fucking your ass

CW anal fucking, strap on, pegging (m/f)

You lie on your front. Your bare bottom points to the sky, lifted up to a nice fuckable angle with pillows. It’s a delicious rosy pink where I have spanked it. I stroke your bare exposed flank, feeling how soft the skin and hair are there. I lower my bare body onto you. My electric blue cock nestles between your ass-cheeks and you whimper. I kiss the back of your neck, the place I know gives you tingles all over. “You’ve been very good for me, sweetie,” I say. “Preparing yourself to take me inside you.”

Your little mm and ah sounds are eager, trusting. I stroke your hair and kiss all over your neck and cheek. You wiggle your bum experimentally, feeling my hard cock against your hole. You don’t like teasing as much as I do. I love teasing. I love to tease and be teased.

I clamber to the side of you, half-draping myself on you for better access to your hole. I spread thick lube on my fingers and circle your asshole with them as you moan in anticipation, your breath shuddering in and out of you.

“Ohh, already so pliant down there,” I say sweetly as my fingertip slips in. Your asshole is much deeper than mine.

I begin to spread your asshole with two fingers, going deeper, and gently stretching you, which makes you moan. It takes very little to coax your little hole open, as you’ve prepared yourself so well.

You say breathlessly into the pillow, “I can take more.”

“I know you can, sweetie,” I say as I reach the spot I’m looking for, first with one finger, rubbing the firm nub, which renders you absolutely unable to form words as you moan helplessly with pleasure.

“So eager,” I say, admiring your pliancy, your obedience, your willingness, and your sweet moans. “Such a good boy.”

Next I work on stretching you out. Two fingers again, and then three. With every stroke, I brush your ever-more sensitive prostate. I swear I can feel it swelling to meet my fingers.

I can tell that speech is quite a struggle, as between moans you manage only, “P,” “P,” “P,” until finally the word, “Please,” emerges, stretched out into a breathy moan.

“Please what, sweetie?” I say innocuously, stilling the thrusting of my fingers to linger on your prostate, stroking it sweetly as you struggle to say what I know you want to say.

“Please,” you whimper between words as I work your sweet little nub, “Fuck me.”

“Good boy,” I say, and I kiss the back of your neck again, fingers still in your ass, working your prostate, and you shiver, absolutely vulnerable, completely in my hands.

I turn you onto your side and I lube up my hard cock. I press the tip just against your hole. You whimper, whining for my cock inside you.

Slowly, glacially, I push the tip inside. You moan at being penetrated, but then whimper for more as I stay still, teasing you. And you’re a good boy for me, letting me tease you when what you really want is my cock deep inside your ass and a good, thorough fucking.

I hold you close, nestling my nose into the curve of your neck, where I can breathe in the scent of you, trapped in the beautiful hair of your body.

You whimper and whimper, as I move the cock slowly deeper inside you. I know you want hard fucking. And I’ll give it to you, but first I want to hear your beautiful whines, your little whimpers as you beg me wordlessly for my cock.

And then I fuck you. Slowly at first, reveling in your throaty moans when I hit your prostate and in your whimpers for every inch in between.

“More, please, more, more,” you beg me, your voice ragged.

I grip your hipbones hard with my hands and fuck you as deeply and as hard as I can. Your low groans become loud cries.

“Touch yourself, baby, I want you to come,” I say. I slam that asshole, the way you’ve told me you like to do to yourself, and you cry out on every stroke, louder and louder, and more guttural, until you come with a shout, ribbons of creamy white come all over your hand, your cock, the sheets.

“Coming out now,” I say, as I slowly, gently pull the cock out of you with a tiny little pop, kissing your neck, your shoulders, and stroking your back, your arm, your shoulder. “Turn over so I can see you,” I say, and you do. I rest my head on your chest and lie in your arms, holding you and squeezing you, marveling at how wonderful it is to hold and be held at once.

You sigh a deep, contented sigh. We are still, breathing in the silence. I close my eyes, feeling sleepy.

“You know, I’m still gonna fuck you later,” you say.

I can hear the smile in your voice. I kiss your chest and squeeze you. “Mmm I can’t wait,” I say, feeling my nether regions warm at the prospect.

I feel you smile again. You know me so well. You always sense the ebb and flow of my desire. Or maybe I’m just transparent, like a panting dog. You put your hand on my thigh and it sends an electric tingle all over my body as you say, “Let’s see if there’s a wet pussy underneath this cock, hmm??”

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birthday cock

CW: strap on, choking, blow job

It’s a Saturday, the Saturday before my birthday, and you have a special gift for me. Last night I opened the first of the birthday gifts—I put my face between your beautiful, full breasts and breathed in your rich, warm scent. I kissed your soft skin, I nipped at your delicate seashell of an ear and delighted in your uncoiling moan. You are such a sumptuous present. Your full, soft body is a voluptuous store of riches, spilling out of your clothes. I love having you naked, soft and vulnerable in my arms. I love your soft pillowy breasts, your beautiful peach of an ass, and your dreamy ginger-haired pussy, the jewel between your legs. I pulled the most colorful moans from your mouth with my tongue, and I pulled the richest cream of your orgasm out of your pussy with my fingers last night. What a gift. But you whispered in my ear after we lay together, sweat cooling on our bodies, just before we fell asleep together, that you had a gift for me that could top this most wonderful present.

Late afternoon begins to turn to evening, and you announce that you have made a reservation for us at a fancy steakhouse downtown. You disappear into the bathroom to perform your toilette, and emerge from the steam in a suit. I already shiver in anticipation at the well-cut suit jacket and pants. I dress accordingly in high heels, garters, thigh high tights, and a lacy black bra. My little black velvet dress is just the thing for the occasion. You call a cab and we sit close in the back of the darkened car. Your hand rests on my thigh, playing with the seam where bare skin transitions to silky pantyhose and lace. I rest my hand on your thigh in response. You smile conspiratorially at me in the dark and you move my hand to your crotch. I gasp and my eyes widen at the bulge I feel there. I feel my pussy heat with the implications.

At dinner, we are seated in a private booth with a curtain shielding us from sight. I eagerly scoot to your side of the circular booth, aiming to put my hand on your cock, but you kiss me, tweak my nipple, smile, and say, “Not yet. Be a good girl and be patient.” At this moment, the waiter arrives.

“Good evening, ladies. Can I interest you in something to drink? An aperitif perhaps? Or some wine?”

“A vodka martini. Belvedere. Very dry. Shaken, with a twist, please,” you say. Every night I watch you make precisely this beverage for yourself. (And I watch your breasts move as you shake your cocktail.) Then sometimes I will shake it for you. And every once in a while, I will shake it for you wearing nothing but a little lacy apron and high heels.

“Anything for you, miss?”

“An aperol spritz, please.”

The waiter leaves, thank God. I can feel my wetness through my panties already. It’s going to be a long dinner.

After the salad course, you bring a little velvet drawstring bag out of your pocket and place it in my hand on the table.

I feel immediately through the velvet its shape—a lovely sinuous curve, hard, just a little heavy. And another object, not quite as heavy or hard. I go to open it, but you smile and say, “Don’t open it. Tell me what you think it is.”

I look around to see that no one is listening in. Then I lean across the table and you lean in close with a conspiratorial glint in your eye. “It’s a butt plug.”

“Good,” you say, satisfied. “Now I want you to go to the ladies room and put it on. You have everything you need in the bag.”

My eyes are wide in surprise and arousal. I put the little black bag in my purse and make my way to the bathroom.

It’s a fancy bathroom, with soft lighting and real cloth hand towels instead of paper ones. The stalls are extra private, full doors. I lock myself inside a stall and slip my black lace panties down. I play with my clit for a moment and then take out the little black bag. The butt plug is shiny and silver. I’ve never had such a heavy butt plug before. I set it on the little table beside the toilet and squirt a little lube onto one finger.

I am already feeling pink and rosy flushed with arousal as I circle my tender little asshole with my finger. It feels so wonderfully dirty and subversive to finger my asshole over the ladies’ room toilet in such a fancy place. The bathroom is all luxury; there’s even a section with plush velvet and gold couches and a little glass bowl of peppermints. The stall itself has a little table with a bowl of artfully arranged potpourri. Any stodgy old lady could walk in to use the restroom and never know that only a few feet away, a bisexual is opening up her little rosebud at the behest of her lady-love. I try not to pant audibly as my hole warms and loosens.

I spread a slick of lube on the plug itself, appreciating its heft in my hand. I ease it in, slowly, enjoying the sensation of stretching as I master the widest part of the plug. And then it sucks in, filling me, stretching me. My clit is throbbing to be touched and my pussy is getting wetter all the time, but I think you must be wondering what’s taking so long, so I pass my finger just once from my wet pussy to my clit and then twice, a third time because I can’t resist, and then I master the impulse and pull my panties up to hold the plug in. It feels so deliciously weighty and causes all kinds of pleasurable sensations as I get up.

As I go to wash my hands, feigning nonchalance, I accidentally make eye contact with another woman at the sink next to mine. And she smiles like a predator at my rose-flush. I blush harder and look away. But she doesn’t follow me as I make my way back to the table. As I sit, the plug shifts and I close my eyes. When I open them you are smiling knowingly. I do my best begging face. I’m so turned on and fuckable. But you just smile and say, “I am so looking forward to having a nice steak, aren’t you?”

“Some lady knew something was up with me in the bathroom,” I say.

You put your hand on top of mine. “She wants you. But she can’t have you. You’re mine.”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m yours.”

It’s all civility and chivalry between dinner and my apartment—holding open doors, offering me your arm, squeezing my hand, kissing my temple. Everything above board (with the occasional surreptitious ass-squeeze that makes my plug shift deliciously inside me).

But inside my apartment is a different story. You order me on my knees and pull your gorgeous electric blue cock out of your fly. I kiss the tip tentatively, then lick up and down its length. I swirl my tongue around the tip, enjoying the sensation of being on my knees, loving the shape of it in my mouth. Only a minute or two has passed and you grab me by the hair, making me choke on it. It’s as though my mouth was made to choke on cock; I produce so much thick, ropey spit. It coats your cock and makes my progress easier. You hold my head down on your cock, waiting for my puckered throat to open up. “Stick out your tongue, baby,” you say, softly, coaxingly. I oblige and the cock slides into my throat. At first I choke; it’s a struggle, it feels unnatural. But you say, “relax baby, let me,” and I let you because it’s hot for me, because it makes me unbelievably horny. I moan around your cock; I love sucking it, I love choking on it, I love taking it deep into my throat, where it feels unnatural, and I love it even more when you pinch my nostrils for a moment, limiting my air supply. And you know I love these things, God bless you. You lean forward to slap my plug-filled ass, your cock deep in my throat, and then you pull back. Thick, white ropes of spit hang between my chin and the tip of your cock.

Then you let me drive a while. Now that I’m warmed up, throat and mouth sloppy with spit, I choke myself on your cock, lavish attentions with my throat and tongue. Then you pull me up and throw me over the arm of the couch, pushing my skirt out of the way and pulling down my panties to examine my pussy.

“You’re dripping, literally dripping,” you say as you swipe one finger from inside my slick pussy up to my clit, which aches to be touched. I whimper.

You pick me up and carry me to the bed, where you put your face next to my pussy, breathe deep with a long mmm of appreciation, and then bury your face in my wetness, licking me and tugging on that plug until I’m begging for your cock inside me.

The fucking is the most intimate part. We’re naked now, but for the cock and its harness on you. We’ve taken out the butt plug—it served its purpose, we agreed. Your beautiful breasts press against mine. You hold me close. I’m surrounded by your smell. You put your cock inside me. And you stare into my eyes as you plunge it in and out and as I cry out in pleasure. From above, you watch the pleasure contort my face, your cock moving inside me and your hand on my clit—you know just how to touch it to make me come. You lean down onto my torso, still fucking me, your hand trapped between our bodies, grinding hard on my clit, and you whisper in my ear, “Come for me, baby, come,” and I do, explosively, squeezing the cock so hard it pops out and you shove it back in, and out, and in and out, all the while grinding my clit with the heel of your hand, making me really scream through not just the top of my orgasm but also through the tail of it.

I come down from my pleasure concerned about yours. “Did you like it? I know this is kind of a new thing we’re doing…”

“I loved fucking you,” you say. “And you know, I thought the choking you thing would be too much for me, but I knew how much you’ve been wanting to do it, and seeing you get so wet, hearing you moan… it was really hot for me.” You take the harness off, tossing it to the side. “If you eat me out, you’ll see just how wet I got.”

I growl in approval. “That’s my girl,” I say, feeling hungry for pussy. “That’s just what I wanted to hear. Let’s see about this wet pussy, then, shall we??”

And so I lick and lick and lick you, my lady-love, until you come into my mouth and I drink in your juices and your shuddering moans; the juices run down my chin, beautiful, sticky, and clear.

As we fall asleep naked in each other’s arms, I murmur, “Best birthday ever,” and you smile, but I think you may already be dreaming, and in the next moments, your gentle snore lulls me to sleep.

bathtub

CW pissplay

I make my love lay down naked and exposed in the indulgent extra-large bathtub, his head safely cocooned on the cushions we vacuum sealed in plastic to be water safe earlier that day. He is not quite comfortable, I’m sure, but not fully uncomfortable either. He looks up at me, eyes trusting. I kneel on the floor beside the tub and lean in to kiss him. His lips are plump and soft. I eye the space in the tub and locate a place for my feet. I strip naked and carefully maneuver myself, crouching over my love’s face so that the sight of my ass and pussy are large in his vision. I lean forward to kiss his soft and lovely dick. I breathe in the scent of him, I breathe in my love of him. “Mmmm you smell so good,” I murmur. One last breath in, and a quick kiss. I right myself, bouncing with my knees a little, to settle into my crouched position, hovering above my love’s face.

“I want you to take a deep breath,” I say. He does it. “Can you smell me from there?”

“Yes, love,” he says, sounding the way I like him to sound—weak as a kitten with desire, and reverent.

I lower myself closer—just far enough away that he’ll have to reach a little. “Lick that pussy.”

The first lick is a gentle caress from the clit down the slit. He moans as he tastes me. “You taste so good,” he groans.

He keeps licking, but it is difficult. I have made it so that he has to work to get at it. Every swipe of the tongue is an effort, as he raises his shoulders off the ground each time to reach my clit. I like it this way. It teases me, the way I like, and it teases him, the way I like.

“Get it, sweetie,” I say to both encourage him and madden him, “Get that clit.”

I can hear in the little sounds he makes that he is becoming frustrated and impatient.

“Get it,” I say, with more reproach this time. He redoubles his efforts, like the good boy he is. “Good, mmm that feels so good, sweetie.”

I can’t see his face, but I can see his dick. It took mere moments for him to become hard and straining. His moans of pleasure at tasting me and pleasuring me turn into pleading whimpers.

“Do you have something to ask me, sweetie?” I ask.

“Yes please, please, I need you closer so I can lick you properly, my love.” His tone is a delicious mix of worshipful and petulant.

“Mmm, you asked nicely, and you’ve been so good,” I say. He thanks me as I carefully lower my pussy onto his face, resting the weight of my torso on his belly, my face next to his hard cock, my knees on either side of him. I breathe deep again and nuzzle his cock against my cheek, my eye, my open mouth, feeling its hardness, how it twitches when I touch it, how it strains toward the warmth of my mouth.

“Mmmmm,” I rub my pussy, now wet and puffy from his ministrations, all over his face, feeling a spike of pleasure when my pussy meets the ridge of his nose, the prickle of his beard, the softness of his lips and eyelids. I rub my juices all over him and then settle back into position. He eagerly licks my clit the way he knows I like. I kiss the tip of his dick, one of the powerful centers of his cock-scent, then I lick a stripe from base to tip. I suckle on the tip, pushing the foreskin back with the tip of my tongue and then swirling my tongue around the head, where I can taste the musk of him, a combination of cock, sweat, and piss that I so dearly love, a taste that makes me wet, a taste that makes me want his cock inside of me, and I moan.

“Just relax, babes,” he says, “Just put my cock in your mouth and come for me.” He licks and licks and licks my clit just right, as I shake and moan and come!

I suck on his cock in earnest as I come down from my first orgasm of the afternoon. He moans and moans into the slick flesh and hair of my pussy, but he licks most diligently, rendering me unable to do anything but moan and shake as I come again, and once more again (what I call a “double”).

As I come down, I say, “So love, do you remember why we’re in the bathtub today?” I stroke his cock lightly with my hands, resting my face in the nook where thigh meets crotch, where I could smell his scent.

“Yes,” he says. I feel his cock twitch in my hand.

“I’m ready to do it now, sweetie. You still want to drink my piss, my love?”

I feel rather than see his vigorous nodding. “Yes, yes, please, please, I want to taste what’s inside of you.”

“Ok, love. Get yourself ready. I drank a ton of water today, so you’ll have to swallow fast if you don’t want to get piss all over you.” He puts his open mouth over my pussy, whimpering softly in anticipation.

“Ready now, sweetie?”

“Mmhmm,” he assents, muffled by my cunt.

My warm piss sprays into his mouth, filling it faster than he can swallow it. I feel it spilling out of his mouth, some trickling down my thigh, but most of it running down into his beard and all over his chest hairs.

I carefully come back into my crouch, and then stand and turn around. I look down at him, smiling softly. “Oh sweetie. You got all dirty.”

hiatus

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything sexy…

Sexuality is complicated. When I started this site, I thought it would be easy for me to produce constant content. At the time I was dating a woman, we had recently gone long distance, and I was writing a lot in order to explore a secret solo fantasy life as a way of making up for the lack of intimacy (and because I was repressing some of my needs). Not everyone is like this, but for me, fantasizing is very important. I need to be able to fantasize about every filthy thing that comes into my head without my partner feeling that it’s infidelity, or the precursors thereof. It’s no wonder our relationship got more and more distant and more and more fucked up, and that we eventually broke up.

I then started dating a man, and our fantasy life is shared, and something that we both treasure. Whatever kink one has, the other one very quickly starts to go for it as well. That has made it less necessary for me to explore my ‘fucked-up’ fantasies secretly online. And so my desire to write went away.

I just finished an advanced degree (in music) and I am struggling to understand what to do with myself, and suddenly writing has become appealing again.

I might begin work on a long erotica project. It strikes me that I have a unique ability to tap into almost any fantasy, and that I should use that ability for good. It’s a bit like representation in a way. Fantasies are one hidden way in which people can feel alone or marginalized. I’m lucky to have found a partner who not only tolerates my most shameful fantasies, but even eggs them on, furthers them, shares with me new and different ways of thinking about them. Together we can explore kinky ideas, and feel completely safe. The benefit of fiction is safety as well. Anything can be explored through reading without any chance of harm.

But I think before I embark on any such project, I’ll want to read some erotica… so I know I don’t have a ton of followers here, but if anyone reads this and wants to comment with long form erotica that they love, please please do!

I have been an avid video porn consumer, but not as much of an erotica reader, or certainly not a long form erotica reader.

The erotica I’ve liked best is usually not long form, but episodic– a series of short stories, encounters. Sometimes these are related and autobiographical as in the case of two of my favorite sex blogs, Leah Lays London, and A Dissolute Life Means…

Others are completely unrelated short stories, as in the case of the book Macho Sluts, which I was lucky enough to buy when it was still a reasonable price.

The only long form erotica I have read that I felt was jaw-droppingly, unbelievably hot, was the book The Story of O, which I found tucked away in a corner of The Strand Bookstore!! I can’t wait to read another book by the same author, The Image, which I also found in The Strand! (Couldn’t find it on Amazon, sorry there’s no link.)

In the meantime, while I’m reading and studying up, hopefully I’ll be able to write some essays, vignettes, and reviews, so as to get this site active again!

Hostel

CW: NON/DUBIOUS CONSENT

It’s late. After a long day of traveling mishaps, it should not come as a surprise that the hostel you booked no longer has any private rooms available. You are too tired to complain much, and your German isn’t up to the task anyway. Instead, you accept a spot in one of the many mixed company rooms.

It is dark already as you enter the room, but you dimly perceive a long room lined with bunk beds in the gloomy half-light. The soft sounds of sleep, little murmurs, light snoring, dreamy mumbling, and the hush of sonorous breaths reach you at the entrance. The place reminds you of Jane Eyre, of boarding schools, as you stumble and fumble through the darkness, groping blindly for your bunk. You’re happy to see that you’re on the bottom bunk.

You undress quickly, too lazy to change into sleep clothes, clad lazily in naught but underpants and a t-shirt that is ratty to the point of threadbare. Before long you are under the covers, your breath evening out, your body going limp and languid with impending sleep, heading swiftly down the black river to swirling unconsciousness. Caught as you are between sleeping and waking, you are only dimly aware of the groan of your bunk and the warmth of another body suddenly beside yours. There is a gruff voice in your ear, there are rough hands on you. You are enveloped in the strange man’s heat from behind, and his hard cock presses insistently against your backside. Your German isn’t very good, but it doesn’t have to be to read the intention behind the words.

The stranger plays with your nipples, flicks them, pinches them, rubs them, strokes them through the thin cotton of your shirt. He bites and licks and sucks at your neck as his hands wander. Still partially submerged in the current of sleep, you are powerless to stop the helpless whimper that crosses your lips, and his hand is suddenly rough across your mouth, silencing you. “Do you want everyone to hear, slut?” he murmurs into your ear. He speaks English with a thick accent. “American, aren’t you?” he says, with something like naked admiration in his tone. “Easy whore.” He grips your hipbone, then slides his hand around your butt, cupping the flesh there. He gives it a little slap, quietly, then his hand moves to palm the wet patch between your legs. “Getting wet for it already, greedy little whore.” His hand muffles your moan. “Oh you like that, do you?” He presses hard into your underwear. “What a good little slag you are.”

He presses two curled fingers into your mouth and you suck greedily, eyes still closed, utterly ruled by your baser impulses. “Good girl,” he says, slipping them out. He pushes your underwear hastily to the side and curls two fingers inside you, chuckling low in your ear. “So wet already.” With his other hand, he pulls the underwear down and off. He spreads the slickness from your cunt to your clit and begins to flick there. You make a strangled noise of pleasure and he tuts. “Everyone is going to hear what a stupid dirty slut you are.” He increases his pace on your clit, slipping his other hand between your legs. “They are probably all jerking off to the sound of you.” The finger on your clit is nearing the crest where pleasure becomes pain. “You like giving them a show, don’t you, fucking slag. They want to hear you come. Come for them.” You are powerless to stop the high moans issuing forth in a stream. Your back arches, tightening like a string about to snap, and you shudder as climax rips through you.

Before you recover your sense of place and time, the stranger shoves his cock inside you, fucking you hard with a wet slapping sound. You unconsciously push back onto him, outside of yourself with pleasure. His fingers are hard on your hips, holding you firmly in place, gripping hard enough to leave marks, no doubt. There is nothing you can do to stop the noises coming out of you on every thrust. “Fucking whore,” he growls in your ear. “You like it, being fucked with a roomful of strangers listening. Probably wouldn’t mind being fucked by each of them one by one.” You can’t stop the throaty moans, although they are loud in the hushed stillness of listening in the room. “You like being used, don’t you, little slag. You’d love to be the communal cum-bucket.” You are sobbing ‘yes’ brokenly every time he pounds into you, eyes screwed shut, hands clenching your blankets. With that, he buries himself deep inside you and comes with a swear in German. You are warm and sticky and sweaty. He climbs out of your bed and is gone with nary a backward glance, leaving you with his cum trickling out between your legs, your blankets twisted and smelling of sex, your t-shirt rucked up, your underwear nowhere to be found. You fall back asleep, unable to help yourself.

About Fantasy and Intention, and The Sexy Creed

Trigger Warning: Mention of rape, assault, sexual violence, coercive sex, manipulation both in real and fantasy contexts

For a long time, I have struggled with violent fantasies. Fantasies of rape, kidnapping, public non-consensual groping, power play, fantasies of gangbangs, humiliation, possession, incest, and more, I promise you, much more, have gotten me off for longer than I can remember. A vague sense of guilt has accompanied these fantasies—a feeling that as a woman and a feminist, I am somehow betraying myself, that I should get wet for enthusiastic consent, not violent or non-violent coercion scenarios.

In the past few years, I have been probing this distinction. Like many or perhaps even most women, I have been sexually manipulated, I have been coerced into sex, or I have uneasily gone along with it in order to fulfill some questionable social obligation that I felt at the time. I have been catcalled and I have been touched against my will in my sleep. I once received a phone call early in the morning, wherein a young man told me he knew how I liked it rough in the mornings, he knew what I wanted in the mornings, that I wanted to suck his hard cock. I have been raped, and of course it wasn’t simple, but complicated. These events of disempowerment were truly disempowering—and I promise you this seemingly redundant wording is purposeful. I felt sickened, trapped, horrified, confused, angry, used, defeated, panicked, and traumatized. Disempowerment, true disempowerment, is traumatizing.

Yet I am the same person who masturbates to the idea of rape, who gets wet to the idea of being choked on a cock, who comes to the fantasy of being force-fucked without a condom, who comes ten times harder when her fear of pregnancy is invoked.

These imaginings of disempowerment are not truly disempowering and here’s why: Ultimately I am in control. I am in control of these scenes. They are not events. I would like to make a distinction between these terms “events of disempowerment,” and “scenes/scenarios of disempowerment.” An event of disempowerment features real disempowerment, real lack of control, real helplessness, real fear, and real trauma. A scene of disempowerment is a false disempowerment, in which the person imagining it is in full control, in which the imaginer can stop the scene at anytime.

This dichotomy can be further complicated when considering kinky scenes of disempowerment that are enacted with a partner. Even when all involved have given enthusiastic consent at the outset of a kinky scene, the enactment of a kinky scene can cross over the line between fantasy and intention and it can then become an event, a potentially traumatizing one. This line is very thin. Masturbation is the safest way to ensure a scene of disempowerment will not become an event of disempowerment because there are no other people involved. Even when the people involved have the best of intentions, enacting scenes of disempowerment with a partner can be treacherous terrain.

Kinky sex with a partner can be wonderful, hot, and very special, but having another person involved, even with safety precautions in place, even with a safe word and a safe sign, can sometimes cross over into dangerous territory if the bottom does not, for some reason, feel comfortable using their safe word. They might feel that they would be disappointing the other person, or things might be going too fast, like a train they do not feel capable of stopping. Or if they have been disempowered in small, gendered ways all their lives, they might simply find that with another person, they cannot remember how to communicate, they might fall back into a lifelong pattern of being accommodating and allowing the other person to do what they want, they may forget in the heat of the moment that they have agency, and for them, the fantasy or scene of disempowerment that should have been safe and erotic will become unsafe, and utterly unerotic and even traumatizing.

Speaking from experience, people (like me) who are socialized as girls and women later find it difficult to express what they themselves want, having never before been asked or even allowed to have an opinion on anything important in life, let alone sex. We are conditioned to be kind, forgiving, accommodating. We are socialized to give men what they want. And men, forgive me for a little bias, are socialized to take what they want. The man’s pleasure, the man’s orgasm is emphasized in pornography and even informational videos on sex. The popular myth that women don’t like sex, or that they are difficult to operate machinery sexually is alive and well in our culture (think of sitcom moms withholding sex… Like I could ever withhold sex! I need it just as much as anybody else!) The focus on heterosexual relationships in every form of media out there, and the overwhelming assumption that the MAIN EVENT is penetrative Dick In Vagina sex contributes to the idea that women are a vehicle for men’s sexual pleasure, objects to be used, consumed, watched, and fucked.

And so women and men have to be especially careful when engaging in kinky play. They have all these years of history and socialization to contend with. A woman may feel uncomfortable saying her safe word because it feels like saying ‘no’—and we know how much more difficult it is for a woman to say no in any given scenario, especially to a man, when there is an inherent danger to doing so, and where she has been conditioned all her life to simply let these things happen to her, to just let the will of the men around her bat her around from place to place. It takes such courage, such long hours of thinking, such energy and will to exert your own wishes upon the world as a woman, to stand firm, to look inside yourself and say, “No, this is what I want, and only I can know myself well enough to know what I want!”

 

 

All of this taken into account, this is The Sexy Creed:

 

1) I will have sex as much or as little as I please. I will be as sexual or as un-sexual as I like.

2) I will masturbate as much or as little as I please.

3) I will embrace my libido, however enormous or tiny it may be at any given time. I will accept these fluctuations as evidence that my body is in tune with my mind and my life at large. This is a beautiful thing. I will respect the libidos of others, whatever their size. I will respect those who do not have a libido, I will respect those who have a small libido, I will respect those who have a medium, a medium-large, a large, an enormous, and a ginormous libido. I will respect all of these libidos, and I will respect that these libidos can change. I will respect that libidos can be strange and can be activated or deactivated by many different things. I will respect the sexual needs of others.

4) I will try to love my sexy bits, even if sometimes I wish I had different ones.

5) I will not judge anyone for how many partners they have or had. I will not judge anyone for how few partners they have or had.

6) I will masturbate to whatever I damn well please.

7) I will never be ashamed of my sexual proclivities, however disempowering they may be. I will not judge anyone else for getting off to something I don’t get off to, as long as they are not imposing their sexual fantasy on another against the latter’s will and as long as they are not harming someone.

8) I will never be ashamed of what fantasies and scenes of disempowerment make me come. In fact, I will be fucking proud of the fact that I am able to come and that I know myself well enough to know just what makes me come the hardest. I will celebrate my Awesomely Weird Sexual Self. I will celebrate coming as hard as I possibly can and imagining whatever I need to imagine to make that happen!

9) I will never force my fantasies on anyone else. I vow not to harm another person in pursuit of my own sexual pleasure. To that end, I will tread carefully when enacting any fantasy with another person. I will use safe words or signs (when gags are involved). I will communicate with the other person in detail. I will have a conversation about this very topic, fantasy and intention and the complications therein, before enacting a scene. I will listen and to be open.

10) I will communicate honestly and openly about my sexual desires with my partner.

11) I will not feel guilty about having some separate fantasies for masturbation that I don’t necessarily share or enact with my partner or anyone else. I am my own person, and I deserve to have some fantasies of my own!

12) I will try stick up for myself, even when it goes against my socialization, especially in sexual situations.

13) I will take the time to meditate and reflect on what I want and need, separate from the wants and needs of others. I will take the time to get to know myself, my wants, and my needs, and so doing I will consider these things worthy of knowing. I will take the time to communicate these wants and needs and this inner self to my partner.

14) I will have fucking good sex!

15) I will have fucking good solo time!

16) I am the only expert on me, and you are the only expert on you. Forever and ever, Amen.

 

Note: This is my Sexy Creed. Maybe you have other needs, considerations, or beliefs for your creed. I invite you to write them down and to create your own Sexy Creed. I invite you to share or not share your creed as you like. And I invite you to let me know of any statements I’ve forgotten in the comments below.