Heat Treatment

Autumn is here and yet my summer of bed bugs rolls on. The irony that I thought the days of risking these and STIs was over when I stopped my casual sex journeying around different bedrooms across the city is not lost on me.

My Master and Princess however have made the ick factor easier to deal with. Around Easter time, just as they went on holiday the other consequence of casual sluttery caught up with me when a small sore in a very sensitive place turned out to be herpes.

The awkwardness of that only lasted as long as having to text them both in time before they boarded a long flight and it didn’t look like I’d been fucking behind their back while they sunned themselves. By the time they were back from their trip, we’d all more or less forgotten about it and none of us have had issue since.

Bed bugs on the other hand are less painfully physically but truly one of the most stressful and unpleasant and oddly upsetting and violating experiences of my life. Herpes felt no more significant than a cold sore but these make me feel contagious and dirty and have brought up all kinds of psychological challenges I never expected.

As I’ve said before there’s been a distinct lack of fucking in my house recently and most of the dirty talk has been about the disgustingness of insects not the smut of sexual innuendo. But it’s also allowed me to see a whole new side of my relationship with both my partners and created a different kind of intimacy between us.

In fact I’m currently camped out for a day or two in their spare room while I wait for the new pest control company to solve the errors of the first pest control company and there’s something about sharing a living space I didn’t expect to enjoy as much having always been the third person in relationships with my almost pathological need for space.

Having their company and support has definitely made the whole invasiveness and awfulness easier. Having accidentally hired a bunch of incompetents to begin with having strange men in my house all summer has been mildly annoying rather than anything else but having now hired a company who know their stuff, it’s made me feel oddly exposed.

I think we all know that I have a fairly thick skin when it comes to sexual matters. I’m not an exhibitionist but I don’t waste time these days on unnecessary shame either. So I didn’t bat an eyelid when the pest control guy phoned to apologise that he’d had to move some of my underwear that I’d hung on a rail to be heat treated.

He didn’t reference that it was all stuff straight out of an escort site or the old school version of Agent Provocateur but just wanted to make sure I didn’t think they’d been being nosy. I appreciated the customer service and the proper job baking bed bugs to death and finally freeing my house up again.

But when he called back to say that in doing the rest of the inspection of my flat he’d had to move the bags in the bath, my face flared hotter than their heat treatment. In heating your house to 60 degrees to kill the bugs, you are advised to move things that will melt or explode such as aerosols or candles or ‘hand held electrical items’.

This meant I’d taken the bottles of lube and my Doxy out of the bedside table reluctant to make bed bug hell more horrible or expensive by damaging that too. I’d bagged them up and put them in the bath to protect them but a rogue bed bug in the bathroom had led to the technicians having to take my Doxy out and check it before having to phone me to tell me this.

I’ve rarely had a more awkward phone call. Having got up early and done more by 9am than I usually manage in a day I wasn’t thinking when the guy started stuttering about opening the bag in the bathroom. Tiredness had me thinking it was the bag of facecloths I’d left to hot wash but the heat of embarrassment made me squirm inside when he practically whispered the words ‘personal toy’.

Two thoughts went through my head at this point. ‘Thank god I hid all the dildos in the garden’ and ‘thank god I never have to see you again’. I’ve heard ‘sluts never get cold’ but I was unprepared for the burning sensations in my cheeks and chest of knowing there were two complete strangers in my house holding my super powerful sex toy and seeing my sluttiest underwear and I had no idea what they were saying or thinking about it.

There is such a world of difference between the sexual image you portray to the outside world and style yourself as and the side people see by accident. I felt as awkward and obvious as the times someone has walked in on me fucking or seen me without invitation. If Sir had told me to leave the Doxy where it might have been spotted, I’d have felt no shame (even though I’d probably have declined due to workplace sexual harassment.)

But this inadvertent sneak peek into my sexual life left me surprisingly uncomfortable all day. When I went home, everything was packed neatly and without any sense of voyeurism but each detail made me wince. The giant jiggle balls in the same bag. The fact the lube is actually for anal play. The purse full of spare condoms long since not needed in a long term relationship. The Helmut Newton photos in the bathroom.

Your home hides and displays so much of you when you invite people into it and while mine paints an accurately slutty and sexual image of me, I also realised I don’t want that conveyed to strangers especially by accident. Like Loyd Grossman had gone through the X rated keyhole, I hoped I hadn’t just become pest control gossip.

But it did take my mind off the bed bugs. Especially when the company called to say they’d be sending the technician back in ten days to inspect the property and I realised I would have to stand face to face with him trying not to show my embarrassment and knowing there would be no point hiding anything now.

If I wanted to the bed bugs to die before now, I had an almost equal urge to curl up and die myself. Clearly I’ve met my slutty kryptonite in bed bugs and I need them gone if I am to regain my sexual superpowers…

Heat Treatment

The Edge

I won’t lie. I haven’t been blogging much because I was distracted by some big old life stuff too but it’s mainly because my bed bug problem continues with seemingly no end in sight. Apparently the heatwave has caused an increase in them especially in London and mine have been compounded by a company who don’t know their arse from their elbow dragging out the treatment for weeks.

Not even my best flirting with workmen skills have helped this time because a) I can’t fuck a man who deals with wasps for a living without crying and b) no man wants to sleep with a woman who he knows has bed bugs. It’s the slutty customer service stand off. And it’s been miserable.

Princess reacts badly to the bites swelling up and itching and I’m also acutely aware of the risk of bringing them to her and Sir’s house. The things people do not mention in the peppy little articles about poly and safe sex. So while I’ve been seeing quite a lot of Sir and Princess, it hasn’t involved much time in bed.

Part of me has loved branching out into much more conventional ‘dating’ behaviours as a triad and I’ve enjoyed each trip to the park, dinner cooked, movie watched or night out but much as I like the boyfriend/girlfriend aspect of my relationship with them, I don’t want to  be just friends. I want to fuck them too.

So it all appeared to be back on track and Princess was ready to sleep over last week and took the opportunity to try the newly positioned bed (thanks to the bed bugs) out by tying my hands over my head and edging me for some time by slapping my cunt until I came in a squirming heap. But sadly it was her with the red marks when we’d finished not me and she had to go home leaving me to sleep alone.

But like when you allow yourself just one small taste of anything, it made me unable to keep pretending I wasn’t horny and I wasn’t missing our usual fucking habits. And I think it might have done the same to my Master and Princess because yesterday turned into all about orgasms.

Princess and I whiled a way a wait for Sir to get back from work with her capturing her enjoyment of giving me orders and controlling my orgasm again. She brought me so close to orgasm with some well placed spanks to my clit piercing I begged her to let come and then rewarded her with some undivided attention to her own clit until we were both in that state of ‘I might burst if I have another orgasm but I don’t want to stop.’

We hadn’t mentioned our greed to Sir instead sitting down to dinner when he got home and enjoying some good news but maybe he picked up the mood because instead of crashing out early after a business trip like he often does, he was in the mood to initiate orgasms.

He’s bought a pair of spectacular heeled platform boots and came into the living room to show me them. He’s a tall man anyway but in these he was towering over both us, legs for miles and cock enjoying the feel as much as Princess and I were. Almost 6 inches taller than normal, he had us take turns to kneel and suck his cock, gaining extra enjoyment from the extra effort it took both of us to reach it.

And that extra height made sucking cock all the more intense for me, slipping further down my throat than I can usually take. Princess’s deepthroat skills are second to none but mine are tentative to say the least. There’s always a moment I simultaneously think ‘oh yes’ and ‘I can’t’ and I lose my confidence and stop.

Sir pushed me hard last night with this point putting me on my hands and knees on the bed while he fucked my throat and pulled my hair and stroked my back and the pleasure/pain moment was even more overlapping than usual during deepthroat. I loved it and hated it and wanted more and wanted to stop. I wanted to please him and I wanted to fight him to get away.

But while my brain panics and my body isn’t sure, my cunt knows exactly how it feels with my clit being swollen under Princess’s fingers while Sir pushed my throat to its limits and I came for them both. I do so much love that extra edge pushing myself to submit adds to sexual acts for me.

And then I found the other aspect to my Master standing closer to seven feet tall than six feet. His cock goes even deeper into my cunt than before. Every time he fucks me I wonder if my cunt has a limit for cock and last night I realised once and for all, it doesn’t. There is at point at which his cock is too much. He fucked me harder and deeper than I think he’s ever done all balanced on high heels and it reduced me to such a cock slut I genuinely thought I was going to squirt from penetrative sex for the first time ever.

I actually didn’t really notice his orgasm or Princess’s orgasm I was so wrapped up in coming over and over again on him fucking me into a whole new level of cock worship. I love that feeling inside my cunt afterwards when you can feel just fucked you’ve been but last night I could feel it on the outside too.

The pleasure/pain of the whole evening continued every time I sat down or moved and felt the sexual equivalent of a well worked muscles and it sent a little shiver of enjoyment into my whole body with each reminder. I presume this what virtuous people feel when they hike high mountains and the body feels like muscle memory and achievement. I scale the heights of cock instead.

And best of all, Sir was all pleasure and no pain in his heels so hopefully he’ll be keen to use the boots to dom me into a greedy fuck toy again soon…

The Edge

Bugging Out

So I’ve been a bit quiet recently because life has just been throwing all kind of sex blocking stuff at me. Between exams, family crises, new jobs, old jobs that get busier, travel and deadlines, kink and fucking have had to step back slightly.

But nothing has fucked up my fucking habits quite like getting bed bugs. I defy even the horniest person on earth to feel frisky when you’ve got unwanted bedfellows. It is not the kind of action I want on my mattress trust me.

Poor Princess got bitten badly and put me on notice til I could get it sorted. We managed to fuck a few times on the sofa but even that wasn’t ideal. I might have a big sofa but it’s definitely a struggle to fit three people on it and move around too much.

People often talk about fucking in bed as if it’s boring and vanilla and interesting people fuck all over the land in increasingly wild and crazy places instead. Now we all know I like a changing room or two and there’s definitely fun in the exhibitionism and secrecy of an illicit fuck in a strange place on the odd occasion.

But having had a mis-spent and slutty youth, I mainly associate sex in strange places with bad sex. Being young and horny like many teenagers I had nowhere comfortable to fuck most of the time. The only beds I encountered were in student houses often bedrooms barely conducive to spending time in and heaped with coats with parties dodging getting caught by people looking for the lighter they’d mislaid.

And that was if you weren’t fucking in even stranger and more awkward places than that. Desperation and lack of opportunity drove me to have sex in more alleyways than I’d care to admit. There’s not much room for finesse when you are banging beside a wheelie bin. Nor do toilet cubicles lend atmosphere to the proceedings.

I’ve also fucked in the grounds of a church (in fact I think I’ve been non sectarian and managed to orgasm in the grounds of both a Protestant church and a Catholic chapel.) Being non religious the trappings of that never bothered me much. I just thought of them as fairly secluded places you didn’t always have to have sex standing up.

I felt more guilty about the time I fucked a guy in the grounds of an old folks home in case I accidentally gave someone’s granny the fright of her life. Keeping an eye on lights going on and genuinely getting splinters in my arse off the pine tree I was leaning against made that moment memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Teenage fumblings are fine when you’re drunk and horny but once you switch to have time and space for sex it’s revolutionary. Even a one night stand is improved by skin on skin contact rather than only being able to expose the bare minimum of flesh needed. Only being able to fuck standing up or bent over from behind gets restricting and often awkward if like me you are considerably shorter than most men.

Being able to sprawl out on a bed gives so many more opportunities and angles it becomes easy to take that for granted and think it’s being boring. But there’s such a joy in being able to fuck at a different pace each time and use your space to stretch out and get to know your partner’s body to give them the most pleasure possible and receive as much pleasure back as possible. It’s extremely tricky to lick cunt any other way.

Plus a bed you use frequently gives you scope for the use of toys. We have duplicates of our favourite sex toys at both our flats. But you can’t really carry a dildo in your clutch bag and get someone to use it on you when you climb over the fence into a park late at night. The same goes for lube which is of course essentially for things like anal or even giving a decent hand job.

You learn so much more about sex from spending time in bed and you also get to spend that post sex time too. I think you learn as much after fucking as during fucking. You can debrief, decide what to do next or not and simply get to know each other better so that there’s more understanding sexually or emotionally. Pulling your skirt down and your knickers up while looking for a bin for the used condom doesn’t have quite the same bonding experience.

So having my bed off limits and being terrified to infest my Master and Princess’s bed either really did a number on my libido. I found it hard to get quite as horny knowing the sofa wasn’t a fun choice but a necessity. Plus having bed bugs definitely made me feel more dirty than any STI I’ve ever had which crimps your style somewhat.

It was with utter joy this week that I handed over an eye popping amount of money to get my house professionally treated and get my sex life back. Because the best treatment for bed bugs is extreme heat I had to remove anything that might melt from my bedroom. The man on the phone instructing me specified candles and anything ‘hand held or battery operated’ in fact.

In between the sheer bizarreness of spending a good hour taking all my dildos and sex toys out of their box and wrapping them up in plastic bags to hide outside in my garden, my interest was piqued to revisit these old friends. I buffed my latex catsuit and stockings before hiding them too and then pictured wearing them again soon.

Putting the toys back in place, I found myself lining them up in size order and then switching them round to order of favourites before back to size order so I could ask Sir if I could start my stretching training again. It’s never a bad idea to keep your hand in. Especially when that means Sir can get his hand in again soon.

I’m delighted to have my bedroom back with nothing else in there except who I invite. Although funnily enough in all that time off I still didn’t christen my new carpet. Looks like my Master and Princess and I will just have to reacquaint ourselves with every room going…

Bugging Out

YES!

As I write something incredible and life changing has happened: Ireland has repealed the 8th Amendment to their constitution which considered the life of an unborn foetus equivalent to the person carrying it. This effectively prohibited abortion even in the most exceptional and life threatening circumstances within Ireland.

To access abortion Irish women had to travel outside the country, mainly to Great Britain but sometimes to Holland and pay the full costs of the travel, time off work and the procedure itself. This put abortion outside the reach of most people. The younger you were, the poorer you were, if you already had children and needed childcare, if you were disabled or had immigration issues, abortion was priced out of your reach. Even budget airlines cost too much on social security.

And you couldn’t just ask people for help. The shame and stigma of abortion in a country that for years had mother and baby homes and Magdalene Laundries that literally locked women up for being pregnant and took the babies they were forced to birth away was immense. In places like Tuam, those babies ended up in a mass grave. Elsewhere they were sold to couples wanting to adopt. The last mother and baby home in Ireland closed in 1996. That’s the year I turned 18.

The culture was cloaked in wanting to protect the unborn but really it was about shaming sexually active women and denying their rights and bodily autonomy. The case that triggered yesterday’s referendum was that of Savita Halappanavar, an Indian dentist who came to work in Galway. When her wanted pregnancy turned to miscarriage and infection set in, she requested an abortion to save her life. But because the foetus still had a heartbeat as it miscarried the 8th Amendment prevented doctors from acting as to hasten the end of the miscarriage was illegal.

Savita took took seven days to die from sepsis in a Western country with less access to maternal rights and healthcare than her native India. The case was pivotal for Ireland and set the path for the referendum (Ireland must hold national referenda to change any aspect of its written constitution. It has previously held them on divorce and same sex marriage as well as the 8th itself in 1983 when it was still illegal to buy condoms without a prescription.)

The only countries with more oppressive abortion laws in Europe than Ireland are Northern Ireland, Malta and the Isle of Man (although there is campaigning under way there to change the laws.) Northern Ireland has the unique quirk where its citizens can hold equal Irish and British citizenship but access the full rights of neither country. The UK government exempted Northern Ireland from the 1967 Abortion Act meaning that abortion is still illegal there. It will not become legal or easier to access because of Ireland’s referendum.

Northern Ireland remains the only part of the UK that still prohibits same sex marriage and in many ways the mindset of the politicians who govern it is back in the 1950s (at best.) Amnesty International has polled Northern Irish people who back similar on demand abortion up to 12 weeks as Ireland voted on and the same roughly 69% of people back it north of the border.

Yet there have been prosecutions and convictions in Northern Ireland in 2016 and 2017 of women who bought abortion pills over the internet because they could not afford to travel to access abortion. Many Irish women, north and south, had those pills seized and in both countries buying them can incur a life sentence in prison. Abortion law in Northern Ireland is from 1861 and a law created before the invention of the lightbulb is not fit for the online era.

Until recently Northern Irish women, despite being considered part of the United Kingdom were unable to access abortions on the NHS if they travelled to Great Britain. Again they had to pay privately for everything forcing many women to choose if they could afford the fee for the anaesthetic and the cost that would incur of staying in a hotel to recover from it rather than travel back the same day. When you reduce medical care to your financial ability you automatically create inequality in your system.

I have never been pregnant. I have never had to access an abortion. But I grew up in Northern Ireland and the lack of abortion rights across the island of Ireland haunted every woman. Something as enjoyable and affectionate and life enhancing as sex felt like Russian roulette.

A country that denies its women the right to choose denies them all reproductive choice. Contraception is treated like a shame on society too. When I was a teenager it was incredibly difficult to access the Pill and condoms were prohibitively expensive. We’d go to the Brook Clinic in the centre of Belfast in our school uniforms and run the gauntlet of people screaming ‘slut’ and ‘murderer’ at us, clearly unaware of how Durex work. Even now my Northern Irish peers are given less access to long acting contraceptives and had to endure protests by anti choice activists like Bernie Smyth to get it.

We had no sex education either and it was pre internet. We learned about genitals from a diagram in a biology book on a frog. Periods were often called ‘the curse’. There was nowhere to go to ask for help or advice. With this repressive background and an ongoing civil conflict meant we didn’t even need the legality of Section 28 to prevent LGBTQ issues and rights being mentioned at all. We simply had the bigotry of the Save Ulster From Sodomy campaign instead. And of course this archaic attitude did little to stop us having sex.

Everyone I knew was fucking rings round themselves. Not only did all that repression make sex forbidden fruit that we thought would taste all the sweeter, but in the middle of an armed conflict your leisure opportunities were fairly restricted and all there was to do in a country that still chained the swings in the park up on the Lord’s Day was have sex.

But the irony was that sex was all about the risk and not the fun. Every time you fucked you were running the consequences of having to ‘take the ferry’ through your head rather than the pleasure you should be experiencing. There was this collective fear and shame about sex. We discussed our escape plan for an unintended pregnancy more than our sexual desires or our bodies (and yet I was still 17 and had been sexually active for 2 years before I first heard of the morning after pill.)

The act of sex for pleasure was shrouded in deep deep shame because that was to admit you were one of those women who put your own selfishness before the unborn child’s rights even if you never had an abortion. You were a slut and a disgrace simply by association. We never discussed masturbation. We never discussed queerness. We never asked if this was normal or acceptable because we’d internalised the idea that any sex made us abnormal and wrong. We went in for self loathing rather than Cosmo quizzes.

Being able to access abortion due to my health (and the sheer fact I’ve never wanted kids) was a huge reason I moved to England. But in order to access the right to choose I had to leave everyone I knew and everything I grew up with and I left with a sense that my country was ashamed of me and I was unwelcome there. Many of my friends didn’t even have that choice or were unwilling to trade family and connections for hypothetical situations and so stayed.

But there was consequences. A girl at school concealed her pregnancy for eight months until she went into premature labour at home with a stillborn baby. She blamed herself for the death and killed herself a decade on after years of mental health issues. 80% of the girls I went to school with had children by 21.

Even if their children were chosen, they suffered from post partum mental health conditions at a rate far higher than their GB peers because it’s hard to switch from the mindset of being told that having a baby ruins your life to loving one. I’ve lost count of the cases of postal natal depression, PTSD in childbirth and post partum psychosis my school friends have mentioned. Infant mortality in parts of Northern Ireland remains the highest in the whole of Europe. Reproductive choice in Northern Ireland is class based and compounded by post conflict sectarian divides.

I’ve received out of the blue Facebook messages from people I barely remember more than once which under the ‘oh I was just thinking about you’ jollity was the question ‘could I stay with you in London for a night?’ It was always an interview or some cover story but I was just the only person they knew with a free place to stay or an address they could use. I asked no questions and played along.

I even let a friend of a friend use my English address her to have abortion pills delivered to knowing having them delivered directly would arouse suspicion and possible seizure in Belfast. I wrapped them up disguised as a birthday present for her and posted them on. They were for her 14 year old daughter who had been raped.

We both knew the risks but she did it for her child and I did it for all the people who that culture failed to prevent from abusive relationships. Again compared to my non Irish friends we, myself included, were so vulnerable to levels of abuse, coercion and sexual trauma it’s hard for people who grew up with legal abortion rights to comprehend.

Our lives and transition into adulthood was marked mainly by fear and shame. I haven’t lived in that atmosphere for nearly 20 years and it still impacts me now. It took a long time to shake off the fear of judgement and (self) blame around sex for me and to not feel profound shame for being sexually active but knowing I didn’t want children.

The things we are told as children and teenagers by our families, teachers, religious leaders and community linger in our minds for a long time and it breaks my heart that my friends’ children are hearing the same shame inducing ‘morality’ we heard from the same people. I wonder how it must feel to be a teenager in Northern Ireland today seeing the Yes vote next door and seeing that campaigning and solidarity can change things that we thought would never change.

If you are celebrating Yes today then please take a moment to sign Amnesty’s petition for Northern Irish abortion rights or support the work of the grassroots Alliance 4 Choice organisation or the fantastic Abortion Support Network who raise money to help women on both sides of the border travel for abortions. The need for their work will not be eradicated overnight.

And remember, you can be pro choice while not having an abortion yourself. No one is going to start forcing women and pregnant people to abort. But people who can get pregnant need the choice whether to continue that pregnancy or not. We don’t force people to give blood or donate organs and extending abortion rights will not detract from your right to refuse a termination.

But you can give Northern Irish women a choice not to grow up and live with the sense that pregnancy is a trauma in its own right. You can help make sure all children are wanted children. There is no sex positivity in a country that is negative on reproductive rights and I want rights for everyone I left behind.

YES!

How To Have Hot Wax Fun

Unsurprisingly for such a bunch of delightful perverts you all enjoyed the tales of wax play and several readers’ eyebrows raised in contemplation at the thought of trying it  for themselves. So I thought I’d give you my tips to get you started.

I’m by no means an expert having played with hot wax a grand total of twice but my greatest kink in life is actually details so you’ll probably find something useful here to get you going on some wax play.

I’ll assume you have consent for all this because Paddington Bear fucking stare if you even considered whipping out some surprise hot wax on anyone, so the most important thing here is the wax itself.

You can’t repurpose just any old candle you have lying round the house (and unlike my sex toys all my candles are actually battery operated). Scented candles are definitely not suitable for this because the fragrance makes them hotter and more likely to burn the skin so you can’t just decide to spice up that unwanted Yankee Candle you have sitting about. This guide on the different kinds of wax is quite helpful if mainly trying to sell kink friendly products at a mark up…

I enjoy bargains almost as much as I enjoy orgasms so I always go hunting for ways to be kinky on the cheap and this time Ebay came up trumps with a 1 kilo bag of soy wax flakes for £7.99 which can be heated easily in a slow cooker (who said they were all brown stew and batch cooking for the middle aged huh?)

You’ll also need a thermometer like this you can leave in the wax while playing and a lidded plastic pudding basin. Plug your slow cooker close to where you want to play making sure it can’t tip over and is easy to lift. Put the wax flakes into the pudding basin, snap the lid on tight so steam and water from the slow cooker can’t get into the wax and the set into the slow cooker crock.

Fill the crock about half way with boiling water and set the slow cooker on high for 2 hours. My wax had melted to a bubbling and slightly too hot 95 degrees centigrade by then. The ideal temperature for play is about 55C and the wax dropped about 5 degrees every 10 minutes the slow cooker was off and the lid was off the basin.

So heating the wax higher and hotter works if you want to set the scene up and have a little time before you get stuck in. If you enjoyed delayed gratification use the keep warm function on your slow cooker once you’ve taken your lids off. This should keep the wax liquid enough to spoon, drizzle, flick, paint or drip all night.

We played with the wax straight onto my carpet because my landlord is replacing my old one. And it seemed amusing to send it out in style so the carpet fitters get a little surprise when they come to lay the new one. As you probably don’t want to fuck your floor as much as you’re hoping to be from all this kink, the best idea is to buy a cheap fabric shower curtain you can throw away afterwards.

This also comes in handy when you stand up after the wax play and your artfully draped and dripped wax cracks and peels off. If you stand on the shower curtain while someone gives you a good grope or applies ice to your wax to help it off in as sexy a way as it went on, the shower curtain stops your aftercare involving the hoover.

You’ll find the wax also comes off more easily if you apply oil to your skin before you play. Avoid either baby oil or Bio Oil or anything else mineral oil based as this is petroleum based and not a good mix with heat of any kind from a safety point of view. I’d also avoid coconut oil or anything solid at room temperature as it can burn the skin if heated too high.

Something like sweet almond oil is perfect and inexpensive. If you have body hair oil is essential for wax removal. If you are clean shaven (or using waxing for hair removal) leave 24 hours between this and applying the wax so as not to irritate your skin. Don’t apply anything fragranced like body moisturiser that might react with your skin and the wax either and be cautious about using hot wax on open wounds or skin conditions.

You want to be able to focus fully on the wax so make sure you set up your scene well in advance. You should never leave your sub tied up and alone near a bowl of hot wax or some candles while you nip to get a sex toy you forgot. So channel your slutty Boy Scout and be prepared here. Lay out anything you might want to play with. I was quite keen to try beating the wax off with a crop or paddle and this was a chance to make my kitchen implements pervertable.

If you are using rope make sure it can’t knock anything over or catch fire and have some paramedic scissors to hand  to cut the ropes quickly if needs be. Wax play is intense and a sub might need to safeword out immediately not wait while you try to untie that knot you really did learn in the Scouts. Also on a practical level, when wax gets into the knots, they are a bugger to untie and since you won’t get the wax out of the rope to reuse it, take the short cut if needed.

Respect the fact you are playing with high temperatures here and have a first aid kit close to hand. I soaked three or four cotton tea towels in cold water and froze them in a ziploc bag  in case of burns leaving it close by in case of emergency. I also had a bucket of ice handy both for injuries and general kinkery with cold ice and hot wax on nipple piercings.

It’s also useful to have a large tea tray you can set the tools you play with on you onto so you can clear up easily and not get wax on the Billy bookcase or coffee table while you play. Have some towels and tissue handy too. You don’t want anyone distracted by basic housekeeping when they could be gently tormenting you with temperature play.

Expect to spend a while in the shower afterwards (and have an interesting time cleaning out the plug hole too) but you will have the softest smoothest skin possible when you do. Paraffin wax is often used as moisturising treatment for hands and feet in beauty salons and it turns out soy wax has similar properties.

I did have some challenges getting the wax off my barbell piercings. It’s not very sexy but it’s a good idea to check none of the wax has got into any piercings so if you can remove them afterwards to clean and put them back in.

I heard dire warnings beforehand about applying hot wax to genitals but my Master definitely ended up dripping it down my vulva and some got inside my labia and round my clit. I didn’t have any ill effects but I’d still advise against applying hot wax directly to your clit or it actually getting into your cunt itself.

I’m by no means masochistic and often find pain and kink a challenge but the soy wax was very much in the camp of enjoyable pain for me. Beeswax stung more in a jarring way and I wasn’t as keen on it. If you are more into the kink of actual pain, use suitable taper candles and play with the height you drop the wax from to get your fix or you might find wax play surprisingly tame on the pain scale.

Writing this piece reminded me of a long forgotten but apparently extremely formative teenage memory of sneaking a hidden copy of a VHS my brother had of Madonna’s 1993 film Body of Evidence and watching and repeatedly rewinding the scene where she pours hot wax on Willem Dafoe’s chest. My first brush with BDSM around the age of 14 was certainly memorable.

Hopefully this piece gives you the chance to unleash your inner wax slut sooner than that…

How To Have Hot Wax Fun

It Pains Me

I know it’s hard to believe that there were things I had never tried before I met my Master but it’s true. One of them was mixing pleasure and pain physically (although you could say I indulged my emotional masochism by dating an endless succession of fuckboys.)

I’d never really got the whole purpose or point of combining pain with sexual pleasure believing that it would spoil the mood and jolt me out of enjoyment like when pain in the rest of your life does. I also feared that sadists would enjoy hurting me in other ways outside the bedroom and that simply did not appeal (but was probably wise with the said fuckboys.)

I also steered away from deliberate pain as I suffer from chronic pain because of my health and frankly I’ve never found that experience erotic in anyway, mainly just irritating, unpleasant and in need of fixing with heat or painkillers.

But this article on why people enjoy masochism explains it so well I wish I’d known all these things years ago as I’ve been missing out something very fun, but it does confirm a lot of what I’ve learned over the last few years with my Master that sadism and masochism do go very well together and that sometimes a little pain adds an intensity to sex like salt adds seasoning to food.

Funnily enough despite my Master’s slightly sadistic streak, I first started to experience the joy of pain when I wasn’t even with him but following his orders as I began stretching. At first the plugs and toys he had me using were painful in that wincing, tensing, shut everything down way.

The more I opened up though, they started to have that pleasure pain enjoyment like when you stretch any other muscle and it feels like a challenge and a relief. I started to see how the two sensations went together to enhance my orgasms, especially when my Master was fisting me.

I also began to see that my Master’s sadism was confined to sex and didn’t spill out into other aspects of our relationship and that trust also enhanced the use of pain and punishment for me. Pain as intimacy rather than ostracisation is definitely much more erotic.

Quite quickly I went from ambivalent about pain to envious of when my Master punished Princess for being bratty to asking for deliberate use of pain revelling in the riding crop or a paddle he was all too happy to introduce into our scenes.

I’m still a beginner pain slut but I’m enjoying working out just how much pain and sensation my body can take and understanding that the concept of training applies to them as much as the stretching.

Being the type who often tries to run before she can walk especially if she thinks there’s an orgasm at the end, my Master has to rein me in or I’d be tied up with with the candle wax and the riding crop alternating on my ass and a massive plug in my pussy every night of the week.

Although when I put it like that, I can’t really see anything wrong with that scenario…

It Pains Me