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.

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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."

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.

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.

BDSM & Depravity

Okay, so I took a month off and a bunch of shit happened. A bunch of fun, kinky, and good sex happened but shit happened. And have a happy new year bitches.

But in the time that I was also taking off, I've been planning something with my dearest kinksters. And in that time, one question keeps popping up.

You're okay with being brutalized?

That is the question I'm being asked. Not by one person. Not by two. But by a lot. And it is hard to answer yes because I want to explain. I want to tell them about the depravity that runs down and through my body and soul; but I don't. I just assure them I'm okay with it and continue on.

But I have to explore it. I have to feed something that has been gnawing at myself for more than a year. That's the craving for brutality. If I spend my days encouraging you guys to figure out your own sexualites, let me share this. Let me tell you my fucking story.

I've been hurt and beaten down (in the figurative sense here). I was a self-harmer for about 3 years. I was known for cutting, scratching, and dragging scissors across my skins. For an extensive period of my high school life I wore scar patches to tend to the wounds and create elaborate stories of how I got hurt.

That was the time when pain began to be a part of my life. It was a time when I struggled to feel more alive than when pain was a part of my routine. Without that pain, I felt suffocated and at a loss.

But as the wounds began to heal on my skin and on my heart I began to take on this idea that from pain comes beauty. Life is life because of pain. Life is life because of healing and feeling. And I need pain, physical pain, to reach my own heightened existence.

It started with little things like hair pulling and using asphyxiation as an orgasm trigger. Biting was another orgasm trigger. And I realized the rougher I was given the rougher I wanted it. But the rougher I sought to give, too. Until I found myself being unfilled by "sex". By the casual fuck sessions between me and my "lovers". Something was missing. And in my subconscious, the whispers...

I want to be brutalized...

That was months and many more months echoing in my head before I found myself in the lifestyle. And it has been nearly years before what is coming had been dreamed up.

There inside my head is a craving for sexual brutality. This need to give myself over to them and say it is okay to break me. If I never want it again, I will have fed the beast inside.

I'm fucking ready.

Binary Sexuality? Screw that!

In the old days, the middle ages, the days gone by, the times before now, people didn't really realize the spectrum that is sexuality. They couldn't understand how the brain worked and you were simply gay or straight.

Maybe a little crooked but that was for those shady folks you had to watch out for.

But as time went on and people thought the sexual psyche was worth looking into, out came the LGB...pun intended. Heaven forbid you like both!

As we become a more sophisticated society even that changes and who the hell cares about acronyms when you just keep adding letters... LGBTQIAAP.

But I'm here to make that even more complicated. Because I've given some serious thought to my own sexuality and I don't like that sexuality has to encompass both my idea of love and attraction. I'm weird. I always have been; so why should this be any different?

I want to seriously complicate this idea of sexuality and binary systems. I want to just be me. Every weird yet wonderful fucking thing about me.

I'm pansexual.

But that word belongs to me. It means something specific to me. It is tempered with my propensity for and lean towards hetero-romanticism. But don't argue that I'm not pan enough for you. Or I'm not straight enough for you. It isn't for you.

It is for me.

The Darkness Intriguing

Disclaimer: This may or may not be graphic in nature.

I expect to take flack from what I'm about to tell you. I expect your reactions to be stereotypical. Don't worry, I'm braced. I'm a big girl with big girl panties. I've already had this conversation with someone who needed it so here I am, telling the rest of the world.

I'm a fetishist. Yeah, I'm a freak. Every inch of me burns with the desire to feel that this is most abhorrent to the majority of the world. My soul finds that level of fucking freedom in the weirdest places. My skin has bruised shades of red that make people cringe. You think you like rough sex? This takes me higher.

And the reach of the freak inside burns deep. Because inside this little head of mine, and inside the heads of a lot of women, lays this darkness. This darkness that is too taboo, it is so bad that I told you I wouldn't even talk about it. But that's changed.

But at the depths my fantasies, do you know what lays there? Nonconsent. Rape.

Don't you dare judge me.

In the prettiest places in our psyches, it is the thing that scares us that elicits the beauty that is arousal. In the way you don't realize your body wants it, that is where this lays. And a lot of women, fetishist or not, experience this same pull to the bad.

This intrigue inside my head gets swept up and churned with the craved feeling of hands at my throat, smacks across my face, and level of rough intensity.

Do you know why I am telling you this? If you're a woman and you feel this way, if your girlfriend feels this way, you're not alone. That darkness doesn't have to swallow or make you ashamed of it. Because at the core, nonconsent is bad. But that doesn't mean you have to had from the fact that the bad things in the world make your skin electric instead of crawl in the darkness of your own bedroom.

This isn't a call for consent violations. Keep your dick in your pants, boys.

This is a notice that there are safe ways to explore even the parts of your mind you don't want to admit are there. And the consensual nonconsent can take you places you didn't know existed.

Consent. It isn't a blurred line. It is there or it isn't.

Nonconsent.

Arousing.



Image notes: This is an image in relationship to Erotic Asphyxiation. No rape or consent violation was explored or intended in the photo.

The Art & My Lack Thereof of Self-Seduction

It is no big secret that I currently sell sex toys for a living. I like the opportunity that it affords me to find things that might help people get their rocks off. The one thing that I have come to realize is that people want to know what you like; what gets you off. Maybe they think they're doing it wrong. Maybe they only want to talk to someone who fucking gets it.

But you know my secret? I suck at masturbating.

I've been asked to masturbate on camera, send pictures, etc. but I always say no. Because watching grass grow is going to be more exciting than watching me masturbate. I can promise you that.

I don't like to seduce myself. My body doesn't react to my touch the way it will to someone else. I can't touch my ears and make my whole body tingle. I can't light my nipples on fire with my tongue. I've never once been able to convince myself to get off with my fingers. What I like...and what I need...is for my masturbation sessions to be over quickly. 20 seconds is fine for me.

I can still recommend you the best realistic dildo there is, but stop asking which one I would use. If I am going to use a realistic dildo, it is going to be a real fucking penis attached to a living breathing person. Otherwise, sorry boys but penises aren't that pretty.

I can still tell you which rabbit is going to be the best, do the most, and have the best quality but I don't like them and I won't use them. As a sidenote, the beaded ones freak me out.

But if you want a good clit toy, oh girl, I've got you. My clit toys are all valued somewhere over $300 if you totaled them all up. And they're all different. Because when I am by myself, and it is just me, that is really all that matters. I like to lay there with the vibrations literally in hand, watch porn or read a story, get off, and sleep. That is what I want.

I'm not sorry that isn't sexy enough for you.