D/s

Frequently Asked Questions About Daddy Dom/Little Girl Kink

Kate Sloan

Daddy Dom/little girl kink – i.e. “DD/lg” – is maybe my biggest kink. It feels weird to say that, seeing as it’s only been on my radar for 2-3 years, but it’s true. In the time since coming into and owning up to this kink, I’ve received countless questions about it – so I’ve put together this little FAQ to answer some of the common ones. Hope this helps demystify my foremost perversion for ya!

What is DD/lg?

I’m sure everyone who’s involved in this kink has their own definition, but here’s mine. A DD/lg dynamic is a dominant/submissive dynamic where the style of dominance is more nurturing, benevolent, and supportive than the typical media model that paints dominance as vicious, punitive, or humiliating. There is also an element of ageplay, where the submissive inhabits a psychologically small/young role and the dominant may inhabit a role close to their own age or older than themselves.

What makes someone a Daddy Dom?

If you enjoy playing a dominant role in D/s dynamics but would rather your scenes be about supporting, uplifting, guiding, and nurturing your submissive than humiliating them, hurting them, etc., then you might be a Daddy Dom. That said, this type of dominance can also involve some discipline, pain, and so on, so you don’t have to rule that stuff out completely. Self-identified Daddy Doms are also usually drawn to the ageplay element of this kink, whether they eroticize feeling older/wiser/bigger than their partner, or their partner acting smaller/younger than them, or both.

If you’re curious about this identity but unsure how you feel about it, here’s a Twitter thread where Daddy Doms explained how they first became aware of and comfortable with that identity for themselves. There are some cute anecdotes in it!

How do you know if you’re a little?

I can’t speak for everyone with this kink, but I know how I knew. When I went into a submissive headspace during scenes, I often felt smaller and younger than I did in my everyday life, and found myself slipping into a “little voice” to match (higher-pitched, gigglier, sentences constructed in a more juvenile way). I eroticized feeling younger than many of my dominant partners, even when they were my age or younger. I also noticed that I liked pain and roughness during sex but preferred to view it not as a punishment but instead as something I was enduring to prove myself to my dominant, or even as a reward. My preferred flavor of dominance is one that’s more interested in building me up than cutting me down.

Some littles get even more intensely into the role of a younger person, and may incorporate elements like stuffed animals, coloring books, and pacifiers into their play. I have never been interested in those more overt symbols of ageplay, but for those who are, a DD/lg dynamic (or something similar) could be a way to use those interests.

What’s up with the gendered language?

Anyone can be a Daddy Dom or a “little girl,” regardless of their gender or genitalia. There are also “Mommy Doms,” “little boys,” non-binary versions of either role, etc. As with any kink, there may be more common ways of playing it out but that doesn’t mean you’re limited to those avenues; you can make it yours in whatever way makes sense for you and your partner(s). As for me, I’m a submissive woman who mostly dates dominant men, so the DD/lg dynamic is the specific version of this type of relationship that I’ve played with most often and am currently involved in.

Do you have to use the word “Daddy”?

Nope! Some people hate that word, find it gross/upsetting/triggering, or just don’t particularly connect with it, and that’s totally fine. You can still play with a nurturing style of D/s even if you use different words for it. For example, “Sir” is a word I’ve commonly subbed in for “Daddy” in situations where the latter just didn’t feel quite right for whatever reason. You and your partner(s) can choose whichever honorific(s) you prefer. That goes for any names the submissive wants to go by, as well.

How did you, personally, discover you were into this kink?

I’ve always had crushes on older men, especially those in positions of authority over me, like professors. I used to think this was only because I’ve been a precocious old soul my whole life, but in retrospect, I think there’s also always been a kink element at play. I’m drawn to dominant masculine types who project an easy confidence and a touching level of concern about me and my well-being.

My first DD/lg fantasies surfaced during a class at journalism school that was taught by a hot older lawyer from whom I craved a firm over-the-knee spanking. Not too long after that, I listened to the ageplay episode of Why Are People Into That?, which gave some language to these concepts I had been considering. I started exploring DD/lg dynamics in my relationships, mostly by calling dominant partners “Sir” while wishing I was brave enough to call them “Daddy.” Last summer, I dated my first self-identified Daddy Dom, and while that relationship didn’t work out, it showed me that this dynamic was indeed something I wanted/needed in my life. Now I’m dating another Daddy and I’m so happy!

How does this kink manifest during sex?

I can’t and won’t speak for other DD/lg kinksters, because I’m sure their sex lives vastly vary from person to person. For me, sex with a Daddy Dom usually involves some combination of: Daddy controlling the action of the scene and deciding what we do and when; Daddy “making” me take pain (e.g. spanking, scratching, face-slapping) and/or other difficult sensations (e.g. fisting, forced orgasm play) “for my own good” or for his amusement/gratification; Daddy requesting or demanding service (e.g. blowjobs, handjobs) for his pleasure; Daddy training/instructing me in certain sexual activities (e.g. how to blow him exactly the way he likes it, how to take his whole fist inside me); Daddy giving me pleasure and orgasms, especially as rewards I’ve earned and/or as a treat I have to ask/beg for; Daddy pushing me to my emotionally cathartic limits via intense sensation (e.g. spanking, face-slapping), again, “for my own good;” and Daddy giving me hella good aftercare to make me feel safe and supported once we’re done playing.

How does this kink manifest outside the bedroom?

The DD/lg dynamic doesn’t have to extend outside of sex, but for many folks with this kink, it does. Personally, my Daddy gives me some structure and discipline I relish, like when he sends me a reward (e.g. a video of him winking) for finishing a big work project, or gives me an incentive (e.g. a good long phone-sex session at the end of the day) to take better care of myself. He guides and advises me, within negotiated limits, on both professional and personal matters. Sometimes he gives me tasks or instructions designed to expand my horizons and improve my life, like when he instructs me to go to a restaurant I’ve never been to before or talk to someone I’ve been crushing on. He holds me accountable, making me want to finish all my work and accomplish great things so he’ll be proud of me. His love and support make me feel safe and motivated.

I asked my Daddy what he gets out of the nonsexual parts of our dynamic, and here’s what he said:

“Being able to guide, support, motivate, protect you makes me feel competent and trusted. It makes me feel bigger, like if I can help take care of this other person, I must know what I’m doing somewhat. It makes me feel closer to you when I can anticipate your needs and wants. It makes me feel like you’re fully trusting me when you let me tell you what I think is best for you, let me pick your clothes, and let me give you guidance on career stuff. I get this huge hit of pride when something I guide you toward works out. And even when it doesn’t perfectly, I learn more about my little girl.

It’s also nice sometimes ’cause it lets me do things I want to do, like carrying your stuff, without feeling like I’m taking away any agency or putting you down. Because it’s consensual and for a good reason. Same for picking your drinks.”

Does this have anything to do with actual incest?

Nooo! Or at least, not in the literal sense. I’ve never, to my knowledge, met a DD/lg kinkster who had sexual feelings about their actual parent or child. And I certainly have never had sexual feelings about my actual father.

What’s hot to me about the DD/lg dynamic is the power imbalance, the nurturing quality, and the taboo of it. Those qualities could all exist just as easily in a professor/student dynamic, doctor/patient, step-dad/step-daughter, and various others. I’m not married to the idea of my kink dynamics implying familial relations.

That said, for some people, incest itself is a kink. They may enjoy the taboo of that dynamic. However, from what I’ve gathered in talking to some of those kinksters, even their proclivities aren’t about literally wanting to fuck members of their own actual family. It’s a roleplay, a fantasy, a series of archetypes.

How did you get over shame and self-judgment about this kink?

I am fortunate that a lot of my kinks have come into vogue recently, so they’re more societally accepted than they would’ve been a few years ago. Calling partners “Daddy” is a relatively normal thing now, for example (hotly debated sometimes, yes, but normalized nonetheless). Full-on DD/lg dynamics obviously take this further than your typical “Fuck me harder, Daddy” thrown into occasional dirty-talk, but many people at least have a touchstone now for what could make this kink hot, so I’m less ashamed about this interest than I used to be.

A big part of my shame centered on the names and words themselves, actually, especially the word “Daddy.” For a long time I had trouble saying it out loud; it made me cringe and blush, which I figured meant I just wasn’t that into it. But the more that I practiced saying it and thinking it, the easier it got. Sometimes I would practice while masturbating. Sometimes I would murmur it in a partner’s ear if I was too shy to look into their eyes when I said it. Sometimes I would just think it until I felt brave enough to say it. It was a process.

It’s also helped me a lot to only date/fuck people who are sex-positive, kink-positive, open-minded and non-judgmental. Which is easier said than done, sadly.

Does the Daddy Dom have to be older/bigger/stronger than the submissive?

Nope! I know people whose Daddies are younger than them. My last Daddy was 5 inches shorter than me. My current Daddy is just over a year older than me. Age and size aren’t nearly as important to me as how the person makes me feel. As long as I feel small, safe, and submissive in their presence, all those other factors are superfluous.

Granted, some people have an easier time getting into a submissive headspace when their partner is bigger, older, and/or stronger than them, or when their partner holds more real-world power than they do (privilege, financial capital, etc.) – and if you’re one of those people, then that’s a good thing to know about yourself so you can find what you’re looking for.

How does punishment work in this dynamic?

I think this must differ a lot from person to person, depending on what’s helpful to them psychologically, what turns them on sexually, what they do or don’t conceptualize as a punishment, and what past traumas they may or may not have related to the idea of punishment.

Personally, I don’t do well with traditional punishments. They make me feel like a massive failure and like my partner is actually mad at me, which can lead me into an anxious or depressive spiral. I function much better with positive reinforcement, and don’t get much out of punishment psychologically or sexually.

That said, my Daddy and I have come up with some punishments for me that don’t totally break my brain. Being told to clean my room, wash all my sex toys, or go to an event (because I’m a dyed-in-the-wool introvert) are all things I don’t find especially fun but that are ultimately productive and positive, so they can function as a punishment without making me miserable.

How does this kink interact with non-monogamy?

I would be interested in hearing other DD/lg kinksters’ answers to this, because my experience is that I don’t think I could have multiple Daddies at once, and I certainly haven’t dealt well with the thought of my Daddies having other “little girls.” This dynamic can make me jealous and possessive in a way I don’t feel as much anymore with more traditional D/s dynamics or vanilla relationships. Part of my enjoyment hinges on being not only his little girl but his favorite little girl, his precious perfect only little girl, and maybe some people would say that’s “bad poly,” but right now that’s how I feel.

The DD/lg dynamic requires deep vulnerability and trust (for me and many folks I know, at least), and I find it difficult to go into that vulnerable space when I’m also grappling with jealous feelings. I’ve dealt with this by establishing “DD/lg exclusivity” both of the times I’ve dated a Daddy Dom: we were able to date and fuck other people as per usual, but we reserved names like “Daddy” and “little one” just for each other, and didn’t explore that particular D/s style with others. These boundaries helped me – and continue to help me – feel emotionally safe enough to go deep into our DD/lg connection.

I asked my Daddy for his thoughts on this, as someone more experienced with non-monogamy than I am but who had never done the DD/lg thing before meeting me, and here’s what he said:

Because this is new to me, I’m not sure how my jealousy/compersion feelings would have worked. When you tell me that I’m your Daddy, that already feels very singular and special to me, and I think it’d be hard for my brain to conceptualize two or more. Also once I started viewing you as my little girl, I didn’t want that with anyone else/think it’d be hard for me to have this dynamic with two people at once, because it’s so intense and emotional.

 

What other questions do you have about DD/lg? Leave ’em in the comments!

 

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

5 Things I Love About Erotic Hypnosis

Kate Sloan

Have you ever discovered a new kink and instantly wanted to know everything about it?

This happened to me with age play, it happened to me with bootblacking, and most recently, it’s happened to me with hypnokink. What’s interesting is that these salacious fixations aren’t necessarily driven by genital stirrings – I’m not a dyed-in-the-wool fetishist, mostly just a kinky dilettante – but where my brain goes, my junk will often follow.

Not only is erotic hypnosis fascinating to me intellectually; it also appeals because I’m dating someone new who’s deeply, deeply into it. When I’m super attracted to someone and desperately want them to want me, my service kinks make all their kinks seem much more alluring all of a sudden. Aren’t brains strange?!

Here are 5 of my favorite things I’ve discovered about this unique kink in the couple months I’ve been exploring it…

It’s a completely new sensation to me. Remember when I told you I wanted to try electrostimulation because I thought it’d be utterly different from any pleasures or pains I’d felt before? Being in trance is like that too. The first time my partner tranced me was actually an accident (that’s a wild story for another time!) and I immediately noticed that it felt like sleepiness, but different; like subspace, but different; like post-yoga relaxation, but different. When I’m in trance, I feel warm, comforted, lulled, and thrillingly malleable.

There are times now when I actively crave trance, just like I do with any other sexual sensation. I miss it when I’ve gone too long without it. And then when my Sir drops me down, it feels all the more delicious.

It loosens my inhibitions. Being a sexually anxious person, I’ve found lots of tricks that work to reduce my anxiety – such as wearing a blindfold, telling my partner what I’m nervous about so they can reassure me, judicious use of weed or booze, or enduring pain so intense it clears my brain.

Being tranced makes me feel a little loopy, like being drunk, high, or super sleepy. This makes it easier for me to ask for what I want and to genuinely enjoy myself in the moment. But beyond that, a partner can also specifically plant a suggestion while I’m in trance that’ll make me feel more confident and less inhibited. A few weeks ago, my Sir used hypnosis to temporarily remove my verbal filter so I would just spout whatever filthy shit entered my mind while we had phone sex, and I monologued at him for like 40 minutes about thigh-grinding, boot-licking, blowjobs, and exhibitionism, among other things. As someone who’s normally pretty shy about dirty talk, I was amazed this could happen!

You can do it without even being physically together. Unlike most “standard” sexual activities, hypnokink lends itself well to long-distance relationships. Many hypno-tops cultivate a mesmerizing voice they only use when hypnotizing someone, and oftentimes, their voice and their words are their primary tools. My Sir’s tranced me many times over the phone but only once in person so far, and I didn’t even notice much of a difference between the two, in terms of the depth of trance I was able to reach.

I’ve long been resistant to long-distance relationships because I felt I needed the intimacy and satisfaction of regular sex with a partner to feel fulfilled by them, but the combination of polyamory and distance-friendly activities like hypnosis has helped diffuse this problem for me. My darlin’ may be 500 miles away from me, but when he’s easing me down into a warm, relaxing trance with just the power of his voice, it feels like he’s right beside me in bed.

There are tons of resources about it. When you’re doing something precarious and scary like messing around with someone’s brain, you’d better know your shit. And fortunately, there’s lots you can learn on the internet, in books, and at workshops about this kink.

My Sir recommends the books Mind Play (which I read and loved; it’s a thorough and titillating introduction to erotic hypnosis with lots of actionable tips) and Hypnotic Amnesia. There are plenty of hypnotists doing good stuff on YouTube if you want a little taste of what trance can feel like; I particularly like Alicia Fairclough. And finally, you should poke around on Fetlife to see if there’s a hypnokink group in your local area; I’ve discovered cool people doing interesting hypno things in my city that way, and you’ll often learn more from seeing an in-person demo than you ever could from a web video.

It requires deep trust and vulnerability. This is my favorite thing about most kinks, and hypnosis is no exception. You can’t – or at least shouldn’t – attempt it with someone unless and until you trust that they know their stuff and would not harm you. Once that trust is earned and established, it opens up so much space for play and exploration.

Sometimes when I watch hypnosis videos on YouTube, part of me feels a little reserved – “What if this person is evil and plants a harmful suggestion in me while I’m under?” – and it makes it trickier for me to go into trance, even though I know mind control isn’t really a thing. But I never feel that apprehension with my Sir. I know that whatever he says to me or does to me, it will be in service of fun, pleasure, and intimacy for us both. That level of trust is not only electrically hot, but also deeply nourishing to me in a way I can’t even quite articulate. That is what’s beautiful to me about any kind of consensual power exchange, and I’m so glad to have found yet another manifestation of that feeling in hypnosis.

Have you ever experimented with hypnosis, in either sexual or non-sexual ways? What did you think?

Do You Want It Too?

Kate Sloan

“Being drunk is making me want to call you Daddy,” I hammer out with clumsy thumbs.

Before I can even get anxious about what I’ve said, Sir types back: “Try it.” So I do.

With the right kind of consent-conscious kink nerd, a new D/s relationship is always an exercise in trust and communication. Always a gamble that catapults my heart into my throat. Here’s what I want. Do you want it too? And then, as time goes on: Are you sure?

Three days after we met, I told this beautiful boy, “I wouldn’t say that my feelings about you are quite ‘Daddy dom‘-esque, but I am very into that nurturing, caring type of dominance, and I do feel that way about you.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel like a ‘Daddy,’ per se,” he replied. “But I do know what you mean.”

We laugh about this interaction now. He is such a Daddy. He likes showing me around his city, holding my hand when we cross the street, carrying things for me. He likes ordering for me at restaurants like I’m not even there (“She’ll have the cacio e pepe“) and letting me taste his grown-up musky cocktails (“Want a sip, little one?”). He makes me feel instantly small with just a word, a glance.

“I just came real hard thinking about you sitting on my face and asking me if Daddy was gonna come from that,” he recounts in a text. “Also, you’re gonna take your iron pills when you get home, right, baby?”

I laugh into my coffee cup in a diner when I read these over, and say to my best friend across the table: “He just sent me a filthy sext and then told me to take my meds. I can’t believe he didn’t know he’s a Daddy dom.”

I have been in too many relationships with people who gave me what I wanted only because they knew I wanted it. This selflessness is lovely, in theory, but over time, it breeds resentment. They grow to resent that I really do want “that kink stuff” all the time, and not just occasionally – and I grow to resent the asynchronicity of our feelings, the way I’m sliding deeper into a dynamic they don’t even really see.

Once, on my way to go see a boyfriend, I subtweeted him. I didn’t entirely realize I was doing it; the thoughts condensed in my brain like rainclouds and I spilled them onto Twitter almost compulsively. “Gosh, there’s such a difference between someone who bites/beats/bruises you ’cause you want them to and someone who does it ’cause they want to,” I mused. “It’s nice to bang someone who’ll beat me up when I ask, but I miss the raw ragged viscerality of a real sadist destroying me.”

It wasn’t a nice thing to do. I know that now, and I regret it. I especially regret it when I remember how he looked up from his phone when I walked through his front door, and met my eyes with a furrowed brow. “Baby, you know I like hurting you, right?” he asked with no preamble. “I like it because you like it so much.”

But therein lay the problem. I wanted him to want it too. I wanted him to lose himself in desire a little when he hit me, his heart stuttering, cheeks flushing. I wanted to feel him get hard through his jeans while I squealed and squirmed in his lap. I wanted a wolfish glint in his eye as he held me down and made me take what he needed to give me.

I guess that’s why we didn’t last. Some people want to make you happy, but the wanting is not always enough.

“You should maybe, uh, tell me what to wear and how to do my hair and makeup for our date,” I mumble over the phone to my Sir. Meek and muffled, because I know how this usually goes. Usually I float this idea and a partner either reacts like it’s totally absurd, or gives me the world’s least satisfying answer: “Wear whatever makes you feel beautiful!”

They always think they’re trying to be nice. And they are being nice, in a way. But they’re also withholding from me the thing that I want. Which is, in a different way, not nice at all, really.

“Hmm,” Sir says thoughtfully, his honeyed tenor tone vibrating against my face from 500 miles away. “Tell me what you like about that.”

No one has ever actually asked me this before, about this particular thing. It’s a conversation I always want to have, about every kink, both mine and my partners’: Why do you like that? The answers are always illuminating. It’s like walking behind Niagara Falls. You knew the exterior was dazzling; now you know its beauty from the inside, too.

I pause and think it through, choose my words carefully, one by one. “I like assignments with clear parameters,” I elucidate at length, “because I like knowing exactly how to make someone happy and being able to do it exactly right.”

“Got it,” he replies. I’ve heard him say this many times. It still makes me swoon every time. Got it. He’s got me. “So, if I was to tell you to wear all black clothing, red lipstick, and your hair styled so I can pull on it, would those parameters be clear enough?”

My temperature rises and a sharp huff of air pushes past my lips, like I’ve been punched in the gut. He gets it, and I love that he gets it. I know my explanation is what helped him get it, but moreover, I love that he asked for an explanation instead of just dismissing my vulnerable request out of hand. I love that he took this seriously because he could see it was serious to me.

Power exchange is a collaborative mosaic of trust and vulnerability. It’s stepping out onto a rickety bridge together, promising to keep each other safe if something goes awry. Here’s what I want. Do you want it too?

I do it for him, too. I try to. Past partners have told me, when I coyly begged them to dominate me, that they worried they’d go too far – or, worse, that I would laugh in their face when they issued a command. “Oh, that? I’m not going to do that. Why would you even want that?!” So I do my best to affirm dominants’ orders. I treat these directives with the care they deserve. They may be barked or growled, but they are vulnerable nonetheless – because I could always, always say no.

Sir unbuttons his shirt and tells me to hang it up in the closet. A bratty voice inside me pipes up to wonder why the fuck I would do that when he’s right here beside me on the bed, warm and touchable and getting undressed. But I know why. He wants to see me do it. He wants to see what I will do for him. So I get up, smooth the shirt onto a hanger, and slide it into the closet, blushing from the way he looks at me. It’s a hunger and a satisfaction: he asked for what he wanted, and I wanted it too.

These moments are small, just snapshots that tell no particular story individually, but woven together, they are a heart-stopping collage. They are trust and vulnerability writ large. Writ very large indeed.

One Monday morning in New York City, I hand Sir two dresses from my suitcase. “Which one, Sir?” I query, and he chooses the red one. I put it on.

I dig through my toiletries bag for fragrances, and hand him three sample vials. He holds each to his handsome nose and selects the Tom Ford. I put it on.

“Do you like making decisions for me?” I ask, playfully, like I already know the answer – but I don’t, not really. I know what the evidence suggests, and I know what I hope the answer is, but it will be a while before I know it for certain, in the pit of my gut and the base of my brain.

“So much,” he groans in response, and I blush as crimson as the dress he chose for me.

Sexy Snaps & Photo Booth Flirtations

Kate Sloan

Being in a new long-distance relationship has me pondering ways to create intimacy across vast expanses.

I know it’s possible because I’ve felt it. Sometimes partners who lived just a quick streetcar ride from me made me feel distanced, shut out, because their hearts were walled off to me; comparatively, my darling in New York pulls me close to him via texts, images, and filthy phone-sex soliloquies. Intimacy can exist wherever you make space for it, wherever you fight for it.

We’ve been playing with digital intimacy in many forms – salacious sexts, obscene FaceTime calls, adventures with app-controlled vibrators – but I’m also drawn, lately, to combining analog romance with the digital. Photo booths are a prime example of our cultural hearkening-back to the analog: like gifting your partner a vinyl LP or sending them a handwritten love letter, snapping instant photos together in a darkened booth is a hot hit of vintage romance.

Here are 5 sexy, kinky, and/or sweet things I’d like to do involving photo booths…

“Strip” tease. I could be ordered to get as naked as I feasibly could in a photo booth, showing off first my lingerie and then my skin. I’d be respectful, making sure no one walked in or got close enough to see – but I’d have to do it, some way and somehow, because my beau’d told me to. I’d grab the strip from its slot surreptitiously on my way out, and slide it into my purse before anyone could see. Four little naked Kates, arranged so neatly for a suitor’s later consumption.

Bruise archive. In many of my past kinky relationships, part of our protocol – whether informal or more official – was the taking and sending of bruise photos in the days after particularly intense scenes. It’s a way to stretch out the sadomasochistic intimacy of those encounters for days or weeks after they occur. For dominants, I hear it can also be nice to receive confirmation that your submissive not only likes their bruises but is proud of them, wants to show them off, wants to make them last. If I had a photo booth in my neighborhood, perhaps I’d instate a tradition of heading there the day after a good beating – and the week after that, and so on, until the marks had faded – to capture my bruises blooming into glory. What a charming album that’d make.

Cuteness quartet. It’s nice to receive a “traditional” gift, like a DVD I’ve been wanting, a gift certificate to my favorite store, or a soft sweater in my power colors. But I’m even more thrilled by personalized and offbeat gifts. I could see a partner snapping a few photo booth strips of himself for me, making all my fave faces and wearing that shirt that makes his eyes look extra blue. Maybe he’d slide it between the pages of a book he thought I’d like and mail it to me, like the photos were an afterthought, a mere bookmark – but I’d know better. I’d see in the shots how much effort had gone into them, and I’d know that meant he cared. A lot.

Date documentation. I love romantic traditions: these little touchstones we return to again and again, simply because they bring us so much joy. That diner you always go to after all-night fuck-fests; that movie you watch together every year around the holidays; that one alley you can’t walk past without making out in it for old times’ sake. I like the idea of taking photo booth pictures together at meted milestones in your relationship. I’m a sap, so I’d probably tape them into my journal, or have them framed.

Phone sex. A photo booth would be an interesting place to call up a beau and have them breathe hot and heavy in your ear. You could capture your authentic reactions to their words – gasps, blushes, moans – and snap your lapful of photo strips on your smartphone to send them. And hey, not to get crass, but I wonder what happens to photo booth ink when the strips get splattered in cum…!

What sexy/kinky/sweet things would you like to do in a photo booth?

 

This post was sponsored by the lovely folks at Ninja Photo, who will rent you photo booths across Canada and so many other places!

3 Hot Fantasies I Have About Sex Dolls

Kate Sloan

Eerie voyeur. Sir is kissing me, and peeling off my clothes, when suddenly… “Hang on, I forgot something important,” he breathes against my lips. My eyes drift open and I watch him stand up, grab the sex doll sitting on her chair, and wheel her around to face us. Her cold eyes catch mine; in them, the slightest hint of undead mirth.

“Is she going to watch us?” I ask uneasily, and Sir nods, before climbing back on top of me and pressing me into the bed with his body.

As long melty minutes tick by between kisses and caresses, I can almost forget the doll is there. That is, until Sir mutters in my ear, “Look at her.”

By then he’s got his fingers in me. I’m self-conscious about my moans, my twisted grimace of pleasure, my wetness seeping onto his hand. And it all seems so much more pronounced when there are two people watching me – even if one of them isn’t actually alive.

“Keep looking at her,” he continues, darkly, his fingers pushing into me in exactly the way I like. He’s going to make me come like this. My face flushes hot. My thighs tremble. The doll’s eyes stare unflinchingly. I’m uncertain. I’m uncomfortable. I’m coming.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. As my breathing slows, I realize my eyes are closed. And there’s Sir, in my ear again. “Didn’t I tell you to look at her?” he warns. I know I’m in trouble, and I can’t stop smiling, and the doll’s still there looking placid and placated.

Learning vulva tricks. “Babygirl, you’re gonna learn something new today,” Sir says, gently pressing me forward over the bedroom threshold, and my heart judders at the sight of a silicone love doll on the bed. She’s spread-eagled, hair pooled beneath her like a yellow-gold puddle, and she looks like she knows what’s up.

“You keep saying you don’t know how to eat pussy,” he continues, and he’s right; this comes up whenever we flirt about threesomes, my incessant fear I wouldn’t know what to do with another vulva if it looked me square in the face. “So daddy’s gonna teach you.”

He pushes me down onto the bed gently, next to her, and pulls up a high-backed chair for a good view. My lesson begins with gentle warm-up – “Kiss her thighs” – before progressing to more insistent teasing – “Lick along her pretty pink lips” – and then to full-on giving her what she wants: “Suck on her clit, little one.”

I melt under his words, eyes sliding shut as I press my face further into this soft silicone vulva. I can almost hear the noises she’d be making if she were alive. I can almost feel like I’m giving someone real pleasure. And when I glance over at Sir, and see the way he’s biting his lip, I know that I am.

Hands off. I’m in trouble, because I made a bratty comment at dinner. I can tell from the stormclouds in Sir’s eyes that I am in for a punishment tonight – but I never quite know what it’s going to be. That mystery itself is part of the punishment.

He shoves me through the doorway, shuts the door, and slams me up against a wall. Instinctively, I reach for him, pining for kisses and warmth, but he pins my wrists over my head and growls, “No. No touching tonight.” I whimper reflexively. No touching? But how?

Guiding me to a chair with firm tugs on my dress, he deposits me where he wants me and then loosens his necktie while I watch. His strong hands guide it over his head and then he’s wrapping it around my wrists and the arms of the chair in quick loops and knots, so fast my eyes can’t keep up, like a con man playing three-card Monte. Find the lady, find the lady. Am I the lady?

No. There’s another lady. Sir pulls the doll from the closet and tosses her on the bed. He climbs on top of her, the way I like. He kisses her lips and then her throat, the way I like. He grazes one hand along the swell of her breast, the way I like.

I don’t like this. And also I do.

Sir makes me watch for long minutes as he bites and smacks his little proxy-me, drags his fingernails along her ribs and hips, presses her thighs apart with his. I like when he treats me like his little fuckdoll. This is not that. This is something else entirely.

He tugs his shirt off over his head and throws it at me, so it lands on my face, obscuring my vision. I’m torn between leaving it there so I can inhale his scent and shaking it off me like a dog so I can see him again. Eventually the latter option wins when I hear him unzip his jeans. If I can’t have that cock inside me tonight then I at least want to see it.

I extricate myself from his fragrant tee just in time to see him pushing two lubed fingers inside his doll, warming her up with slow and deep strokes that make my cunt clench sympathetically. And then he’s pulling his hand out of her and replacing it with his cock, one steady slide all the way inside her. He quirks an eyebrow in my direction, and I realize I’m drooling, quivering, whimpering. Who knows how long I’ve been this way? (Sir does. Sir always knows.)

Eventually, he comes inside her, panting and grunting, and I’m so desperately jealous that there are red welts on my arms from where I’ve struggled to break free of this divine and devious torture.

 

This post was graciously sponsored by the folks at OVDoll, and as always, all opinions and words are my own.