensing at any stimulation. Nothing was wrong, per say, but everything was a little askew We connected through touch, him touching me in return, finding places in my hip that when pressed loosened and turned to pleasure. Rosemary is a wonderful scent, mellow, ungendered, almost musky without being cloying. It suffuses us both, making sure we are on the same page for tomorrow.

Then, Punish Tuesday … Plus Fun

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A Perfect #PunishTuesday Spoon Spanking Session

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Seventy-Three Demerits. He’d earned them over the course of the week, fifty from an orgasm sans permission (it might have been a forced orgasm on my part, but I’m a cruel, capricious Mistress when I want to be). The rest are for little misdeeds: broken rules and bratty behavior. And ok, after a major flu that left me poached and miserably stuffy, this wasn’t *actually* the right day, but the health related rain check. #PunishTuesday is the concept I hold to, no matter if “Wednesday” is the actual word on the back of my cute days of the week panties that evening.

With the heath related holiday, when the actual day came around, he was already excited. Blame it on days of teasing, and reminding him about his mounting sins and the punishment he was due for them. Even so, I sent him out of the room to get into the right head state.

Getting Ready & Setting The Scene

While he was gone, I took the time to prepare my space by cleaning. True, dozens and dozens of sub people will blow raspberries here- he was off relaxing and I was corralling the forest of water glasses and tea mugs that accumulate in the bedroom, stuffing the loose laundry into the hamper and making the bed. I know this is not the standard BDSM fantasy. I know someone is already typing up “but a TRUE sub would…” Nonesense. I like the control it gives me to clean and make a space orderly. It’s meditative and it makes me feel like all the parts of the space are ready to respond to my needs. And I wanted to get my head right too.

I don’t believe dominance is a put on, or a fake thing. But, for most of us, the so called lifestyle is not a 24/7 all on all the time experience. 50% of the population is kinky, but we hardly all build our relationships around that one facet. Sure, I need Wildcard to be into kinky sex to make things work, but it’s just as important he can empathize and enjoy the other things I value. And for us, as with most couples, there are hard boundaries on where my power eclipses his. This is how we take two separate, independent people and put my power over his.

I make the bedroom look how I wish, getting the covers smoothed flat; checking the ready to go restraints; plugging in the pretty fairy lights that serve as a lamp; and putting out toys on the bedside table. Then prepare myself. I take off my clothes and step into white heels from my collection, glossy, with a platform in the toe that makes me taller. Indoors they don’t feel like hobbles, they feel like power, nor is my nudity a vulnerable exposure.

I do my eyes with a stroke of black and my lips in a bold matte red. As a last touch, (because if you can’t be yourself in the boundaries of you sex life, where can you?) I dash off a little heart on my left cheek.

It begins.

He is naked, except for the brown stripe of collar around his neck, already sporting a swinging erection. His ‘preparation’ was clearly touching himself and I take advantage of that, leaving the overhead light on to catch every bit of an intense self edging session on camera. Only when he’s so intensely close to exploding his face is in a rictus of intensity do I let him ease off, but the video goes in my little library, to be enjoyed at my leisure.

“Do you think you deserve to be tied up?”

It’s important for me to get him to state preferences. I don’t like black hole or starfish subs, who passively flop into the scene and expect this to do down like I’m some sort of housekeeper cleaning a particularly warm carpet.

I also make him ask for the cuffs that extend from under the mattress, holding him around the wrist, face down. It’s just your basic under bed system by Sports Sheets, versatile, safe and above all idiot proof, but once the velcro hooks he’s no more going to go anywhere than if I used locks and buckles. I like the medical/mundane nature of it, just like how washable my strapon harness is, all nylon and straps. It’s better than half assing it- that’s the problem a lot of the fetish stuff has, trying to take you into another sort of world with hints of high end fetish wear, and all you get is cracking, fraying pleather or whips that shed their caps on one hit.

This is real, and he’s about to feel real pain, so he gets a warm up. I’d made him ask for that too, escalating a patter of hits to rise the blood in the firm rounds of his ass. He’s very male, furred without vanishing into the pelt, coloured a little golden, like wheat seeds. He loves the cuffs on his wrists, and I can feel that they are bringing him into a state of accepting relaxation (dare I invoke “surrender?” or is that too cliche?) even as I pick out the wooden spoon.

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Fame, Art, Beauty and Fear

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I lead a charmed life, for all that I’ve had my share of cowpats and nettles.

The last week (Thursday) another person came up to me at my monthly munch and said they were a fan of my writing. This is the third time it’s happened, the first time this year. They’re always so shy about it, and I’m always so touched. Because the thing I take for granted is something people sincerely love. Because ME. Me. Me! ME! Also me.

I’m kinda, sorta famous in that vague sort of way that means people on the internet into my niche might think to mention me. It’s a fundamental thing like liking salt and fat or craving a warm spot when it’s cold (or a cold spot when it’s warm) that positive attention is amazing.

But I’m also scared of being popular.

You’re not supposed to admit you like fame and adoration and you are certainly not supposed to think you deserve it. Not unless you are playing a character ala Dame Edna, or some other fabulous over the top glitter clown like Lady Gaga. Just about every web celebrity I know talks with the same cliches about how much (s)he is humbled by the love, a hundred, a thousand, even a million people caring what they think. Even smugmasters like my gaming idol Jim Sterling occasionally break character to give the dance of adulation. (If you like vidya games and want to see a funny openly poly pansexual feminist guy riff on all the foibles of the industry, check him out). I kind of don’t feel humbled when you praise me. I feel important. Then I feel fucking terrified.

It’s scary because I worry that everyone will notice I lap up the adulation and because I feel incredibly vulnerable. Internet cool is about a balance between insincere meaness (for the LOLz!!!) and sincere rage (SHITLORD! GAMERGATE!) and gratitude (I LOVE OUR FANDOM! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!). Everything is pointed out, nothing is ever pointed in even when your art is selfies.

Nobody likes a person who says they are smart, pretty and important. “Do you know who I am?!” is the phrase of social self immolation. On top of that, I’m a woman in an environment known for hostile targeted campaigns of doxing and abuse, writing about intimate sex stuff that could be used to humiliate and deny me employment.  I mean I’m pretty sure my bosses, presented with “Pearl is a sexy sex minx!” would be more uncomfortable with the person bugging them than me. My family knows I write smut, even the conservative ones because my father has no filtre. But you never know what sort of damage a determined doxer could do. But it’s still unsettling…

What if I like this too much? What if… putting myself out there means people hurt me?

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The New Theme & Website Updates (Not Porn)

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Hi guys, quick webmistress note:

I’m in the process of giving the site a moderate facelift, so I’m giving you a heads up that some things might get broken in the process (eg the contact forms).  Rest assured that I will continue offering the free erotica I always have (the main reason you guys come out here). While I’m doing that, a few things may seem wonky or broken- I apologise for any problems you may encounter during the transition, as well as any wonky layouts.

I feel like the blue theme wasn’t helping you get the content you were looking for, and I’m happy to take feedback from you about anything you feel needs to be adapted or anything you’re finding particularly clunky here, as I plan continuous improvements. Berkson already weighed in that he missed the “O” logo, for example. 😉

Seriously, I’m opening myself up to your comments- even “moar of X, less of Y plz”.

Design Goals:

  • New header logo
  • Expand text box for better blog reading
  • Rework art elements to fit new template
  • Put Fav Icon back

I’m going to keep the jetpack generated mobile theme for now (why fix what ain’t broke?) but I’d love to know if you’re getting and weird errors or whatever. Changing the browser based theme appears to already be helping my bounce rate. I’m also going to redo the contact forms- it might be a co-incidence but I feel like I’ve been getting more feedback not less since I disabled it.

I also want to go through old content and start adding missing attribution/sources to the images I use.  Although a lot of this is very much amateur experimenting I feel like I haven’t properly credited people where credit is due.

I realise it may not be as seamless as hiring a professional, but having an ugly site was seriously killing my desire to actually update the damn thing. I also freely admit my social media feed may be full of frantic “wtf?!” questions as I try to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

The end goal is to get something with the uh… professional (maybe not the best word) quality to try to showcase what I do best. I take a lot of pride in my writing, typos and all.

And yes, I’m going to keep posting. Life’s been incredibly hectic (I am running a real life LARP, a monthly munch,  work full time, and am juggling a health problem) but I’m in a good head space. I’ve been particularly happy with Wildcard who has been incredibly supportive and has started to contribute photos from his own hobby.

However, I do want to mention something else.

It’s always awkward to talk about money but…

Right now the sponsored stories and custom stories basically pay for web hosting. I’m one of the top searches for “femdom stories” on google, and I’m competing with sites with thousands of contributors. I know you guys like my writing, but I feel like I could do better artistically – I want to be able to pay to commission sexy art to match my stuff. That means more sexy femdom porn for everyone.

Hell, even using money to hire a cleaner for my apartment gives me more time to focus on creating porn.

So would you guys be okay with a tip jar or patreon set up? Do you think you’d want to participate? 

Femdom Life: Orgasm Denial for Him

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Psychological shackles are the bestI like to make him beg.

Wildcard is into con-non-con, but as much as he has fabulous instincts as a top/dom (he’s really fucking AMAZING to watch), he’s comparatively handicapped in submissive explorations. He’s not someone who could attribute his sub fantasies to being a naturally passive, meek person. As a sub, his erotic charge comes from resisting, and, as a full sized adult male, this makes orgasm denial the perfect lever to bring him to his knees.

As a straight femdom, your partners will usually be bigger, stronger and heavier than you. A good tease and iron clad willpower is your friend for subs who need a little push back. I adore humiliating him with my power. With so much cultural baggage around masculine virility, it’s like a metaphorical ring through a bull’s nose. No matter the muscle, some of the best feelings out there are making a man obey with the lightest of tugs.

Before meeting me, his fantasies focused on three things: forced orgasms, spankings and forced nudity.

All these are pretty hot, but I brought something more to the table he’s never done before, good old fashioned restrictions on when he could come, laced with lots and lots of sneaky sabotage stimulation.

It might be a femdom porn standard, but also a huge kink of mine. I love it, and I love to tease men until they go insane. I love the way it turns my body into a tool of control. And hooray, guess what? Because I kept talking about it, he started getting into orgasm denial just as much as me! Blame my sexy talk and my apparently phenomenal, edging focused hand jobs. since I brought the subject up, he’s been devouring copious amount of denial based erotica even without my encouragement. Score! Guess that means it was time to start locking him up to make that desperate feeling last! Right…?

Nope. Orgasm denial is a slow burn build up.

First of all, he’s a kink-is-part-of-my-life and not a kink-is-my-life person. Precisely because orgasm denial makes him feel submissive, marathon, months long orgasm denial sessions aren’t his thing. Heck, he finds the idea of more than a week without coming too intimidating (for now). That rules out play built around “never letting you come ever, mohahaha!” But beyond that, as much as he likes non-con, feeling forced even by the presence of sexual potential is also potentially triggering. Wildcard’s dealt with some shit in the past and has bristly, bite-y boundaries. So on the one hand he just wants me to take control, on the other hand everything has to be carefully negotiated to make him feel safe. People are complicated.

Orgasm denial, once you throw in the edging and teasing, is something you’ve got to work your way up to. When I first started with him, what was supposed to be a weekend long denial session lasted less than 24 hours. There may have been an oopsie after an extremely erotic suggestion from me. To combat my devilish ways, he’s had to train his dick to know just about when he’s going to come… and he’s still had more than his fair share of ruined orgasms by accident.

So even in 2015, this was a work in progress. Then we moved house, and Christmas happened, and our sex life cum hobby (heehee) of being kinky libertines took a holiday around stress, packing and  some pretty serious relationship growth. And we honestly communicated about stuff. You know, needs and boundaries. Life taught us to have some shitty trust issues that take a lot of deprogramming. You guys endured a blogging hiatus and I’m still tidying up after it.

Six months after the move, I’m happy to say that teasing and depriving him has stayed a mainstay in our sex life. Oh, and edging. I’ve edged him for an hour at a time, making him go just to the point of coming over and over and over again until he was thrashing and begging. And the orgasms he gets from them are some of the intensest he’s ever had.

We do it, over and over again, slippery oil on my palms, or his cock pushing over my tongue. Making him beg. It might not be the rule for daily life, but in the bedroom I make Wildcard work for every orgasm. Last night, after a sound spanking, he even showed how good he’s getting at holding it when I took him to the edge and he managed to hold off for a good thirty seconds of me forcing him. And sneaky truth- he might not have taken on orgasm denial as a full time calling, but when we’re together, even on a vanilla night, he hasn’t come a single time without asking for permission.

Femdom Life: Getting What I Want

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Dear reader, tonight was Punish Tuesday, our pre-organized kinky sex night, and I just got my brains fucked out.

I also did what I have never done before. And it wasn’t something you would easily guess. No, seriously!

One hour of foreplay for me. It sounds so improbably vanilla, right? The sad truth is that life isn’t like those bdsm stories where the dominant always gets her needs met. The reality is that either sex has worked for me or it hasn’t. Now Strong could be a generous enough lover, but we had so little time as a couple that he can be considered out of the discussion.

But it is almost embarassing that I’m almost a month shy of my 30th birthday and I’ve gotten so used to compromising what I needed that for all I can beat a man purple or tease his cock for an hour, asking for turn around physical attention was a taboo fetish.

So I stripped him and he and I cuddled up on the couch. One set timer later and he went to work with my body all lips and tongue and touching

Somewhere along the way, long before I appeared on the scene, Wildcard learned to work a woman’s body, with the same studious and attentive perfectionism and passion he puts into his cooking. But instead of rendering the fat of the roast chicken he’s salted and dismembered, he’s finding little spots between my fingers to nibble and zones on the back of my thighs to stroke.

And then as everything in me opened, he liesurely fucked me while I took that delicious sensitivity into an orgasm so loud I suspect the neighbours heard it through his desperate muffling hand. Apartment life.

Afterwards, with his erection lingering and my cunt having none of the freight train he likes to pretend is his penis, I filled his ass and gave him a slippey hand job – it mus have been intense because he was practically flapping his unrestrained arms.