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.
Bimbo Hypno (Content note: bimboification, ableist language, forced feminization, hypnosis, age play / daddy / DD/lg)
Unprecedented PIV in Portland (Content note: alcohol)
Cryin’ & Goodbyin’ (Content note: hypnosis, alcohol)
It wasn’t even supposed to happen. My next trip to New York wasn’t booked until February, and that seemed eons away. When the cute nerd from New York slid into my DMs after some back-and-forth flirty tweets and asked if I’d ever want to “meet a Twitter admirer in person over coffee or something,” I thought it’d either happen months from then or not at all. But it was a nice fantasy, for a moment. “Eee, a Twitter dude is flirting with me,” I texted my best friend, and I kind of thought that’d be the end of it.
