Super Sleepy

Intimate Intercourse: Hypnokink (Part 1)

Kate Sloan

Hello! Intimate Intercourse is a series where I interview my boyfriend/Sir/daddy, who goes by Super Sleepy Dude, about various topics related to sex and kink. Previously we’ve talked about phone sex and Daddy Dom/little girl kink; this time we’re discussing erotic hypnosis! I’ve split this interview up into 3 parts, which will go up over the course of this week. This first part is about how my partner got into hypnosis, what he finds hot about it, and the basic components that make up a hypno scene. Hope you like it! P.S. We’re not getting into the basics of hypnosis very much in this series, and we would recommend that you read the book Mind Play by Mark Wiseman if you want to know more about how to actually hypnotize someone. Content notes for this post: hypnosis (obviously), brief mentions of bondage and impact play.

Kate Sloan: Are you excited to talk about hypnokink?

Super Sleepy: Yes, always! It’s my fave kink!

KS: Okay. So, what is hypnokink, and how does it differ from erotic hypnosis?

SS: Oh, gosh. I don’t know that it does. Hypnokink, erotic hypnosis, recreational hypnosis, are all phrases that are thrown around by similar communities, and there’s a Venn diagram of overlapping people that participate in each of them. It seems to me, from what I’ve read and participated in, that “recreational hypnosis” generally refers to people who do hypnosis for fun, not for therapeutic reasons, but it’s not always sexual. “Erotic hypnosis” is obviously sexual; people doing it for sexual reasons. And then “hypnokink,” I think, is pretty interchangeable – but the distinction between erotic hypnosis and hypnokink seems to be that some people identify with erotic hypnosis as somewhat of a vanilla sex act, and people who identify as hypnokinky, or hypnokinksters, tend to recognize that it is a kink.

KS: Interesting. Tell me about how you originally got interested in it.

SS: Okay. Happily! When I was a kid, I would watch cartoons and movies and stuff, and there’s a lot of ‘80s and ‘90s cartoons and Disney movies – like Scooby-Doo and Aladdin and The Jungle Book – that have hypnosis as a plot device. And always, during those moments – I remember it the most with Aladdin – I would feel very, very intensely interested in those things. Like, I didn’t have the vocabulary for “I am getting turned on,” and I don’t think my dick was necessarily getting hard, but I was very interested: leaning forward, paying attention to that shit. And I remember, in 5th grade, there was a policy in my school where, if you got done all your work, you could pick up any encyclopedia and read whatever you wanted…

KS: [giggling]

SS: What?!

KS: That’s so cute!

SS: You could read whatever. Read the dictionary, or the encyclopedia, or any of the books on the shelf. And I found myself drawn to the “H” one, and to the “HY” one… I was like, “Oh, wow, hypnosis! Weird! What’s up with that?” And then I was incredibly hard and incredibly turned on in the middle of class, and I was like, “Oh, shit, fuck. Close that!” And that’s about the time that I started Googling stuff and trying to figure out why hypnosis, and the idea of mind control and controlling people’s thoughts/minds/bodies with words, was such a hot idea to me.

KS: And you told me that for a while, you didn’t think that it was real, or that you could actually do it, and then eventually you learned how to do it. Can you tell me about that?

SS: Yeah. When I started Googling it, one of the first things that any baby hypnokinkster will likely come upon is the Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive; that’s the big site and it’s been around for a long time, and on the front page of that site, there’s a statement about how it’s all fantasy and it’s not real, and I think that that, combined with probably stuff from Wikipedia and stuff from Penn & Teller’s show Bullshit!, all of which I was consuming at that time, was like, “Okay, well, this isn’t a real thing, and you can’t do it, but it’s still really hot to me, so I’ll read this erotica and I’ll fantasize about it and masturbate to it but it’s probably not something I’ll ever be able to do because it doesn’t exist.”

KS: And then how did you learn how to do it?

SS: Good question. I think a couple of years later, in my late teens/early twenties, I started branching out a bit more – not just reading erotica but finding communities of hypnokinksters on websites like Tumblr and Sleepychat and Hypbook and FetLife and Omegle. People were spread out all over the place, but these places were all overlapping, and if you used the same terms, you could find community in all these places at that time. In spaces like that, in live-chat spaces and on Tumblr where people were posting scene logs and stuff, it was very obvious that people were doing it for real. It wasn’t just fantasy. I think one of the first people that I read was H-Sleepingirl. She posted a lot of scene logs from parties in New England and New York, and the New York hypnosis group on FetLife was constantly posting about how they were doing parties or trancing people. And also, on Omegle, it’s a chat website where you can flag what terms you want to chat about, and I was flagging with “erotic hypnosis,” “hypnokink,” all these terms, and there were people on there that clearly wanted to do scenes, and that’s how I learned to do it, is by chatting with people, and trying stuff I had read about on Tumblr and in other places, and seeing what worked and what didn’t.

KS: That’s gotta be different, doing it in text chat versus doing it in real-time.

SS: It is! It’s super different, yeah. There are people that are more susceptible to being hypnotized in text versus audio versus in person, based on their modalities, essentially, and there are people that can’t go into trance in any of those various things, or for whom it’s less likely.

KS: Tell me what is sexy to you about me being in trance, or about putting me into trance.

SS: Sure. The hot thing about hypnotizing you is that it is a form of control, but it is control of your brain. It’s really hot when I strap you down, because I have more control over your body, or when I hit you, because that puts you into a more submissive place, where it’s easier for me to tell you what to do… but with trance, it’s bypassing, a lot of the time, the conscious mind or the critical factor, so it’s hot because I can suggest that you do things and you’ll respond much more quickly and without a lot of questioning of the commands that you’re given. Also because I can make you do things with your brain that you wouldn’t think to do on your own, or that you would think were ridiculous if you were fully conscious.

KS: This is a basic question: can you explain the components of a hypno scene?

SS: Yeah. Not every scene will have these components, but this is probably generally relevant; most scenes will have them. You’re gonna start with a negotiation of what’s allowed, what’s acceptable. Some people don’t want to be touched during hypnosis, some people do; some people have existing triggers that they don’t want used, some people have existing triggers that they do want used; et cetera. So, a normal BDSM-style negotiation of, like, “What are you consenting to? What is okay? What’s not okay? How are we going to get out of this if we need to? What will you need after this?” That’s step 1. Once you have that, there’s often a concept in hypnosis of something called “pre-talk,” which is talking to your subject, as a hypnotist, about what it feels like to be in trance. So, talking about what that state feels like, giving them – before you’re in the scene – a sense of the fact that they’ve probably been in the state before, and a reference point for what being trancey and being hypnotized feels like. If you don’t do that, it’s much harder to get somebody to that place, if they don’t know what they’re going for, if they don’t know where they’re trying to get. So, in a lot of people’s pre-talk, they’ll talk about “highway hypnosis,” like, “Remember a time when you’ve been driving, and you got to your destination, but you don’t remember all the steps?” or flow state, like, “Remember a time when you thought you were never gonna finish a paper, and then you wrote for hours and hours and got it done, and all of that time in between sort of melted together into this very focused place?” So that’s pre-talk.

KS: Cool.

SS: Once you’ve got somebody comfortable with that, and agreeing that they recognize that place, it’s a lot easier to start an induction, especially if you’ve never done that with them before. Let me just define what that is first: an induction is when you take somebody from an awake, alert state into trance, usually a light trance at first, and then we’ll talk about how to deepen that in a second. Inductions vary pretty widely; there’s a lot of different kinds. Progressive relaxation is the one that a lot of people are very familiar with, which is like, talking about relaxing somebody, muscle by muscle, or muscle group by muscle group, their eyes, their shoulders, their chest, their feet, whatever, every muscle group is getting more and more relaxed, and as their body gets more relaxed, their mind gets more relaxed. The other ones that are pretty commonly used in erotic hypnosis contexts are the Elman induction, which is a multi-stage induction that does some progressive relaxation and some fractionation and an arm-drop and some other stuff… There are rapid inductions, which are commonly used by stage hypnotists or magicians, which are like, handshake inductions, butterfly inductions, stuff like that. There are confusion inductions, which are when you overload the brain with too much information or too much input to process, and in that moment of too much information and input, you can give the brain a suggestion, which is just to let go of all of that, and a lot of people will follow that and just sort of drop. There are others, but those are some examples of inductions.

KS: Okay.

SS: So you have the pre-talk, the induction, and then deepeners, usually. Deepeners are techniques that will take a trance that already exists, a light trance, and then deepen it. There’s a lot of ways to do that. There’s countdowns, there’s deepening patter, there’s fractionation, which is bringing someone up and then down rapidly many times, and every time that you go down, you can drop deeper. And then, when you have somebody who is in a trance and has been deepened, you can do suggestions. So there are short-term suggestions and long-term suggestions. You can install post-hypnotic triggers: things that, after the person is out of trance, will make them react in certain ways to certain stimuli. You can do amnesia play, you can do immobilization, all kinds of different things as triggers or suggestions. You can play with people who are in trance, and you can install suggestions and play with people who are not in trance. Those are both things that are fun.

KS: Yup!

SS: And then there’s an awakener after that, which is bringing somebody out of trance, whether that’s to play with those post-hypnotic suggestions, or even after you’re done playing with them while they’re in trance. And then aftercare, after the scene. Those are the main components.

KS: Thank you.

SS: You’re welcome!

To be continued on Wednesday, when we’ll discuss the difficulties of disclosing a hypnosis kink, our first hypno scene together, what makes someone a good hypnotic subject, trance triggers, hypnotherapy, and some of the sexy things we like to do with hypnosis!

When Your Partner Comes Out As Your Partner

Kate Sloan

It all started when a friend kept referring to my boyfriend’s other partner as his “primary partner.”

Granted, this friend isn’t super schooled in the technicalities of non-hierarchical polyamory. He didn’t fully grasp, I think, that it’s possible to be equally romantically devoted to more than one person at once – or that it would be hurtful for me to hear myself implicitly referred to as the secondary partner. The less-important one. The sidepiece.

See, this type of language just fanned the flames of fears I already harbored. Despite my boyfriend always treating me as a priority, and making it clear that I wasn’t less-than in any way, I still felt like the “side” girlfriend moreso than the “main” one. As we discussed this in a tearful phone call, it became clear that there were three factors contributing to this impression: I felt inconsequential next to my partner’s other relationship’s longer history and future plans; they live together, while he and I live 500 miles apart; and they each publicly acknowledge their partnership, on social media and elsewhere, while he and I do not – because I am a sex writer.

“Well, the last one’s the easiest one to fix,” my boyfriend said, “so let’s fix it.”

I was floored, though I shouldn’t have been. He had been telling me for a few months that he eventually wanted to be “out” as my partner – which meant, in turn, being “out” as kinky. He’d already come out to friends, family, and colleagues as bisexual and polyamorous over the years – so why not this, too?

As we talked, it suddenly occurred to me – like the lid being ripped off a paint can and spilling bright pigment every which way – that I’ve never really had a partner publicly acknowledge being my partner for the whole time I’ve been a sex writer, except for those who also already worked in the sex industry. A couple of short-term boyfriends didn’t mind being associated with me on Twitter and such, but usually they had nothing in particular to lose, and sometimes they even had something to gain: they were porn or camming hopefuls, and I felt that they wanted to use my following to help launch those ambitions.

Needless to say, it provokes a pretty creepy-crawly feeling when the people who will happily admit to dating you are mostly people for whom doing so would be a tactical advantage more than an intimate celebration. All these feelings spilled out of me during that conversation with my boyfriend: I’d realized, in one fell swoop, just how much damage had been done to my psyche over the years by partners wanting to hide in the shadows, deny our connection in public, and treat me essentially as the “secret” girlfriend. Of course I always felt like the least important one when my beaux had multiple partners; I was usually the only one conspicuously missing from their Facebook posts, their Instagram selfies, their smitten tweets.

The thing is, I completely understand why someone wouldn’t want to associate themselves with me publicly, even if they love me. Being as loudly pervy as I am is a risk not everyone can afford to take, and I’m immensely privileged to be in a position where my absurd kinks and sexcapades don’t (usually) harm me or limit me. This is my career, this is the life I have chosen, and not everyone who dates me or fucks me has made that same choice, nor should they necessarily have to. My boyfriend owns a company, so in managing his own public image, he’s making decisions not only for himself but potentially also for his business partners and his employees, not to mention the other people in his life who might be affected by this disclosure. We all deserve privacy, and no one should have to give that up just because of who they’re dating.

But I also know now, after much reflection, that I don’t think a serious relationship is sustainable for me if I’m made to feel like my partner is ashamed of who I am and what I do. It may be kinder to them to downplay my own needs and insist they can hide behind a veil of anonymity, but it is, in the long-term, gravely unkind to myself. It digs me deeper into a preexisting negative self-image, and furthers my feeling that my relationships are somehow illegitimate or unimportant to the other people in them, no matter how big and beautiful they may feel to me.

It was difficult to phrase this to my partner in a way that didn’t make it sound like an ultimatum – which it isn’t really; I could keep dating him if he wanted to stay anonymous, albeit not altogether happily – but fortunately he didn’t take it as such. He understood immediately why it would be painful for me to publicly pretend my partner is a Man of Mystery, instead of acknowledging the marvelous man he is in reality. Like me, he grew up on the internet, so he grasped that if something doesn’t exist online, in some ways it doesn’t fully exist at all. It has always been hard for me to see my non-sex-industry friends posting cute selfies with their partners, or tagging their sweethearts in tweets about date nights and romantic adventures, believing I would never be able to do that. I am so grateful that my boyfriend understood that particular pain and decided it wasn’t worth putting me through.

He is careful and thoughtful in everything he does, and this endeavor was no exception. He spoke to his therapist, his business partners, his other girlfriend, his friends, and even some casual business acquaintances, trying to get a read on whether coming out as a kinky sex blogger’s boyfriend and dom would be a disastrous error. Most of them knew he’d wanted this for a while and seemed surprised he hadn’t done it sooner. Few of them expressed any reservations, and the few they brought up were risks he had already considered and decided he could accept.

I kept telling him, whenever we discussed this, “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” – to which he would always say, “I know. I’m not doing it because I have to. I’m doing it because I want to.” Invariably I would start crying so hard as to become unintelligible. Being a loud-and-proud sex writer, I’d sort of just accepted that no one would ever want to be linked to me by anything more solid than a false name or a censored selfie. I’d assumed that no one would ever love me enough to be visibly mine, and that belief was slowly poisoning my self-worth from the inside out. And here was this man, telling me that not only did he love me, but he wanted to shout it from the proverbial rooftops.

Though he got all his ducks in a row a few weeks ago, we agreed we should wait until we were together in person to actually pull the trigger. “I’m going to want to touch you after that,” he told me, which is the same thing he said when we discussed whether we were ready to say “I love you” for the first time. In a way, it feels like the same act, just shifted and magnified: this is him showing me he loves me in a way that feels even more impactful than the words themselves. He’ll dash off a tweet, casually-but-not-casually mentioning that I’m his girlfriend, and it’ll change our relationship and our lives. I can’t think of anything more romantic.

All this to say: my Sir’s name is Matt. He wanted me to let you know.

Behind the Seams: Besotted in Boston

Kate Sloan

September 21st, 2018. I always get anxious about travel. It can be an anxiety-provoking thing for anyone, but it’s particularly become a trigger for me since I missed a flight a couple years ago due to a transit miscalculation. So when my Sir picked the outfit he wanted me to wear to the airport for my flight to meet him in Boston, he chose an ensemble he knew I’d feel comfy in: leggings, boots, and a shirt bearing the name of my favorite band, Hippo Campus. What a thoughtful sweetheart.

Thus attired, I trekked down to Toronto Island to catch my flight from Billy Bishop airport, read The Magicians on the plane, then dragged my luggage onto a Boston city bus and walked a few blocks to the Godfrey Hotel, where Sir met me in the lobby. He looked – as ever – heart-stoppingly handsome, and highly excited to see me.

We checked in and took the elevator up to our 6th-floor room, where, at first, we just cuddled and kissed and held each other. (Reunions in long-distance relationships are often like this.) But, before too long, we were having loud and messy sex involving a lot of toys, biting, punching, and slapping, because we’re us.

Later that night I changed into a slinky black and silver dress for a night out on the town: dinner at Bistro du Midi and an Alina Baraz concert. We danced and swayed and giggled and he bit my shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. It was all very romantic.

What I’m wearing:
• Yellow unisex Hippo Campus T-shirt – bought at their merch table at a show in Brooklyn back in February
• Black leather Danier jacket with pins from Kinktionary, L’Amour-Propre, and MaxFun
• Black leggings – H&M probably
• Black leather Frye harness boots
• No makeup, because it was all packed!

September 22nd, 2018. While we mostly just wanted to spend the weekend kissing and fucking and hanging out (#LongDistanceLyfe), we each had some touristy things we wanted to do in Boston, so we decided to do ’em on our wide-open Saturday.

Sir chose this dress for me in the morning – it’s one of his faves – and then we went to Tatte for brunch, which was delicious and beautiful. From there, we took a Lyft to Harvard Square, stopped into Good Vibes to look at sex toys, and wandered onto the Harvard campus. We found a little nook in which to make out for a minute or two, because it seemed important that we kiss at Harvard, or just that we kiss in general. Then we sat on the steps in front of Widener Library and peoplewatched for a bit. (People dress great at Harvard.) We stopped by Amanda Palmer’s favorite haunt, Café Pamplona, for drinks before deciding on our next move.

Sir wanted to check out the Boston Public Library, which was beautiful. We walked around looking at statues and art, and then sat in the courtyard and did an impromptu hypno scene in that serene little space. I felt so safe and happy. We strolled back to our hotel through the Boston Common. Later that night, we got dressed up for steak at a jazz club, cocktails at Drink, and, uh, a watersports scene.

What I’m wearing:
• Blue and white floral-print dress – H&M
• Black leather Danier jacket with pins from Kinktionary, L’Amour-Propre, and MaxFun
• Hot pink Kate Spade New Bond Street Florence satchel
• Black leather Frye harness boots
• Navy suede collar – L’Amour-Propre

September 23rd, 2018. We made use of our last remaining hours in our beautiful hotel room by having sleepy morning sex and testing out a new lipstick for blowjob purposes (more on that coming to a blog near you in a while!). We left our bags with the concierge and strolled over to The Gallows for brunch; I had fried chicken and pancakes that were memorably yummy.

On our way back, we stopped in the park to peoplewatch, giggle, and kiss. Sir provided a running commentary on some folks who were doing strange airborne couples’ yoga a ways away from us, making me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe.

We checked out Newbury Street, stopping into a café and a clothing store. Sir bought us chocolate truffles at a fine chocolatier, which we ate on a park bench, talking about how much we were going to miss each other.

Sir had a hankering for oysters (and, as they say, when in New England…) so we went to the Island Creek Oyster Bar. We worked our way through 12 oysters and a few drinks while doing our traditional end-of-date debrief: discussing our favorite parts of the weekend, what we hoped to try more of, and when we’d see each other next.

He took me back to the hotel to grab our bags, then kissed me goodbye and stepped into a car to the train station. I watched him drive away, feeling very in love and only a little bit sad.

What I’m wearing:
• Turquoise and pink floral-print dress – CowCow
• Black leather Danier jacket with pins from Kinktionary, L’Amour-Propre, and MaxFun
• Hot pink Kate Spade New Bond Street Florence satchel
• Black leather Frye harness boots
• Navy suede collar – L’Amour-Propre

That Time I Pissed In My Boyfriend’s Mouth

Kate Sloan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Month’s Worth of Phone Sex

Kate Sloan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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