Day 15: Post a BDSM/kink activity you’re curious about and would like to try.

I’m so conflicted about this.

So, I know you’ve seen them.  Those insane vacuum beds.  Some cover the wearer completely.  Some leave the head free.  Some leave the genitals free.

You have seen them, right? Read more…

I don’t read Eden Cafe quite as often as I should, being a writer there.  It’s not that I don’t love them muchly.  If you read my Versatile Blogger Award post, you know I think the writers are great, and I love their intended message.

Thing is… I don’t agree with a lot of it.  And even less, recently.

For example, there’s a series about how an affair can help your marriage (1, 2 & 3), and one about asshole things guys do during sex, and…

There were others, but I’ve given up trying to look for them.  Maybe it’s not AD(H)D.  Maybe it’s just laziness.  Though I have been looking for about half an hour, so I suppose that’s pretty good.  For me.

Read more…

Day 1: Dom, sub, switch? What parts of BDSM interest you? Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you.  Basically define your kinky self for us.

A year ago, I asked almost the exact same question (log in required) on FetLife in a group I mod called Don’t Define Me (Come on in and gab with us.  All are welcome.  There’s never been any drama.  And I’m running out of topics to start, so start some! Lol.).  Not being one to ask a question and not answer it if I have an answer, I responded: Read more…

There’s been a change: I won’t be writing this in sequential order after all.  What? I tried! But I had an awesome idea! I’m sharing this series with Eden Cafe.  I’ll link to them all here, and of course they’ll be listed in my monthly round up.  So keep your eyes peeled!

Just because I can’t have a Tumblr doesn’t mean I can’t look at Tumblr.  I don’t think.  He didn’t say it did, anyway.

So, I searched “BDSM” on Tumblr and I’m forty-one pages in, and I found this list of prompts from QueerKink.  I know, I know.  Not even finished one series, and already starting another.  Ah well.  It’ll keep me from getting bored and increase the chances of me actually finishing them.  At least I won’t run out of things to say for a while.

Oh… And I’m gonna do this one in order.  But I can’t guarantee I’ll do it in thirty days.

(Also… I’m trying to talk M into doing this, as well.  If you’re interested in hearing His answers, do me a favor and sound off here.  Maybe He’ll be more inclined to give it a shot if He knows it’ll be well received!) Read more…

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

(Fair warning: At some point during the night, I began writing this post in my head, and I had a distinct direction for it.  This morning, my direction’s a little fuzzy.  So please excuse the rambliness.  Also, before it gets twisted, this is not meant to be aimed at my friend.  I’m discussing her opinion because it’s one held by many, not just her.)

I used to have this friend who was pretty active in her local community.  So much so that when there were demos, she would often be asked to be the guinea pig.  And because she was an exhibitionist and an attention whore, she’d always say yes, regardless of how she felt about the person running the demo.  It always made me chuckle when she came back from the event singing the person’s praises, even though she’d been ripping them to shreds in my IM box just hours before.

And not just their praises.  But her own praises as well.  Read more…

Dweaver999 talks about the correlation between sex and kink.

A question that I’ve seen come up on blogs and forums before is just what is the relationship, if any, between sex and kink.  This question is of particular interest to me for reasons I’ll try to make clear.  To help show what I mean, I need to explain my personal history with kink, or BDSM.

The first time I encountered BDSM was in a true crime magazine.  I was 13 and delivering newspapers.  My route took me by the local newsstand and they had these magazines with scantily clad women on the front and blaring headlines about kidnappings, rapes and other crimes against women.  I found them fascinating, but you could hardly call it sexually arousing for me.

However, I shortly thereafter, had my first masturbation experience.  Needless to say, I masturbated a lot after that, though, there weren’t any fantasies involved.  At that age, a boy needs nothing, mentally to become aroused and reach orgasm.  It just took some stroking of the old cock, and wham, I was cumming.  Read more…

Dumb-dumb-duh-huh! (Judy Jetson, 1990)

I keep forgetting that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be elevated from the despicable status of “wannabe slave” unless M moves out to the boonies, chains me up and hides me away from the world.

I’m not sure I got the memo about the whole spending-the-entire-day-being-beaten-at-irregular-intervals-from-the-moment-I-wake-up-till-the-moment-I-go-to-sleep-almost-every-day thing being just kink fluff.

(Though probably, it’s just as much that it doesn’t sound believable.  Him working from home has done some interesting things for my skin.  It’s going all black and blue and green and purple.  And I have polka dots on my knee.  We have no idea where they came from.)

And what the fuck was wrong with me, thinking obeying my owner’s wishes (or current capabilities due to his career, as the case may be) could possibly be what I’m supposed to do.

~rolls eyes~

Someone give me a cookie.  I just got kicked out of the cool kids club.  Again.

S’ok, though.  I gots me my own club now.  They’ve got this neat little quality called “humility” and another awesome one called “acceptance”.  And they’re the coolest dudes and gals I know.

Edited to say: Apparently, I misunderstood what was being said.  BA wasn’t implying I’m a WAS.  Huh… Don’t I feel like the jackass, now?

It’s weird, after going through the motions of cutting off all ties with someone you can no longer deal with, noticing all the little things you picked up from them.  Especially when you swore you’d never be like them.

Completely unrelated…

I’m finding myself annoyed with some of the restrictions people seem to put on reviews.  Not just their own reviews, but other people’s reviews, as well.

Disclaimer: I can’t really talk about this without it sounding like I’m pointing fingers, so I’m just gonna say it.  The opinions I discuss in this post are opinions held by me and other reviewers, not (to my knowledge) the companies I review for, and they’re not limited to Eden Fantasys reviewers.  Please believe me when I say I mean no offense to anyone.  I just don’t agree with what they’re saying.  Read more…

You know, there’s too many buttons in the world. There’s too many buttons and they’re just- There’s way too many just begging to be pressed,they’re just begging to be pressed,you know? – Lisa Rowe, Girl Interrupted

I’m trained to keep my hands down.

I’m not allowed to hit back.  I’m not allowed to jerk away.  I’m not allowed to cover my boobs or grab His hands or yank the toys away.  I’m sure I’d never throw another thing if I ever threw something at Him, and I’d probably, at the very least, wish I were dead if I ever tried to choke Him up.

But I really like pushing buttons.  One could say pushing buttons is my kink.

Emotional buttons, mental buttons, physical buttons…  Buttons that do things.  Buttons that don’t do anything.  Buttons that make people happy or mad or excited or sad.  Buttons that make things go up or down or right or left.  Buttons that make noise and make messes and cause trouble and…

I really like pushing buttons.

Especially buttons I’m told not to push.

So when He pins me to the couch, looks deep into my eyes and says things like, “You’re going to be one hurting puppy if you ever hit me back.”  my cunt contracts almost painfully and it takes extreme self control to relax my fist.

I wanna know what happens.  I’m desperate for consequences.  I want to take huge risks and come crashing down to Earth when I have to face the repercussions.  I want to soar on the adrenaline of having tasted revenge, only to be snatched from the air and thrown to the mat.

And the more He tells me the ending, the more I want to watch the rest of the movie.

So I push.  And push.  In little ways that won’t get me hurt more than I usually am.  No more than I can handle.

I catch the crop mid-swing before it connects with my thigh.  I push His hands away when He’s pinching me over and over.  I cover my tits and bite back when He bites them.

And I’ve been getting mad.  Annoyed.  Frustrated.

If you’re gonna hurt me, hurt me! Cut this piddly little pinch and nibble shit out.

And He loves it.  The annoyance and anger.  He watches me to see what I’ll do.  Like the serial killer who puts his prey in an unsolvable maze and watches her on a huge color television in a room blocking the single exit.  Taunting me.  Baiting me.  Drawing me in.  And then sitting back to see if I’ll control myself.

He lives for the aftermath.  The times, few and brief though they are, when I break.  When I’m thrashing at the chains and sawing my teeth into the gag and stomping my feet.  And then the acceptance.  The complete one-eighty.  The moments when I hang limply in my binds and sob, unabashedly, at the floor.

I want to be knocked down so bad.  I’ve been waiting so long.  I’ve been so good.

And yet, I continue to behave.  Except the little buttons.  I’ve stayed away from that huge red one.

But I fantasize.  And obsess.  And wonder.  And hope.

And I push.