Friday, March 6, 2015

Someone Finally Called Me a Whore

It's no big secret that last year, when I turned 27, I decided to change my life. I wanted to live with no expectations and I succeeded. I came into my own life; I fell in love with my body, found my sexuality, and I had sex with some people. I mean, I literally tripled the amount of people I had slept with last year. I joined into my local BDSM community where I would proceed to get naked, beaten, battered, and degraded in public. I'd soon learn that I would be a cumming little slut all the time, too.

And what do I do with all that experience?

I write about it. I blog and share my experiences with readers from all over the state, country, and world. And then, people ask me questions about their own sexuality and I get to answer them. Because now I am a conduit for information and exploration.

And I love this about me. I love that I am proud of my sexuality. I love that I am identified and known by a name I chose, Sabina. And when I wanted to make that more, add more to it, I took a last name, Harlot. Sabina Harlot... Sabina the Whore. Why does this have to be bad?

Why is the word whore so bad?

It isn't. It is only as bad as the power I give it. And so I'm reclaiming it. In fact, I am bringing back the antiquated word, Harlot. Because why not add a little flare?

I like my name, I like my identity and I decided to implement and brand that with my blog as the actual author. So I made a blogger facebook page. I did this because I'm a dreamer and I want to take this somewhere. I want big things in life.

So why, if I'm proud to be who I am and am a self-claimed Harlot, did it piss me off so bad that someone** called me a whore? "Whore simply doesn't fit the vision I had for Sabina..."

It wasn't that he called me a whore.

It was that he thought he got to choose who I am supposed to be. NO! I get to chose that because it is my life, my sex life, and these are my friends and my partners. He doesn't know them, barely knows me, and he doesn't get to chose who Sabina is.

I get to live this life once and only once. You get to you live your's, too. I'm going to shout it from the rooftops about the sex that I had if I want to. I'm going to erase the idea that women can't embrace their sexuality because damn it, we get notches on our bedposts, too!

**For the record, this wasn't a random stranger. This was someone I know closely and intimately and value with my life. I could give two fucks less what a stranger thinks.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

When Stella Got Her Group On

When I first mentioned that I had tumbled my way into a threesome, you guys were on fire with questions about details, suggestions, and so on. I got to talk to some of you one on one about it, but now there is more. More spice, more people, more a little bit of everything.

And while I can say it was fun/exciting, I was with people I love and find undeniably sexy, the idea of group sex, I have found it lacking. I give up on trying to figure out how things happen any more, I've said this so many times I can't count anymore, but that's because it is true.

Life is pretty fun when you're seeing a couple on a regular basis. They make your heart happy. You care about them. And sex is always a thrill ride. And that's how it But our us suddenly became more. And while I had my totally vain moment of "it's all about me" because that is what happens when I am with a new partner, our three became four.

And what a trip. This was a scene that someone who sexplores wants; the one straight out of porn. You know, the one where everyone is handsy, fetishy, and fucking? But still, something kept nagging at me, and that is because I had lost my physical connection with one of the people. When there are three people, I can touch everyone; I can kiss and cuddle and snugglefuck with both people at the same time in some form or fashion. When there are more than three, I lose that. It is a division of labor where there are two couples and very little cross pollination. That is one of my favorite parts of sex, is being touchy feel with my partners. Touching them, and having them touch me. And that is why I need it, that is why this lost just a little bit of appeal for me; but you live, you learn, yolo.

I hate myself for saying that.

But the part that isn't just "hey I did this", is that I want to make sure people realize that there is a responsible way to be reckless. There is a breaking point where you stop and make those sane and rational decisions in these heated moment. You still make sure to ask for consent, you make sure protection is available and used, you make sure you ask all the right questions (i.e. Are you drug and disease free?).

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

You Watched the Movie

So you watched 50 Shades of Grey and now you're curious? You've read the blog and you're curious? Or you really just have been curious from the beginning and you were too afraid to ask? That's okay. It happens. A lot of people are too afraid to admit their curiousity and are willing to jump in without realizing there is a right way and a wrong way.

I don't have any commentary on this movie other than the fact that the movie BDSM isn't BDSM. You can get hurt. What we do, what I allow others to do, is dangerous. And while it will continue to be dangerous there are things you can do to do it safer.

I'm a leader of a Bottoms group for my local scene and I just helped to plan and host a Bottoms event at the local sex shop. So here are the highlights that you need to know if you want to try and play safe!

Use wrist cuffs
I know that most people think of "adding a little spice" by throwing in being tied to the bed post or throwing on a pair of handcuffs. Don't. For one, furry handcuffs...cliche. They also don't generally fit girls with bigger wrists, they're too tight. Silk ties that are self-cinching? Don't use those either.

Your median nerve that runs up the side of your wrist and down your thumb, can be in major danger with both of those. Yeah, I know from experience. I still can't feel a spot on my thumb. If you're new to BDSM and you don't know what to feel, chances are your top is new and doesn't know how to check in. If you feel tingling or coldness in your fingers, there is a problem.

Where to hit
Your body can be a whipping a post. That doesn't mean it has free reign. While it may be obvious that the butt is the best place to spank a naughty bottom, there are places to stay away from. Stay away from whipping or beating both kidneys and the spine; you need those to live. As far as the front goes, stay away from the collar bone up. Just ya know, common sense.

Safe Words
Don't you dare say you don't have limits! You do. It is okay if you don't know them but you have them. Using a safe word doesn't invalidate your experience or your time together but it may save your life.

You're going to need to take care of yourself. Generally you should have a bag of things ready, particularly, if like me, you don't play at home for whatever reason. I keep a blanket, a first aid kit, water, and my favorite Altoids handy. The candy helps the sugar drop, always stay hydrated, and the blanket helps with the fact that you're body might actually be in a stage of shock. It helps to stay warm and cuddled with the person who just beat the shit out of you.

Warning: The most sadistic tops can be the most cuddliest cuddlers.

And if you have questions...ask them. I want to tell you the answers so bad I can taste it.

Don't forget to check out SnarkySass Adventures and donate if you can for more educational information with a dash of sass.

Friday, February 13, 2015

SnarkySass Adventures: Debauchery

Alright, I've been at this blogging thing for over a year now and I can't believe how awesome it has been. You guys are fucking great. You've asked questions, you've shared fantasies, explored fetishes, and I've even been thanked for sharing my experiences. Can't begin to tell you how awesome that is because words only go so far.

So this year, I want to go further. Go harder, faster, deeper, and longer. Like popping a boner pill before sexy times, I want to take you to new heights. It starts with a branding. Tacking on a name to the idea of the person that IS Snarky Sass. Hi, I'm Sabina, Sabina Harlot. I have a thing for it when people call me Bina. It tingles a little. So there. Step one, done.

The next part is acquiring things to tell you about and on the list so far is answering a question about strap-ons and squirting, just to cock tease you a little.

But, the biggest, coolest, bestest part of all is the introduction of SnarkySass Adventures.

This May, I want to attend a three day sex-positive BDSM conference in North Carolina. I have already bought my ticket and a couple new outfits to be event appropriate in, but for the rest, I need your help. I'm hoping to crowd-fund my expenses to make the actual trip and stay in the hotel. If you've ever thought about my posts and wondered what the experience is like, I'm in that state of wonder right now. I'm absolutely positive nothing is going to be like this. I can't begin to fathom or imagine what I might see but what I will be able to learn from the classes (there are over 40!!) will be enough to help you guys explore and answer your questions a lot better than I can already.

I'm 28, I've never stayed in a hotel by myself or even taken a vacation for myself. I need your help to make this one tiny dream come true and I will bring back a hell of a lot of sass, the perfect amount of snark, and an overabundance of sex. I'm not a submissive by nature, doesn't mean I ain't to proud to beg. I can't tell you how much I would appreciate anything you can spare. I love you guys!

Thursday, February 12, 2015

This is NOT Your 50 Shades

If you've read 50 Shades or you plan to see the movie, have a glimpse at this. This tale, Interrogation: The Breaking of a Rebel, is true. These events are the recounting of a real BDSM scene experience that I had with 2 tops and I'm trying my hand at erotica.

The lights of the club cast the blue haze on everyone. There were a lot of people here tonight, some waiting the arrival of me and my companion. People close to my heart knew what had had my panties wet for days. My brain was flooded with thoughts and nerves. Fear was never an option because I oozed confidence. It bled out through my very skin.

I was unstoppable.

Our arrival was greeted with the warm vitality that is an event of sexual fortitude. A lot was riding on tonight. I had spent my time building myself up, fantasizing. Not only was it to put on a show. Put on a show for them but I was supposed to meet her.

I would eventually get it all right. But until then, my skin was like fire. The two of them, him/her...ebb/flow...push/pull... thought they would get off easy with this. They had agreed to this on the pretense that I am a stout whipping post but that I am breakable. I fall to their knees and grovel like the pleasing little slut that I am.

And so, I steer clear of them. Oil and water tonight. Until it begins.

The bathroom. A call to escape usually, but a necessary shelter for someone who wants to change her clothes. I'm prepared to walk in as a classy woman but to walk out a barrage of rebelliousness and spikes. They're not taking me down. Everything inside me is twitching and sensitive to the sounds and energy around me. No one can touch me in the place between my legs that's throbbing with energy and need.

But to get to the bathroom, I have to cross their paths. All three of them. I'm actually quite skilled at tunnel vision; this should be a piece of cake. I'm nearing the home stretch until I feel his hands run through my curls and pull my head to him, stopping me. I grit my teeth against his force, as he grumbles into my ear, "You should really learn to say hello..."

Ah, my first opportunity to snip; nothing more, nothing less than the most sarcastic "Hi," that I could drum up. I suppose that must have been acceptable when he threw me back onto the path of my destination and back into tunnel vision; I was only mildly disheveled by that.

I snarl my face into the bathroom mirror while stripping. He knows how to play my weakness. Grumbling into my ears like that. And so my resolve, and albeit my excitement, was found again. I also found myself silently wishing I had brought more panties. By this time, I had found these were going to end up in a very interesting predicament by the end of tonight.

And so I changed clothes. I changed from the leather clad & collared beauty into the rough and rowdy rebel. I steeled myself against the change and braced the wilds, tunnel vision in tow. My nerves were beginning to also surface, and I couldn't bare a glance in her direction, I couldn't bare to watch them set the stage and so I did none of it. I stood. Aimlessly. Steeling and breathing.

I turned my back for the quickest of moments and the world went black. Something, a bag or a pillowcase, had been forcefully shoved over my head and down onto my shoulders and a strong arm came around me. He started yelling in my ear about dignity and asked if I had any. I stumbled, my internal desire to please him and innate need to get it right caused me to waver in my resolve and I responded, "No," I had no dignity. Did I even want it?

And so the reaming questions began as he dragged me backwards and I found the chair that would be my prison, my interrogation chamber, my downfall.

That was when I felt the other part of the equation, the yin to his yang. Both of them were now my captors. Tying me relentlessly as I fidgeted in the chair. I couldn't make this easy. I wiggled my feet, I shifted my arms, and only after it was done did he have to retie me all together. Oops. All that hard work. I was smiling a wicked grin beneath that hood.

The bag was made of canvas and kept me from seeing the world but not from hearing it or feeling it surround me. I was being told exactly what a dirty whore I was, and that it shouldn't matter that the bag was a cum-covered mess of cloth because it was all I deserved. I should feel right at home.

The next thing I heard, whore that I am, was the sound of my clothes being cut. Stripped down, tied to a chair, with a bag over my head. I'm more concerned with the fact that if one of them gets too close, they're going to smell my sex as my body begins to take over. I feel the cool steel of the knife smack into me for good measure. We have knives, and we know how to use them... That was something that he had told me, and my very essence cried out to feel what I knew he couldn't give me, the feel of that blade dragging across my skin. The sharpness cutting me.

Then he was gone.

From a distance he asked for the answers to my questions. Questions that had been pre-planned and pre-assigned. "Now, where are your questions?" My first thought was simply that he was making this too easy. Too easy to foil his plans.

"They're on the table!" But that wasn't a good enough response. It was quickly followed by a snarl from him and indication of which table. No, no, this wasn't how this game was going to be played, "They're are plenty of tables to chose from, I'm sure you'll find it..." I laughed.

His hands were now pulling my neck back to unbelievable angles and my hair was ripping from its delicate place on my head underneath that bag, "If you don't tell me, we're done, because you're wasting my time."

That was a statement that I felt could strike fear into the heart of man, and all of the sides within me warred against each other, and I shouted, "Meira has them!" I had left them with her before I'd ever found myself stuck in this situation. And while he saunters off to retrieve them, their is no reprieve from the hands of a sadist, I'm left to her and she was going to enjoy this.

And the hits started to rain down. Across my breasts, down between my thighs, over and over the feel of her cane, his hands, and the pain of that flogger fell. God that pain rocked my world, the weight of a grown man throwing his all into hitting me, I could feel the wind before I felt his skin. The feel of her at my back, I could hear her satisfaction at my delirium and restraint. And she cracked that cane across my leg.

It was a misstatement to say my skin had been on fire before because now I knew what that meant. He pointed out all the bruises as they bled underneath my skin immediately. Just to point them out he took the bag off my head.

The light was so harsh. I blinked against the intrusion of it. I could see the people in the club watching me; watching as I was reduced to a rebellious little slut. Clothes torn, pussy drenched, taking a beating. He held up that little pink envelope that held inside the answers to my private questions. Things that none should know of me. The submissive side of me, the part that wants nothing more than to please the two of them, had tried so very hard to put effort, care, and love into those questions. I used my very best handwriting, paper, and envelope with the best of intentions...and there, before my eyes, he ripped them to shreds. Ripped them to shreds with only a "I don't give a damn" attitude and the notion that I answer only to him now.

This was the first time I thought that maybe...I'm breakable.

Flight or fight. Cry. Effort and love torn to shreds. Cry. The emotions were beginning to swirl as the bag was shoved back over my head. The spinner for emotions landed with fight. I WILL NOT BREAK THAT EASY!

He so eloquently called out to the club to witness the demonstration of his new toy. I was to be his willing target practice. The sting of the flogger spread out over my thighs and I shook my head at the tenderness that now flooded my nerve endings.

When he was...satisfied?...he tore the bag off my head again. He forced me to look into his face. Looking into his face, the face of my torturer, stirred up everything in me and it took everything I had to not spit in his face, but everything I had inside me called for it. He'd deserve it the bitch side said. He'd punish you for it the masochist side said. He'd not expect it the brat side of me said. While the voices raged on inside my head, came the first question, "What color are firetrucks?"

I almost laughed. I got a little dizzy at the question. It's a warm up. Oh, come on, we play this game better than that, I thought. My answer was simple, "Green." And I laughed at his hesitation, and I laughed through the punishment. They could both deal it out, they will make me pay for my transgressions. And so they shall pay for theirs.

I rocked the chair that I was in, tossed my head and threw my elbows, until the chair fell to its side and now they couldn't reach me. Oh, I was a slutty little mess they had to clean up now. I could see them clearly. See how our energies were blending in the epitome of BDSM roleplay. It was one of the most amazing things I had ever felt and it spurred me on. I tossed, turned, and threw my elbows. Anything that I could do to make untying and righting me more complicated was what I wanted to bring to this scene. I wanted to give them something.

And so, with a moderate amount of effort, I had been planted back in that chair. Untied except for one leg, and now the role reversal. He stood behind me, wrapped his hands around my arms and pulled them out to the sides, crucifying me. In that, he opened up my entire body for her. She could hit me anywhere she wanted, she was free to do it. She caned my thighs and I could swear I heart her giggle. He strung me tighter and pushed the tiny nerve endings and pressure points, and the rest of my body belonged to them in that moment. I had finally landed in a position that was fulfilling my deepest desire. Words like thank you, please, and more begin to take the place of any fight that I have.

If there was a door to subspace, a door to heaven, I could now see it. Gratitude bloomed over my body, my nipples harden and my skin resolved itself for the torture.

The next question...

"What color are strawberries?"

Oh, I know this one. "Red! They're red."

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Guest Post: Sexuality Self Discovery

Snarky Sass has been blogging here for a year and I've been wracking my brain to figure out what I would write for her. I’d considered writing about my vanilla tastes and about losing my virginity until I was 26, but nothing seemed right. It’s funny, though; that what I’m going to write about in some way incorporates both of those things. Consider my guest post today a coming out of sorts. I’m demisexual.

Consider LGBTQIAAP. I've heard of heterosexual, homosexual, and recently asexual and pansexual, but … demisexual? To be perfectly honest, I didn't know even know what that meant until recently, but it has opened up a world of knowledge and understanding about myself that I’m so fortunate to be absorbing. So, how did I get here and what does it mean and how can it relate to you?

As previously mentioned, I lost my virginity at 26 and I’m now 27 and have had one sexual partner. In 2013, I wrote a note to one of my favorite Youtubers for her weekly Q&A show and confessed to being a 26 year old virgin. I asked her advice as I was worried how I’d be perceived. Her response was fantastic and made me feel so much better about myself. Fast forward to later that year when I ended up having a short-lived sexual relationship with a good friend. We were very close and had formed an emotional bond over the course of our revived friendship. This ended very abruptly when he decided to pursue another woman and break it off. I was hurt and confused. The sting of rejection was very real and I wondered if there was something wrong with me. I spent the majority of 2014 wondering that as I looked around at the people that I know with healthy sex lives, some with multiple partners. I thought I was defective.

I share that very personal part of my life to explain something. I never really understood why I hadn't lost my virginity before then. I always thought it was just because I was a big girl. I blamed a lot of my lack of relationships on my weight. I realize now that I was not out seeking them either. As I reflect, even my profiles on OkCupid or any other dating site has never been made for casual sex. I have never desired hookups, but of the few guys that I’ve talked to or casually dated over the course of my adult life, I've never had sex with any of them. Because I didn’t want to. At first I thought it was because I wasn't “ready.” In truth, I just never found them sexually attractive or we did not have a strong enough connection for me to warrant opening myself up to another person in that way.

I now know that I am demisexual, which is on the asexual spectrum. Once I read a description (A demisexual is someone who only experiences sexual attraction after an emotional bond (not necessarily romantic) is formed), I felt a sudden release of relief. Could this be the name for what I’ve felt all of these years? The idea of sex appeals to me, but I never have been able to imagine myself having casual sex with someone that I’m not somehow committed to.

I’m not defective; I’m not broken. I just do sexuality in a different way. It has to mean something. I’m not a prude. I don’t need to lower my standards. I just have to feel. I have to connect. For me, it’s not just emotion, it’s romance, it’s intellectual. Brainy is the new sexy, after all.

This new information has answered so many questions that I've had about past experiences. When talking to a guy last year, I couldn't seal the deal, as it were. We’re friends, not good friends, but friends. But our bond isn't deep. I found him sensually attractive and the idea of cuddling with him and possibly kissing him was appealing, but the idea of anything beyond that repulsed me. That’s not his fault and it’s not my fault, we’re just not connected in that way. But we’d talk about it and I’d keep putting it off and putting it off. Now I know why.

I’m not sure how this will affect future relationships. I’m still learning so much and I will have to figure out how to mitigate the backlash that I may receive when I have to tell someone that I might not be interested in them sexually. I do prefer sex with men, which makes me a demi-heterosexual. And it’s not as if I’m absolutely repulsed by sex. I still get aroused, but I don’t care for porn and I masturbate generally to relieve stress. Even still, imaging myself with the right partner gives me a rush. It makes me crave, hunger, and yearn. I still love the idea of sex, but for me, it just carries a lot more weight than for others.

So, yeah, here’s my coming out post. I’m demisexual. I’m new to this non-binary sexuality thing, so I’m looking to hopefully connect with a community, the same way that Snarky Sass has with the fetish community. It feels really good to understand this part of myself. I feel free in a way that I hadn't before.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

If Two is a Party...

They say three is a crowd but I'm going to go out on a limb here and just disagree with that statement. And yes, this is going exactly where you think it is going.

Because threesomes rock.

In the time that I took off and was having all that wild, whore-like sex in December, a lot of it was new experiences that I had never had before. I learned some awesome things about how polyamorous couples work, the dynamic in threesomes, and just how well boner performance pills actually work.

The sex was quite literally the best of my life. It isn't just another notch on the bedpost or simply worth bragging about. A lot of people want to know how it happened. Well, much like everything of a semi-sexual nature it just did. It just happened.

I fell into the stereotypical bisexual girl situation. You know, the one where everyone thinks that just because you might not be completely straight that you want to join in on their couple action? Yeah. It was me and a married couple. Again, it just sort of happened.

I know a lot of people thought that there would be some big elaborate scheme cooked up here. Something exciting like joining the Swingers Lifestyle (which I did do) and went to some wild get-together house orgy or something and we ended up together (which I didn't do). That's what most people think of. But it started with a simple, "Hey, would you like someone to come get you off?" and permission from the lady part of the equation.

Who turns down something like that!

Two days later the three of us were in a BDSM scene. Naked, bruised, but quite open for anything to happen I was told to "Climb on" and I did. Then I asked to kiss her, too. And for the next 6 hours, it was nothing less than an amazing BDSM fuckfest.

But the thing to remember is that I didn't approach one or the other about any of this. I was told I was attractive and invited to have sex with him. I refused until I spoke directly to her. Before it was a threesome and she was watching me have sex with her husband, she was giving me explicit permission. Drama isn't something that I'm into. It doesn't get me off to be your dirty secret or anything like that.

So yeah, threesomes can just happen. They can just happen to you, too. But if you drop the ball on communicating what it is you want, it is your dick on the chopping block.