“Do you have Leash Feelings?” my then-partner asked when I excitedly announced Stockroom was sending me a leash. I could understand his surprise: this wasn’t something I’d ever mentioned, in sexts or dirty talk or idle kink banter. But as with many kink accoutrements, I could see how it might be fun with the right partner, and I was eager to test that hypothesis.
Unlike some other pervs I know, I don’t particularly feel drawn to animal roleplay. I don’t relish the thought of being commanded to crawl on all fours or being kept in a cage (though that might have something to do with my chronic hip and knee pain). My closest thing to a pet-play dalliance is a fondness for being called names like “kitten,” “bunny,” and “bug.” But pet-play isn’t the only use for a leash in a kink scene.
You can attach a leash to someone’s collar or chest harness and use it to pull them in for a kiss, or to pull them closer to your body while they give you head. You can tug the leash to guide them along if they’re blindfolded or otherwise unable to see where they’re going. You can attach the leash to their strap-on harness and pull on it to gain some control over the pace at which they’re fucking you. You can use the leash as an unmistakeable symbol of ownership while out together at a kink event. You can clip the leash to the chain between a pair of nipple clamps and pull on it from a distance – to keep your partner at attention while you casually read a book and ignore them, for example. You can use sharp tugs on a leash to keep a partner on task while they perform service duties like bootblacking, erotic shaving, foot worship or rimming. You can put it on them and simply hold it, to establish and mutually bask in a delicious sense of trust and consensual power exchange. There are so many options.
This KinkLab pink leather leash is simple and well-made. It’s 0.75″ wide, 29″ long, and has a spring hook on one end and a wrist loop on the other. There is nothing fancy about it, but a leash doesn’t need to be fancy.
My one complaint about this product is that the leather sheds a little: my friend ended up with pink linty bits on her red velvet dress after the photoshoot we did for this review. But other than that, it’s pretty standard, and does what it says on the tin. You can even coordinate it with other pink KinkLab items for a matchy-matchy bondage ensemble. Cute!
I’m between kink partnerships at the moment, so I haven’t had a chance to try out this leash in an actual kink scene. But I’m determined that one day I will – and it’ll be hot as fuuuck.
Thanks to Taylor J Mace for taking all the photos in this post, and to my friend A. for being my co-model/faux-domme! Thanks also to Stockroom for sending me this product to review.
Happy Friday the 13th and early Halloween, my loves! Nightstand Necessities is a feature where I pick a fictional character and imagine what sex products they would own. Previously: Rosa Diaz, Chuck Bass. Content note: this post contains mentions of bloodplay, knives, bruising, and hypothetical death/murder. Also note that this post describes leaving someone in bondage for hours, which you shouldn’t do in real life because it’s a safety issue.
Wednesday Addams has been a known troublemaker ever since, as a child, she obsessively guillotined her dolls and attempted to execute her brother Pugsley in an electric chair. Now, all grown up, she’s the sadistic domme she never knew she could be until she discovered the kink scene. (Secretly, she still takes joy in decapitating dolls, and wonders what it would look like if she’d thrown that switch while Pugsley was strapped down.)
You meet her at a goth fetish club, which she finds boring because bloodplay is strictly not allowed on the premises (“Even if it’s consensual and you’re professionally trained in switchblade safety,” she whines, pouting and rolling her kohl-rimmed eyes). She’s bedecked in an elegant black dress and a black leather choker bearing the word “Mistress.” From her black PVC clutch, she produces a ballgag. “You’d look good with this in your mouth,” she deadpans, in what you don’t immediately realize is her way of flirting.
Less than an hour later, she’s throwing you onto a bed in a nearby hotel. (“I don’t want to ruin my sheets,” she explained when you looked quizzical.) She dumps out her little clutch on the bed and out tumbles a menagerie of silver-glinting implements.
The bed is pre-fitted with under-the-bed restraints. (“I have this room on retainer,” she purrs with a shrug. “It’s neater.”) After a brief consent negotiation so smooth as to seem practiced, she cuffs you and tugs the straps tight. You’re mentally comparing your current predicament to medieval torture racks – only hot – when she lifts a Wartenberg wheel from her sadistic stack of utensils. “Close your eyes,” she barks as she begins to roll it along your left arm. “It’s more fun that way.” The metal tines creep along your skin in tingly little lines. You catch yourself thinking, I’ve never felt anything like this, unsure if you mean the Wartenberg wheel or the crushy feelings growing fonder in your heart the longer you spend with this mysterious, witchy minx.
Hours later, your body is rife with scratches, bite marks, and hickeys. Your thighs are bruised from a heavy paddling you’re astonished to have begged for. And now you find yourself begging for something else: you want her to fuck you. Maybe you need it. Maybe you will actually die if she doesn’t. (Maybe she would like that.)
She quirks an eyebrow at your pathetic form on the bed. “I hardly think you’ve earned that, but okay.”
Soundlessly, she unzips her dress, which somehow has remained on and impeccable through this entire rigamarole. A cold smile crosses her face when she catches you outright staring at the way her creamy, bloodless skin peeks through her black lace lingerie. “Turn over,” she commands, and laughs wryly as you struggle against your bonds to try to obey. She unbuckles the cuffs and gives you just a few seconds to rub at the welts that have formed on your wrists before she kicks you over with her shiny leather boot. “Now.”
You arrange yourself on all fours. In the carpet-dampened acoustics of the otherwise silent hotel room, you hear the telltale clicking and creaking of a lithe goth princess stepping into a leather harness. Then the soft slick squelch of lube being applied. Then… a clink? Maybe one of her sparkling rings tapping against a…?
You don’t have time to finish the thought, because suddenly something cold and wet collides with your most sensitive bits, and you squeak your surprise. As your body acclimatizes to the sensation, you realize it’s a glass dildo. And it’s huge and veiny. And it’s strapped to Wednesday. And she’s pushing it inside you.
You’re so turned on already from those hours of delicious torture that you don’t even need warm-up. The veins are tricky at first but then they’re fine – better than fine, divine – and you’re pushing back against her, breath catching. “Did I say you could move?” she warns, and stills. You drop your forehead to the cheap hotel bedspread and let all the tension melt out of your body, til you’re just her plaything. Her good little fucktoy. “There you go,” you barely hear her say as she resumes those long strokes in and out of you.
Wednesday keeps her grip firm on your hips. “You’ve been so good for me,” she murmurs. “And this is your reward.” The glass cock slides in to the hilt, then out to the tip. You groan into the pillow beneath you. “Next time I won’t be so nice.” It’s with this that the orgasm building within you coils and tips and you’re spilling, coming, yelling hard into soap-scented bedlinens, lips forming something like “Wednesday.”
Minutes later, when you’ve caught your breath, you turn to the side and see her, stately in the high-backed hotel-room armchair. She’s dragging on a black and gold cigarette in flagrant violation of hotel fire safety regulations, legs crossed at the knee, wearing nothing but her black harness and black boots.
“Come here, pet,” she says, and you kneel at her feet. She strokes your hair as you begin licking and kissing her boots. You’ve never done this before with anyone else. You’ve never wanted to. But here, beside this pale and devastating queen who smells like leather and blood oranges, there’s nothing else you’d rather do. You feel safe with her fingernails scritching along your scalp and your tongue lathing all the leather you can find.
This post was sponsored by the excellent folks at SheVibe! Go shop their wonderful selection of sex toys, lingerie, kink gear, and more. As always, all writing and opinions are my own. All the photos in this post were taken by my friend Cadence, who is magnificent.
Beloved artisanal glass dildo company Fucking Sculptures has opted to shut down, after years of cranking out unspeakable beauty. This announcement makes me even more proud and protective of the Fucking Sculptures I own, which I already consider so precious I won’t even fly with them lest they get lost in transit.
For those who still dream of fucking a Fucking Sculpture, I’ve compiled some suggestions for other dildos that might live up to their hype, at least sensation-wise. Read on for dildo dupes…
The G-Spoon was my first Fucking Sculpture, and is still, to this day, one of the best A-spotters I’ve ever owned. Mine is on the cusp between medium and large, so it’s big enough to feel impactful but small enough that its weight doesn’t bother me; long enough to reach my A-spot but not so wide as to bump my cervix; curved enough for G-spot stimulation but not so much it can’t get all up into deeper spots. Really, the only thing I don’t like about it is, I wish there was more extra length I could use as a handle. I could thrust a lot faster and harder if more than an inch of the toy stuck out of me when fully inserted.
What to try instead:
• The stainless steel Njoy Fun Wand is about the same length as my G-Spoon, but slimmer. It can hit my G-spot and A-spot with equal aplomb, but in a slightly more pinpointed way than the G-Spoon. The steel feels just as heavy and firm as Fucking Sculptures’ glass does. Like the G-Spoon, the Fun Wand leaves me with almost no handle if I insert it all the way, but it does indeed hit the spots I want it to. Plus that bloopy end feels great in a butt.
• I haven’t tried the Fifty Shades Darker Deliciously Deep steel dildo or the Crowned Jewels Shaftsbury, but they’re both of comparable dimensions to my G-Spoon and have the gentle curve I’ve come to associate with good A-spot toys.
• This Spartacus glass G-spot dildo, is, again, of similar dimensions to my G-Spoon and has the straight shaft + curved tip I’ve often found effective for A-spot stimulation. The looped handle would make it easy to thrust with, too.
• I’ve found the Icicles #53 effective for deep stimulation, though it’s a bit girthier than the G-Spoon at 1.5″, so if you have a cervix that’s particularly low and/or sensitive to pain, I wouldn’t recommend it for that purpose.
• A vibrating option, incase you’re into that: the Jopen Vanity VR9 is long, gently curved, and offers two differently-sized ends for exploring your various internal spots.
I consider the Pussywillow relatively unremarkable compared to my other two Fucking Sculptures, sensation-wise, though it’s still beautiful. Mine is a medium-sized, triple-blooped, softly curved dildo that stimulates my G-spot gently with one end and can nudge my A-spot with the other.
What to try instead:
• The Fifty Shades of Grey Drive Me Crazy glass dildo has gentle bloops of about the same diameter as my Pussywillow. It’ll rub your G-spot, but not nearly as intensely as something like, say, the Pure Wand.
• The Icicles #18 has one straight, mildly textured end, and one end that’s much more curved and textured. Like the Pussywillow, it’ll allow you to explore a few different internal spots and sensations.
• The Icicles #8 is straight (though still bloopy), so if you know you like your G-spot stimulation gentle as fuck, you’ll dig this one more than a curved toy.
• For more intense G-spot sensation but with similar texture, try the Sinclair Institute Crystal G. That long handle should make it easier to thrust with.
The Double Trouble is my priciest and most prized Fucking Sculpture, by far. I use it solo and with partners, and it always satisfies. Its deal is that it somehow manages to be alarmingly girthy (6″ around the smaller end, 6.5″ around the larger) while also hitting my A-spot amazingly. (I wish I had an X-ray machine so I could see exactly how it accomplishes this, because it’s a mystery to me.) I don’t use it much these days because my vag isn’t as enthused about girth as it used to be, but when I really want to feel filled up and deeply fucked, I can’t imagine a toy I’d prefer over the Dub Trubz.
What to try instead:
• The other major contender in the “big, heavy, firm, double-ended, gently S-shaped dildo” category is the Njoy Eleven, another favorite of mine. I find it much more G-spot-centric than my Double Trouble, since I can’t get the Eleven’s big end deep enough inside me to rub my A-spot firmly, though it does graze it a little if I push it as deep as it’ll comfortably go. If you crave Fucking Sculptures for their beauty, durability, and “wow” factor, the Eleven will tick all those boxes for you too.
• If you want something shaped like the Eleven but less expensive, less heavy, and less huge, try the Dorcel So: it’s essentially a smaller, silicone Eleven clone. Its more minuscule girth makes it likelier to be able to hit your A-spot, if that’s what you’re after.
• The Dorr Silker vibrator isn’t as thick as the Double Trouble, but its insertable end is shaped very similarly to my favorite end of the DT, so I think it might feel comparable. Plus it vibrates, if you want it to!
• The Lumberjill Knob is a girthy-as-fuck double-ended dildo like the Dub Trubz, so it’ll fill you up real good, though I can’t personally attest to its A-spotting abilities.
• I’m intrigued by two silicone potential contenders, the Maia Riley and Doc Johnson Beauty. Both are long enough to hit your A-spot (probably), girthy enough to feel filling through the shaft (1.6″ and 1.9″, respectively), and have the tapered and slightly curved tip that tends to work well for A-spots. And they’re both under $35, so if you’re not up for a big investment, these are relatively safe bets.
• There’s sadly not a lot of girthy glass out there, but try the relatively inexpensive Spartacus Blown Medium (1.5″ diameter) or Blown Large (1.75″) if that’s what you’re cravin’. The Medium has a slight curve, while the Large is totally straight, so if width isn’t a dealbreaker, I’d lean toward the Medium for spot-targeting purposes.
This post was sponsored by the good folks at SheVibe. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.
When Doxy gifted me a Die Cast, I heard proverbial angels singing from heaven. Because I knew orgasms aplenty were on my horizon.
See, if one thing is true about Doxy wands, it’s that they are strong. I’m not the ideal person to be reviewing Doxy wands, in fact, because I’m so sensitive I barely use the power for which they’re famous. My Die Cast is the only toy in my regular rotation that I always wish had a lower speed. I turn it on and think, “This can’t possibly be where we’re starting. This is a higher speed than most of my vibes end at.”
But don’t get me wrong: it gives me orgasms nonetheless. Lots and lots of ’em.
The Die Cast is an updated version of the original Doxy Wand. While it’s hard to find fault with a strong, rumbly wand vibe, I have a couple quibbles with my original Doxy: the buttons sometimes get stuck and skip speeds, and the squishy PVC head makes the vibrations feel somewhat buried. Both these issues are fixed in the Die Cast, so I use it far more and enjoy it more when I do.
The Die Cast’s head is silicone, so it’s non-porous and easier to clean. It also transmits vibrations better than the PVC did, so it feels even stronger than the original wand. The head is “double-weighted,” too – a technology that is supposed to make the Die Cast’s vibrations feel rumblier. When I use the original Doxy, I only go up to the second speed; with the Die Cast, I literally only ever use the first one. (I know, right?!)
This is, if anything, my one major complaint about the Die Cast: I wish it had some lower speeds. While using it, I’ve often had the thought, “This thing is like the belt sander of sex toys.” True, I can hold it on my outer labia so it only stimulates my clit indirectly, or use it through clothes, or employ other techniques I’ve developed for dealing with overzealous wand vibes, but I would rather not have to do all that. If it’s been a few days since I’ve used a vibrator, often the Die Cast will feel alarmingly, almost uncomfortably strong, prompting me to grab a weaker vibe to use as a warm-up until I’m ready for more.
The Die Cast’s body is made of a titanium/aluminum alloy. It feels super sexy and sensual – and I love the glittery texture of my red one! – but it makes this wand heavier than the original. I only tend to notice this when I’ve been using it for a while or when my chronic joint pain is flaring up. If you have strength or mobility issues, you’ll want to go with a lighter wand.
Like many powerful vibrators, the Die Cast is lovely for forced-orgasm play. At my request, a partner cuffed me into my under-the-bed restraints and then held the head of the Die Cast in his palm, pressing it against my clit while he pushed two fingers inside me and muttered filthy shit in my ear. After I came so hard I practically ascended to heaven, my beau grinned and said, “Are you glad you asked me to do that?” and yeah, I really, really was. However, like I’ve said, the Die Cast is somewhat heavy, so it’s not as well-suited to forced-orgasm scenes as something lighter like the Magic Wand Rechargeable.
The MWR also has the benefit of being cordless, while the Doxy wands are corded. This doesn’t bother me when I have the space and forethought to leave my wand plugged in, but if it’s a choice between standing up to plug in an unplugged wand and just grabbing my MWR, usually my lazy ass will go for the MWR.
Noise-wise, the Die Cast is comparable to most other electric vibes of this power level: definitely audible if you’re in the room with it, but probably undetectable through walls and doors.
On the whole, I’ve still been reaching for my beloved Tango and MWR more often than the Die Cast, because I like their wider variety of gentler speeds and that they’re lighter and easier to hold than this big heavy behemoth. But if you need power, and want it to come in an absolutely stunning package, I can’t recommend the Doxy Die Cast highly enough. It’s gorgeous, well-made, and does the fucking trick.
Thanks very much to Doxy for supplying me with this wand to review! You can buy the Die Cast at Peepshow ($200 USD), SheVibe ($190 USD), or Come As You Are ($236 CAD/~$190 USD).
Freelance Friday is a new regular feature where I’ll be answering your questions about my life as a freelance journalist, blogger, copywriter, and all-around sexy scribe. If you have questions for this feature, feel free to leave ’em in the comments, or email me!
Q. I want to hear about the very beginning! The baby blog! Mistakes you made, what you wish you knew. What you surprised yourself with.
A. When I started Girly Juice, I was depressed, bored, and scared. It was March 2012 and I was six months into a gap year between high school and university. I had recently decided to return to school to study journalism, but was terrified I’d hate it or wouldn’t be good at it. In the meantime, the months stretched ahead of me, blank and unyielding. Most of my friends were away at school in other provinces, so I spent most of my time alone or with my then-boyfriend. Aside from a few hours of part-time work each week coaching high school improv and doing customer service for a catering company, there was nothing to do. So I started a sex blog.
I made the mistake, initially, of assuming I had to be someone else to be successful. I tried on the voices and styles of other writers I admired in the sex niche: Epiphora‘s sardonic sass, Sinclair Sexsmith‘s erotic esoterica, Lilly‘s no-nonsense guidance. I think artists of all types have to learn through imitation, but that can’t be all that you do. I think it took me about four years of blogging here twice weekly to really find (or create) my voice. It’s hard to say what I am as a writer, exactly, but I know I’m not any of those people I longed to be like when I began.
In the early days, I blogged according to my whims, not according to a schedule – but frequently, nonetheless. I wrote three or four or five posts a week. Blogging was all I could think about. I had so many thoughts and ideas and feelings about sex. It was like that stage of a new relationship when all you want to do is tell them everything about yourself and learn everything about them. I wrote posts, promoted them on Reddit, wrote posts, promoted them on Twitter, wrote posts, told friends about them, wrote posts, tested sex toys, wrote posts, daydreamed about what my blog could become one day, wrote posts, wrote posts, kept writing posts. I loved it to death, and still do. There has never been a time when I’ve considered quitting. I can’t say that about anything else I’ve ever done in my life.
What I wish I knew when I started, and what I would like all beginning bloggers to know: your voice is valid, important, and worth spending time developing. Helpful content does better than personal content, but if you build an audience who love you, they will love your personal content too. You are not obliged to give out any more information than you want to; sharing part of your deepest heart doesn’t mean you owe the world all of it. Make friends with other bloggers as soon as possible, and don’t be afraid to ask them things, run your ideas by them, and collaborate. Brainstorm content based on what you think your ideal reader would like to read, not what your chosen topic supposedly dictates you have to stick to. Keep transforming, growing, challenging yourself. And make at least some of your choices based on what will make for the better story.
Q. How many hours go into daily blog work? Do you count sexcapades as part of your work, or are they just fun and you write about some of them?
A. I once went to a job interview for a copywriter position at a hip young advertising startup. The stern dude interviewing me scanned my résumé and asked, “How much time do you spend working on your blog?”
I ran a quick mental calculation, knowing at the same time that he wasn’t really curious about numbers – he wanted to know where my focus would be, if he hired me. Whether I would be hunched over a slick Mac in his exposed-brick office building on a Wednesday afternoon, writing copy for a cooking blog client while secretly pondering dildos and floggers. “I spend about 10 hours a week on my blog, but obviously, if you hired me, I would only do that on my own time,” I told him. I thought it was a ridiculous question. You wouldn’t ask a weekend golfer if his games would cut into his office hours. You wouldn’t ask a foodie if she’d be playing hookie for restaurant openings. Smart, responsible professionals know how to compartmentalize.
That ad agency didn’t hire me, and I wonder if they thought 10 hours a week spent on blogging was 10 hours too many. I’m not sorry, either, since that’s about when my blog started to take off and make me decent money.
These days, I’d guess I spend closer to 15 hours per week on this here blog. There’s writing, researching, editing, formatting, scheduling, marketing, corresponding with retailers and sponsors, testing toys, taking photographs, managing my website’s backend, updating pages and old reviews, making affiliate links, keeping track of my earnings, and maintaining my social media presence. Not all of these things feel like work, but they are, nonetheless (which is why I laugh when well-meaning strangers find out about my job and ask, “So you just, like, get paid to masturbate?!”).
I don’t consider sexcapades part of my work because I don’t pursue them for work reasons. I can think of few things more depressing and artificial than seeking out sexual partners purely for blog fodder (though I applaud bloggers who are able to do this happily and well, I am not one of them). If I was sleuthing out sexual experiences to write posts about, I would look for difficult or strange experiences – but instead, I mostly just try to find good ones. If an experience inspires me to write something, that’s cool, but it’s never my main goal – except for that time I sat on a cake.
Got questions about the #FreelanceLyfe or what it’s like being a sex blogger? Ask ’em in the comments, or send me an email!