Ah, orgasms, the at times elusive, but I believe always desired, goal of our most intimate, combining BOTH mental and physical intimacy, experiences!
- the pursuit of pleasure; sensual self-indulgence.
the ethical theory that pleasure (in the sense of the satisfaction of desires) is the highest good and proper aim of human life
Some say their kink is pain. Whipping. Impact play. Rope bunny. Me? I say pleasure can be a kink. I wonder if I’m alone in this, but I don’t believe so.
I’m a pleasure slut. My kink is French cooking. Simple, intense, and leaves you needing a nap afterwards. I want to feel the pleasure run through my body, my mind, my soul, insomuch as I believe in a soul. If it brings me pleasure, I want more of it. If it doesn’t do anything for me, I’ll abandon it. If it doesn’t make my body shiver, shake, convulse, I eventually stop seeing the point.
I want orgasms. Simple as that.
I am not aesthetic. I need touch. I need you with me. I don’t want to tied up and suspended away from you, though I may enjoy the feeling of rope on my skin. I don’t want pretty, purple bruises. I don’t want to be photographed, unless it’s for a particular occasion and I spend extra time executing the design.
My skin, say my friends and occasionally near strangers I allow to touch me, is extraordinarily soft. I make the most of this. The slightest touch can send me into convulsions if my mind is properly placed. I almost always ask for less. I enjoy the very lightest of touches. I once used a violet wand on the lowest setting, which created an effect where the person’s hands conducted the electricity and it “massaged” my skin when they ran their fingers across my shoulders. Or a mild tap of the riding crop (okay, a little harder! but, no, not much). I love to have my feet played with, every bit of my skin massaged and scratched, each nerve stimulated.
Warmth and cold.
I love fire and ice. Hot wax dripped, ever so gently, only a bit, on my back. Just a dash of fire dropped on my body. Then a metal flogger, drenched in ice water, dragged across the cooling wax.
I prefer mental domination. I like games. Actual, fun games. Not silly, so-called romantic games (pretending that I don’t like a guy to make him more interested in me), but a complete take over of my mind? A game that draws me into the person? Yes, please.
I do not always need an orgasm to experience warmth and tingles. Women often don’t, and that includes those of us with a stronger feminine side. Oh, I wouldn’t believe the woman who says she never needs an orgasm, not without gentle, er, probing. It’s only that sometimes she sincerely means it when she says she just wants to feel good, but not necessarily pushed over the brink.
I used to feel a bit of a fraud, because of it, but I like what I like.
I am not fond of bruises, whips, floggers, and rope suspension— but I believe shooting fireballs along my inner thigh counts?
I don’t need to “prove” my kinkiness by pushing beyond what will ever be what I want. I don’t need to be swung around, beaten, and whipped with pins stuck in my nether regions 🙂
My kink is pleasure, and I shall indulge freely.
…Sex must be “safe.”
I know that sex possesses several risks, like most of life. But I want my sex to strive towards safety. That means more than condoms and birth control.
I hear about people’s escapades after they put kids to bed, but how do they do it? My friend asks. I mean, isn’t it loud?
Good question. For anyone curious how to make it work, for anyone who struggles with this and wonders who the ‘successful’ people do it— well, I don’t wonder anymore. These are based on my experience and I really think most else— the, I have great sex every night and my family life is just fine!— is mostly bullshit. Like Facebook photos of happy couples that get divorced two weeks later. Sure. Everything just collapsed in one day.
Here’s what I’ve found:
- Parents just don’t have a sex life. They give it up for the twenty years until the kid leaves the house at 18 (Assuming your kid DOES move out at 18. I dunno, I guess after that, it’s on them if they hear your sex noises.)
Or maybe they do. Sometimes it works. Sort of.
- Taking off your pants— when the INTENT is to do something about it once said pants are removed— and putting them back on counts. You gotta take the wins when you get them.
- A boob squeeze when nobody is looking counts.
- Hotel bathrooms are probably sound proof. Just try not to smack your face on the sink and cry out in pain (no, never done it, but still one should probably be careful). Yelling out in pain is likely to wake someone up.
- I’m honestly not a big fan of car sex, but it works.
- Nobody knows you’re on FetLife if the screen is turned away. Say that you’re working and can’t be disturbed. Maintain a composed, serious, “I’m definitely analyzing this spreadsheet” look.
- Sound proof your bedroom with these. And while you’re at it, you might as well set up the St Andrew’s Cross in the corner and call it “art.” Paint it some nice, earthy color to be subtle. Or bright pink.
- Great parents make sure that kids have sleepovers at their grandparents’ home. I mean, you gotta make sure they see the grandkids they begged for, yes? Like, one night a week? Or two?
- Or sleepovers at friends’ homes. Yes, that means that you have to take their kids, too, in exchange. But as long as you have three kids in the house, what’s four or five? Compartamentalize your life and give yourself a few kid free hours.
- You know, some people say having a pet is just like having a kid. And you can put them in the laundry room. (I’m being legitimately serious here.)
As per usual, I begin the evening awkwardly.
Sitting on the couch with my vodka cranberry. By which I mean I began awkwardly. The particular circumstances vary.
I will hate it, I will want to run home, I will think nobody here could ever find me desirable. This will last approximately half an hour to an hour. “If you need to wait an hour to be ready, that’s okay,” my partner says. It’s a good thing to remember. After all, why am I going to a party to not do what I want? I remind myself I’ve shown up late, and everyone else has already had time to adjust. But showing up early doesn’t help, either. It’s a fine balance to arrive at the right time; not so late everyone’s already hooked up, but not too early, so that only one other small group is there and ignoring you.
I’m at a swinger party with my partner at a new location.
New crowd. I am fully aware I am not the only new person here—nobody ever is— but I still feel like everyone but me knows someone. I see all the little groups chatting away animatedly and wish I had one of my own. Should I have brought someone else with us? He asks me which of the women I find cute (he knows enough to not ask me about the men). I shrug. I feel very young in this crowd.
That’s not unusual, but it takes me a while to seek out anyone within even ten years of me, which is about my comfort level as age gap goes. I scoot up to this one group, trying to make my way into the conversation— and then, almost out of nowhere, this attractive dark haired woman walks straight up to me and asks me how I am. It hasn’t even been half an hour yet.
She introduces herself and her partner (I feel an immediate comfort with him, which is unusual with males who generally hit my flight or fight button). I introduce my partner, and we fall almost too easily into conversation. They are new to the scene, about a year. Her name is Sarah (I’ve changed the name she gave me, even though I know it’s a fake name). His is Jason. I’m trying to recall all the details, but they grew up in this city (although I’ve been living here longer). They seem very loving and sweet with each other, which I find endearing. Too often, I end up talking to a couple were one of them has clearly been dragged to the party. It’s no fun talking to someone like that.
Mid conversation, a woman materializes and motions the couple to a semi private, invite only, room.
I am not sure if I’m included, so I try to gently say that if it’s okay, I’ll join them…and I get swept into the private party. Soft play only, she says to me, and I nod assent. I’ve told her I’ve been doing this for a long time, so I think she expects I want more, but I don’t. Soft play helps me open up to someone I’ve only just met five minutes ago.
It’s cool in the room.
There’s a window in one of the walls, so that anyone at the party can watch. I’m wearing a red and black mask, my red and black slip dress, no shoes, black boyshorts underneath. I don’t normally wear panties, but I feel a bit protected with them. It’s myself, partner, the couple, and the couple who invited us. I can’t remember exactly how it happens, but the three girls end up on the bed— sans the guys. We look and giggle at them, because they look ridiculous, scrunched up beside each other on the small couch. Then we forget about them.
Soft, gentle kisses.
I sit back on my feet and watch the kissing. Slowly, I move forward, allowing myself to be drawn into the beautiful bodies next to me, all three of us intertwined. Amy gladly welcomes me into the mix. Touching, squeezing. The touches deepen in intensity, becoming ever so slightly rougher. Pinching, biting. Is the biting okay, one woman asks. I love that everyone is whispering consent, making sure of the comfort level of the other. I lose myself in the feminine energy. I even find myself kissing the first woman, and I very much want it. I want all of it. I’m vaguely aware of the guys watching us, and I wonder if I should be turned on by it. The truth is I barely register them. I’m too busy being surrounded by skin and moans.
A fourth woman wants to join in.
I didn’t even see her come in, until she’s sitting on the bed. She says she’s never done anything like this before. We’re all gathered in a circle. I ask her, do you want a massage? I love giving massages. She looks at me and says, sure. She lies down. I ask her to relax and stretch her arms out. As I’m straddling her, the two other women start massaging and playing with my breasts. I’m getting very into it, grinding myself back and forth on her back. She’s moving, too. I start wanting to come, and I’m coming and asking her if it’s okay. I am completely swept up in the attention. I want this to last forever.
I ride on the woman, as I massage her, losing myself in the wave after wave of orgasm crashing around me. After a while, I get up, worried that she is getting squished. “Rosy” and the Hispanic woman (she never said her name) start making out. I focus my attention on Sarah. She’s the one I have a crush on, anyway, and I’m glad to get to move on to her. I let myself flow into her.
I remember her asking if I wanted to lie down, as I was starting to play with myself, and I’m playing and making myself come (very wet from earlier) and she moves up and starts dancing, shifting her body from side to side with her mouth slightly open, looking at me. It’s beautiful, and I see the other couple twisted in each other next to us. I glance between her and them.
We’re strangely and perfectly comfortable with each other.
Our dance isn’t orchestrated, but it feels that way. We haven’t had a single awkward pause. Or if we did, I missed it while I was in lost in my head. Every so often, I have to pull my mind out of the clouds. I’m not disengaged, I’m just feeling every tiniest emotion heightened.
Everyone has naturally settled into this smooth rhythm. Nobody is left out. I hate those porn scenes when the two girls are fighting over the guy, and one poor girl gets unceremoniously dumped aside. Here, every woman has attention of at least two other women at all times. When the first two women kissed, they both put their hands on me. When the fourth woman joined, we paused to include her.
I’m so grateful for my partner’s presence in the background, because I know he’s keeping the guys away from us. I’m slightly annoyed, because one guy keeps demanding, “Take your clothes off!” as if we’re fully dressed, even though we only have panties on. Usually, I’m down to nothing by now, but I’m taking my time with the ladies. Leave me alone. I’ll be naked when I want to be naked. The other women don’t say anything, but they don’t make any move to take off the little they’re wearing.
We continue, ignoring everything but our own desires for each other. When the scene is “finished,” and we’re completely naked and ready for a change in pace, the men join in.
And I enjoy it…but..I’m glad I got my girl time in first!
I’m generally not the type to seek out a kinky relationship. As in, I need a domme or a rigger or an impact dom. Is that you? Great, let’s meet and see if we’re compatible, kink wise. Now let’s figure out when we can find time to play together on a more or less regular basis.
If that is you, I am not judging, but it’s not my experience. I prefer the “vanilla” relationship to build first, the friendship and the connection to happen initially, and if I see you as someone who fills a necessary kinky role within my life, I’ll try to deepen the relationship and make it last.
This story is a time when I did just seek out a kinky experience, but it is unusual for me, so it’s not crazy or anything.
Sometimes kink is described as a flavor of a relationship. Or something on the side. The icing on the cake.
As I grew in comfort, kink became less of the icing and more the flavor of the cake. I needed the cake to be substantive, but without kink, it was just a plain cake. Not a chocolate cake or a lemon cake. Would you want a cake that is just…cake flavored? Just eggs, butter, flour, sugar– that’s basically a pancake. Tasty, but falls flat. Okay, that was a bad joke.
Until, one summer day…
My first experience where kink was the sole focus of the relationship happened around twenty-four. There wasn’t a relationship. Just one night of play only. I don’t remember their name, though he was male. Older, I think. I probably shouldn’t have taken this risk, and I wouldn’t encourage anyone else to do the same, but this WAS one of my first times pursuing kink. May as well be honest about my stupidity.
I met him online. Most likely OKCupid. All I knew about him was his his face and….something that made me believe he would want this, too. I forget what. He came over, I opened the door to my apartment. One large room, with a bathroom off one side, and a kitchen area off the other side.
He asked me to strip naked with my arms held in front of me. He blindfolded me with a silk tie. I can’t remember how long I stood there, but eventually, he moved me onto my back. He tied a harsh rope around my arms and legs to restrain me. I felt an ice cube run up my body. Next, he told me he had some wax, that he wanted to pour on me. I remember liking it, can’t remember whether itw as very hot. “This won’t hurt you,” he said, “It just simulates pain.” He then proceeded to run up a Wartenberg Pinwheel, tracing my breasts, down my stomach. He took a feather duster(?) and tickled me lightly all over. I love giggling during an experience. I may be neglecting a few sensations, but this is what I can remember of it, from about ten years ago. Afterward, he untied me and he made sure I was okay, and he left. Never even took his own clothes off.
I don’t think I saw him again. I still remember how it felt.
I wonder if he remembers, too.