Here’s my stab at creating a different kind of feminist BDSM discussion.
Anyone want to post their happy BDSM stories? Actually, can we broaden that to happy kink stories? Happy stories of the joys of non-mainstream sexuality — asexuals so pleased they’re purring, enduring polyamorous relationships full of steamy sex and fantastic folks, glorious golden showers. No criticism! No sociological analysis! No worries or tragedies! Just happy, kinky romance and fucking.
Ridiculously silly stories okay, too. Feel free to relate any gaffs you can laugh about.
UPDATE: Feel free to sock puppet, if it would make you more comfortable.
All right, a brief happy polyamory story, originally posted here:
I go out of town for a long weekend. My girlfriend’s at the same event I am. My wife is not. She’s home with the kid.
The next week, my wife gets a package with a box of chocolates and a Borders gift certificate. The note says, among other things: Thanks for wrangling the two-year-old so Steve and I could finally have some time together. It helped me immensely to be able to just be with him for a few days.
I’m willing to believe there are people as lucky as me. You’d have a hard time convincing me there is anyone luckier.
Jeez, coming up with a simple, bottlable anecdote is hard. “Dont’ think of pink elephants…”
This is light kink, Y’all can mock me for it later.
My fiance and I like a bit of bondage, which we particularly preferred at the beginning of our relationship. A couple months after we got together, we drove home from the dorms to visit my parents, and we stayed overnight in my room. My parents are the definition of sex positive, and they could care less what I do in my room, as long as we don’t — you know — wake them.
Anyway, my bed had no headboard or footboard, so my fiance had to do some improvising. He knotted my wrists together, and that got them out of the way. One ankle could be tied to a telephone stand near my bed. The other…
He scanned the room, asking me for ideas. I was like, “I’m tied down; it is no longer my job to be creative,” and started fussing at the knots in my wrists to see if I could get them untied. (I’m a persnickety cuss is what I am, and constituionally incapable of refraining from worrying at things, being sarcastic, or cracking jokes. Woe betide the man on top of me if I think of a pun.)
So, my boyfriend continued scanning the room. He tied the rope to my ankle, and paced the carpet, looking for someplace to attach the other end. It looked a bit like he was holding something my foot on a leash.
Finally, he says, “Eureka!” and goes ten feet across the room to bind my foot to the dowel in my closet from which my clothes are hung.
“That’s… ridiculous…” I said, at which time he had sex with me anyway, and I don’t recall the penetration, teasing, licking, or fucking being in any way inhibited by the fact that I was tethered by a long stretch of rope to the space between my dresses and my skirts.
*
This isn’t kink, but when I first started fucking, my boyfriend and I did a lot of lady-on-top, but were utterly baffled by how to do missionary position. We just couldn’t figure it out. How do we get the what in the where now? This despite the sex positive household growing up, in which I had received a copy of the picture book Where Did I Come From? when I was three. (I sat at the kitchen counter and read it as mom and dad watched the news. “Did I tickle?” “Yes.” “Did I start out as no bigger than a pencil tip?” “Yes.”)
I had to write an older friend of mine who I knew online and beg for advice. She was kind enough not to laugh.
I have one story, which, while sex-positive and kink-friendly, doesn’t really go anywhere or have a proper ending.
a few years back when I was in college, I was dating a girl who’s kink was sexual roleplay, specifically Nancy Drew sexual roleplay. My job in this was to be the smuggler or similarly nebulously defined lawbreaker who inevitably ties her up, leaving the fluffy pink sweater and everything perfectly in place, then locks her in a room and goes about my criminal enterprising. she escapes, we have the hot sex.
This was a fairly brief liaison, as after the summer ended I had to move back down to school several hours away by car, so inconvenience ended the relationship. we kept in touch for a while, but we both eventually found better things to do. She graduated from college back in St. Louis where I was originally from and she was then living and attending university, I believe she’s teaching now.
Now, I suppose the closest thing to a punchline is that I gave my friends back at school pretty much this same discussion almost immediately when we got back to classes, because it’s a funny story and I did literally nothing else the entire 3 month break. Recently, you’ll recall they released a Nancy Drew movie. My friends assured me that they’d be willing to attend if I wanted to go. Because friends razz people about such things, I suppose.
yeah, not a very good story, I guess.
I’ve never had a sexual experience that involved another person, so this is the best story I’ve got; it’s about the time I went to an erotic hypnosis show. (This particular forum thread is SFW, but it is a forum of an erotica site.)
http://www.mcforum.net/yabbse/index.php?topic=12891.0
If it wasn’t for BDSM, I wouldn’t have had any orgasms…
I was reading a book — After the Ball — which basically argues that the “normal”-seeming queers should be the ones to earn the rights for the rest of Gay America. It was getting gross. A whole chapter about the evils of some people’s lifestyle, including half a chapter on how awful the leatherpeople are and how when they said our rights would come later, actually they meant not at all, because we’re violent and evil.
I complained. Loudly.
My lover came over to me on the bed and dug his nails into my back, HARD. It felt wonderful, like few things have before or since, because he knew exactly what I needed and exactly how to remind me that it’s all okay without any words at all.
Another happy story: finally playing for the first time in forever with someone who really likes pain. All sorts of intense feelings flooding back. But the great thing wasn’t even that scene.
The great thing was seeing him again the next day, hugging him and pressing my fingers into his bruises and watching his eyes light up. Like we had this amazing and wonderful secret.
Well, it’s not that much of a story, but I’m currently in an amazingly happy situation. I’ve been with my boyfriend for a year and a half, and my girlfriend for two years. She lives with her boyfriend and I with mine. We’re all happy, we go out together, we do all kinds of geeky silly things together and it’s awesome. She and I are active in BDSM (I’m the domme, for the curious), and it’s done nothing but good for us. I like seeing her happy, and if happiness is found (among other places) at the end of three feet of rubber hitting skin, so be it.
For days I had been hard constantly. I had been coming home from work and going down on my wife each night, but I was not permitted to come. She touched me, she teased me, she got me right to the edge of climax, but did not give me any release. She called me in the middle of the day to see if I was fantasizing about her. I usually come several times a day, so after a week I was virtually at the point of spontaneous ejaculation. Which is when she said, “fuck me.” She laid back comfortably. She put an inflatable plug in my ass, holding the bulb. She told me not to come without permission. She kept telling me to speed up, I kept asking permission to hold still. Finally, she said, “fuck me the way I want to be fucked. If you come, you’ll be punished.” The sense of power gave her a rip-snorting orgasm. Me, too: beyond control, and shaking like a leaf because I hate ball torture right after orgasm, I had to keep thrusting until she was done. She said, “you know what I’m going to do now.” I knelt. She kicked me, again and again. My vision became grey at the margins, my world a deliberate series of deep breaths. In between, I rested my head on her thighs and screwed up my courage to take more. It was among the hardest things I’ve gotten through in a scene, but every time since that she’s told me to fuck her and not to come, I remember the consequences of failure and she can see the apprehension. I usually have to stop or slow down a few times to keep control; she loves that I have to slow down to keep control, and she loves that I fear the consequences of failure.
I can describe the moments, but I do not have the words to describe the bond that these shared experiences form between us.
Hmm. It’s a short, cute story, but one I’m really pleased to have experienced.
My girlfriend drove up to visit us (my boyfriend and me) one night, shortly after we first met in person. After dinner and the usual silliness, we wound up sprawled in the bed, watching ShortBus with her cuddled in the middle between the two of us. It was one of the most intense and romantic things that’s happened to me, I think. … even though everyone kept their clothes on. ;)
If it wasn’t for BDSM, I wouldn’t have had any orgasms…
I read that as “organs.” Which I suppose means someone botched Autoerotic asphyxiation and you got a replacement liver or kidneys or something.
which would actually be a pretty funny anecdote.
I need to have outdoor sex again. I’ve only done it once – on a rock in the middle of a river, in a fortunately secluded gorge – and it felt so right. It’s been on my mind lately, to the extent that I’ve been looking out likely spots close to home, which is no mean feat in the middle of London…
My housemate is a slave trainer of the nonsexual variety. I have known her for years before she moved in so I knew I could trust her to bring in strangers. I’m not a part of the culture, but I get the fringe benefits of cooked meals, fresh linens and an immaculate bathroom.
Before she moved in, I told her I didn’t want to be a part of it because unlike her, it’s just not my lifestyle and I don’t like to roleplay. She said that’s ok, the slaves need to learn to work invisibly around normals. I don’t have to interact with them in any way (she has three right now). Every room, even the bathroom, has a bell I can ring, but I have never done that. Only one sleeps overnight at a time on an exercise pad on the floor in the utility room. She says they appreciate me for supplying the environment in which to learn.
So now she has assigned the senior slave to anticipate my needs, and let me tell you, this guy is GOOD and I hardly know he is here! When I get home, a whiskey sour is sitting next to my favorite chair with my mail sorted (I haven’t seen a utility bill since she moved in). When I get out of the shower in the morning, my bed has been remade with clean sheets and I have three different outfits laid out. I have never requested any of this. I am on a diet so the refrigerator always has a low-cal snack ready and just the right size to fight off the hungries. I haven’t had to pay for groceries either. I guess she pools their training fees and gives them a household budget to work from. I really don’t know. Menial concerns like that have simply vanished from my life. I don’t even know where the catbox is anymore. I think they hide it before I get home, but can you train cats not to go for several hours or does one of them watch the cats and pull it out when they need it?
Things get really weird when one of their owners visits. I am used to providing the hospitality myself to houseguests, but they have this hierarchy that puts me at the top because it is my house, so I am always served first. Even their owners defer to me. The slaves once trashed an entire tray of assorted appetizers because I said that one was a bit salty, and a new tray was produced before the slaveowner could finish apologizing to me. I don’t often hear the slaves getting punished, but that night I lay in bed in fear that the cops would show up. It just kept going on and on until I cried myself to sleep.
The question for me is do I like this? I have always thought of myself as an independent person, and I still have moments of guilt thinking of them as slaves, especially since her newest is a young black man who she promptly put into a French maid uniform. That was a bit much for me, so now he wears slacks under the skirt. This can’t last forever, can it? Right now I can rationalize this all away because it is my house, but what about after she saves up to buy her own house? She promised that after she moves, I can call any time and get someone in (for free!), but then I really would be a slavemaster, and the thought of such corruption both troubles me and thrills me at the same time.
Some of the most wonderful, emotionally fulfilling sex I ever had was when my then-wife and I were dating a couple, and it was all four of us in bed together.
Really very lovely.
—Myca
Probably one of the most fulfilling kink relationships I ever had was a phone relationship with a friend who lived about a dozen states and one time zone away. I am a top/spanker, and she was most definitely a bottom/spankee. We were friends for several months before any play began. She was one of those who could be started off fast, without a warm-up, as long as the start-up period didn’t last too long.
Some of our best sessions were when she would be punished, lectured for some (imagined) slight during it, go through several implements, and then be finished with a long, hard paddling that I would vary via voice control during the lecture. (ie: “Now you know how much you hate when I have to do this. Faster. Yet you keep misbehaving. You keep doing what I tell you not to do. I said faster; that’s not faster.” That sort of thing.) Her task was to let me know when she was reaching certain points, including the point of no return (tears).
And we would continue on after that for another minute or two, and finish off with ten good swats, usually hand-spanks that needed to be repeated until she got the sound just right.
The orgasms she had nearly destroyed the earpiece of my phone.
Then the tables would be turned and she got to be the top for a little while, and I learned that I also like receiving as much as I like giving.
to ferg:
I would have trouble with it too…to be honest, I don’t think I would be able to stand it; I would feel too guilty, too selfish, too bothered by that word, “slave”. But I find it difficult not to question lifestyle choices which I don’t understand…maybe it’s the conservative christian household I grew up in, I dunno.
At least, I would try to seek them out and ask them, Did you choose this, REALLY choose this, not get forced or pressured into it? Does it REALLY make you happy?
Then again, who knows whether they’d feel comfortable answering that question, or whether I have a right to ask it?
Perhaps the best thing to do is to make sure you give them approval and appreciation for what they do, and not take it for granted?
I think Mel’s feedback is honest and appreciated, but I’d like to ask that people try to keep it to the positive.
(Mel, love the cartoon on your site.)
Okay, I’ve got one. My girlfriend and I had just finished helping a friend put on a fundraising party for her BDSM B&B up in the mountains. We had been there since Saturday morning, setting stuff up. The partygoers arrived Saturday evening and played until they were exhausted (at which point we shoehorned them into too-few beds…which is a story in and of itself).
Anyways, so it was Sunday, around noonish. The attendees had eaten breakfast and left, the owner and her sub were collapsed on the couch, barely conscious, and the GF and I had things mostly cleaned up and were in need of a little recreation. Out came the single-tail, which made me very happy. Normally we don’t have room to play with the single-tail, except at parties — and I had never played outside before. What fun!
So we went outside, under the trees and the sky, both of us butt-naked, no other houses for miles around, and she started going to town. I got to giggling, which is kind of normal for me when I get the really stingy stuff (drives tops nuts, which is fun in and of itself) and I guess I made enough noise that the owner had to get off the couch and come see what was going on.
Oops. Turns out there was a house a few hundred yards away. And she had noticed the guy before, with binoculars, watching folks skinny-dipping in the pool. And we were standing in the part of the yard that he could see quite clearly. But the look on her face was priceless…not quite worth interrupting our happy fun whipping session, but almost.
The cops never arrived, so I guess maybe he wasn’t home.
p.s. I’m enjoying reading these. Thanks everybody! More!
My happy-poly story is long, but of the sort that tells briefly: I’m in a long-term poly marriage with two partners, and all of us are poly-orientated and have known it since adolescence/whenever we first encountered the concepts. In short, I’m thankful for the existence of other people like me; with them I can have an honest and happy relationship because they share my basic instincts about what a relationship means. My partners are wonderful people. We’ve been together for three years. I’m temporarily living at a distance, which is the only sad part. I’m eager to come home, and I hope for many more years.
Well, I’ve had my share of disaster stories, so it is wonderful to be able to share happy ones, I’ve enjoyed reading!