Dear Mr. Sexsmith,
My girlfriend is visiting soon and is buying a Share dildo for her visit. She is looking at getting a RodeoH harness to use with it, but the folks there have conflicting opinions about what will work with the Share. Do you have any advise on a harness that will work with the Share, or for that matter, advise on double-headed cocks?
Hi! Glad to help …
The trouble with advice about these things is that they’re all so subjective, ya know? So what works for me may not work for others. Still, here’s my best ideas, from my own experiences and from talking to a lot of other folks.
First: Can’t double-ended dildos be used alone?
Yes! Absolutely. However, they do have a tendency to slip out, especially in certain positions (like if the wearer is on top with their legs apart, for example). Using a harness with a double makes it more secure while still giving the wearer extra
My favorite uses for the double-ended dildos are: 1. receiving blow jobs, 2. when fucking, being on the bottom with the receiver’s legs spread over my hips, so my legs can squeeze together, 3. jerking off. In that order.
Which double-ended cock to choose
Personally I like the Feeldoe Realdoe the best of the double-headed ones. It has a variety of sizes and colors (though the colors correspond to the sizes, so you can’t just get whichever color you want in any size), and I particularly like the (white person) skin tone color because it’s relatively close to my own. (It only comes in one “flesh tone” though, which is unfortunate). The angle is really good, the side that goes inside the wearer stays put better than others, it rubs up against the wearer’s bits better than others. It’s pretty hard silicone, so it doesn’t feel the best in someone’s mouth — it doesn’t have any give (especially after being spoiled by NYTC and Vixen). This is particularly noticeable for blow jobs, though sometimes also.
The Share is pretty good, though I’ve found the part that goes inside is super uncomfortable for my body. It’s a lot larger than others, and that doesn’t work for me. Others have told me the same thing. But if your girlfriend likes that feeling of being filled, it may not be an issue!
Edited to add: Vixen has just come out with a new vixskin (their ‘realistic’ line of silicone) double, called the Peacemaker. I haven’t tried it yet, but given their superior material, it basically automatically goes to the top of my list as The Best. (I can’t speak to why it has the dual-color thing though. Maybe it’s to make sure you know which end goes inside you? Maybe the creator just really likes purple? The other end comes in their usual vanilla, caramel, chocolate colors.)
Which harnesses to try
Personally I’m not a big fan of the RodeoH because I like really rough sex, and I like my harness to rub against me to keep myself the most stimulated. The RodeoH is too elastic-y for that. It might be a great one to start with, though, and one can always change it up to a material which is stronger! I know it is extremely well liked by most folks, particularly because it can be very comfortably worn under clothes. It works okay with double-ended cocks like Share + Feeldoe, but the o-ring is limited on the RodeoH. It still accommodates up to about 2″ (which tends to be the largest girth that most queer/women companies make their cocks), but the o-ring sits pretty high, which makes it hard to get the o-ring lined up with the double. But it’s stretchy, so some folks have no trouble making it work!
Part of the issue about harnesses and doubles is that the o-ring is in a very particular place, and the double comes out of a very particular place, and often they are not the same. So the best fix for this is to have a harness where you can change the length between the straps, the part that goes between the legs. Mostly that’s leather and other non-leather, rather than the underwear-type harnesses. Highly recommend: the leather pleasure harness, and the commando harness, both by Aslan Leather. Commando rides very low, which is helpful for doubles. Leather pleasure is highly convertible; the “driver pad” behind the dildo base comes off, it’s convertible to a 1-strap, and all the strap lengths and o-ring are changeable.
However, both those harnesses are a little harsh for bigger bodies — it can sometimes dig into my sides and that can be painful. For bigger bodies I highly highly recommend the spareparts Joque, it’s stretchy enough to be comfortable but still firm enough for rough sex … the straps (like a jock, not like a g-string) are changeable easily to move the hole down for doubles.
Hope this helps!
Purchase these toys at your local favorite women-positive queer-positive sex toy store, or at through these fine links. Most links in this post are for She Vibe, because they have an amazing selection. Some links are elsewhere if She Vibe doesn’t carry it. I get a little kickback if you buy anything through my links, but none of this was officially sponsored by She Vibe.
Content: This story contains explicit sex and dog play. All characters are consenting human adults.
I’m a morning person, but it’s early, too early even for me, when you wake me up with a soft growl. It’s low in your throat, a menacing promise, thick and thrilling. It goes straight to my cunt, flooding me, my flesh starting to swell, my cock’s morning wood hardening from pine to oak. I wake up, fuzzy-headed, with a start as I feel your hot breath on my neck. You smell like deep shadowed forests and green riverbanks when you become the dog, all dank and feral, ready to take what is yours. I’m half in dreamland, that nebulous point where reality is hazy. Our bedroom is still dark, the worn cotton quilt heavy over us. You rumble a low warning again and, as I awaken more fully, I realize you’re behind me, spooning me lovingly like the good dog that you are.
I start to shake, knowing this is a temporary quiet. Your paw snakes over my throat, pulls me closer as your erection skids across my ass, leaving a trail of doggie precome, and your odor deepens, a layer of rotting autumn leaves and cool mossy caves. Your hold on my neck is tight, and I can’t help but panic for a minute, starting to struggle. I can see the furniture in our bedroom taking shape in the predawn light that is filtering through the open window, the linen curtains billowing slightly as the chilly morning air blows them open. Birdsong floats into our bedroom, urging us to rise. Your cock has taken these instructions to heart; it is a homing device, poking and pressing between my soft thighs. Your arm tightens around my neck, urging me to hold still and I squirm in panic. That’s when I realize that you must have refastened my wrist cuffs as I slept, and my wrists are locked together, making it difficult to ward off your early morning growl and fuck. Do I want to stop you anyway?
Your paw lifts my hips, arranging me on all fours, my ass in the air, vulnerable and expectant. One paw reaches down to twist my sensitive tits that are hanging low, and I start to breath hard, my panting echoing yours. Your breath is hot and moist as you tease my nipples into elongated points, then fasten the tit clamps onto them that we have chained to the wooden headboard. I whimper and writhe, my tits throbbing. I’m now chained to the bed by the tit clamps, my tits stretched out. I moan in desperation; my wrists bound together and the tit clamps holding me in place.
As I struggle, your red wet doggie cock works its way bluntly between my clasped thighs, opening my cunt’s cleft, until the hard length of it is resting like a sword in its scabbard between my cunt lips. You’re not inside of me…yet. You fuck the slippery folds of my cunt, the head of your cock rubbing my clit with each stroke. I whimper, “Please, my love. Please, fuck me,” but you continue your agonizingly slow fuck of my cunt lips, your slick dog cock thrusting along my outer lips, which are swelling and hardening with pleasure. My cock is painfully hard, and each pass over it with your blunt cock head pushes back its foreskin. My legs are wet with my juices and I’m groaning with abject need for your cock to be buried in my cunt, my ass. You reach around with one paw and pull the chain of my aching right nipple, still sore from last night’s caning, then tighten your grip on my neck, jabbing my clit with short hard strokes and I have my first small orgasm of the day, fighting for breath and moaning into the morning, my cunt beating its wings.
I’m twitching beneath you, writhing. I can feel an avalanche of orgasms gathering in my belly and I moan, incoherently begging you to fuck me. You snarl, a low sound that comes from your heart and your cock, then the morning air in our little bedroom thickens with something hot and primitive.
Everything smells of cunt and dog, with a layer of fog over all. Your cock is at my asshole, obediently resting on that ring of muscle, and my asshole is desperately opening already, trying to gulp you deep inside. You place your furry paws on my hips, one on the left and the other on my right. Your claws prick my skin and you lean over to bite my neck hard and suddenly, your sharp teeth painful, then you straighten up, and with a triumphant bestial growl, plunge deep into my ass.
That first plunge is the most difficult. Even though I live for your dog cock pulsing in my ass, I cry out in fury and pain at the suddenness of your fuck. My asshole opens up under your cock; it has no choice. You batter your way in, past the little cave in the beginning and through into my bowels. Oh, god, I want your cock to spear me and pierce my heart.
You snap and growl, fucking me savagely. I know you’re watching your cock disappear into my asshole, that bright crimson canine flesh, shiny with come and lube being enveloped by my white ass cheeks, by my hairy asshole. You love to watch, fascinated by your meaty cock being swallowed by my greedy asshole. It gets you hotter; you tighten your grip on my hips, digging into my flesh to hold me in place. I’m babbling and have started a series of comes that aren’t going to stop until you’re done with our fuck. My cock juts out hard and wet through my cunt lips into the morning air, that crimson knob of flesh that you love to suck. I can feel come dripping down my thighs onto the bed.
You snarl and smother my cock with your huge paw, and I scream, coming hard at your unexpected caress. I hear a low, triumphant growl from you, as you tug at my cock again. And I’m coming, a roller coaster of pleasure that you control. With each thrust, my body is pushed forward. You’re drooling, thick strings of spit falling from your pointed teeth and lolling tongue onto my ass, but you pull out, your slimy cock head resting on my asshole, then reach beneath me and tug on my tit clamps and plunge into my ass in one movement. I bellow, an orgasm crashing through me with the sudden pain and the pleasure. For a moment, everything is covered in a red fog, my eyes are rolling back in my head, and I can hear you roaring with pleasure in the distance. Are we still in our bedroom? I can’t tell. This moment is when I finally feel complete and real, when our bodies have fucked a magical hidden world into existence. The odors of violet-shadowed forests and mossy, green riverbanks flood my senses.
I’m woozy with coming, but you need more. My dog always needs more and I live to be her vessel, the living body that is opening beneath her, always opening, like a sea anemone, soft and salty. With a snort and a roar, you take what is yours, the hard, round knot at the base of your cock starts to force itself into my asshole. All I can do is babble, “Oh god, oh god, oh god!” as the enormous bulb further stretches out my asshole. I can feel your cock pulsing deep inside of me, as your knot brazens its way inside. I’m whimpering with pain; but is it pain or is it pleasure? I can’t tell the difference any longer, all I know is that I need your knot inside of me like the sky needs clouds, popping inside and filling me. I’m never confident that I can take it, this knot that binds us together, and start to sob with love and terror. I love you so much; this pain that you give me when you take me is a blessing for us both, an anointing that seizes us with unearthly powers. You give a harsh roar, as your rock of a knot impels its way inside, past that ring of muscle, into my ass. Once within, you snarl and pound yourself into my ass, deep, reaching my soul. The room fades away. We are the only spirits on earth.
I can feel your drool on my back, thick strands of warm spit, and your flanks are trembling with your impending orgasm. I want to come with you, our bodies beating together like birds’ wings. With another roar, your paws tighten their grip on my hips and you come, hips pumping and hot liquid bursting from your cock, filling my asshole with viscous sweet come, until it’s dripping out.
When you come, it feels like your doggie cock has reached my heart. My last orgasm gathers in my belly like thunderclouds, thick and heavy, ready to burst. Your cock pulses with a riotous beat, and my cunt does the same. My orgasm floods my body with pink ribbons of electric energy, from my ass, to my cunt, up my belly, through my chest and heart, and exploding through the crown of my head. My belly contracts and I come explosively, shooting out in a hot squirt of come onto your thighs. You’re mine, and I’m yours.
We collapse in a fuck heap on the quilt, our hearts racing and our breathing raspy. Gradually, I become aware that you’re kissing my neck and murmuring, “I love you,” and the room comes back into focus. I stir and whisper that I love you back.
You try to ease out of my ass, but you really are stuck inside of me. I can’t help but giggle giddily, which sets you off laughing. Finally, you wiggle out of your harness briefs and cock, reach into my asshole with your fingers, squish your knot, and ease it out. I sigh with relief, and we snuggle for a minute. You get up to throw your cock and sheath in the bathroom sink, while I start the kettle for tea and feed the cats. The sun is up now, and Sunday is officially beginning. Later, we’ll meander hand-in-hand through the farmers’ market for the week’s vegetables and fruits; I have a hankering for blackberries, and you for herb-flecked goat cheese. The birdsong, our dog fucking, our coming until we’re weak with pleasure, our pots of morning tea, and the farmers’ market is the brilliantly beautiful, secluded world of hedonism and love we’ve created. My Dog, my sweetest Dog.
rife and I are getting married next week.
I’ve been keeping it close to my chest. Private. Sharing it with my closest folks, but not really even sharing the photos online. I feel protective of them, like I don’t really want to scroll through Tumblr someday and see one just randomly on some queer reblog. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s thrilling to see my work being passed around the internet … but sometimes it feels like something personal is now public property.
So I’ve been quiet about it. And working so hard to make it happen. I’ll be writing through it, no doubt, and I’ll share more with you after I’ve had some time for it to settle.
Meanwhile, here are some of our “engagement” photos.
Najva Sol is a photographer we love, and have shot with before, and she’s now all fancy over at a big wedding site. She happened to be in San Francisco for a work trip a few months ago, so we carved out half a day to shoot some photos.
These are some of the slightly more power-dynamic-y ones, the ones we didn’t send to family.
These next few have a special story. rife woke up from a dream, a few months before we took these photos, about frolicking through the woods in a dirty wedding dress and then being in this very specific pose with me, where I had my boot on his thigh. He woke up, told me about it, and drew it that day, excited to recreate it in a photo. He knew I was wearing red with black suspenders, he knew what kind of dress he wanted and ordered it online. So we did it.
All photos are by Najva Sol. Thank you!
Oh, the quote above? It’s from Rilke, in a little piece about marriage, individuation, and the journey of walking two paths together. We’re going to read it as part of the ritual. I see it as a reminder, since I can often lose sight of myself and my own needs in relationship, and a wonderful goal to aim toward as we take next steps forward.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Marriage is in many ways a simplification of life, and it naturally combines the strengths and wills of two people so that, together, they seem to reach farther into the future than they did before. Above all, marriage is a new task and a new seriousness, a new demand on the strength and generosity of each partner, and a great new danger for both.
The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of their solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side by side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky. For the more we are, the richer everything we experience is.
And those who want to have a deep love in their lives must collect and save for it, and gather honey.
Thanks for being part of this journey y’all <3 You’ve seen this relationship since the beginning really, and while I’ve been more quiet about it (here, anyway — you can still get some of the more nitty-gritty through the Patreon), I still share a lot and I appreciate your witness and reflection. Sincere gratitude to you all.
Yep, it’s pretty much everything you want it to be.
Sam, the new STP from New York Toy Collective, is a cute little fat soft-ish packing dick with a wide opening in the back to press against the wearer’s bits and a hole through the middle so pissing through it is easy. I love how the urethra is a little bit narrow, and squeezing it controls the stream a little bit. I love how short and stubby and chubby it is. I love the design, it sits so easily in underwear.
100% Platinum Silicone and available in 4 skin tones Cashew, Caramel, Hazelnut, Chocolate, Sam is easy to use and reliable. We suggest wearing Sam in snug underwear like briefs boxer briefs. Sam does not require specialty underwear. As with any stand to pee product- practice makes perfect. Size: Total length: 5 5/8 inches from testes to urethra opening. Girth: 1.5 inch shaft.
There are quite a few STP models out there, and it seems like there are new and better ones released every year now. I love how many queer and trans folks are involved in the production of toys like this! Seems like it wasn’t always that way. But now, the color ranges are bigger, the function is greatly improved.
Sam, like all of New York Toy Collective’s products, is made out of medical grade silicone, body safe and very durable. (I mean, if your dog gets ahold of it I can’t vouch for it. But it’ll stand up to all kinds of wear & tear.)
It’s excellent for STP — standing to pee. It’s easy; with the wide opening, I feel confident that the pee isn’t going to spill out, and I like how squeezing it a little controls the stream. I’ve been keeping this dick in the shower for some convenient golden showers play while I’ve been getting used to using it.
I can’t imagine this would work for any sort of insertion/fucking someone else, since it’s basically hollow and not very stiff, plus I’m not sure how it would work inside a harness. Maybe a little bit? Especially in the underwear-style harnesses, since they’d keep it tucked up against the wearer’s body.
But you know what it is amazing for? Blow jobs. The hole through the middle creates some suction, and that can feel veeeeeeery gooooooood. (If you’re into that kind of thing.) (Which I am.) It’s short and kinda stubby but still fat enough that it’s real pretty to watch someone get their mouth around it, and it’s great for some play with force, since it’s not going to actually choke them (very much).
Plus, it lends itself to some great dirty talk: “You want that dick, boy? Get it all nice and hard then. Look, it’s still soft and small. If you want it, you’re going to have to make it hard. Go on, do it right. You’re not going to get it until you make it big and hard.”
Or, you know, whatever works for you.
Conclusion: This is a really fun and versatile toy with many uses. NYTC makes some of the best silicone dicks on the market, and so of course their STP is extremely high quality as well. It’s a fantastic addition to the NYTC family of toys. I’ve already used it often, and it’s easily earned a space in my frequently-used-dicks-drawer.
This toy was sent to me from New York Toy Collective in exchange for an honest review. Pick up SAM at your local feminist queer-positive women-positive kink-positive sex toy shop. Don’t know where your closest one is? Check out this map.
Folks? Please stop what you’re doing and go watch this Crash Pad Series episode. Or, if you really can’t watch porn wherever you are right now — idk you could be driving, or at work, or having dinner with your mom or something — then schedule a time to watch it later. I mean seriously. WATCH. IT.
I know you are interested in butches, at least in some way, because you’re reading this. So yeah, you there, I have your number.
I’ve never seen porn like this! The two queers do things that made my head spin. They put a clitoral pump on and cover it with a sleeve (I’m not sure exactly what it is — for cis dicks? A trans man jack off tool?), and proceed to suck that off. Then — THEN — there is a hitachi with a kind of O-ring attachment which goes AROUND the dick/pump/attachment.
And really that’s just the beginning. I mean do you see them kissing? The tenderness and meanness in here is so good. And the dirty innovative fun kinky play … that somehow is also really masculine and honoring of masculine bodies … I’m not sure how to explain that, but it really struck me throughout. Maybe it’s because Mr. Pink and Unkle Daddy are just embodied and comfortable in their own skins? Maybe they have amazing chemistry? Maybe they just know how to use their bodies and each other’s?
Whatever it is, UNHFFF. It’s really good.
Go watch Episode 235, Mr. Pink and Unkle Daddy, on the Crash Pad Series here, and visit the whole Crash Pad site here. The subscription is so worth it.
Let’s go ahead and get it out of the way: There is no silicone strap on that I know of which has foreskin that actually slides and moves. None of these do that. Yep, I know. But since strap-on manufacturing is changing practically monthly, perhaps that’s something we can expect in the near future!
I’ve heard some sex toy aficionados posit that actually, pretty much all realistic-looking dildos are uncut and have foreskin — there’s so often a little wrinkle of skin beneath the head, and they said that was the foreskin, pulled back. Hmm. Not sure I buy it.
But either way, What I really want is one that moves. Because even still, after all these years, I am really cock-centric in my play.
This is a little personal, but when I first got the uncut packer by New York Toy Collective (featured as a little bonus at the end of this post), I was unusually drawn to it and it felt like mine and embodied in a new way. I thought about it, and given my parent’s politics, if they’d had a kid who was assigned male at birth, I actually think my parents would not have had him circumcised. So it actually felt closer to what, perhaps, my body would have experienced. That feeling kinda trips me out, even still. And I guess that’s why I am particularly drawn to these.
From left to right: CalExotics Uncut Emperor, Tantus Uncut #1, New York Toy Collective Ellis
Uncut Emperor Suction Cup by CalExotics
The Uncut Emperor came to me from She Vibe, which has an incredible collection of strap-ons. This is not silicone, its some sort of TPE — which is “thermoplastic elastomer.” Its very common for strap-ons to be made from this material, but you wont find it in most of the feminist, queer- and women-centered sex toy stores, because the material is porous. But on the other hand, TPE is much less expensive than silicone, so this one is about $30-40 in various places online, which is a big difference from the $100-150 pricetag of most silicone dildos. This one is “body safe,” meaning it does not contain any phthalates, which is a particularly bad type of processed plastic that is absolutely not body safe and known to cause cancer).
So, because it is body safe, because I was really looking for a great uncut dick, and because SheVibe highly recommended it, I was excited to give it a try. It is a handsome shape, and the colors work for my skin (though that means they are very white, so that’s not so great as an inclusive offering).
I can see that some of the photos of the Uncut Emperor have the foreskin peeling significantly back, but my model does not do that. Maybe it was just a slightly older design, and it’s been updated? Maybe mine was just more attached than others? So while it does peel back, it’s more like peeling a banana than sliding foreskin over the head. Which is what I’m actually looking for in the movement part.
And unfortunately, it was touching a packing cock in a dresser drawer that is also not silicone, and the two of them started melting and touching together, leaving indents on both of them. I forget that pretty much every kind of dildo that isn’t silicone does that, so I accidentally damaged both of them (and it was one of my favorite packers, too. Luckily, they are affordable, and I got another one!). Big bummer.
Overall: Not impressed. Very hard to wear in a harness, got damaged and warped by being in a drawer, skin doesn’t really pull back how I want it to. I did play with it a few times — and I’ve got to get a silicone cock with a suction cup! — but it’s not something I pick up anymore.
Tantus Uncut #1
Tantus makes an Uncut #2 as well, which is about 1” shorter in length but only about 0.15” smaller around. I prefer the bigger #1, but considering my most favorite cocks are quite a bit larger than the Uncut #1, it feels rather slender for me.
Which, for me, makes it a really great butt toy.
It’s slender, but it still has a pronounced head that gives some texture going in. The silicone is body safe and easy to clean, which is necessary to me for butt toys.
It’s part of Tantus’ dual-density line, which makes it much more squishy than their usual silicone, much of which is very hard. But even so, it’s hard to feel the difference in the two layers of silicone — they still both feel fairly solid, and it’s not quite as malleable as I’d prefer.
Overall: Great shape, great size. Excellent materials. Highly recommend.
New York Toy Collective Ellis
See this? This is why I’m spoiled with the dual-density type of materials. New York Toy Collective — and Vixen Creations — have raised the bar so high with the feel of strap-on dicks, that most other softskin or pureskin or silkyskin or whateverskin that other manufacturers make pretty much always falls short. I’ll admit, I’m spoiled. You spoil me, NYTC!
I love the Ellis. I love the whole NYTC line, to be honest. It doesn’t have the built in proprietary core that bends like the Carter and the Shilo do, so if you’re expecting it to be like NYTC’s signature dildos, you may be disappointed. But if you can take Ellis for what she is — a beautiful, well-designed, dual density silicone uncut strap-on — it’s fantastic.
Again, the skin does not move. Still bummed about that, but what can you do. I love the tapered head on this one, it also makes it a really good butt toy — or a really good blow job toy, because it can slip just a little farther since the tip is slender. It’s long, easily harnessable, with just the right amount of give.
You can get the Ellis either with a vibrating bullet that inserts into the base, or a suction cup! Personally I’m into the suction cup, but if you are someone who likes bullet vibrators next to your bits, go for it.
Overall: 12/10 will use again. And again and again.
Bonus: New York Toy Collective Pierre
This one isn’t an insertable (at least, not really), but the New York Toy Collective’s Pierre is one of the few silicone packing cocks out there, period — and it’s also uncut. It comes in two different sizes, small and regular, and four different lovely colors.
This one and the Masho are my favorites to pack with these days. I love how Pierre feels, and I love feeling the tip in particular. I have taken to starting blow jobs on a packer in my own sex play lately, and I really like that … it feels like starting at the beginning, and then watching the process of getting hard. It feels more intimate, to have my dick sucked when it’s so soft and vulnerable and small. And it feels sweet, and revealing.
Overall: One of the best packers on the market, period. It’s got a featured spot.
These toys were all sent to me for an honest, unbiased review. You can buy Pierre and Ellis over at New York Toy Collective, Uncut #1 and Uncut #2 from Tantus, and Uncut Emperor from SheVibe — or your favorite feminist, queer, women-centered sex toy. Find your closest sex toy store on this sex toy store map.
I’ve got an exciting mid-winter read for you: an excerpt from Jade A. Waters’ new book, The Assignment, from the 3-book Lessons in Control Series (part two comes out this spring). I love Jade’s writing and I can’t wait to read the whole thing!
“I trust you,” I said. The dig of the rope made it hard to focus, but when Dean bent over me, his crotch was so near my face I couldn’t resist.
I lifted my head and mouthed the bulge at his groin.
He stilled and closed his eyes, a growl pouring from his throat. “You minx,” he said. He surrendered to the heat of my mouth, not stopping me from cupping my lips around him through the fabric.
“I want to taste you.”
Dean ran a finger along my arm, then over my cheek. “You will.” He set back to work, locking my second wrist in place and pretending not to notice the hungry way I mouthed his covered erection. I wanted the fabric gone to taste his skin, but Dean kept right on working, captivating me with his focus. When he finished, he sat back to survey his handiwork.
“Not so bad,” I said. I fisted my hands. The pull of the rope was noticeable yet bearable, and as he grabbed my breasts and rolled my nipples between his fingers, I strained against the rough strands with a choked murmur.
“Oh, I’m not done yet.”
Dean lowered his face to my nipple and took it gently in his teeth while he kneaded my other breast. He clamped his teeth tighter, and I bucked beneath him, the sheets rumpling beneath my back. Dean sat upright.
“See, that’s why I’m tying you all the way down. Already, though, you look amazing.” He ran his hands along my waist before resting his fingers over the ridge that tented his slacks. He rubbed himself, and I moaned.
“I love how eager you are.” Dean climbed off me to grab another coil, and when he returned, he pushed my legs up until I folded at the knees and my back rounded against the mattress.
The sensation of being moved—no, arranged and positioned, with my hands bound like this—made my blood rise. Dean’s jaw remained taut with seriousness, and yet his eyes glowed with a zealous enthusiasm when he settled between my thighs. My heartbeat clattered in my chest as he tied me with my lower and upper legs pressed together, the coils weaving multiple times around my shin and thigh, binding them tight. Dean finished the other leg much faster than the first. Then he spread my legs apart.
“You’re positively dripping,” he said, staring down at my groin. The wet spot beneath my ass was cold and alluring.
Fuck, this entire experience was alluring.
“Dean.” I didn’t understand the sensation in me. My body shook, and I felt euphoric without him even touching me yet.
Dean’s face brightened. He took a couple of fingers to my cleft, tracing my slippery opening and making me cry out. I started to close my legs but he shoved them apart, the muscles in my thighs quaking against his force. “Your legs stay open,” he said sharply, his fingers making slow, entrancing circles. He slid them up to pinch my clit and sank his thumb inside in rapid thrusts. I rolled my hips up with a groan. “If you want more, you must keep them open. Do you understand?”
I tugged on the ropes in affirmation, the tingling in my pelvis maddening. I was bound and trapped beneath this beautiful man, and so fucking turned on.
Dean didn’t cease the exquisite movements of his thumb and fingers, and his eyes slit as he watched my pussy flex. Heat showered me, threatening to knock every reasonable thought from my head. My vision blurred. Everything about this consumed me.
I’d never felt anything like it.
Dean raised himself on his knees. He eased down the zipper of his slacks, pulling them and his briefs off his hips in a quiet sweep. His cock leaped up to his belly, the crown bulbous and smooth, and all I could think of was my lust for him.
“Please.” I kept my legs wide like he’d instructed, overrun by burgeoning need so heavy even my lungs felt weighted. “Fill me, please …”
Dean took his shaft in his hand, squeezing until the head turned a lighter shade of red. Against the muscles of his stomach it looked like a dream—hard as stone and beckoning me, promising delight.
Dean wrangled his trousers off and took two condoms out of his pocket. He threw one of them onto my nightstand and dropped the other on the comforter, circling my hips with his fingers before dragging them back to my slit. Once he slipped both thumbs inside, I was delirious with pleasure. “Are you on the pill?”
I came to slightly. “Yes, but—”
He shoved his thumbs deeper. “I don’t intend to take off the condom. I’m simply asking to know. Backup is good.”
He came at me then, his tongue dipping in with his thumbs, the pressure of his touch profound as he lapped at me. I struggled to keep from clamping my thighs around his head, concentrating on the burn of the rope in the shifts of my thighs while he brought me to elevated planes of pleasure. My face grew numb, my breath ragged and I was floating in my mind, separating from my body. Dean dragged his tongue lower, his thumbs making hearty thrusts to match his tease of the tender ring of my ass.
I moaned, subjected to his touch and unable to move. His tongue penetrated me and he rubbed his nose against my cunt, his thumbs grazing my inner walls.
My reflex was to thrash, to jump away from this, but he’d pinned me in place. Dean groaned, his tongue bringing the orgasm close, and I felt such driving need I shrieked out his name.
With his eyes glassy and his face drenched, Dean pulled away from me. Feral moans escaped my lips as he found the condom and rolled it over his throbbing length. He crawled over me, his sexy body about to overtake me in this bound-up state.
“Please,” I breathed.
Pick up The Assignment by Jade A. Waters at your local awesome bookstore, or, if you must, through Amazon.
From the moment I met Casey*, it was clear that they were a powerhouse. They ran a non-profit, were involved with leather community events, managed a Facebook group for queer survivors that had thousands of members, and kept up an amazing vegetable garden. I saw them work a room at a kinky happy hour, and I was impressed. They were charming, funny, generous, and so welcoming — and it wasn’t even their event. Casey just naturally exudes confidence and ease, and it’s infectious.
I immediately thought they were a top.
“Everybody always thinks that,” Casey told me later that night, sitting next to me at the bar, both of us waiting for another drink. “I can’t tell you how many times bottoms have tried to pick me up. But I’m not. I’m submissive. But people don’t see that in me, because they expect submissives to be cowering in the corner waiting for a dominant to tell them what to do.”
Casey was so eloquent, speaking about their desires for submission. (And you know me, I’m a sucker for somebody who can use words to articulate what they want and how they work. Yum.) But still, I went away from that thinking, Casey is absolutely right … there is a huge difference between having a submissive personality and having the desire to submit to someone in bed. And I played into those social expectations, too, by assuming their outgoing behavior meant that they were a top.
(I try really hard not to assume people’s power orientation, though it’s pretty much human nature to speculate and put others into categories we understand. I try to lead with questions, rather than assumptions, and to keep any surprise to myself, as best as I can.)
I’ve heard this complaint about being assumed to have passive personalities from lots of other submissive folks, too: from leather girls who are worried that their job is too high-powered, that daddies are all scared off by it. From subs who are convinced that no one can ever tell they are submissive, because they are in charge of too many social groups. From bois who believe deeply that their masculinity will always be read as dominance, and that they will always have to explain that they’re not a top.
I call it …
The Bad-Ass/Bottom Paradox
Based on kinky stereotypes, it seems like being a bad-ass and being a bottom are contradictory. But they’re not — just like being a sweetheart and being a top are not contradictory. Having a core of concern and emotional care for someone else makes that person even better qualified to be a top, just like having a strong sense of self, direction, and desire makes someone an even better bottom.
Submissives are often seen as weak, passive little creatures who don’t have a brain of their own, and whose head gets filled with their dominant’s every whim. Or, perhaps worse, as doormats who are being taken advantage of, controlled, and manipulated.
While this might be true for some folks — toxic relationship behavior and abuse can and does happen in D/s relationships, just like any other — most submissives I know are actually bad-asses. They aren’t empty vessels; their heads are full of managing their own lives — car payments, asking for vacation time off, calendaring the next social events, keeping up with knitting trends on Pinterest (and often, parts of their dominant’s lives, too).
On the other hand, I heard from Jake*, a queer boy who took Submissive Playground, that he was pretty sure he was submissive, but he’d never done much psychological play, though he craved it, because he thought he’d have to give up parts of himself, or make himself smaller in order to be “good” at it.
No. On the contrary.
I actually think submission can help make someone even more of a bad-ass than they already are. Healthy, functional submission requires knowing oneself, holding boundaries, communication, being vulnerable about desires, having good recovery skills when things go wrong — and so many more advanced communication skills. Folks who do have submissive personalities can find themselves gaining inner strength, self-worth, and fortitude after exploring submission deeper.
Submission does not require someone to make yourself small, to turn off your desires, to cater to someone else’s every whim (you know, not unless you negotiate that — but that’s way down the line. Or, way up the power escalator**). It really is possible to be a total bad-ass, and turn your ass up to get spanked, or turn over authority to someone you trust and love. In fact, it’s not only possible — it’ll give you a leg up.
* Not their real names
** As related to the relationship escalator, I use the term “power escalator” to mean that in relationships based on authority exchange or power play that often, both parties assume that as trust builds, they will play with more and more power exchange, but that is not always what the people ultimately want. Stopping anywhere along the ‘power escalator’ is valid, and going all the way to total power exchange 24/7 M/s is not the most “real”, or better, or any more valid than any other place.
Like this? Want more? Submissive Playground registration opens Monday, September 19th. Download the free Submissive Starter Kit for a sample submissive journal prompt from the course, as well as a video and kinky desire map.
This story contains consensual BDSM play, including choking, punching, and foreplay.
As she circled the large structures for rope play in the middle of the room, she found him.
Jack stood with his feet spread like a sailor, arms crossed over a black chest harness that came together in the middle of his back at a shiny ring, probably stainless steel. His compass rose tattoo covered the bulk of his skin, with the light scribing of chart details radiating along his shoulders and sides, disappearing into his dark blue jeans. He was in three-quarter profile, and she could see the tattooed chain loop around his arm and cross his shoulders, but not the anchors on his forearms. His tousled hair caught the light over the scene he watched, giving him a nimbus that contrasted with the dirty-boy tone of his presentation.
She must have come into his range of vision, because he started and turned toward her. His arms dropped away from his chest, covered only with the leather straps and a buckle so that she could see his nipples harden. She’d planned to start aloof and make him work for her attention, but she couldn’t contain her sly smile. No reason to stick to a plan when an opportunity stared one straight in the face.
She wanted to walk right to him and grab him by the neck. She wanted to see his eyes widen and feel his breath catch, but, yes, a DM wandered close by. She’d have to give the impression of negotiating.
Eve stared into Jack’s eyes as she approached, daring him to look away. She stopped so close his short breaths warmed her neck. The couple of inches she had on him gave her the high ground and she took it. “I want to beat you with my hands, open and fisted, and fuck you with your granite cock. Do you agree to that and the conditions for play that we set out both the night at my house and in our video chat conversation?”
“Yes, Eve.” He didn’t hesitate.
“Are you ready to start?”
The joy burst through her. To be heard and understood, for him to remember and value her ways. What a gift.
Not that it softened her. Anything but.
“Get the cock and take care of any side trips you need to make. Meet me in that corner,” she pointed, “with two bottles of water and your cock as soon as you’re done. Don’t change anything you’re wearing.” She dropped her eyes to the lump in his pants, either a packing cock or stuffing. She’d find out later.
Evrim watched him walk away, nearly laughing out loud at the skip in his step. No second thoughts from this one. Evrim draped the sling with an absorbent pad and put another on the spanking horse for good measure. She turned to find Jack at her side and struck as swiftly as a rattlesnake.
A groan tore through her throat at the feeling of Jack’s throat under her hard hand. She squeezed the muscles on either side of his trachea and his wide eyes flickered. “Give me the cock.”
He handed it over and she put it on the table without looking away from him. He kept his hands down and stood still, waiting for her to do what she would.
Evrim drew out the moment. He flushed slowly, though she wasn’t cutting off his blood flow. She stared at him from inches away until his throat jerked hard against her palm and his eyelids fell to half-mast. That was the signal she’d been waiting for.
A hard, thudding blow to his chest with the side of her fist. He shuffled his feet to lean into the blows he correctly expected, and she tenderized him, beating him slowly, heavily, between his collarbone and his nipples. She switched sides, releasing his throat to do so, then used both hands, simultaneously and in a rhythm that drew the first sounds from him. Grunts, groans, signs that it was starting to hurt, that his reddening, swelling flesh was signaling its danger to his brain.
She kept going, finding the edge where he groaned without screwing up his eyes, then going over it. Her hands glowed, receiving just as much of a beating as they were providing, and Evrim gave herself a break by switching it up.
With her palms flat on his tenderized chest, she shoved hard enough that he swayed, then brought himself back with a flex of his stomach muscles. Fucking hot. She made him do it again, for the sheer pleasure of watching his body jerk, then dug her fingertips into the area she’d beaten. He flinched, his shoulders curving in as though to shield himself from the pain, but his hands remained by his sides.
“You may put your hands on my waist.”
His eyes darted to hers, his surprise clear. “Thank you, Evrim.”
Hmm. Telling, that. He wasn’t used to having permission to touch his top. What kind of services had he performed in the past?
“But keep your shoulders back. If you need me to slow down or wait, tell me.”
When his hands touched her corseted waist, she could barely feel him. Not at all what she was after. She put a finger out and pressed it lightly against the end of his nipple. He stiffened as though electrocuted and his hands tightened on her. Better.
Evrim stroked both his nipples, squeezed them, gathered them in her hands, and pulled. Everything she did brought him to a higher level of tension until he was strung far too tight to maintain it. She punched him hard with the sides of both fists, three times in a row, and he shouted.
At that sound of release, Evrim unleashed her craving. She beat and pulled and twisted and squeezed, moving too fast for Jack to process one sensation before another crashed over him. She overwhelmed him, and his cries became nonstop repetitions of two words that flew into her like thunderous rain.
“Please yes please yes…”
His unfocused eyes drifted with the rain of blows, then flashed their shock when she reached around to grab what she could of his short hair and pull his head back. She pinched his nipple hard at the same time she pulled him into her body. She bit the strong muscle of his shoulder, and the combination made him hold on to her as though he would fall otherwise. She pulled him in and squeezed hard.
Breath sobbed from his open mouth against her neck, hot and damp. His body shook and twitched in her arms, and she held them solid for him. When his arms went slack, she nudged him with her hip, got him moving backward, and bypassed the spanking horse for the sling. She’d beat his ass and thighs another day. He was primed for a deep, hard fucking.
Pick up Dena Hankins’s new book, Lysistrata Cove, and read all about the adventures of Jack and Evrim.
Pretty much all the books (not that there are very many) about the theories of submission, and pretty much all the writings of various bloggers and folks on various message boards throughout the internet, say similar things, usually starting with: obey your dominant. Put your wants and desires after those of your dominant. That’s what submitting is. Don’t you want to be a “good” submissive?
But there are a couple of essential steps missing in that formula.
Obedience is, of course, important. Open defiance is often enough to get a submissive released from service entirely. I’ve known a Master who had a slave for ten years, and one day, the slave acted up, and the Master ended it, just like that. While Masters and dominants will have a variety of different reactions to that particular scenario (I probably would have sent them away for 24 hours with some assignments to cool off, for example), the point remains: obedience is important.
Don’t get me wrong— minor disobedience, in play kinds of ways, can be fun, and make more friction between folks. It can instigate more sadism in a dominant, and it can be used as “funishment”—faux-punishments which are more for pleasure than because someone actually did something wrong, like, “Oh look how wet your cunt is, you slut, I’m going to beat you now.” Yep, that is good fun stuff. Sometimes folks call this brattiness, though being a ‘brat’ is a debated hot topic in the D/s worlds, with many dominants saying they would never want a brat. Brattiness can be a really good tool — especially if dominant likes it, or if it creates more excuses for play. That kind of “disobedience” is more about obediently playing the game that’s been set up, and it’s legit.
But that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about the importance of a submissive doing what they are told to the best of their ability in the D/s context.
The submissive has to be able to mess up without serious blows to their self-esteem, value, and submissive identity.But what about those times when an order is given, and the submissive thinks they completely understand it, and they go along steps one-two-thee and present the completed task to the dominant, and that was not at all what the dominant had in mind? What about those times when the dominant is completely unclear about the orders, but just doesn’t have time to explain themself thoroughly, and expects the submissive to fill in the gaps themself? What about when a submissive thinks they are doing precisely the thing the dominant would want, since they have wanted that thing before, but is not taking into account these new factors in this particular scenario?
It’s not open defiance, intentionally being disobedient, but it isn’t perfect obedience. Regardless of who is at fault (and finding the ways that both the dominant and the submissive can make sure this doesn’t happen again is perhaps more useful than finding the fault), the dominant often responds with disappointment, and the submissive often responds with deep sadness that they didn’t get it right.
Because that is most often what submissives want, right—to get it right, to be good.
When we find ourselves in that scenario—and we will, if we play with power dynamics, eventually be in that scenario—we have to allow the submissive some wiggle room with being “good.” The submissive has to be able to mess up without serious blows to their self-esteem, value, and submissive identity. Now, I’m not saying that the submissive shouldn’t be punished, or there shouldn’t be an increased amount of discipline next time, but hopefully those things can be done in ways that build up the submissive’s self-value and self-worth, and don’t tear it down.
No matter how much humiliation fetish we may have, having a submissive with no self-worth is bad for everyone. A submissive with no self-worth can stop trying, can stop expecting amazing things of themself, and can stop believing in their value to their dominant. At the core, it is best to have submissives who believe themselves to be strong, capable people.
Submissives who are strong, capable people also tend to have needs, wants, and desires. We all do, of course—dominants are expected to constantly mine their needs, wants, and desires, and find ways to use the submissive to meet those. But submissives are often expected to override their own needs, wants, and desires in deference to their dominant’s. This is often called being a “good” submissive.
For example, there might be some orgasm control rules in place, where the submissive can only have so many orgasms, or none at all. It can be really hot to deny them what they want: “Oh, I see you writhing around, trying to rub your dick on the sheets. Are you trying to come? You know you’re not allowed, little pet; you will get in so much trouble if you do that.” The need for sexual satisfaction is of course valid, but part of sexual satisfaction, for this particular submissive, is being denied and teased with what they want.
There can be other, less sexual, examples of denial, too; if the dominant doesn’t like a particular food, perhaps the submissive never has it at home (there are never mushrooms or cilantro in my household, for example). This is, generally, not a big deal, especially not at first. But denial of something pleasurable, even something the submissive just desires, and doesn’t “need,” can wear them down over time.
When we’re talking about 24/7 relationships, especially authority exchanges which are also primary partnerships, the submissive does have needs, wants, and desires. That’s just a part of reality, a part of being human. The submissive does have core values and core kinks which, if they don’t get met, at least sometimes, they may start feeling unfulfilled, unsatisfied, and even unloved.
The dominant role has many components, but one of them is to monitor and support the submissive’s fulfillment and satisfaction. Many submissives are fulfilled and satisfied by being controlled and denied, but long term denial can break down a relationship. A dominant must pay attention to the submissive’s needs, wants, and desires in order to bolster the longevity of the relationship.
The submissive does have core values and core kinks which, if they don’t get met, at least sometimes, they may start feeling unfulfilled, unsatisfied, and even unloved.This means that the submissive must communicate their needs, wants, and desires—which means the submissive must know what their needs, wants, and desires are. Instead of shoving them aside when they come up, pushing them away, tamping them down like a “good” submissive is “supposed to,” pay attention. Put a little highlighter mark over them in your brain when it comes up randomly throughout the day, and make a list in your submissive journal. Perhaps you’ll notice some patterns. Perhaps you’ll identify something deep in you that is vying to get out.
Depending on the D/s arrangements that you have, it may be up to your dominant what they do with this information, or it might be your responsibility to assert your needs and boundaries, or to get them met outside of your relationship. My wish for you is that you can both figure out a way to honor your humanity, to acknowledge that submissives (and dominants!) make mistakes, have miscommunications, and differences in styles, and that everyone has needs, wants, and desires that are core to our long-term fulfillment and happiness. Hopefully, the dominant can fold a submissive’s needs into their own, and make them part of the power dynamic—another thing for the submissive to, enthusiastically, obey.
Psst …. Submissive Playground is happening again in October 2016. Registration opens soon!
I used to think I wasn’t gay enough to have a cock.
I cringe at that now, wondering what the hell it even means to be “gay enough” for anything. My 16-year-old self had some very ingrained assumptions though, assumptions that formed an identity radically different from the one I inhabit so comfortably today.
It seems natural to introduce myself as a “queer femme dyke” now, but to my newly-out teen self, those were three very incongruous things: queer was a slur, femme was the counter-identity to masculine, and dyke was a term reserved for only the most visible, butch lesbians.
These were conclusion influenced by the community I found when I first came out as a freshman in high school, a community that assured me I was a lesbian without ever asking because I am a cis woman attracted to women. It was like a scratchy, ill-filling sweater, but amongst the many other discomforts of high school, it was warming to feel welcome somewhere.
However, this meant that an identity was crafted for me before I could even begin to claim one for myself. Part of that identity was my presentation as a femme woman who was dating a butch woman, which coded me as the submissive and receptive partner, while they were perceived as the dominant, the pleaser, the one who wore the strap-on.
We were swathed in binary stereotypes by others, queer or not, and there were endless jokes about how gay my partner was for being a visible butch woman. The most vivid being when a group of friends attempted to quantify our collective “gayness.” It was decided that my partner constituted two whole gays, while I could only claim one half. I don’t like math to begin with, but when that math is based on the idea that sexuality can be calculated from one’s appearance, I really don’t like math.
I played into this role of “half gay” though, laughing along with jokes that dismissed my sexuality because of my femininity, about being hit on by men or asked if I had a boyfriend because I didn’t “look gay,” and accepting generalized assumptions about my relationship and sex life.
I was so compliant because many of their assumptions were true: I could have had a billboard above my head that read “I’m fucking GAY” and I would still hear the dismissive rhetoric “but you’re too pretty…” and “are you sure?” In my relationship, I was submissive and my partner was dominant, I chose the cock but she always wore it, and she didn’t enjoy being penetrated while I did. Presentation and sex became linked in my mind, and I conceded to the stereotypes.
It wasn’t until I went to college and saw unabashed, gender fucking, non-binary femmes that I began to see my identity as more than half: the half gay, the receiving half, the other half of butch. I started to understand that my presentation isn’t complimentary, it’s individual and multi-faceted. I can like, do, dress, and fuck however feels right to me. So I took off the itchy sweater and all the assumptions that were pinned to it.
From there, I started playing with my femmeness, seeking to reclaim my body as strong and loud and queer. I grew out my body hair and dyed it pink, I gravitated towards bold lip colors and nails, and I found power in ritual: taking time to get dressed, do my hair, apply copious amounts of glitter. I embraced my femmeness in my sex life too, savoring snapshots of deep red lipstick smudged on a silicone cock, masturbating with nails that matched the color of my vibrator, and styling the cutest pony tails to be pulled on.
I found a partner who has shifted and changed with me over the past two years, and though our journeys of sex, sexuality, and presentation are undeniably different, we’re able to express our needs and wants in dynamic ways. For so long, I just didn’t have the language or references or support to communicate in that way, and a large component of my shift in understanding is centered around exchanging that sweater for a strap-on.
My first cock was a milky pastel pink that coordinated so well with my mint and pink lace harness. When I put it on, the wispy hairs on my thighs, two chubby bumps for knees, and slightly pigeon-toed feet all defocused, obstructed by that new view. I began to bob and sway as my hips swung and my legs lifted off the ground. I danced around in my new naked, the weight of my cock against my pelvis, brushing my skin as I shook and spun. It was like the queerest tampon commercial dance montage you’d ever seen, and I would have gladly accepted a trampoline to complete the image.
There was reclamation in that cock, feeling my queer femmeness in something that I had known as a symbol of masculinity and dominance. That was years ago, and since then, wearing a cock has become an ever present part of my life. Literally, it’s in my name, but it’s also my identity. Albeit, a very condensed identity, but it took me years of unlearning a selfhood formed by others in order to get to the point where it seems comfortable to join “femme” and “cock” together in a declaration of who I am.
I came to be a Daddy in a dominance/submissive context somewhat reluctantly. For years, I’d heard about this kind of play in kinky relationships — particularly among my gay male friends. I felt a certain charge about it whenever it came up in conversation, but my charge mostly felt very negative: Why would people play with that? How was it sexy? Wasn’t it glorifying incest? How was it not about child abuse, on some level?
I remember very clearly the first direct conversations about it, which was about fifteen years ago now: my friend Greg was giving me a ride home, and somehow it came up in conversation. He was (probably still is) notoriously slutty, and always chatty about his sexcapades and adventures. In my memory, he’s the one who brought it up, but it could’ve been me — I’ve often been the one to eagerly stick my foot in my mouth around kink, asking all kinds of personal questions no matter how appropriate. But I like hanging out with other folks who like to talk about kink, and generally, they answer my questions.
“What is up with all this daddy stuff!?” I asked him. “I mean, how is it not about incest?”
Greg, level-headed and at least fifteen years older than me, answers slowly: “Well … it kind of is about incest. But it’s also about having an older male figure, in the gay boy communities. About having a positive male role model, and how so many of us lacked that as young boys, and how we still crave it.”
I sat with that answer for a good eight years, devouring all the lesbian erotica I could find, my favorites of which had daddy/girl overtones. Why do I like this so much? I’d ask myself. This isn’t something I want, it’s just something I like to read about, for whatever reason. My dirty little secret, the erotica I would never tell other people that I like. It’s wrong, I can’t justify it. But still … I must like it, I keep coming back to it.
For a while, a close friend of mine was a femme girl looking for a butch daddy. I remember those conversations with her clearly, too — and I was still pushing, asking poking questions. It seems obvious now that I was deeply drawn to the dynamic and couldn’t look away, but that I was also trying to work it out for myself.
“But what is it about the daddy/girl dynamic that makes it, you know, not incest?” I’d ask her incessantly.
“It’s just different,” she’d answer, somewhat vaguely. “It’s not about that, for me. It’s about power, and strength, and feeling taken care of, and submissive.”
That language, at least, I could grok. She’s the one who insisted I read Carol Queen’s book The Leather Daddy and the Femme, and that helped me get it even more.
Then, a conversation with a femme who identified as a babygirl I had a few brief dates with helped cement it for me. “Think of it as two different definitions,” she told me. “Like the word baby. We don’t mean literally ‘you’re a baby’ when we call our lovers ‘baby.’ But we invoke the sweet tenderness that word implies. Same with daddy. We don’t mean definition one: the man whose sperm helped conceive you, we mean definition 2: a masculine person who nurtures and cares for you, usually in the leather communities, where sex may or may not be part of the exchange.”
As a word person, it helped to parse the two definitions apart. It helped to start conceiving of this whole separate definition of what a “daddy” is, and how that relationship dynamic worked.
That babygirl femme and I didn’t date long, but our conversations around those concepts were a big turning point for me. I knew I wanted to explore them more. I finally thought, oh, I think I like that, that’s why I’ve been so drawn to slash repulsed by it all this time. Amazing how repulsion and desire can sometimes be two sides of the same coin.
So when Sarah and I got together, shared a lot of our fantasies with each other, and started to explore the realms of kink that we’d always wanted to or hadn’t yet, being a daddy came up for me early on.
“I know it’s something that I want,” I told her. I was dating other people when we got together, and I told her I was interested in exploring polyamory. “I’m not saying that it’s something we have to do together. But I am saying that it’s something I want to figure out if I like, and how I like it. I know it’s something I want in my erotic toolbox, so to speak. If that’s not something you feel willing to play with me, that’s totally okay, but I might want to do it on my own elsewhere.”
It wasn’t an ultimatum, but I did think that it might end up being a dealbreaker.
“I just don’t get it. I mean why would I want to invoke my dad during sex?!” she said.
“It’s not about that. It’s only about you and me. And, in my opinion, we already have the kind of sex and play that I’m talking about. I nurture you, I call you baby and girl and sometimes little girl. You like all that stuff.”
“Yeah. I really do,” her eyelashes fluttered. “Really a lot.”
I grinned. “Honestly I think the only difference between what we do now and what I’m asking for is that one word: daddy.”
She looked pensive. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
The next time it came up, in a different discussion about kinks and explorations, and I mentioned again that I was interested in exploring it, she said, “I’ve been thinking about that. And I think I might just … say it, during sex, sometime.”
I had thought it was never going to happen with her. She’d been pretty clear about her disinterest.
She looked at me sideways, slyly. “We’ll see.”
It was a tease, but it totally worked.
A few weeks later, she did it: just casually let it slip from her mouth into my ear while she had her arms and legs wrapped around me, fucking her slow. It tipped me over the edge and I shuddered inside her, grabbing at her hair, toes curling, coming hard.
After catching my breath, she giggled. “I guess we know what you like!”
It was almost embarrassing, so vulnerable to be known and seen like that. To be splayed wide open, even in front of someone I trusted most in the world. But her eyes were warm and I could see that she liked it, too, and that we were in this together.
The first part goes like this:
After the workshop. I haven’t had enough of you (will I ever get enough of you) and strip you bare, glove my hand, slide two fingers inside you, sideways on our huge bed. The lamplight is different than the bright white of this room during the day, more warm, orange-yellow-gold and more full of shadows, and the shadows and the gold fall onto your skin like paint. In the car on the way back I couldn’t resist (can rarely resist, it’s so hard to resist when part of our dynamic is built around taking what I want) and slide your small fingers into my mouth. You miss the exit. Your fingers are blunt and I trace your jagged nails with my tongue, suck the salt from the pads, taste the day on your skin. I pull your wrist down to your pelvis and take two fingers in my mouth again when my two fingers are inside you, gently pressing, not a lot of motion, and I start to suck you off. Up and down your fingers like a cock. I hold your g-spot and feel it quiver in my fingers. I let your fingers out of my mouth so you can touch your clit, and keep my tongue on the back of your hand. You shudder and convulse against my mouth, your cunt grips my fingers. You slide your fingers back in my mouth, eager, and I taste you, just a little, at the tips, and I do it all over again.
The book is particularly special to me because there’s so little butch-centered erotica out there, and this is one of the rare ones. I believe it’s not exclusively butch/butch erotica, but includes masculine-of-center identities of all kinds, whether they use the word ‘butch’ or ‘boi’ or don’t use labels at all.
As Sacchi writes, in the introduction:
This book is a celebration of all things boi, butch, masculine-of-center, in those who include lesbian as a part of their identities. These are stories of people we love, and people we are, who put their own personal spins on the gender spectrum. Bois who like girls, bois who like bois, bois who like both; those who don’t label themselves boi or butch at all but can’t stand to wear a skirt; screw-the-binary free spirits of many flavors. Cool bois, hot bois, swaggering bois, shy bois, leather bois, flannel bois, butch daddies, and the femmes and mommas and tops and bottoms and even girls next door who wouldn’t have them any other way.
The anthology includes a lot of my favorite queer erotica writers with new works … I can’t wait to read the entire thing!
June 12—Sacchi Green—www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 13—Annabeth Leong—http://annabethleong.blogspot.com
June 14—Anna Watson— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 15—Sinclair Sexsmith—www.sugarbutch.net
June 16—Jove Belle— https://jovebelle.com/
June 17—Tamsin Flowers— www.tamsinflowers.com
June 18—Victoria Villasenor— https://breywillows.com
June 19—J, Caladine—www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 20—Victoria Janssen— http://victoriajanssen.com
June 21—Dena Hankins— http://denahankins.net/my-summer-of-boi/
June 22—D. Orchid— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 23—Pavini Moray— https://emancipatingsexuality.com/
June 24—Melissa Mayhew— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 25—Jen Cross— http://writingourselveswhole.org
June 26—Kyle Jones— www.butchtastic.net
June 27—Gigi Frost— www.facebook.com/gigifrost
June 28—Aimee Hermann— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 29—Sommer Marsden—www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 30—Axa Lee—www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
July 1— Kathleen Bradean— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
Oh and also, there’s a BOOK GIVEAWAY
Anyone who comments on any of the posts will be entered in a drawing for one free copy of the anthology. You can comment on more than one post and be entered more than once. The winner will be announced and notified by July 5, if not sooner.
I don’t usually review or play with very many “prosthetics” because, well, I’ll be honest: they are usually incredibly expensive. But recently I’ve noticed a growing market of (what I’d call) strap-on cocks, pissers, packers, and other penis-like tools that are marketed to transgender men as prosthetics, and as someone very curious about strap-ons and strap-on technology, I eventually had to try at least one of ’em.
So, I did a bunch of research (on Tumblr, mostly) and found the one that intrigued me the most: The FreeToM 4-in-1 Natural.
This prosthetic is made of medical grade silicone, and designed to have four functions: packing, peeing, playing, and pleasure. It is very soft, more like a packing dick than the usual silicone strap-ons that are made for fucking, and it folds easily in the center to pack more easily. It comes with a small, hollow rod that bends, which is insertable into the back of the dick through the hole in the center of the shaft, which makes it harder and able to fuck (play) with. It has a cup-like structure that fits against the body with a hole through the center of the shaft, so it’s able to be used as a stand-to-pee (STP) device. And the side that sits against the body also has a “pleasure slide,” textured silicone on the underneath that is meant to stimulate the wearer.
It comes in all kinds of colors. In fact, that would be my number one suggestion for folks interested in making the investment and getting one of their own: definitely order the color samples pack so you can get the precise match for your body and skin tone. I made an educated guess based on holding my forearm up to the computer screen plus what I read online (particularly that most white folks are more pink than they think), and I’m pretty happy with the color I ended up with, but I think a different color might be even more accurate, especially because genitals are often darker than skin on other parts of the body.
(When I order another one, I’ll definitely order the color pack first. Note I said when, not if.)
FreeToM offers a Paint Plus Upgrade Service, and the photos of their prosthetics that have been painted are incredibly impressive. I wasn’t sure it would be worth it to spring for the extra $80 to get it painted, but considering the high quality and how this dick has been a pretty serious game changer for me, I think it might be. The veins look amazing, and the head of the dick is much more realistic.
I spent quite a while browsing through the FreeToM website before I decided on this particular model, the 4-in-1 Natural. They also have a pack-and-play model that doesn’t have a ‘pleasure slide,’ and a 4-in-1 that is circumcised, as well as some smaller packing versions. But this one had a little bit of everything, which is what I wanted.
So this is what I ordered:
All NaturAL: 6.5″ Pack, Pee, Play & Pleasure – Warm Rosy Skin
Want to see some photos?
From the website’s description:
The All NaturAL 4 in 1 prosthetic is 6 1/2″ in length and tapers off to 5 1/2″ in girth. The testicles and foreskin on this prosthetic are everything! It’s functions are: pack, pee, play and pleasure. It was deliberately designed to fold in the middle, to make packing much easier and has a sturdy enough cup for urination. All of our prosthetics are molded off of volunteer cis males for an ultra realistic look an the All NaturAL is definitely the most realistic prosthetic we sell! The hollow rod that comes inside the prosthetic is acid, fungal and bacteria building resistant. All hollow rods inside are removable for proper cleaning and sturdy enough for play. The hollow rod inside also allows you to bend the prosthetic in whichever position you’d like and can also be bent downward for comfortable packing. The FtM Pleasure Slide is also molded into the prosthetic itself and was designed to slide up and down the FtM genitalia. The All NaturAL is the most efficient prosthetic we sell and because of that, it’s a tad more expensive.
Let’s talk about how it works & what it’s like
Holy crap, this dick. I’m not kidding when I said it is a game-changer … other strap-on models just aren’t as interesting anymore. I love the softness of this one, I love how it feels when I wear it, I love how much I can feel a blow job through the suction and the hole through the shaft of the dick.
I keep using the word “juicy” about this dick, and it’s not (only) because it makes me wet, it’s also because of the way some of the model is hollow, so it has this … squish to it that is just awesome.
The colors are amazing, the quality is high, the texture is fantastic. It is so good for blow jobs. If you are into blow jobs, I highly recommend this dick.
rife told me it’s his second favorite dick to suck, his first favorite being Shilo by the New York Toy Collective. He also said he particularly likes it because I can be as rough as I want with it, and because it’s so soft (but still silicone!) he can take it and it doesn’t poke him the way some harder silicone does.
Let’s not beat around the bush: It’s huge. I ordered the 6.5″ because it was the only one that came uncut, though there are a few other models of the 4-in-1 that are smaller, and I would highly recommend going for something smaller than 6.5″ if it is primarily going to be a packing dick for you.
It is hard to pack with. Not impossible, but it feels very different and very noticeable. The balls and the cup are very, very large, bigger than the palm of my hand, and very bulky. It sits well in my (baggy) pants, and it does fit between my legs, but wearing it in that place has been taking some getting used to (I’m much more used to wearing a packing dick in front of my body, rather than under my body).
It’s also kind of hard to strap-on and fuck with. Maybe I just haven’t used the right harness yet (I think the SpareParts Joque would be particularly good for it), but it’s been hard for me to keep it in place. Because it’s so squishy, it moves around a lot and edges its way out of the places I want it to be. Also, I like pretty rough sex, and because it’s so soft, it is not the best at that.
I need more practice using it as a STP device, and I think generally it does quite well with that, but because the space inside of it is quite large, it feels a little bit messy. My favorite STPs are still simple and sleek, and this one feels like it’d need rinsed every time, which is a challenge in public restrooms or when using elaborate harnesses.
The other major con for this dick is the price. It’s a serious investment. They do have some pre-made and pre-painted models, which are not custom made when you order them, which have the benefit of shipping faster and also of being a bit more affordable. They also have a clearance section, so if you have your heart set on something from FreeToM and you just can’t afford to get one, definitely stalk their clearance and pick something up there.
Rating it on a 1-5 star scale, 5 being the best and 1 being meh:
★★☆☆☆ 2/5 Packing
★★★★☆ 4/5 Pleasure
★★★☆☆ 3/5 Pissing
★★★★★ 5/5 Blow jobs
★★☆☆☆ 2/5 Rough sex/hard fucking
Regardless of it’s limitations, it is a pretty incredible tool and toy. If you’re even half as into blow jobs and packing and strap-ons as I am, I bet you’d love this.
The All Natural 4-in-1 prosthetic from FreeToM was not sent to me to review, it was purchased of my own free will because I wanted it for myself. If you buy one, tell ’em I sent you?
One lamp was wedged between the wall and the side table, casting odd shadows across the room. The bed’s top mattress was halfway off its base and the bedding was completely off, a lumpy pile at the foot of the bed. The large console height dresser looked as if it had been tipped over and hastily righted, its drawers still hanging half open. Clothing was strewn around, some on the floor, some caught on corners of furniture in all directions. In short, the bedroom was wrecked, like a movie scene where the cops have tossed the place looking for evidence.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my packy peaking out of a tangle of my underwear and jeans. There were other sex toys scattered around the room, as well as objects borrowed from other rooms in the apartment and repurposed. The rubber spatula in my hand was one example. I took in these details with my peripheral vision, while keeping my eyes on my adversary/lover, on the other side of the bed. Only her eyes and the top of her ginger head were visible. In this moment of pause, the sound of our harsh breathing bounced off the plastered walls, underwritten by her feral growl.
I didn’t dare look away for fear she’d launch herself at me again. I felt the damage she’d inflicted with her fingernails in the welts stinging all over my body. The moment was about to break, I could feel it. Besides, I’d need to move soon, my legs were threatening to cramp. I raised my head, bared my teeth and hissed. Her head came up as well and I saw the furrows, like tiger stripes, that I’d dug into her upper chest. Her eyes were wild and her face was flushed.
What did she see when she looked at me? Did she see the wild beast in me that mirrored the one I saw in her? Did she see my desire? Did she know I was thinking about how I could pin her down between the bed and the wall and spend my passion on any part of her body I could get under me?
Was she thinking about how quickly we’d gotten from staring at each other all lovey dovey at dinner to staring at each other like prey?
The evening had started romantically, with a meal at a nice place in town and an after dinner stroll. On this particular night, she’d gone butch. Her hair was shaved close except for high on her crown, where the vivid orange of her natural color was accented by a bleached streak, reminding me of a sidewalk sundae. The short sleeves of her shirt displayed her strong upper arms and her tight blue jeans gave me plenty to enjoy with that sweet ass and bulge. After catching sight of our reflection in a storefront window, I whispered in her ear, “Look at those hot fags” and she’d grabbed my ass. We’d kissed and groped all over downtown before deciding it was time to go back to her place.
I’d figured the rest of the evening would be as romantic as dinner. Hand in hand, we walked toward her car and I was already thinking ahead to the ways we would enjoy each other’s bodies when she suddenly stopped, almost yanking my shoulder out of its socket as my feet kept going forward.
“Whoops” I said, swinging back around awkwardly. She pulled me close and bopped me lightly on the nose.
“Hey, sexy, what’s on your mind? Have you heard anything I’ve said?” She sounded curious, rather than angry, which I appreciated.
“I was thinking about later, when we get home…” There was no good reason for my face to blush at that moment, no reason to be embarrassed about fantasizing about having sex but my face heated up anyway. I grew hotter at the sudden intensity of her gaze and as I watched, her expression changed.
“Is that right?” Her purr had a hardened edge to it. Sometimes it was just that quick, from sweet and romantic to predator in 60 seconds. The hunger in her eyes was only distantly related to the romantic desire I’d seen over dinner.
She turned me around quickly, pressing me against a wall of uneven brick that bit into my flesh, and forced her knee between my legs. Light, noise and people spilled from a nearby bar causing me to flinch at the unwanted witnesses. I’m not normally squeamish about public sex, in fact, I usually initiate it. At that moment, however, I felt very exposed, nervous, unsure of myself.
“What’s wrong, baby? Where’s my cocky lover?” Her fingers dug bruises into my forearms. The color red flared into my vision as the pain registered. I pushed away from the wall quickly while pulling her off balance. Soon our positions were reversed and I pressed my body against hers, remembering the uneven brick and hearing her gasp as it dug into her shoulder blades. I looked at her through narrowed eyes, my lip curled into a sneering smile.
“You rang?” We stared at each other for a moment or two before becoming aware that we were attracting unwanted attention.
I stepped back and gestured toward her car, “Shall we, my love?”
She drove and I leaned back in the passenger seat, rubbing my crotch. The sensation transferred through my packy to my engorged clit. She kept stealing looks and it was even odds that she’d pull over somewhere, even though we were moments from her place. I was out of her car almost before she’d parked it, trying to get to her door first with my set of keys. I thought I could get there first and lie in wait in the apartment but she caught me on the stairs. She got one hand on my belt loop and pulled, which caused me to miss a step. She got ahead of me but I caught up in the short hallway near her door. I pressed her against the wall and reached between her legs to grab her mound. She swooned and cursed me almost simultaneously before pushing me off and moving to unlock her door. I came up behind her and pressed myself against her ass. She opened the door and we fell through it.
I turned to lock the door behind me and she slammed me against it so hard I tasted blood. She was laughing almost maniacally, pressing me against the door while she tickled me. Dammit, I cursed to myself, it was hard to be aggressive while giggling. Cursing and flapping my hands, I managed to get free and stand out of range, catching my breath and considering my options. I chose humor as a method for buying time, “Apparently, an episode of wrestlemania had broken out in the middle of our date.”
There was a mischievous light in her eyes. “So, old man, how long you think you can go at it with me before I beat you?”
“You little shit,” I chuckled and rubbed my bulge. “Long enough, youngster, long enough.”
“I don’t know, grandpa, you seem pretty out of breath, I think this is my night.” The wide grin on her face softened the taunt. She was moving toward me, hands at her sides. I didn’t trust her, and was wary, while simultaneously wanting to kiss her mouth hard. I made my move, holding her arms at her sides and attempting a lip lock. She wiggle and resisted, laughing triumphantly as she pulled one hand free.
“You are definitely going down, old man.” Her fingers sought the tender spots under my arms, twisting until I screamed in pain.
“Ouch! Dammit, you little fucker!” I wrenched free of her pinchy fingers and threw myself at her.
She stumbled back into her bedroom and into a wall with a loud thud. I wondered what neighbors must be thinking with all this shouting, cursing and crashing about. Not that it was the first time we’d made a ruckus. So far, no one had called the cops.
I had moved fast to make the most of my momentary advantage. Pressing an arm against her upper chest, and gritting my teeth against the way she pulled and pinched my nipples, I got a grip on her upper thigh with my thumb in the crease, and squeezed hard. That got her attention.
She cried out and tried to slap me. I responded by kneeing her between the legs and delivering a stinger across her face. After a few more strikes with my knee, I stepped back and gave her a hard look, hands on my hips. She’d gotten a rise out of me, which is exactly what she’d wanted.
The sadist in me came to the fore. I wanted to taste her pain, to see the feral look in her eyes when I began to push her through that pain to the other side.
“Is it on, little girl?” I growled out the words.
Her eyes widened as my dig found its mark.
“Oh, it’s on, old man, you’re going down.” And then she came at me.
We grappled for a bit until I had her pinned to the floor, my legs wrapped around hers to keep her from kicking me. I had her wrists pinned above her head, my arms dangerously close to her teeth, a fact she emphasized by snapping and growling. We were both breathing hard. I began to grind my packy into her mound, shifting my weight so that I would hit her just under her clit.
She moaned from pleasure and roared in frustration. I was so hot for her and the pressure against my clit was building. I wanted to come on her right then and there, as she struggled and cursed me. I wanted to come not in spite of her resistance, but because of it.
“Dammit, we’re fighting, not fucking!”
“All’s fair in love and war, babycakes” I worked her just the way she liked it, and she did her best to resist but I knew her tells. Her eyelids were half closed and her hips were responding to me. “Besides, isn’t fucking AND fighting your favorite?”
I got my answer seconds later. I’d gotten cocky again and let my guard down. She got her feet braced and flipped me.
We went at it for a while like that. At one point she had three fingers in my cunt and I was chewing on her shoulder while growling. Not long after that, I was vigorously sucking her left breast while teasing her asshole. Neither of us was able to get consistent advantage over the other. We are very well matched for size and strength. We finally broke free of each other when her attempt to flip me over on the bed sent me flying off one side and her tumbling over the other. And now we were catching our breath, staring each other down.
It’s never a good thing to let my mind wander when we’re playing this way. I realized that a second too late and she took advantage, coming up and over the bed at me before I could move. She slammed me into the carpet, knocking the wind out of me. In the time it took me to get my breath back, she’d pinned my wrists down at my sides and was doing her best to chew chunks out of my chest while kneeing me viciously between the legs.
Lying on the floor with my arms pinned and her knee bruising the hell out of my cunt, I thought, Maybe she’s right. Maybe the old man is gonna lose. On the other hand, I could feel my cock getting harder as she pummeled it. So was I really losing? When I started moaning, she narrowed her eyes and stopped.
“Dammit, you’re not supposed to enjoy this!” She sat down on my pelvis and let go of my arms to punch my chest. Then I was able to get my feet under me and lift, pushing with my hands, throwing her off me. We both scrambled up, breathing hard. She lunged, and I sidestepped, redirecting her forward motion onto the bed. Then I wailed on her. I put a knee against her back and punched her ass hard, over and over. She pushed up and twisted, getting halfway up until I turned her and threw her down on her back. Then I resumed my assault against her chest and arms. She was getting her licks in too, punching hard against whatever she could reach. Her responses were getting weaker. Was I wearing her down? I wanted to push her over the edge, not just up to it. I knew that’s what she wanted, too. That’s what she always wanted.
I grabbed her wrists and pressed her arms against her sides. She struggled but couldn’t pull free. Leaning down, I got a mouthful of her chest and bit hard, causing her to yowl and me to wonder, for the millionth time, which of her neighbors would be the first to call 911. We paused, looking at each other, catching our breath. Her expression had softened, I eased up on my grip around her wrists. She slapped my face again, but not hard.
“That hurt, fucker!” She put on a mad face and I laughed. She took another swing at me and I caught her hand.
“Yes, I hurt you and you hurt me. That’s exactly what you wanted it, wasn’t it, beastie?” I kissed her forehead, then her cheek and hovered over her lips.
She pouted briefly and then pulled me in for a kiss and bit my lower lip, hard. Damn, that hurt. I didn’t pull away, that would have hurt more. Instead I waited her out. She let go after a moment and gave me a sweet full kiss, this time without teeth.
All of this physical exertion got me hot and bothered and I guessed the same was true for her. I moved my body so my clit was pressing against hers and she pressed back against me.
“Oh baby, yes, please, I need you.” Her urgency went right to my cock, and I could feel myself getting harder.
I licked her collarbone, then her nipple, moving downward while dragging my tongue along her curves. With a kiss to the top of her flaming ginger mound, I looked up at her and said, “You’re right about one thing, baby.”
“What’s that, love?” she asked.
“The old man IS going down.”
Take pictures of five different places you’ve had sex and send them to me with a short (2 sentence) description of each one.
Make a mobile.
Download the 100 Pushups app and go through the program, 3x a week for 4 weeks.
Record an audio mp3 of you masturbating to orgasm.
Write up five scene ideas (short, 2 sentences each) that you’d like to experience.
Before rife and I lived together, our relationship was long distance for almost a year and a half. We both had other partners that we lived with and we’d negotiated open relationships. We were experimenting with D/s and we both craved more intensity, more rules, more obedience, more opportunities to serve.
During this time, rife didn’t so much have “protocol” as he had “tasks”, and I’d send him one (like those above) either with a deadline, or tell him that as soon as it was done, I would give him another. Sometimes that meant he was done the next day. Sometimes it took a few weeks to complete the task.
I see protocol as something done routinely that is triggered by an action. Whenever x happens, do y. For example: Whenever I get home, offer to remove my boots. Whenever we wake up, make the bed. Whenever you need to pee, ask my permission first (if I am available). Before you go to bed, make sure the dishes are done. Whenever you address me, use my proper title.
Sure, there were a few protocols that we had set up while we were long distance—he was always to kneel and kiss my boots/shoes/feet first thing, before we even spoke to each other, whenever we had traveled apart from each other. He was to text me good morning and good night. He would reply to my emails or texts promptly, not keep me waiting. Those kinds of things. But mostly, we did tasks—one-off assignments that would thrill me to receive. I kept a long list of things he sent, the kind of love-gifts one creates in the beginnings of a relationship, and I would take note of the things I loved to receive and ask him to send more of them. It was thrilling for both of us to be giving and receiving orders, to have opportunities for obedience, to make requests and have them be met.
Then, we moved in together
When we moved in together, we wanted to up the protocol significantly. I wanted clear division of the household labor, and to set things up so it was clear who took care of what. I wanted clear schedules, clear date nights, clear ways that we organize our time together, doing work, playing, and apart.
We haven’t kept all of the protocol we set up. (Ask me about rife’s speaking protocol experiments sometime—and why we don’t have any restrictions on speech anymore.) There were times when I gave him too much to do, when I failed to monitor or enforce the protocol I told him to do, and when we both just completely dropped some of the protocol we agreed upon because things going on were just too much. And, eventually, we picked it back up again, I tightened the reigns, we check in, and we keep going.
The protocol part of our D/s was one of the most fun parts to play with, for me. I wanted to set up something really fun, and in-depth, and flexible; something that would keep the protocol as lively as it was when we were long distance and playing with all those tasks. So I started experimenting with forms, and this is what happened.
Making The Training Wheel
We were both a bit obsessed with it in the first year we lived together. We created a “training wheel,” areas of training for rife in his enslavement and submission, which we shorten to the acronym L-SHAFTS: Leather, Submission, Houseboy, Assistant, Fag, Trophy, Service. Each category has a short description of the intended ways that he’s “in training” for that subject, and each one has some ideas of what he’ll do to grow in that area.
Making The Protocol Game
After we had the training categories, I set up what we refer to as “the protocol game,” where I made little slips of paper with different protocols on them (roughly the same amount in each of the 7 categories, though some of them are easier for me to make protocol in than others).
It helped that we already had weekly check-ins about our D/s set up. At first, we would go over some specific questions: What was the most fun part of this week? What was the hardest? How did we do with protocol? How could we improve it? We would both reflect on the week past and plan the week ahead, gathering data from the experiments we were doing, and implement new protocol.
I set up a notebook, too, so that we could record the little strips of paper in the book and write a little about what each protocol was like. If there was one we really liked, we would implement it permanently.
Some of them, even though we really, really like them for a week, we don’t want to make into something permanent because they will likely lose their luster. For example, if rife had to wear a butt plug every single time he did house chores, it would get old and become ‘normal,’ but if he only does it occasionally, it’s still thrilling.
Making Protocol For Me
After we created 52 of these protocol slips and ‘played the game’ for a year, we reflected on the year and decided that yes, we did want to do it again, but with some changes. Namely: there were a whole bunch of protocol in rife’s set that were actually protocol that relied on me doing an action. For example, the protocol for rife to “wear jock straps every day for a week” he can do himself. But if the protocol is, “receive bruises every day,” that’s something I actually have to do. And we noticed, more often than not, that I wouldn’t actually do those things when he pulled that protocol.
It’s not that I don’t want to … but, well, between you and me? I’ve been struggling with my mental health balance a lot the past few years. I think it’s getting worse. I’m pursuing all kinds of avenues of support for this, but it’s making it very hard for me to do things I love, like write, work, teach, and be the badass dominant that I aspire to be.
(But that’s kind of a different post.)
So when we set up the second year of 52 protocol slips to pull, I also created a training wheel for myself and 52 of my own. Having my own protocol has been mostly challenging, but there have been some great things that have come out of that too.
Want to join me for an experiment in making your own protocol?
If this process of creating, implementing, and enforcing protocols through this Protocol Game method sounds interesting to you, you’re invited to come join the Protocol Game ecourse that starts this weekend. There will be two webinars, one this Saturday, March 5th, and one the following Saturday, and in between you’ll have a workbook to fill out. I’ll walk you through this entire process where you’ll create a training wheel and 52 corresponding protocol, and then make a way to check in about it and enforce.
If you are a submissive or a dominant or a switch, you’re invited—you just have to want to create 52 protocol. There’s even a price for couples to take it together, and create 104 protocol for both of you.
I could tell you a whole lot more about it, but mostly all the info is over on the Academy of D/s Confidence page for the course—so go check it out.
I’m really excited about it! I think it’s going to be a lot of fun.
Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition is out now, and I’m part of the blog tour editor Sacchi Green has organized on it’s behalf. The story of mine that is in this collection, Luscious & Wild, is here on Sugarbutch already, so I thought I’d take you back into the Best Lesbian Erotica series in celebration of it’s 20th.
Personally, I started collecting them in 2001. I fancied myself a lover of smut and a sex-focused person, but frowned at my itty bitty erotica collection at home. So I started frequenting the lesbian erotica section of my favorite used book store, Twice Sold Tales, on Seattle’s Capitol Hill, which was an equally itty bitty shelf near the floor. The ‘Gay and Lesbian’ section towered in the shelves above it, but I was looking for the bottom-shelf stuff. The dirty stuff. I bought every edition I could find, eventually filling in my collection by ordering the few volumes I was missing online, and still order the newest edition the minute it comes out.
The series now spans 20 volumes with as many different guest editors. It can be hard to pick just which ones to read, or where to start. So, here are three of my favorites.
Best Lesbian Erotica 1998
The first one that got me really hooked was Best Lesbian Erotica 1998. The story by Karlyn Lotney (also known as Fairy Butch, if you remember On Our Backs and other late 90s sex/dyke activism) called “Clash of the Titans” remains one of my favorite erotica pieces ever, and blasted open what I thought erotica could be or do. For example, it could be complex emotionally, it could contain activism and politics, it could show switching, it could show vulnerability. Not that I didn’t know that, exactly, I just didn’t … realize it until I read this story, and this whole book. (I wrote about it in this week’s new View From The Top column, titled The First Time I Knew I Was A Top.)
She cut a swath through my flat like Moses parting the Red Sea, and made me feel like a man: all big and dumb and panting. I felt my internal butch cock harden and start its invisible levitation, and the part of my brain that concerns itself with floral arrangements, oranges, and perfect living rooms fell away. Another part took over, the part that found its genesis in my father’s collection of late sixties’ issues of Playboy, benches two-ten, and answers to “Daddy.”
—”Clash of the Titans” by Karlyn Lotney, from Best Lesbian Erotica 1998
—”Clash of the Titans” by Karlyn Lotney, from Best Lesbian Erotica 1998
The other piece that made me speechless (and come) was “Ridin’ Bitch” by Toni Amato. That story—that includes a hard femme who jacks off a butch’s strap-on shamelessly while they ride from the bar to the butch’s apartment on a motorcycle—was part of what completely convinced me that I loved strap-on sex.
Best Lesbian Erotica 2006
Best Lesbian Erotica 2006 included the first erotica short story I ever published. I have read that edition over and over, mostly because my story is in it, and it thrilled me to no end to see my name in print. (It’s under my legal name, by the way, not under Sinclair.) 2006 was the year I started Sugarbutch as well, but that actually came after this publication was accepted, and I thought Sugarbutch would be a little private side-project, not become my next big thing.
BLE ’06 also includes a beautiful story by Peggy Munson, and one of my absolute favorites by S. Bear Bergman, called ‘Silver Dollar Afternoon.’
I fall in love with her when anyone asks her why she doesn’t wear her beautiful long hair all the way down and she says, with just a hint of coolness: “A woman’s hair is for her husband,” which makes me remember every time she has unpinned her hair for my delighted eyes and even if I’m not quite a husband I still shiver in my blue jeans without fail.
—Silver Dollar Afternoon by S. Bear Bergman, Best Lesbian Erotica 2006
—Silver Dollar Afternoon by S. Bear Bergman, Best Lesbian Erotica 2006
Best Lesbian Erotica 2012
The 2012 edition is probably my favorite, but that’s because I’m the guest editor and so I got to pick all of the stories. I actually went back to Kathleen Warnock, the series editor then, to request more stories after I read all the picks she’d sent me and I didn’t have as many as we needed. They just weren’t dirty enough—she’d picked me really good stories, with characters and plots and development and such, but I want that AND a really excellent, dirty, kinky sex scene. It is largely butch/femme heavy, but I tried to get a good mix of other character types and pairings in there, too.
The introduction that I wrote for Best Lesbian Erotica 2012 is about why lesbian erotica is valuable activism, and it’s here on Sugarbutch if you’d like to dive into my thoughts on that more.
These books of lesbian erotica are not fluff. They are not nothing. They are not frivolous or useless. For queers coming out and into our own, they are a path.” —From Why Lesbian Erotica is Valuable Activism
And now: Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition
Since Tristan Taormino left, the series has gone through a few different editor’s hands, and I’m excited that Sacchi is responsible for this one. She’s edited many of my favorite lesbian erotica anthologies.
Thanks to Cleis Press for keeping this series going all these years!
I highly recommend picking up a copy of Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition at your local queer, feminist, women-centric, activist-oriented bookstore, or, only if you must, from Amazon.
Here’s the rest of the blog tour, which features the different authors in the book and our story titles. Click around & follow along!
Feb 10, Sacchi Green, Introduction
Feb 11, Rose de Fer, “Dust”
Feb 12, Louise Blaydon, “Ascension”
Feb 13, Megan McFerren, “The Royalty Underground”
Feb 14, Harper Bliss, “Reunion Tour”
Feb 15, D.L. King, “Hot Blood”
Feb 16, Jean Roberta, “Tears from Heaven”
Feb 17, Sinclair Sexsmith, “Luscious and Wild”
Feb 18, R.G. Emanuelle, “Smorgasbord”
Feb 19, Rose P. Lethe, “A Professional”
Feb 20, Anna Watson, “Easy”
Feb 21, Valerie Alexander, “Grind House”
Feb 22, Annabeth Leong, “Give and Take”
Feb 23, Frankie Grayson, “Mirror Mirror”
Feb 24, Cheyenne Blue, “The Road to Hell”
Feb 25, Emily L. Byrne, “The Further Adventures of Miss Scarlet”
Feb 26, Sossity Chiricuzio, “Make them Shine”
Feb 27, Teresa Noelle Roberts, “Tomato Bondage”
PS: Comment on any of these posts for a chance to win a free copy of Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition. The drawing will be held by February 28th and the winner announced by March 5th.
I’m so excited to have started writing a column over on Autostraddle called “View From The Top,” detailing my BDSM journey from being a bottom (before coming out) to being a master (and monogamish and partnered with a boy/boi and happier than I’ve ever been).
Over on the first column, which just came out and is called “I Started as a Bottom,” I kind of came out as a master. I mean, I know I’ve written about it here sometimes, but mostly kind of buried in posts and I haven’t written about it too too directly (yet). It’s scary! It’s a big word, a very loaded word to use and claim, and I hesitate to use it without a whooooole lot of back story to explain where I’m coming from, that I’m part of a community that uses those terms, etc.
So of course, in the comments of the article, there were questions about the use of the terms master and slave, particularly by someone white. I want to highlight my comment and rife’s, too, because I think this is a really interesting issue of semantics, language, and social justice, and I don’t feel 100% good about it, though it’s the best I have right now.
As the author of the post, to be honest, I’m completely uncomfortable with it. It’s something that I struggle with, precisely for the reasons you stated—primarily because I’m a white person and we have a particular, very very recent history of slavery in the US, where I live, the effects of which still benefit white people and me, specifically, and contribute to systemic racism.
There are quite a few folks who use pairings like Owner/property or Dom/sub instead of Master/slave, precisely because of their discomfort with those particular terms.
I’m about 5 years in to this exploration of what it means to be master and slave, and what it means to be part of that community, and it has been incredibly valuable to learn these skills and actually take part in that community. (Maybe I’ll go into this in a future column? Short version: This set of skills is something I’ve done in relationships unconsciously for a while, which was bad; and now that I’m doing it consciously, things are way better.) I resisted the particular words for a while, but after being part of the M/s world for longer and longer, I’ve grown more comfortable with it because of the difference in definition and usage.
I don’t see a lot of consciousness about this issue in the M/s world, which is predominantly white, though. Which I don’t like and am very uncomfortable with, and try to bring up and point out racist language and microagressions when I can (as I do in pretty much all communities I’m in, but I push myself to speak up a little more in this one).
For now, because it’s the most accurate words I have, I’m choosing to use them … but I’m not entirely unconflicted about that.
As a word lover, I think words can grow and change and morph definitions over time. While I do absolutely recognize the particular history that directly affects me, I also know that the words and concepts of master and slave are not a new invention in human history. The enslavement of African folks is just one of myriad examples throughout history. So I think that is one of the main arguments I hear about it—that the experience of ‘slavery’ is not so unique to that one part of history.
I use these words is because these are the most accurate words we have right now. I’m still new to this community and seeking to recognize others and find more friends who know about this stuff, so I’m using the words that are recognized by others so that we can find each other.
Identity words are complicated—some of them just *fit* better or differently than others. And these particular words fit what my boy and I are doing, particularly within the parts of the kink communities that practice them.
Also, if you ever have the chance to hear sex/BDSM educator Mollena do her workshop on taboos, which includes some of her philosophies about M/s languaging, I highly recommend it.
I think pursuing M/s is very complicated … There are many folks who don’t have an objection to those words based on race, but rather on the fact that enslavement is wrong. It’s complex to start unravelling fetishes that are on one hand, ‘morally wrong,’ but on the other hand, totally get you off and satisfy your life in a way that other things never have and in a bone-deep way you feel you need. I think in the RACK——”risk aware consensual kink”—camps, I understand that when things are done with full enthusiastic consent and taking responsibility for what happens, then it’s okay to fantasize and play. Personally, I want it to be done with a lot of consciousness and in a way that aligns with my values, but I also have to balance that with what sustains me, too.
As a (white, American) who is identified as a slave, I initially struggled with the word, a lot.
What finally brought me around to it (I mean, other than my obvious erotic orientation to that kind of structured ownership fetish) was the realization that slavery has a long, long history. It has been around almost as long as humans. In some iterations, it was even consensual/contractual, like with certain Roman dynamics.
What I do has nothing to do with race play (although there isn’t anything *inherently* wrong with that). And honestly, if a black person told me they found my use of the word disrespectful, I would probably switch back to the more generic “property” descriptor. But here’s the thing: They haven’t, and I’ve had many soul-searching discussions with black friends, many of whom identify this way as well.
Let’s be clear: unconsensual slavery is abhorrent. Consensual slavery is fine. The two are very, very different. Just like rape is awful and consensual sex (even playing with faux-assault) is fine.
Here’s the other thing: it’s the best word for the job, despite its loaded cultural connotations. What else do you call a human who is owned? If we had another word for that, which wasn’t loaded with the unconsensual cultural history, maybe I would use that. But, we don’t. So I’ve made my peace with it.
I hear that it’s not a relationship structure you’d like to be in, fair enough! But be careful not to judge a relationship’s morals by how much you don’t want to be in it. :)
Though I’ve been stewing on this series for a while, and have already written 4 of the columns, I’m surprised and pleased at the impact it’s had so far and I think it’s bigger and more revealing than I expected. I kind of feel like I’m taking on the task of encapsulating my BDSM journey over the last, oh, 15-20 years, and trying to put it into ten or twelve columns to make a story. Feels a bit daunting, and very exciting. The folks at Autostraddle have been super supportive and the editing has been excellent, I so love working with good editors.
I really appreciate all the comments over there, and I’ve been replying to quite a few. (I miss that kind of comment conversation, where folks check back and actually reply—it’s been quite a few years since that’s happened on Sugarbutch, but I have some guesses as to why.)
If you have any particular questions or ideas of what you’d love to see me write about as I keep writing through this journey, I’d love to know. Questions or comments or ideas welcome.