Review: Uberrime Night King

Kate Sloan

The email said, “I think we have something that may interest you. Finally, an A-spot toy.” It was from Savva at Peepshow Toys, and he had my fucking attention.

The A-spot, as you might know if you’re a dedicated reader here, is a crucial erogenous zone of mine, located deep inside the vagina, in front of the cervix. The problem Savva alluded to in his email is that there are remarkably few toys made for hitting that spot. My pal Kenton at Funkit Toys makes the Armadillo for this purpose, and I heard a rumor once that one of Fun Factory’s toys was designed with the A-spot in mind, but that’s about it. My fave toys for deep stimulation, like the G-Spoon and the Eleven, are not really meant to be pushed so deep, so they have their problems when used this way: not enough handle length to properly thrust with, for example, or a slightly too-wide head that can only burrow into the A-spot at certain finicky angles. It’s a sad state of affairs, but it’s the best I’ve got, for the most part.

The Uberrime Night King, though, is pretty indisputably an A-spot toy, which is why Savva thought of me when Peepshow started carrying it. It’s absurdly long for a dildo – 9″ total, 8″ insertable – so, much like the Tantus Uncut #1, it can get all the way inside me with a couple inches to spare for thrusting leverage. You could use this toy on your G-spot, but it would be an awkward feat for both hand and vag. It begs to fill up an orifice.

Uberrime is a company that popped onto my radar seemingly out of nowhere. They make individually handmade silicone dildos more beautiful than any I’ve seen in a long while. Peepshow carries various other Uberrime toys, and I hear good things about many of them, but the Night King is the one I’ve fallen head-over-A-spot for.

I first noticed this toy’s increasing indispensability in my sex toy collection when my Sir started commanding me to use it during phone sex more and more. He’s methodical about his toy choices for me, selecting the exact tools he knows will produce the sounds he wants to hear, or will satisfy a craving he can sense in me. (Yes, my boyfriend is a phone-sex genius.) From the very first time I used the Night King at his bidding, he told me he liked the sounds it brought out of me. They are A-spot sounds: deep, warmed-honey grunts, entirely different from my high-pitched G-spot squeaks or desperate clitoral wails. I know when a toy works well for me from how it feels, but I also trust my boyfriend’s opinion on this, since he listens to me much more intently during sex than I ever listen to myself – and he says I fucking love this toy.

He’s right. While I’m not normally a big fan of textured dildos, the swirly, vein-like ridges all over the Night King’s shaft feel delicious rubbing along my vaginal walls. But more importantly: the combination of the head, the coronal ridge, and the curve make this a stellar A-spot toy. Uncharacteristically for a dildo, the head of the Night King is slightly thinner than the 1.7″-wide shaft, and that barely-there taper allows the tip to slide right up into my reclusive A-spot, no problem. The dildo’s perfect upward curve guides it smoothly toward that spot; no cervix-jabbing here. And then there’s that magnificent coronal ridge – deep, but not sharp – providing a satisfying “popping” sensation every time the dildo moves in or out of the snug cul-de-sac in which my A-spot resides. I don’t know if Uberrime meant for this to be an A-spot dildo, but either way, they fuckin’ killed it.

Despite its vaguely extraterrestrial aesthetic, the Night King feels just dicklike enough that I can fantasize about dicks while I use it. (I mean, you can fantasize about dicks while you’re using any toy, or none at all, but I often like my toys to match my fantasies at least a little.) The dimensions of this one are in the same ballpark as my partner’s cock, and it hits my A-spot with similar aplomb, so this dildo is a mutual fave when m’dude and I have phone sex involving good ol’ PIV. Uberrime’s silicone is firm but with just enough squish to feel comfortable, so – much like flesh-and-blood dicks – the Night King feels absolutely decadent when it’s buried deep inside me while I come. Squeezing and clenching around something so simultaneously thick and spongy is… yum.

I like the Night King’s sturdy base, too. It’s easy to grip onto and thrust with – very important in a toy like this that makes me want to thrust a lot. One of my fave weird features of my Night King – which other ones probably don’t have, due to the handmade nature of these toys – is that there’s a little silver marking on the base which helps me keep the toy oriented the right way, with the curve pointed up. With a lot of other dildos, I’ll tend to rotate them slowly over time without noticing it, and often have to take them out and adjust their orientation; there’s no need to do so with the Night King, because I have a visual indicator right on the base.

The Night King is technically harness-compatible, what with that hefty base and exaggerated length; it will especially be a hit if your strap-on recipient likes getting fucked deep. But it’s also so long that it’ll tend to flop around in a harness. If you want something easier to control, I’d recommend one of Uberrime’s shorter toys, like the Splendid or the Essential. Or you could just deal with the floppiness. It won’t move around much once it’s buried deep inside someone, after all. (Cue vaginal drooling here.)

Being a sex toy snob of the highest order, I’m almost never this enamored with a new toy these days. But the Night King has worked its way into my regular rotation, because it’s just that fucking good. If you love deep penetration and can contend with this toy’s girth and texture, I think you’ll find this dildo heavenly. Finally, the sex toy industry has acknowledged us A-spot fiends. I hope this is the start of a trend!

 

Thanks so much to Peepshow Toys for sending me this toy to review! Check out their complete selection of Uberrime toys.

Love Through a Voyeuristic Lens

Kate Sloan

In the age of the internet, it’s normal for our private lives to play out in public. In just a few clicks, you can peek into a beauty influencer’s medicine cabinet, peruse a sex toy blogger’s prized collection (hi), or visit voyeur house private cams where you can watch the life of real people. Not everyone is thrilled about all this openness and exhibitionism, but it’s undeniably part of our culture now.

So, as a sex writer and certifiable member of the Oversharers Club, it surprised me how private I was about my current relationship in its infancy. I talked about it in oblique terms on Twitter, and mentioned to a few friends that I’d been texting with a promising new dude who lived in New York, but for the most part, I wanted to hold those cards close to my chest. Our courtship happened primarily late at night via FaceTime and iMessage, encrypted end-to-end, cordoned off from the rest of our lives. It felt weird to bring it out into the open by talking about it too much – like someone throwing open the door of a darkened closet during a heated game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

But because this private intimacy was shared between only me and my new crush, it felt almost like it didn’t really exist – like it could be a mirage, a hallucination, a midnight fever-dream. It brought me back to my early days on the internet, when I’d build elaborate romances with strangers in IRC chats and then just go to school the next day like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. Even as we escalated to using weightier words for each other – partner, boyfriend and girlfriend – still, part of me felt like: here is my “real life,” and here is this relationship, and scarcely the twain shall meet.

So it was quite a jolt the first time my new love – Matt – came to visit me in Toronto. Seeing him in familiar locales, like my bedroom, my parents’ living room, and the coffee shop I go to every week, was as jarring as a bad green-screen sequence in a low-budget movie. How could such a cute, sweet person, who had taken on an almost mythical quality in my mind, exist in the world at all, let alone in my life? I felt like Rob Gordon, the antihero of High Fidelity, when he looks up his long-lost college girlfriend: “She’s in the fucking phone book! She should be living on Neptune. She’s an extraterrestrial, a ghost, a myth, not a person in a phone book!”

He met my family. He met my friends. I took him to my birthday party. But none of it quite felt real – until, shortly after leaving the party, I got a text from my friend Suz, who had left at the same time as us. “Okay, so, creepiest thing I have ever done,” she wrote, “but when we departed at the subway, I could see y’all from the other side. You both looked so in love, so I took some creepy stealth pics for you.”

Matt and I giggled over the photos, crowing “We’re so cute!” and zooming in to examine our amorous body language. Something clicked. Seeing my relationship from the outside allowed me to believe in it from the inside. I felt validated: Yes, he really exists; yes, he really is that cute; yes, he really loves me! Some part of me had been continually nervous that he would evaporate somehow, that I would wake up from the dream or forget to save my game, and he would be gone. But there he was, in a handful of .jpegs, flirting with me on a Toronto subway platform, irrefutable.

Feeling observed in a feeling can make that feeling all the more palpable. Maggie Nelson writes about it in Bluets: “We sometimes weep in front of a mirror not to inflame self-pity, but because we want to feel witnessed in our despair.” Beauty vloggers know this, as do reality TV stars, theatre actors, Instagram influencers, exhibitionists and voyeurs. Like Schrodinger’s cat, sometimes it is the very act of seeing that heralds the seen object into existence. My relationship would have been real with or without spectators, of course – but my rock-solid, comfortable, life-affirming belief in that relationship? Maybe not so much.

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own. Thank you to Suz for the photos; we love them!

Sexting, Spanking, Stroking: What “Counts” As Sex?

Kate Sloan

In the 12th grade I took a psychology/sociology/anthropology class, the first day of which was spent debating what constituted “sex.”

Our teacher said it was a useful exercise to get us thinking about the nuances of the class’s subject matter – and he was right. The ensuing discussion was psychosocial and sociocultural, surprisingly thoughtful for a roomful of horny teenagers.

One person suggested sex could be defined as a physical act meant to invoke sensual pleasure in oneself and one’s partner, but someone else pointed out that under this definition, holding hands could be considered sex. Another person thought orgasm should be part of the definition, but of course that leaves out all the perfectly valid sex that doesn’t involve orgasms, whether by choice or not. We debated whether sex had to involve romantic feelings (no), penetration (no), mutual pleasure (no), genital touching (mayyybe?). Despite feeling fairly certain we knew what sex was, we couldn’t agree on a definition that we felt included all the things it ought to and excluded all the things it ought to.

This was years before the “galaxy brain” meme became popular, but damn if that wasn’t a galaxy-brain moment for me. If I didn’t know what sex was or wasn’t, then could sex be… almost anything? Could I experience sexual pleasure from… almost anything?

I’ve been writing about sex online for the better part of a decade now, and my understanding of what “sex” is has only become broader and murkier as time has progressed (not to mention, as acts like sexting and phone sex have become a bigger and bigger part of my life). I’m not sure I know what sex is. I’m not sure I ever knew.

I’m playing Scrabble and drinking wine with a cute, toppy enby at their house. It’s our second date. They’re really, really good at Scrabble; they beat me spectacularly. And then I ask if they want to beat me in another way.

They are amenable, and I sprawl over their lap, face down and ass up, like a good girl. They warm up my ass with light swats and then transition into more substantial smacks. The impacts get louder and the pain gets worse and I almost want to cry and it’s so so good.

When we mutually decide we’re done with impact, I sit in their lap and kiss them, our hands roaming lazily along each other’s skin. I feel like a sweet, petite princess under their gaze. The kisses fade out like the end of a pop song, and they gesture at the Scrabble board. “Wanna play again?”

Does this count as sex?

Kink, as you may well know, makes everything more complicated.

Where previously I might have said that a sexual activity had to involve genital touching for me to consider it “sex,” the deeper I’ve waded into my kinky identity, the less certain I am that that’s true. When you’re a spanking fetishist, for example, your butt basically is a genital region, or at least, your brain and body respond as if it were (and isn’t that the whole point?). Does that make the feet a sexual organ for foot fetishists? Is the brain a sexual organ for hypnokinksters?

I keep a sex spreadsheet, and currently my threshold for including an encounter there is:

  1. At least one person’s genitals must be touched by at least one other person
  2. The purpose of the interaction must be for sexual pleasure
  3. It must “feel like sex” to me

Of course, that last point is the most nebulous, and probably the most important. Some spankings leave me panting and dishevelled, satisfied and wrecked, like good sex; others just feel like a few fun swats from a pal. Some sexting sessions feel obscene and all-encompassing; others just feel like typing words into a phone. Maybe it’s okay for your definition of sex to be subjective. But then, what happens if someone thinks they’re fucking you, deeply and fully, and to you it just feels like a bit of rollin’ around?

My fuckbuddy is looking particularly cute tonight – but I swear I think that every time I see him. He’s naked in the pool at the sex club, sipping a cider, not a trace of self-consciousness in his body. We’ve been chatting for a good few minutes, but suddenly the cadence of our conversation shifts. I set my drink down by the side of the pool and he starts kissing me and it is the most natural thing, the most familiar treat.

His hand is in my hair and his other hand is on my back and his legs are pulling me closer and I’m tugging on his chest hair and his beard is scraping my cheeks. There are so many sensory details I associate with him and basically no one else: a splash of chlorine, the squeak of wet skin on skin. He is also a certified master of dry-humping: his hard cock finds my clit underwater with perpetually startling precision. Our most sensitive spots slide against each other as our kisses get deeper and more frenetic.

After languorous minutes of this, I am turned on – but tired. It’s been a long day. Normally at this point we would progress to sex, but I want to stop here; this was enough. I explain, and he understands, and we kiss goodnight. I get out of the pool and towel off, feeling glowy and gorgeous.

Does this count as sex?

I hate the narrative that sex without penetration isn’t sex at all. This myth is rampant, misogynist, homophobic, transphobic, and so many other things that make me shudder. In Laurie Mintz’s book Becoming Cliterate, she reports – based on a survey she did – that while two-thirds of women consider it “sex” when someone goes down on them, only one-third of men consider it “sex” when they go down on someone. The clitoris is the anatomical equivalent of the penis; it’s absurd that when the latter is stimulated, it’s widely considered sex, while the same isn’t true for the former.

And yet… when my clit is merely grazed, or lightly rubbed, and there’s nothing inside me, often it doesn’t feel to me like sex. It feels like something that could’ve happened accidentally, if I was squeezing past strangers on a train or enjoying a particularly deep kiss.

Have I internalized the concept that “foreplay” alone isn’t real sex? Or do I simply know what I like? Is it okay to build one’s own definition of sex based on what one finds subjectively sexual, or does that inherently exclude people who experience sex differently? Maybe it’s inevitable that humanity can never agree on a universal definition of sex. Maybe that’s okay.

My boyfriend calls me up, as he does almost every night. After a few minutes of catch-up conversation and goofy giggles, some particular piece of flirty repartée makes his voice drop an octave into a distinctly dommy register. We’ve been sexting on-and-off all day; we want each other, and on the phone, we can almost have each other. The game is on.

Dictating my every move, he guides me through gentle touches, a satisfying spanking, and a deep hard fuck with a dildo and vibrator. My body provides motion while his voice provides direction, excitement, encouragement. My eventual orgasm feels collaborative, like a canvas we both slung paint at until it was beautiful.

Does this count as sex?

I thought I was at peace with my (lack of a) definition of sex, and then I got into a long-distance relationship.

Sexting and phone sex are hugely popular endeavors, as the plethora of free sexting sites and phone sex operators on the internet will attest. But are they sex?

For a long time, I didn’t think so. I didn’t record these encounters on my spreadsheet; I didn’t say “We fucked,” but rather, “We had phone sex.” Meanwhile, my partner was viewing those late-night phone calls as sex with me, which was a bit of a weird disconnect. It was like that scene in Down With Love when a smitten Ewan McGregor tries to get Renée Zellweger’s blasé, love-wary character to sleep with him: “So I can make love to you – heartfelt, passionate, worshipping, adoring love – and you can still have meaningless sex with me, right?” It’s strange to have a vastly different conception of sex from the person you’re having it with.

So I stayed open to the idea that sexting and phone sex could feel like sex, could be sex. And after a year of getting lascivious on the phone almost every night (why are we like this??), I can now report that it indeed feels like a sexual act to me. I look forward to it like sex; I get fully engrossed in it like sex; it satisfies me like sex; it brings me and my partner closer like sex. And it’s upwards of 70% of our sex life together, so it would feel odd to write it off as “illegitimate” in some way. I still don’t record it in my spreadsheet alongside IRL encounters, only because it doesn’t pose a risk as far as STIs and pregnancy, so I have less of a need to track it. But maybe someday I’ll start doing it anyway.

As our culture goes deeper down the rabbit hole of stuff like sex robots and teledildonics, we’re going to have to broaden our definition of sex. And that, I think, is a very good thing.

 

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

Date Diaries: Towers, Oysters, & Amorous Nights

Kate Sloan

Hi! Welcome to something new I’m trying, Date Diaries, a feature where I’ll write about dates I go on. I’m revisiting a week I spent with my partner in Toronto back in December, for our first anniversary…

On Matt’s first night back in town, I went to meet him at the airport, which has become a tradition for us. We have a protocol whereby I have to ask him, prior to his takeoff, what he’d like me to bring him at the airport – food, gum, coffee, whatever – and then meet him in the arrivals area. It’s exciting, getting to see him at the earliest possible moment, rather than waiting for him to Uber to my apartment like I used to.

On this day – December 12th – I subwayed across town to Pearson Airport in the west end from a psychiatrist appointment in the east end, trying to read my Kindle on the train but failing because I was too excited to concentrate. Once we found each other in arrivals, we took a car back to my place, ~reconnected~ with some sex-‘n’-kink, and then were faced with the question of where to go for dinner.

This always happens. Usually he gets in late, because air travel is a chaotic nightmare, and by the time we’re settled and ready to eat, many restaurants have closed their kitchens. So it’s become a tradition of sorts for us to go to Bar Isabel on those first Toronto nights, because their kitchen is open until at least midnight (bless them, bless them all). It’s one of the best-reviewed restaurants in the city, and for good reason: the ambiance is chill and romantic, the tapas-style menu is impeccable, the cocktails are swell, and the servers are top-notch.

As the clock ticked over to 12:00AM of the next day – December 13th, our anniversary – I tweeted about how happy I was to have spent a year with such a wonderful person, and we toasted to our relationship, our love, and our future. Aww.

What I wore: I was feeling romantic so I put on the dress I was wearing the day that we met, one year previous. It’s a black and red floral-print fit-and-flare dress I got at H&M god knows how many years ago. I also wore my collar, of course.

What we ordered: We usually get the punch when we go to Bar Isabel; I think this time we got the “fancy punch,” which contains liquors, citruses, teas, herbs, and bubbly wine (they change up the specific ingredients on a night-to-night basis), because we were celebrating! We ate oysters, bread, manchego cheese, shishito peppers, and grilled octopus. Divine.

My boyf is an over-the-top romantic, making him a good match for someone like me who is sentimental as fuck and also likes to write about dates she goes on (hiii). For our anniversary, he surprised me by taking me to one of the fanciest and most tourist-y places you can go for dinner in Toronto: the 360 Restaurant at the top of the CN Tower. As we were walking to the elevator that would take us up to the restaurant, we were bustled into a photography area where they snapped some cheesy pictures of us in front of a green screen – hence the adorable watermarked monstrosity you see above.

The whole conceit of the 360 Restaurant is that you get the best possible view of Toronto, and the entire restaurant rotates slowly, so you get to see all the way around over the course of your meal. I hadn’t been up there since my mom took me to an opening-night party for The Lion King back when she was working as an entertainment reporter more than a decade ago, so it was cool to go back, especially with someone I love so much.

After dinner, we checked out the famous glass floor and then cabbed to Civil Liberties for a nightcap before heading home. Ideal date night!

What I wore: Sir told me weeks beforehand that if I planned on buying a new dress for our anniversary, he wanted it to be blue and shiny/sparkly in some way – which, honestly, knowing me, it would’ve been anyway. I trawled the local mall all day, trying on several unsatisfactory contenders, before finally landing on this $17 pale blue velvet spaghetti-strap dress from Forever 21. I wore it with black tights, my collar, a black cashmere cardigan, and the gorgeous blue Coach bag Matt had just given me as an anniversary gift. The suit he’s wearing, by the way, is the same one he wore on our second date; aww.

What we ordered: We split a dozen oysters and I thiiink I had roasted salmon with risotto on the side. And, as per usual, we drank excellent cocktails, though I can’t remember what they were. I was pretty focused on the cute boy across the table from me!

Sir introduced me to La Banane and it’s become one of our favorite Toronto dinner spots. The food and service are both absolutely incredible. I feel like a queen every time we go here.

After dinner, we rounded out our evening by going to see Hook-Up at the Bad Dog Theatre (their hilarious and often quite romantic runaway hit) and stopping by Civil Liberties again for more cocktails. Three of our very favorite things in one night – amazing!

What I wore: This dress is one of Sir’s faves in my wardrobe so he chose it for our fancy night out; it’s a form-fitting, low-cut, navy velvet dress with an asymmetric hem. I bought it at Forever 21 when I briefly had a sugar daddy, envisioning wearing it on elegant dates with him, though that plan never came to pass! This time I paired it with black tights, a black cashmere cardigan, my collar, and my new Coach bag again.

What we ordered: Our appetizers were oysters again (we’re so predictable) and seared foie gras with hazelnuts and a little cup of wine on the side. I had their duck breast entrée (soooo tender and good) and Sir had the Eurobass. My fave cocktail here is the Penicillin; I don’t normally like smoky Scotch but this drink blends it with lemon, ginger, and honey, making it much more palatable. Toward the end of the meal, the restaurant staff had to re-seat us to make room for a big group that was coming in, and they sent over two glasses of amaro on the house for our trouble (my first time ever trying amaro!). Sooo fuckin’ classy.

Been on any date you’ve especially loved lately?

Hearts, Flowers, & Bruises: Valentine’s Day Ideas For Kinksters

Kate Sloan

Look, I get it. Valentine’s Day is kinda bullshit. BUT. It is also an opportunity to celebrate love. We could always use more of that. Whether you’re dating one person or a bunch of people or none at all, whether you’re vanilla or kinky or somewhere in between, you deserve to feel lifted up by love.

But frankly, a lot of Valentine’s Day activities guides are vanilla as fuck! So I’ve put together this list of suggestions for how you and your dom or sub can celebrate this weird fake holiday together. Hope this sparks your pervy imagination!

Mark the submissive with a heart. There a bunch of ways to do this. You could give them a thorough spanking with a heart-shaped or heart-emblazoned impact toy. You could use a stencil and a hairbrush to spank a heart onto their skin. You could brand them with ice. Or you could keep it simple and just draw a heart on their skin with a red pen, perhaps somewhere secret where prying eyes can’t see. This is a cute way to literally mark your sub with love.

Get a collar (or put more stuff on the one you have). Some consider a collar a pretty big sign of commitment, so maybe this is a bit cheesy, like getting engaged on Valentine’s Day. But it’s also very sweet. You could pick one out together online or at a sex shop, or go get one custom-made, or make one yourselves. If the sub already has a collar, maybe you could add something new to it, like a collar tag or a charm.

Read each other kinky love stories, to remind you of just how romantic D/s can be. I like Mollena and Georg’s story, sappy stuff from Sinclair, and you can also read, um, anything in the “Super Sleepy” tag on my site. Slash fanfiction also works a treat for this purpose!

Do an elaborate roleplay. I’ve found few things more romantic than doing what was essentially a low-key public improv game with my partner, as part of a kink scene. Complex roleplays like this can be hard to plan and to make time for, which is why Valentine’s might be the ideal day to do one – it’s already a day dedicated to your love, so you might as well go whole-hog.

Define “romantic sex” together, and then have some. Bullshit concepts of “romantic sex” in the media – think rose petals, scented baths, and Barry White – often position themselves as one-size-fits-all when they totally aren’t. Kinksters’ idea of romance can be quite different! Have a chat about which elements of sex and kink feel truly romantic to you both, and then combine all those elements into a scene. (I think mine would involve wax play, a thuddy over-the-knee spanking, face-slapping until I cry, and a lot of cuddly aftercare.)

Write each other kinky love letters. Of course, you could write traditional love letters, too. But I’ve enjoyed kink-infused writing assignments in the past, and you might too! The dom can tell the sub to write them a note about their favorite past scenes, their fantasies, or what they appreciate about their partner’s dominance. The dom can write a “progress report” or “report card” for the sub, or a loquacious list of all the ways their sub makes their life easier and better. Beautiful stationery and good pens are strongly encouraged!

Go on a D/s-tinged dinner date. I’ve written before about how to do this. All the fancy, romantic restaurants will be packed on V-Day, so it’s an especially perfect opportunity to play with power exchange on your date. Outfit selection, table manners, mid-date tasks to complete in the bathroom… There’s so much fun to be had here!

Incorporate a stuffed animal into an ageplay scene. Cute little stuffed bunnies and teddy bears holding hearts are everywhere around this time. If you are a perv of the ageplay persuasion like me, you could get one and incorporate it into a scene – maybe the little has to get themselves off by grinding against the toy, or they hold onto it for comfort while enduring a difficult spanking.

Visit (or rent) a dungeon. The Ritual Chamber in Toronto, for example, can be rented by the hour, and it contains enough implements and themed rooms to keep you busy, whatever your fantasy may be.

Watch a kinky movie. If a snuggly Netflix-and-chill date is more your speed than a night out, there’s still lots of ways to make it kinky. Of course, you’ve got classics like 50 Shades (ugh) and Secretary (…okay), but I would also recommend Red Eye (psychological manipulation galore!) and Shortbus (the orgy and threesome scenes are divine). My mom the cinemaphile would be mad if I didn’t mention her fave sexxxy movie here, Blue Velvet, which supposedly contains a fisting scene!

Ruin some red lingerie. You can usually get good deals on novelty lingerie around this time, so it might be fun to buy some cheap lacy stuff, wear it under your clothes for an outing, and then have your dom bite/cut/rip it off you once they get you alone. Lots of people have this fantasy but rarely get to actually experience it; now’s as good a time as any!

Try a new kink together. I’ve found few things more exhilarating and romantic than barrelling head-on into a new kink activity with someone I adore. Much like riding a roller coaster or seeing a scary movie with your beloved, there’s an element of fear tempered with the comfort of being with someone you trust. Watersports, wax play, and feminization are some recent somewhat-scary faves I tried for the first time with my partner, for example.

Make dinner into a service task. If the sub is culinarily inclined, perhaps they would like to throw together a home-cooked meal, complete with intricate table-setting and elegant candles. It can be very satisfying, as a submissive person, to make something (food-wise or otherwise) that perfectly suits your dominant’s specific tastes.

Play with “love addiction.” This kink is particularly a trope within the hypno community; you can use hypnosis to make someone feel like they’re falling deeper in love with you and can’t get enough of you. (Proceed with caution and with lots of negotiation beforehand, obviously!) A skilful hypnotist could even set it up so the sub feels a little hit of love every time they take a sip of their drink at dinner, for example, or every time they overhear the phrase “Valentine’s Day.”

Get (and/or give) a massage. Maybe the dom’s a little achy from all that paddling and flogging, and could use some firm hands to work out those kinks, so to speak. Maybe the sub is sore from last week’s predicament bondage scene and needs to be kneaded into putty. A professional couple’s massage would be a super romantic gift from one of you to the other – and, as a bonus, you’ll both be extra limber and relaxed afterward, ready to return to the high-intensity pervy activities you love so much.

Chocolates… with a twist. Whatever Valentine-y treats you pick up at the store can be used as rewards in a kink scene, you devious genius. Maybe the sub gets a chocolate for each shoe they shine; maybe they get one when they complete a series of math problems while their dom goes down on them; maybe they just get a bunch as aftercare treats once they’ve taken a thorough beating. Aww.

Use roses as a spanking implement. This is a much kinkier way of sprinkling rose petals all over your bed! Just be careful of the thorns, okay? Unless you’re into that…

 

What are your favorite romantic kink activities?

 

This post contains a sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.