On Being a Sex Doll

Kate Sloan

Content note: this post deals with consensual objectification and erotic hypnosis. It also mentions dissociation during sex.

 

For many people, sex is about being intensely immersed in the moment. Synapses fire, nerve endings sparkle, lungs undulate, hearts hammer. You’re hyper-aware of every feeling, every word. Your mind records the memory in technicolor and real-time.

But what about sex where you lose focus, drift away inside your brain, and zone out? That can be wonderful, too, in its own way.

Let me be clear: I am not talking about dissociation, the likes of which one might experience during a trauma or a mental health episode. That’s a big issue for many people during sex, for various reasons, and usually characterized as something unwanted. What I am talking about is a wanted thing, a consensual thing: sex while deliciously mindless.

This type of sex is mostly what I think of now when I look at pictures of sex dolls. I don’t have a penis, and I’m not usually attracted to feminine people (or their silicone facsimiles), so I don’t think about fucking these dolls so much as being one. Being a toy made for someone else’s pleasure, a receptacle for release, an outlet for the stresses and tensions of the day.

Girl on the Net, a fellow submissive and rough-sex aficionado, put it thusly: “Fuck me like you’re wanking.” I nodded along when I read her post, recognizing in her fantasy my own long-held desire to be used. This isn’t the type of sex I want all the time, or even most of the time – I usually prefer to be treasured, adored, doted upon – but sometimes I just need to turn off my brain and my own needs and wants and be someone’s fucktoy.

More pieces of this fantasy clicked into place when I started dating a hypnosis kinkster. There’s a lot of crossover between hypnokink and fantasies like “dollification” and “bimbofication”: reducing a usually competent, articulate person to a static, dim-witted version of themselves. At first, I didn’t understand this fantasy – who would want to feel unintelligent, especially in a situation where seeming attractive is important to most of us? – but, in deeper subsequent explorations of subspace, I’ve come to understand why someone might want to feel… not lesser-than, but… blank.

It’s nice to have a quiet, calm mind sometimes, especially for those of us with anxiety disorders that keep our thoughts racing at breakneck speeds toward nothing in particular – and especially in situations like sex, where thoughts of inadequacy and insecurity can quickly blossom.

I can imagine my partner taking me down into a deep trance and telling me, in his serene baritone, that I am a doll. A sex toy for his use and enjoyment. Maybe he’d describe my attributes to me, to paint a clearer picture in my mind; I’d want to be blonde and busty, like the Christa sex doll. He’d help me empty my brain out, leaving behind nothing but silicone skin and a blank stare. And then I’d be ready for him to fuck me, use me, take out his stresses on me.

You might be wondering what I would get out of fulfilling a fantasy I wouldn’t even be mentally present for. It would thrill me and please me, in retrospect, to feel the signs of having been consensually used without having a clear memory of what exactly was done to me. But the abyss of trance is its own pleasure, in a way. Imagine times you’ve zoned out while staring out a car window or waiting in line; perhaps you couldn’t fully remember, once you came back, where you’d been or what you’d been thinking about – because, quite likely, it was nothing at all. That blank state, when accessed with purpose and care, can feel like a warm blanket thrown over your brain: safe, cozy, and lovely in and of itself.

And since my partner has a massive hypnosis fetish, and gets off on seeing me in trance, the vacant look in my eyes would make me an even better sex toy for him.

 

Thanks so much to the folks at SexDolls.com for sponsoring this post!

That Time I Pissed In My Boyfriend’s Mouth

Kate Sloan

Content note: this post deals heavily and graphically with watersports/piss-play, and also mentions Daddy Dom/little girl roleplay, impact play, and tipsy sex.

Bex: How do you not have a watersports kink?!
Me: You know… It might be dormant. It might be latent. I’m not not into pee, is the thing. I could be persuaded. But it would have to be with the right person.
-the bodily fluids episode of The Dildorks

I guess I should’ve suspected I was into pee when I started drinking my own at age 10.

Not often, mind you. Not, like, as part of my daily routine. It wasn’t a step in my beauty regimen. I didn’t even have a beauty regimen. I was 10.

No; I started doing it because I was curious. After discovering the wonders of orgasms via bath faucet at 9, I went on to learn that if I kept rubbing my clit shortly after coming, I would get the urge to pee. Fascinated by this expulsion, and at first believing it to be some kind of special fluid imbued with sexual meaning rather than straight-up urine, I tried letting it out into a cup and then sampling it – ’cause hey, why not? (Years later, I discovered the concept of retrograde ejaculation as it pertains to people with vulvas, and I wonder now if that’s what was going on back then – so maybe my ideas about the content and purpose of the liquid weren’t entirely wrong.)

I didn’t keep records on this kind of thing back then – not like I do now – so I don’t have the insight I wish I had about my exact motivations for doing this and continuing to do it, nor do I recall how many times I did it, exactly. But I do know that it cemented in my mind the idea that pee just isn’t that gross (at least, not to me). This core belief probably informed a lot of my later work: my sex-positive conviction that even seemingly “disgusting” kinks are just fine if consensual, my science-heavy writing on the differences between peeing and squirting, and – now – my forays into watersports.

If you don’t know, the word “watersports” – in a kink context, not an athletic one – refers to activities involving the erotic enjoyment of urine and/or urination. It’s also known as “golden showers,” though I prefer the more holistic “watersports” moniker because not all piss-play involves getting showered in pee. There are other things you can do with that liquid gold!

Watersports is one of those kinks that I was always vaguely curious about but had little motivation to actually try. My interest ramped up when my best friend tried it and described it as “surprisingly chill” (but then, Bex is surprisingly chill about most kinks). I figured, if I ever gave it a shot, it’d either be a one-off encounter with a fetishist for whom piss-play was central to their enjoyment of sex, or an intimate exploration with an open-minded long-term partner. As it happened, the latter situation was the one that arose first.

My Sir and I have frequent conversations about new kinks we’d like to try together. As he’s pointed out to me, this is actually a foundational aspect of our relationship: part of what cemented our newfound intimacy when we first started dating was our full-hearted willingness to try out each other’s biggest kinks – mine being DD/lg, his being hypnosis – each without having ever tried the other person’s before. There is nothing quite like the intimate rush of trying something new with someone you’re really into, and the more we did it, the more we liked it and the better it felt. Monitoring and discussing our burgeoning fantasies became a structured part of our relationship; we do it at least a few times a month, when we make to-do lists for our in-person dates and do our bimonthly relationship health check-ins.

It was in one such discussion that piss-play first came up in our relationship. We were out at the best restaurant in the world (seriously), sipping cocktails, when I glanced over at him and mused, “We should do watersports sometime.” He agreed, enthusiastically. And so it began.

Our first try was simple and small, because that’s what I wanted. I’m the type of person who likes to tiptoe into new things when possible, rather than jumping in at full force. We agreed that I would kneel in front of him in the shower and he would pee on my chest. (The toilet at my apartment was also, incidentally, broken at the time, so, uh, our timing was fortuitous.) I closed my eyes and felt the warmth flow onto me; it was only as gross as it ever is to be achingly close to the genitals of someone you love and love to fuck, which is to say, it wasn’t gross at all. The next time we tried it was the same, except that I asked him to aim for my face instead. Once again, it was totally fine. It didn’t turn me on, exactly, but it made me feel closer to him, which is sometimes the whole point of kink.

However, unlike me, my Sir is the sort of person who likes to leap into new things with his whole self. (This, for reference, is the same guy who went from “DD/lg? Never heard of it!” to “Let’s be in a 24/7 DD/lg dynamic!”) In one of our pre-date planning sessions, he told me he wanted me to pee on him. “Where?” I asked. He replied, “Literally anywhere.” Ever a hyper-curious kink nerd, I asked him about his motivations for wanting this, and he said:

“I want you to pee on me because I want you to mark me in the same way I’ve marked you so we’re each other’s, because all of your bodily fluids have turned me on (tears, cum, blood, sweat) and I think this one will too, because I want to be vulnerable in that way, because I’ve never tried it before and I want to try it with you first, and because thinking about you standing over me, using your cunt to spray your pee on my face, turns me on. I love getting you all over me. I want more of it.”

As an anxious person is wont to do, I started plotting and mentally rehearsing what I wanted to do, and by the time we saw each other next – for a weekend getaway to Boston – I had it all figured out.

We agreed that the best time for this activity to occur would probably be after a night out at a cocktail bar, because a) being slightly tipsy often makes me dommier and b) lots of liquids, y’know? We stopped by Drink for a couple of Saturday-night bevs. Toward the end of our time there, I gestured vaguely toward the bathroom and said, “I guess I shouldn’t go to the –” and Sir interrupted, “No, you shouldn’t. And drink all of this,” sliding a full glass of water toward me. I already had to pee, so I knew we were off to a good start.

En route back to our hotel in an Uber, I started pulling his hair and lightly slapping his face, to get us both into the right headspace for what we wanted to do. It’s uncommon for us to switch up our dynamic – I’m submissive to him probably 95% of the time – but we’ve done it enough times that I basically know how to summon my inner domme when I need to. As we got out of the car in front of the Godfrey, I thrust my pink purse into his hands and instructed him to carry it up to our room for me. Watching him do this got me feeling even more in control.

When we finally got back to our room, I told him to go into the bathroom, take off all his clothes, and lie down naked in the shower. I waited by the bed and had to pee so bad by this point that I couldn’t sit still and had to pace tensely around the room. I took off all my clothes except my underwear, because I was concerned that if I removed them, too, I’d accidentally pee on the nice hotel carpeting!

Once he was ready, I went into the bathroom and saw him lying naked on the shower stall floor as requested. As I slid my panties off, I said, “Tell me what you want,” because consent, as you know, is important. “I want you to pee on me,” he said. “On your chest and on your face and in your mouth?” I clarified, and he said, “Yes.”

That was all I needed. I straddled his chest and stared down into his blue eyes, wide with submission and maybe a little bit of fear. “Ready?” I asked. “Yes, Princess,” he said. I started to piss on his hairy chest and heard him moan, immediately, like he’d been waiting a while for this, because he had. So had I.

I knew I had a fair volume of liquid to work with, but nonetheless I moved up onto his face fairly quickly. As I looked down and saw his open mouth filling with my piss, I began laughing – a devious domly cackle I couldn’t control. It was just such an absurd situation, a delightful power trip. He swallowed the whole mouthful, and I moved off his face to give him time to breathe, but before too long he was panting, “Please, Princess, I can take more,” and who’s gonna say no to that? I let loose into his mouth again, watching it fill up a second time, only to be swallowed once more. What a good boy.

I stayed astride him once I was done, intermittently slapping his pretty face while pulling with fascination at his urine-soaked hair. As you might know, kink can heighten your perceptions to a kind of technicolor vividity, so I remember with total clarity the way it smelled in the room, the way his damp hair felt in my hands, and most of all, the helpless and utterly enamored look in his eyes as he gazed up at me. I felt totally powerful and wholly sure of myself – a rare feeling for me, given my relative lack of experience with dominance. It was a moment of crystalline intimacy unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced in kink.

After slapping him around a bit more, I got up and turned on the shower so he could wash off. I handed him, in turn, the little hotel-provided bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He asked – so sweetly – if he could shave his face so it would be smooth enough for me to sit on, and I watched him closely as he did so. His submission and obedient headspace were evident in his every movement, as he eliminated all traces of roughness from his gorgeous face so his Princess could sit atop it like a throne.

Once we were both clean, we retreated to the bed for more switchy D/s fun: impact play, facesitting, a long teasing blowjob, and more. But the watersports in the shower is what has stuck with me from that encounter. It’s seared into my brain. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

The only thing we wish we’d done differently, in hindsight, is keeping him better hydrated after the piss-play portion of the scene. He was pretty dehydrated throughout and too subspacey to communicate it until afterward, when I brought him a glass of water. It hadn’t occurred to me to plan for this because it hadn’t occurred to me that he would swallow that much of me. We’ll know for next time!

We’ve had several subsequent conversations about the intensity of that scene, its singularity in our sex lives both individually and as a couple, and our mutual desire to try more watersports in the future. As with most of the times I’ve tried a new kink with a partner, I feel this one pulled us closer together and cemented our bond even further. And it was also – unexpectedly – really fucking hot.

Love and Lust: The Universal Language?

Kate Sloan
At the top of the Palatino in Rome.

Where did the fantasy first arise in my life of having sex with someone who doesn’t speak English and whose language I do not speak? Was it the Love Actually subplot where a British befuddled Colin Firth has an awkward-yet-romantic dalliance with his Portuguese housekeeper Aurélia? Was it the lesbian erotica story I read in some anthology whose name has been lost to time, where an English-speaking tourist meets and seduces an exclusively Spanish-speaking woman at a nightclub while on vacation? Did I see it in porn somewhere and internalize it? How did this become one of my formative ideas of the magical heights of romance?

Though the lingual disconnect is played for laughs in Love Actually and spun into lusty wonder in the erotica story, it obviously poses many real-life logistical issues that could prove unsurmountable. These romanticizing tales want us to believe love (or lust) is the ultimate human “language,” that it can overcome cultural barriers and connect us even in the face of communication obstacles. This narrative erases and harms asexual and aromantic people, and it isn’t even accurate. Humans developed language for a reason: we need it. Sex and romance are nebulous enough already, even when you do speak the same language, because often these feelings are difficult to put into words, even for yourself. Being reduced to gestures and facial expressions when trying to explain your feelings to someone seems like hell, especially for someone like me who thrives on words of affirmation.

Not to mention: in our recent (and less recent) cultural conversations about consent, it’s become clear that verbal consent is the gold standard for ensuring a sexual encounter is on the up-and-up. There are certainly ways to acquire and give consent non-verbally, and arguably most consent is given and gotten in this way, but I think it only works because it’s usually combined with some verbal element. Sure, you can read someone’s body terrifically, but at some point you’re probably gonna ask, “Is this okay?” or “You like that?” or “You want more?” and it’s hard for me to imagine navigating sex safely and responsibly without the ability to even do that.

That said, I’d be lying if I claimed this fantasy never crosses my mind anymore. Like many fantasies, it’s unfettered by logistical considerations when I ponder it in private moments. I can imagine that me and this other person can read each other’s bodies perfectly, almost like we’re reading each other’s minds, without needing a common language to know each other’s most intimate wishes. Afflicted by anxiety, my brain often floods with worrying words during sex – the very activity that’s said to steal your words away and quiet your mind – so it’s, in some ways, a comfort to consider sex wholly without words. Who would I be, and what would I feel, if I could quiet my mind and focus only on my body and someone else’s?

I think another movie, Before Sunrise, fanned the flames of this fantasy for me. In it, two travelers – who are from different continents but both speak English – have a chance meeting on a train zooming through Europe and embark on an impulsive all-night adventure in Vienna. I’ve longed to go to Vienna since seeing this film; the landscapes and locations strike me as achingly romantic. And because I’m a perv, I imagine that if I met an attractive German-speaking local there, we’d somehow flirt non-verbally, kiss under an Austrian sunset, and wander into a sex shop or Fleshlight store together to look at the “mini vibratoren” that we would then use in a majestically-lit hotel room later on.

Verbal communication is pretty much the only type I’m good at – and sometimes not even that – but somehow, in my fantasy, I get by just fine without it. And there’s a lot of kissing and orgasms and maybe some giggling atop a giant Ferris wheel.

Do you have any fantasies that you know wouldn’t work in reality?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

A Month’s Worth of Phone Sex

Kate Sloan

Content notes for this post (in alphabetical order): ageplay, alcohol, bruising, bullying, confined spaces, consensual non-consent, Daddy Dom/little girl roleplay, face-fucking, fingerfucking, hypnosis, impact play, incest roleplay, intoxication, marijuana, objectification, self-harm, semi-public sex, sleepy sex.

September 4th. I get home late after Tell Me Something Good, giggly, excited, and slightly tipsy from a double whiskey on the rocks. In telling him how the night went, I ask Sir what story he would tell about us if he ever attended TMSG, and he tells me the tale of our second date the way he would if he was in front of an audience. Then we recount some of our fave sex memories from the weekend we just spent together in Toronto, which definitely turns us both on. He instructs me to smoke some weed, as I’ve had a long, somewhat stressful day and need to relax (and also he likes how I get when I’m high). We want to do some impact, so I get out my Weal & Breech purpleheart truncheon – a mutual fave – and he directs me to start hitting my thigh with it. The rhythm of the impacts makes me a bit trancey, which he capitalizes on by having me imagine that each hit feels like his mouth on my clit, or his fingers on my G-spot, or his cock against my A-spot. He has me use the Double Trouble and Eroscillator, all the while telling me how good I am and how deep he’s fucking me, until I come to the sounds of him saying, “You like that? Is that gonna make you come, if I keep fucking you just like that?” He comes shortly after I do, making great noises. We haven’t had phone sex in 6 whole days before this (!) and it’s clear we’ve both missed it. For aftercare, he reads me some Girly Juice Ebooks tweets out loud, and then we say goodnight around 2:40AM.

September 5th. I’m already high and turned on when Sir calls me around 10:05PM, so we get into dirty talk pretty quickly. He laments how much he misses fingerbanging me, and describes his favorite aspects of that act. The weed causes this to turn me on even faster and more intensely than usual. He asks, “Have you gotten off yet today, little one?” and I haven’t, so he says, “We’ll have to do something about that.” He’s in the mood to hypnotize me again, so he takes me down into a deep trance and then, since I’m already feeling quite little (weed does that sometimes), he plants the suggestion that I will feel like a little girl desperately using all her wiles to get her daddy to fuck her. When he brings me out of trance, we do a highly literal ageplay scene wherein I’m confused by my own arousal and daddy has to explain it to me, also explaining (and demonstrating the uses of) my sexual anatomy all the while. We use the Fucking Sculptures Corkscrew (a fave) and he shows me how to hold the We-Vibe Tango on my clit while he fucks me with the toy (“You’re gonna be my good little helper, okay?”). After a while, I’m having some trouble getting off, so he has me switch to the Double Trouble (“We’re gonna use this big pretty blue glass one, see?”) and mutters in my ear about how he’s gonna keep fucking me hard after I come. When I do – loud and long – he describes unzipping his pants, climbing on top of me, and shoving inside me. He’s gasping “Right there, baby, right there” when he comes about 30 seconds later. After we catch our breaths, he reads aloud the fragrance recommendations I wrote for him earlier that day, and then we joke about how we definitely have more phone sex than anyone we know who doesn’t do it professionally (easily upwards of 220 times in the ~270 days we’ve been dating at this point). He has to go to bed early to get on a plane to a work conference in the morning, so we say goodnight around midnight.

September 7th. Sir’s in a different time zone for the weekend, but we negotiate that he can wake me up at 3AM for phone sex if he wants to, because a) he likes fucking me when I’m sleepy and b) he’s my dom and I love him. He actually calls a little after 2:20AM, because he is punctual and respectful. He tries to make conversation about my day but I’m half-asleep and can’t form sentences, so he says, “Do you just want daddy to fuck you, little one?” I do. He paints a word-picture of fucking me from behind in a spooning position, slow and gentle, as befitting a sleepy girl. He tells me to use a realistic dildo so it’ll feel more authentically like his cock; I grab my current fave, the Fleshjack Brent Corrigan. It’s big, so I sleepily attempt to pour lube onto it in the dark, accidentally getting most of the lube on my belly and chest (it’s late, okay?!). It takes me a while to come, because I’m tired, and I can hear that he keeps getting close, but he just spins this into additional dirty-talk designed to ping my premature ejaculation kink (“It’s so hard for me not to come when I’m this deep inside your tight, hot cunt…”). Finally, with the Eroscillator on my clit and the Fleshjack deep inside me, I come, and then so does he. Then he says nice things to me about how good I am and how hard I’ve worked all day, until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore and have to say goodnight.

September 10th. I lament to Sir, as he’s flying back to the Eastern time zone, that I haven’t come in days (I rarely do outside of our phone sex since we started dating, honestly) and he says maybe he’ll give me two orgasms tonight, if I’m good. When he calls after getting home from the airport, we catch up and joke around for a bit, and then he says he wants to hurt me. He guides me through some impact on my right thigh with my Billiard Banger. “How is that making you feel, little one?” he asks. “Real spacey,” I reply. “Good; that’s what I want,” he says. I’ve just received a new dildo in the mail, the Uberrime Night King, so he has me use that while imagining it’s him fucking me, slow and hard. When I come hard with it and the Eroscillator, I pant, “I like that toy,” and Sir laughs and says, “I know.” An hour or more of aftercare-y giggling and chatting later, I’m craving more impact, so he has me hit my ass with the Weal & Breech truncheon until I’m spacey again. He gets audibly turned on and mentions that if he were kissing my shoulders right now, I would feel his hard cock against me – and it’s like a choose-your-own-adventure where I can decide whether I want to say goodnight and drift off into subspacey sleep, or get fucked again. I choose the latter. He has me use the Magic Wand and Double Trouble to approximate all kinds of delightful sex acts, until we both have absurdly long, strong orgasms. We sigh blissfully and say nice things to each other until we finally have to say goodnight around 3AM.

September 11th. Sir and I both had long, stressful days, full of illness and busywork and pressure, so we want to unwind together, as we often do. “It’s easier to get through the day when I remember I get to talk to my little girl at the end of it,” he tells me. “That’s a nice ritual for us.” And it is. After we both vent about what’s stressing us out, he reads a few chapters of Lolita to me (“Time for your bedtime story, little one”). Then he’s in the mood to trance me, so he asks me what I want to feel, and all I really want is to relax. During the induction, he asks me to picture a place that makes me feel relaxed, and immediately I vividly imagine myself on the Maid of the Mist. Once he’s gotten me into a deep trance, he gives me two triggers for the night: getting called “slut” will turn me on fast, and being told to “beg” will make me ask for what I’m craving most in that moment. He wakes me up and uses these two words to brilliant effect during the subsequent phone-fucking, eventually getting me so close to coming with the Eleven and Eroscillator that my mind is too empty to even think of anything to say when told to beg. We both come and then we do cuddly aftercare. My brain’s still all fuzzy and we both got the relaxing catharsis we needed.

September 12th. The trouble with keeping a phone-sex diary (or even a sex diary in general) is that you obviously don’t want to make notes during the encounter, and you certainly don’t want to make notes right after the encounter, when you’re a sweaty unraveled heap in bed. So inevitably, there will be nights like tonight, when I roll over shortly after a long phone-sex sesh and immortalize it in my phone’s Notes app with the following scribble: “some kind of ageplay idk.” Sex fries your brain sometimes. That’s okay. Even if you’re a sex blogger.

September 13th. We ask each other a series of check-in questions, modeled after my friend Taryn’s weekly check-in with her partner but specifically tailored to our relationship and our needs. One of the questions is, “What sexual fantasies are you thinking about lately?” and one that comes up this time is school-bully roleplay, something we’ve previously discussed but haven’t tried yet. Later, when the mood gets sexier, Sir says he’s in the mood to roleplay as a bully, and asks if I’m up for that. I am. There’s a silence, I giggle nervously, he asks me in his tough-guy voice what I’m laughing about, and we’re off to the races. The bully shoves me into a closet, aiming to use his sexual wiles to get me to give him my homework answers for the rest of the semester. It turns out he has a burgeoning hypnokink (who’da thought?!) and wants to hypnotize me to make the proceedings easier. He puts me into a trance and gets my suggestible little brain excited and turned on at the thought of sucking his cock. Rough fucking ensues, with him fucking my face, going down on me, and eventually fucking my cunt – quietly, there in the school closet. A new-ish protocol of ours comes into effect, whereby I’m allowed to choose and use sex toys without Sir’s permission when we’re roleplaying, to best approximate what’s happening in the scene, and I go with the Corkscrew and Eroscillator. We both come achingly hard while he’s inside me, and it takes me a long while to catch my breath. I know we’ve come back to the real world when he says, softly, “I love you, little one.”

September 15th. It’s a bad brain day. I sheepishly text Sir to tell him my anxiety is so bad that I want to hurt myself. He replies, “Well, the good news is, that’s a thing we can do. We can hurt you with supervision and safety and someone else in control. And we’re good at it.” I love him. He calls me around 10PM, and as we’re chatting about random stuff, it comes up that he’s never seen Secretary. We decide to watch it immediately. Coincidentally, it deals with the links between self-harm and consensual sadomasochism, so it feels fitting. After the movie – which we agree is problematic, yet hot – Sir has me hit my thigh with my stone crop, gently at first and then harder, until there’s a big pink bruise we both admire in the photos I take for him. Then he leads me through a comfortingly familiar phone-sex scene: I get daddy’s mouth and fingers and cock, and the Eroscillator and the Pure Wand. Afterward, he stays up with me until almost 3AM, dropping compliments left and right in his smooth baritone until I feel calm enough to go to sleep. The last thing I remember him saying is, “I love being the one who says most of the stuff when we have phone sex. I love listening to your sounds and reactions. You never have to worry you’re not saying enough, okay? This is what I want.”

September 16th. We’re both extremely stressed at work, so after some mutual ranting and consoling, we decide to do a hypno scene. I smoke some weed and put on my headphones and Sir takes me down into a deeeep trance, where he suggests that hearing the phrases “You want to tell me” and “You want to do it” will indeed make me want to tell him or do whatever he wants. When he wakes me up, he somehow intuits – as he often does – exactly which toys I want: the Double Trouble and the Eroscillator. He’ll occasionally cut through my shy giggles by saying, “What do you want? You want to tell me…” and I do. He describes holding me down and fucking me, using me as his fucktoy, taking what he wants from me. He says, in this caring, paternal voice, “I’m gonna get a little deeper so you come on the whole thing, okay?” and that pushes me over the edge; he comes soon after me and I imagine his teeth sinking into the flesh of my shoulder as he does. We talk and laugh more for about an hour – he reads me some terrible old tweets of mine – and then his voice gets dark and gruff and I know what he’s going to say before he says it: “I wanna fuck you again, little one.” I’m not turned on at all anymore, but he’s very, very good at making that happen, and I trust completely that he will. He talks about the last time he made me squirt in person – how he did it, what it felt like, why he likes it – and, whoops, now we both want to make me squirt. He tells me to slip the Seduction inside me and then talks about fingering my G-spot, first gently and then more firmly, while licking my clit. It takes me a while, but eventually I get very close, and he tells me to turn up my Magic Wand at the exact perfect moment to make me come hard. I keep pounding myself with the wooden toy afterward until I squirt a tiny amount on my sheets. Then he groans that he wants to fuck my face, and I say, “I’m sleepy, daddy,” and he promises, “You can just take a little nap while daddy fucks your face, baby,” and then he comes immediately, because, surprise, the guy who goes by “Super Sleepy Dude” online has a sleepy-sex kink! We catch our breaths and send kisses through the phone and go to sleep around 2:30AM.

September 17th. Sir’s phone is broken and getting repaired overnight so he hooks up his AirPods to his iPad (confirmed Apple nerd over here) and, even when we’re just chatting about our days, I’m vaguely aware that we’re definitely gonna have phone sex sans phone. My chronic joint pain is flaring up, so Sir wants to be gentle with me and also to give me some consensual pain to distract me from the nonconsensual kind. He has me slap my face over FaceTime (…FaceSlapTime?) and says repeatedly how much he loves my subspacey face, making me feel beautiful even as my body feels broken. Then we switch to audio-only and he has me put on some nipple clamps and tug on the chain when he tells me to. At his behest, I slather my Eleven in lube, push it inside me, and pair it with the Eroscillator. He talks through a fairly standard daddy-fucking-me scene, because I’m too achy and irritable for anything wilder, and it’s perfect. I come shortly after he says something like, “You’re so tight I can barely move, so I can just do those tiny little motions you like, rubbing your spot over and over with the head of my cock.” I’ve told him before that hearing in detail about his minute movements inside me really turns me on for some reason, and, uh, he takes direction well. Through my disoriented haze, I beg him to fuck me harder until he comes. Afterward, I show him the draft-in-progress of this post, and he gets all emotional and says, “Even if you never do this again, it’s such a perfect time capsule of our sex life over the phone, and how varied and romantic and good it is.” I cry, because he always understands me and my work so completely. He kisses his iPad goodnight and we go to sleep.

September 18th. I’m already extremely high when he calls me. He’s so good at dealing with me when I’m intoxicated, because it’s a state so similar to subspace and trance, both of which he’s highly familiar with. He says sweet, positive, uncomplicated things to me, and makes me blush and giggle, and turns me on without even trying. My period has started so he has me put my Magic Wand on my clit and, in lieu of suggesting I take out my menstrual cup to put a dildo inside me (something of which I’d be incapable in my current state), he just describes in lascivious detail how exactly he would fuck me and how good it would feel. I have a sharp, overwhelming orgasm against the head of the wand, and then I listen, smiling dazedly, as he comes soon after I do. During aftercare, our conversation drifts to a new D/s thing we’re trying as of today – my daily to-do list is a shared note with him now, so he can check on my progress at any time – and he explains how good this makes him feel, how it connects us even more fiercely, the sharing of this mundane-but-intimate thing. “It’s such a gift,” he insists. “I can’t thank you enough for that, little one.” I’m still tingling and smiling when I drift off to sleep.

September 24th. We just got back from spending the weekend in Boston together, and it’s already difficult being apart again. “I missed having phone sex with you,” Sir says, and I admit I did too, despite us having had tons of in-person sex all weekend. “I don’t know how or why that happens, but it does.” He has me smoke some weed and then we do a bunch of impact on my ass with a Kronic Sensations wooden bat I was supposed to bring on the Boston trip but didn’t because of TSA concerns. He tells me to rub my clit and that he’s going to watch my cunt get wet and ready for him while I fantasize about what his cock will feel like inside me (oof). Armed with my Eleven and Eroscillator, I listen to him describing fucking me hard and deep, until I come sometime after he mentions dripping precum into me and hitting my spot on purpose so I’ll come all over his cock. I love listening to him come after me; I heard those sounds in person all weekend but hearing them over the phone is still special and necessary somehow. He reads me silly tweets afterward, and then we say goodnight and hang up. I get a text from him a few minutes later that says, “I’m so in love with you.”

September 25th. Sir tells me he was fantasizing about the Neon Wand earlier and wants to use it on me. He directs me, using just his voice and his attentive ears, to zap myself the way he wants to zap me: on my wrists, my tits, my thighs. It goes on until I’m subspacey as hell and somewhat overwhelmed and use my “yellow” safeword, so he has me zap my inner wrist for a little longer and then put the wand away. Then he tells me to smoke some weed. “What are you gonna do to me?!” I ask as I load my pipe. “What do you think I’m gonna do to you?” he counters. “I think you’re gonna try to trance me,” I tell him. He says, “I’m not going to just try, little one. I’m going to do it.” And he’s right. He mesmerizes me with his voice, and makes it so that the words “off” and “on” manipulate my mind in and out of trance like a lightswitch. Then he tells me he can immobilize certain parts of my body, or my entire body, by commanding me to “freeze.” He freezes my arms over my head so I can’t move while he describes kissing me and grinding into me – so frustrating! He has me slide the Fucking Sculptures Corkscrew into my cunt and then freezes my arm so I can’t move it in and out yet. He makes me position the Magic Wand on my clit and then freezes that arm so I can’t remove the vibe by myself. Eventually he lets me fuck myself with the dildo, and explains exactly how he likes to fuck me until I come, sharp and hard. A few seconds later, he freezes my whole body, and I guess it turns him on to think about fucking his immobilized little girl because he comes soon after that. My swollen G-spot wants to squirt, so he murmurs the word “now” to an increasingly frenetic rhythm to make me fuck myself as fast as he wants, and I squirt a little on my sheets. In the afterglow, I munch some chocolate and he kisses me goodnight over the phone, telling me I should be good, i.e. drink some water because I squirted and try not to stay up too late.

September 26th. Sir’s feeling romantic and sentimental tonight, I guess, because he launches unprompted into a monologue about how he wants to be with me for years and he loves me and is committed to our relationship. This isn’t uncommon for him, but I burst into tears nonetheless, and he keeps talking until I’m so wracked with emotion that I tell him I feel like we’re doing a kink scene where his express goal is to overwhelm me. He says, “I like that. I like fucking you when you’re already all vulnerable and teary from emotional conversations earlier. I guess that’s, like, ‘lovemaking’ or whatever.” I snicker at this, but that’s the word that came to mind for me too. Then, proving he knows exactly how to make love to me, he has me hit my thigh with my stone crop, first gently and then harder, until I have a beautiful purply-red bruise. I cry more, and he tells me to set the crop down. “It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling,” he murmurs helpfully. “You know how sometimes you’re worried you take too long to come, and I tell you to take as long as you need? You can take as long as you need to cry and feel your feelings, too.” So I do. Then he has me rub my clit slowly to get myself turned on, while saying hot things I won’t recall later because I’m so overwhelmed. I fuck myself with the Double Trouble, to the slow rhythm he dictates, while holding the Eroscillator on my clit. After we both come, he says somberly, “I love you so much,” and then, a moment later, switches into a goofy British accent to announce, “I could just float away. I have no use for this corporeal form anymore. I have transcended it.” I love him.

September 27th. I’m staying over at my parents’ house, where there isn’t much privacy. Sir calls me shortly after 10PM and we chat and laugh until the new Hippo Campus album drops at midnight, at which point we listen to it together over the phone, repeatedly vocally wishing we were together so we could kiss/cuddle/have extremely high sex to this sonic masterwork. I’ve been snacking on banana bread intermittently and ask Sir if I can have another slice, and he laughs and says, “No, not yet; I wanna fuck you first.” I dutifully retrieve the sex toys I’ve stashed in my parents’ piano bench for this exact scenario – the Lelo Gigi 2 and NobEssence Fling – and creep down to the basement to get some privacy. Sir starts doing a literal DD/lg roleplay and asks, “Where did you get those toys from, little one?” and I burst out laughing because it’s hilarious to me that a little girl would’ve started her own sex toy review blog, but I can’t think of another answer to give my daddy. He says he’ll help me test out the toys so I can do my “little job.” We both come really hard (though quietly), and I rinse off the toys and stow them back in the piano bench.

September 28th. We had busy weeks and decide to de-stress by spending our Friday night watching The Artist & the Pervert, the excellent documentary about Mollena Williams and Georg Friedrich Haas and their 24/7 D/s dynamic. I’ve seen it before so I know there’s a spanking scene that Sir will probably like, and he does. After the movie, when we’re tripping and falling into some flirty phone-sex foreplay, he asks for the exact thing I want at that moment: to hit me on my ass with my Weal & Breech truncheon. Sometimes it really seems like he is reading my mind. He builds up to even harder hits than he normally does, and after a while, I’m so spacey I can hardly speak. He has me fuck myself with my Double Trouble and Eroscillator – also the exact toys I was craving – while unleashing a stream of objectifying-yet-sweet dirty talk about how I’m just a receptacle for his cum. We both come hard, say adorable romantic things to each other, and say goodnight.

September 29th. I arrive home from a hypno play party at a dungeon, where I didn’t see any actual hypnosis happening but saw a lot of impact, bondage, and D/s (woof). I’ve been a grown-ass sexy adult around strangers all night and now I want to be little with my daddy. After we catch up about our days, he says he wants to trance me and asks what I want to feel; I say I want to feel like I have a crush on him and he has one on me. (Little Kate has simple needs.) He puts me into a deep trance and sets three triggers: “love” makes me feel flooded with happily reciprocated crushy feelings, “little” makes me feel even younger and smaller, and “squeeze” makes me squeeze my PC muscles and get turned on. Once he wakes me up and plays with these a bit, he asks me what I’m fantasizing about, and through my disoriented haze, I manage to tell him I want to hear what he’d say if he was teaching someone else how to make me come. (This is a long-standing fantasy related to my “you knowing exactly how to get me off” kink.) Ever the good sport, he asks one clarifying question about who this person is (“whoever… they’re nameless and faceless”) and then says “I guess I’m teaching a class, then!” and launches into a detailed monologue instructing someone on how to turn me on and get me off. He describes holding a Magic Wand on my clit while this other person pounds me with an Eleven, and then says, “You want daddy to take over fucking you, little one?” and I do. He fucks me until I come. I’m in a dreamy fog and don’t retain much after that massive orgasm. That’s often how these things go.

Monthly Faves: Boy Bands & Black Leather

Kate Sloan

Wow, what a month! Here are some sexy things that kept me smiling in September.

Sex toys

• My pals at Peepshow Toys sent me a new silicone dildo, the Uberrime Night King. They thought I’d like it for A-spot stimulation, and they were right! Full review to come once I’ve tested it some more.

• While I love being collared, I’ve never really had an interest in collaring anyone else. However, my boyf wanted to play with that in a scene this month, so I put my black Aslan Leather collar on him and enjoyed tugging on the O-ring from time to time while I did all kinds of evil dommy shit to him. I think I’m getting more comfortable being dominant!

• Shout-out to my leather bat for being menacing enough to leave wicked bruises but not so menacing as to be disallowed on planes by the TSA.

Fantasy fodder

• I’ve been having some feelings about interrogation scenes lately. I saw a Kink Academy video where Danarama was explaining interrogation tactics, and then I saw a truly excellent episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine that centered around an intense interrogation, shortly after my Sir and I had played with some mild interrogation in a hypno scene over the phone. Definitely pondering how to incorporate this kink into my sex life without tipping over into upsetting unpleasantness!

• Sometimes a new kink just hits you out of nowhere… This month I thought a lot about being kicked, stood on, and stepped on. My Sir, ever a sex nerd, wanted to understand my motivations for this before we did it, and I’m glad we discussed it, because I didn’t want it for humiliation-y reasons like I think a lot of people would assume. I was more interested in the meditative, subspacey, powerless feeling I thought I could access through these acts. They were lots of fun and I want to try ’em more!

Sexcetera

• I was asked to fill in as co-host of Tell Me Something Good this month, and it was so much fun! The people who tell stories at this event are overwhelmingly open-hearted, kind, and sex-positive. It was a pleasure to share the stage with Samantha Fraser and help hold space for all these wonderful stories.

• The lovely Cy of Super Smash Cache invited me, my boyfriend, and my friends Rae and Epiphora to dinner while we were at Woodhull, and she wrote a blog post about the evening. Read this if you’re voyeuristically curious about any of us (or all of us), ’cause, uh, it gets juicy.

• Two exciting honors this month: the podcast I cohost with my friend Bex, The Dildorks, was named one of Uproxx’s 18 favorite sex podcasts, and I was nominated as Best Blogger in the NOW Readers’ Choice Awards. Thanks, babes!

Femme stuff

• My favorite jewelry designer, Tarina Tarantino, a.k.a. Our Lady of Extremely Extra Sparkly Hearts, restocked some colors of the big-ass heart necklaces I love so much, so I snapped up what may have been the last blue one. It is, to say the least, eyecatching as hell.

• Today in “strange and exciting femme news”: remember that custom perfume my boyfriend commissioned Stephen Dirkes to make me for my birthday? Well, Stephen loved it so much that he used it as a starting point for his latest fragrance, Flocked & Gilded. So, if you’ve ever wondered what I smell like 80% of the time, go get thee a sample! The initial reviewers have called it “velvety and delicious” and “a rich velvet and hypnotic dream,” which… yes.

• My brother’s band, Goodbye Honolulu, came out with some new merch recently, and my bro set aside a “Typical” T-shirt for me. It might be my fave song of theirs, so I love this tee and have been wearing it a lot!

Media

• I went to the Toronto launch of Clementine Morrigan’s new book, You Can’t Own the Fucking Stars, and loved what I heard from Clementine, as per usual. Their writing on mental illness, polyamory, kink, and femmeness always feels particularly salient to me. There is so much packed into this book and I think you will find it comforting if you are poly, femme, mentally ill, a recovering addict, spiritual-but-not-religious, and/or (to borrow Clementine’s terminology) a “trauma bb.”

• My fave band, Hippo Campus, has a new album out. It’s quite different from their usual style but I love it: the music is, by turns, lush, jarring, and eminently danceable, and the lyrics are much more personal and emotional than their previous works, touching on topics like mental illness (“I haven’t been much myself, and I feel like my friends are being put through this hell I’m feeling”) and what it means to be committed to a partner (“Love? Is it love? Who can say you’re the one and never doubt?”). I love these boys so much and I’m so excited to see their show in New York in a couple weeks!

• I’m not quite sure if theatre counts as media, and my cursory Google search on the subject turned up unclear results, but let’s talk about it anyway. I’ve been a Soulpepper subscriber for many years running, and this month they staged one of my favorite productions I’ve ever seen there, Bed and Breakfast. Real-life couple Gregory Prest and Paolo Santalucia played a gay couple navigating homophobia and family secrets in small-town Ontario – and they also played all of the other characters in the story, from an awkward closeted teen to an Irish butch lesbian to a gruff contractor. I took my Sir to see this show and giggled and wept all the way through it. I wish I’d had the time and funds to take all my queer friends (and some of my straight ones) to see this!

• I loved Cameron Esposito’s new special, Rape Jokes, which is “about sexual assault from a survivor’s perspective.” If you’re hurting right now from all the sexual violence in the news, a) I don’t fucking blame you and b) maybe this will help you laugh through the pain a little bit. It’s pay-what-you-want and all donations go to RAINN.

Little things

A waiter telling Sir his cocktail order was “very sensible.” Making photoshoot plans. Dorkily premature anniversary-planning. Karaoke and drinks with Dan, Lav, Sarah, and Jason. Big juicy writing assignments. Whiskey on the rocks. Stealing hotel pens. Trinity Bellwoods hangtime with my love. Glennon Doyle. Sir having access to my to-do list so he can keep an eye on me and keep me on task. The Black Walnut cocktail at Northwood (OMG, new fave). Trading tips with other submissives. Celebrating our nine-monthiversary with a thorough spanking. Writing drunk poems on the subway. Thoughtful and compassionate editors. New bedding. Commiserating about long-distance relationships with my cousins at Rosh Hashanah. The underground walkway to the Island airport (and getting excited about small things, like a little girl would). Limoncello and oysters. Being told I am safe, and knowing it’s true.