Category Archives: Sex Talk

The female blogger Silverdrop, shown from shoulders to waist, nude, with her long brown hair covering her breasts.

Where we started from

Ooo and it’s alright and it’s comin’ ‘long
We got to get right back to where we started from

We used to be into pretty intense BDSM. I liked being caned. I liked it when it left marks. I liked it even when I hated it. I was into the 24/7 TPE (total power exchange) and everything it involved.

Then I fell ill and everything came to a screeching halt.

Fibromyalgia generally starts with a triggering event – an infection, an accident, a bad reaction to a chemical – something that looks like the normal ‘Oh crap, I’m going to be pretty bad off for a few days or weeks!’ It takes time to realize that the triggering event has ended, but the illness is still going on. Then it takes time after that for the actual diagnosis to come in.

So first, play came to a stop because I had what I thought was a bad flu. We’d start up again when I recovered, we thought. It was months and months before we learned it was fibromyalgia, and I probably wasn’t ever getting better. By that time, most of our kinky activity was fantasy only, because it was such a victory just to manage sex. Bondage? Kneeling? Pain play? Forget it.

Then as I slipped more and more into the role of a sick person, and SilverDom became more and more responsible for being my carer, we encountered another problem with power exchange. The sub/slave/bottom needs to have power before they can give it away. You can’t eroticise powerlessness if that’s where you started. That’s one reason (of many) that genuine slavery isn’t sexy. A book we’ve been reading recently called this the safety valve when referring to mindfuck play – a sliding mental state going from “I know I’m safe” to “But what if I’m not?” in the head of the bottom, allowing them to play on the edge of fear. With power exchange that “safe” setting is “I know we’re equals.

But what if we’re not? What if one of us is fully dependent on the other? What if one of us needs their food cut up, needs help getting bathed, needs help to dress, needs their wheelchair pushed? Can that person really surrender any more fully to their dominant?

There are many physical limitations in the way of enjoying BDSM the way we used to. Kneeling is a thing of the past. Sensory overload can be brutal. It would be impossible for me to endure the sort of bondage that holds me in a fixed position. But the emotional limitation was the most difficult. It may always be.

Finally, a few weeks ago, one of us said, “It’s like we’re beginners again,” and after that came the idea to buy a general kinky handbook to read together.

We’re making notes on how to re-introduce the dynamic into our relationship. We’ve started with a few minutes a day wearing a very light “collar” that’s really not much more than a leather thong necklace. I ordered some rope from Lovehoney, and I’m enjoying playing with it very much. Best of all, we’ve discovered that impact play – so long as we don’t overdo it, and make sure to use ALL sting and NO thud – is still possible.

It’s working. And it’s wonderful,

Love is good, love can be strong
We got to get right back to where we started from


SilverHubby shown at the waist, clothed, his hands holding a collar.

Wicked Wednesday – Training to Orgasm on Command

Years ago, when we were still in an a trans-Atlantic LDR, I told Silverdrop that one of my plans once we were permanently together was to train her to orgasm on command. She expressed some disbelief, as I recall. Actually, I think she may have given me a derisory snort.

Setting a sub up for failure is not my way and, anyway, I feel that is a really quick way to send your sub to the BadPlace, and so is to be avoided. So this is how the training went:

  • While fingering SIlverdrop, or using a vibrator on her, I would wait until she was already close to orgasm. At that point I would growl (best way of describing it) “Come now.” into her ear. I used what we refer to as The Command Voice – not raised, just clearly an order. After a handful of these attempts, she would almost always orgasm as I said the words.
  • Next, I would use the phrase “Come now.” earlier in the proceedings i.e. when she was further from her orgasm. A week or two of that and she would usually orgasm as soon as I said the words.
  • The next stage involved me, for example, grabbing her crotch/nipple/whatever and saying the magic words. To her surprise, this soon started to work.
  • Now I can growl “Come now.” into her ear at pretty much any time and she does.

I love being a Dominant and a sadist.

Click below to see who else is being wicked this Wednesday.

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The female blogger Silverdrop, shown from shoulders to waist, nude, with her long brown hair covering her breasts.

Number 45! Top 100 Sex Blogging Superheroes of 2013

Kinkly Top 100 Blogger Badge

We were absolutely thrilled to make Kinkly’s Top 100 Sex Blogging Superheroes at number 45. Thank you to those who nominated us, thank you to Kinkly for choosing us, and congratulations to everyone else who made the list. Sex is important. Talking about sex is important. Never let the Puritans try to convince you otherwise.


The female blogger Silverdrop, shown from shoulders to waist, nude, with her long brown hair covering her breasts.

Breaking up with Religion – part 1

If there are Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover, there must be just as many ways for a devout person to leave their religion. Some relationships gradually erode over time until one person realizes there’s nothing left. Some have explosive fights and betrayals with a grand storming out.

A painting of a woman, her nudity covered by serpents, standing next to a tree and holding a fruit in her hand. A beam of light from above and behind the woman highlights her face, right arm, and fruit.For me, it was somewhere in between. I remember doubts going all the way back to childhood, when I realized the 6-day creation story didn’t account for dinosaurs. I wondered why God insisted on killing so many people in the Old Testament. I agonized about Hell, imagining all of my friends and teachers and neighbours who didn’t go to the right church suffering for eternity. I had a very vivid imagination. When Jabba the Hutt told his prisoners that they’d be digested in the Sarlaac for 1,000 years, I was terrified. That was far worse than just being killed! But then I remembered that Hell would be worse than that.

The big fights and betrayals though – that didn’t happen until later. Family tragedies, innocent people suffering – I won’t go into detail, except to say there was a child (not mine) and that child died. Everyone knows about grief. Everyone has a story of the first time they discovered that the world isn’t a safe place, that terrible things will happen no matter how good or how careful you are, and no matter who their protectors are.

When you expect an omnipotent, omniscient, omnibenevolent being to have all the answers, your psyche takes a hit when you discover otherwise. And just like a person in a failed relationship who doesn’t want to admit it, I made excuses for my religion. Maybe God isn’t perfectly omnipotent. Maybe he wanted to prevent this from happening, but something worse would have happened if he did. Maybe this path really is the one with the greatest good. Maybe he isn’t perfectly omniscient. Maybe there are just too many people for him to handle every detail. Even though we’d all prayed so hard and had all the faith possible that the child would survive, he’d somehow looked away at the wrong moment.

Of the triad, the last thing I considered was “What if God isn’t omnibenevolent?” What would it look like to have a creator God who made everything, could see everything, could control everything, but wasn’t good? When tsunamis or hurricanes made the news, I imagined God as a kid with an ant-farm, pouring in water to watch them panic. I thought of gay people being told they were going to Hell for who they loved, and for everyone being told that they have to live by all these crazy strict rules about their own bodies and their own sexuality*. I considered what kind of God would give people the desire to have sex while forbidding them to do it.  I wondered why Adam and Eve would be punished just for wanting to know. They didn’t eat from the Tree of Evil, after all. It was the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

I came to believe God was cruel. But somehow, in all my questioning and pain, the one thing I wouldn’t do was admit, “Maybe God doesn’t exist.”

To be continued

* See Shame and Redemption for more of how my upbringing screwed up my sexuality.



What if I offered you the right?

It’s been eleven years? Twelve years? For some reason, I can’t remember how long it’s been since I made the offer, though I know the date: October 24.

We’d been flirting online. I knew I was aroused by BDSM play, but had no idea there was a BDSM community. He was telling me stories about his experiences. I was being sassy. (It was me, of course I was being sassy!) He said he’d like to spank me. Of course that’s exactly why I had been doing it.

“Why don’t you?” I asked. Pushing.

“I don’t have the right.” He replied.

The words came to me in a flash of inspiration. I knew what I wanted. I knew he wouldn’t take it. But I could give it.

“What if I offered you the right?”

Later, he told me that my words had triggered an immediate orgasm, sitting there at his computer, when nothing more than flirting had been going on. Later, I recognized that that moment, the moment when I made that offer, was a turning point. It was the moment I had claimed my own sexuality. It was the moment I laid a claim on the man I wanted.

There is no anniversary more meaningful to us than the day I said those words. And I’ve never regretted them.

The female blogger, Silverdrop, shown nude from shoulders to hips. A black metal leash drapes between her breasts from an unseen collar. The leash is gripped by the hand of her male lover, SilverHubby.

Something for the weekend

Our Contraception Journey Part 2: Sterilisation

Getting the Snip

Part 2 of a weekly series. We’ve been through nearly every available contraception method in our efforts to find the right solution for us.

Originally published October 26, 2012

Here is the introduction I wrote then: 

My boyfriend (now SilverHubby) has decided to get a vasectomy, and I am taking advantage of his pain the experience to write a series of articles about it for SexIs Magazine. Part One discusses how we made the decision that surgical sterilization was the right decision for us.

The surgery is in two weeks. Stay tuned then for the boyfriend’s SilverHubby’s words on how it all goes for him on the day. Hopefully it will be more than just “ow ow ow”.

Part three (and perhaps subsequent parts) will discuss the longer term effects of his vasectomy on our sex life and our relationship.

Click on the diagram to see a photo of my boyfriend’s SilverHubby’s cock and balls, before the vasectomy.

Things went very differently than we expected. But more on that later. Here’s the article as it was written then:

About Surgical Sterilization

I am forty-two years old. I haven’t been able to use hormonal birth control for years because it triggers migraines. I tried the IUD, but my body wouldn’t adapt to it and I had to have it removed. My remaining contraception options were barrier methods (i.e. diaphragm, cervical cap, or condoms) or surgical sterilisation.

Surgical sterilisation for females is known as tubal ligation. Most commonly, the patient is put under general anaesthesia. Two incisions are made, through which the surgeon will access each of the fallopian tubes. The tubes will be cut and sealed, either by burning or by using clips. The patient is considered sterile after her next menstrual period. Another method is to access the tubes through the vagina and cervix, and insert implants that will cause scar tissue to develop around them and block the tubes. In this case, it takes 3-6 months for the scar tissue to form, and for blockage to be confirmed by x-ray.

For males, the process is called vasectomy. Under local anaesthesia, two small incisions will be made in the scrotum and the surgeon pulls out a loop of vas deferens. Each tube will be cut and sealed with an electrical instrument, or alternatively a small section will be removed and the cut ends tied shut. The process takes about an hour, and the patient can go home right away. He is considered sterile after two successive negative sperm counts, about a month apart. This generally takes 20-25 ejaculations to clear his system of all active sperm.

With either form of surgical sterilisation, the goal is to put up a roadblock that keeps sperm and egg from reaching one another. Though it is possible to attempt reversal, in the case of regrets, it is likely to be unsuccessful. Getting surgically sterilised should be considered permanent.

As with all surgeries there are risks of complications, but the risks are higher for female sterilisation. The fallopian tubes are deeper inside the body, which makes the surgery more invasive. Both methods have the risk of failure (0.3% for males and 0.5% for females), where the cut ends of the tubes find each other and heal. Either failure could result in an unplanned pregnancy, but if it is a failure in the female’s body, then there is an increased chance that the pregnancy will be ectopic – a situation that is life threatening for the pregnant woman. There is a very low chance that this would happen, but it should be part of the consideration when a couple is considering surgical sterilisation.

Making the Decision

As a couple, we considered it together. And having considered it together, we decided to consider it separately. We wanted to make the decision that was right for us, but we also needed the decision to be completely acceptable to whichever of us was having surgery. We agreed that neither of us would put pressure on the other to be the one who was sterilised. We both believe a person should have full and free choice over their own reproductive system, whether that person is male or female.

I made my decision first, and my decision was no. The only exception is that if I ever needed surgery for some other reason and it was possible to tack on a tubal ligation at the same time, then I would do it.

He took longer to make his decision. He wasn’t prepared to say yes, but he didn’t rule it out. When we went from a long-distance relationship to live in lovers, the increased frequency of sex (and therefore of condom use) seemed to help him make the decision. We had gotten to the point where we were having anal sex more often than vaginal simply to avoid having to use condoms. Finally he told me he was going to do it.

We live in the UK, so everything goes through the National Health Service (NHS). He spoke to his GP, who made a referral. They sent him some paperwork explaining everything he’d already learned by doing his own research, and phoned him to make an appointment. The NHS is infamous for long wait times, but in this case from the time of his first speaking to the GP to his appointment date was just over six weeks.

His vasectomy appointment is in two weeks. There’s a generous supply of condoms in the drawer of the nightstand. I think we won’t need to buy any more, and that is a pleasant thought.

Oh how we laughed! It’s been nearly a year since this was written, and SilverHubby remains unsterilised. In part 3, we’ll go into what went wrong.

Our Contraception Part 1: Why is Contraception so Hard?

Our Contraception Journey Part 1

I love sex, but I don’t want to get pregnant. Why is contraception so hard?

Part 1 of a weekly series. We’ve been through nearly every available contraception method in our efforts to find the right solution for us.

Updated (originally posted Jan 31, 2013)

Disclaimer: Information contained in this series is our personal experiences. Please do not consider it medical advice. Make your own contraceptive decisions after consulting your doctor.

rolled up male condom

Not ideal, but better than pregnancy.

In the beginning, there were condoms. I suppose it’s the standard, go-to option for virgins everywhere. I was young and stupid, and didn’t know about lube, so sex was much more uncomfortable than it should have been.

Eventually, I went to the student clinic and got on the pill. I imagine that’s the standard second step for recently sexually active girls. I never asked my boyfriend to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases. (See also: young and stupid.)

Holy shit, was the pill awesome! After using condoms with no lube, sex without condoms was amazing. I started experiencing my first orgasms. My boobs went up from mouthfuls to decent A cups. I knew exactly when my periods were due. Hot damn! Orgasms, boobies, regularity, and no babies. I swore I was going to be on the pill for the rest of my life. I loved the pill.

Sadly, past tense. I had years of being on the pill with no complications, and then I started getting migraines. The hormones were blamed. Different prescriptions were tried. Finally, I went off the pill and had improvement.

Fuck. Back to condoms.

At least this time, I knew about lube. I also knew that condoms weren’t the most reliable form of birth control. I tried spermicidal lube, and it felt like someone had set my cunt on fire. Obviously, that wasn’t going to be an option.

I stayed off the pill long enough to let my reproductive system reboot itself. For those who don’t know, the pill works by preventing your body from ovulating. So I hadn’t ovulated for years, and now I imagine my ovaries were going into party mode. “Woohoo! Time to do our job! Let’s get some baby making happening!”

At the same time, the sperm were going “Woohoo! Let’s get… wait.. who put this big rubber wall in the way?!”

Using condoms as a long-term form of birth control worried me, so after a while I went on Depo-Provera, which is the shot that gives you three months of protection at a time.

No migraines this time, but I started lactating. Not a lot, just a few drops at a time. Apparently, Depo told my body, “Woohoo! We have a baby on the way! Let’s get some milk production going!”

It wasn’t enough to be a problem. As long as I wore a padded bra, it wouldn’t cause any embarrassing leaks. I thought I could deal with it. And I could, right up until the day my lover (now SilverHubby) licked it off my nipples.

Instant turn off. I mean, like a switch. Whatever had been about to happen that day was over.

That took Depo off the table. I couldn’t even stand to look at my breasts anymore.

I decided hormonal methods weren’t going to work for me, so I rejected the contraceptive implant without trying it.

I considered the diaphragm or the cervical cap, but they just seemed dangerously unreliable. Would they really stay in place during rough sex? Would I really be able to get it in place correctly and leave it there long enough? If we were going to put a barrier in place every time, then we may as well stick with condoms.

The options were narrowing down significantly. All that was left, other than condoms, was abstinence (hahahahahaha… yeah right!), surgical sterilization, or an IUD.

The intrauterine device is a small piece of copper that is inserted through your cervix. Things besides sperm aren’t really meant to go in that way. Holy fuck, it hurt like hell. It hurt so bad I went home and cried. It hurt for days. And I bled, which was expected.

What wasn’t expected was that I would keep bleeding. Not a lot, but it never stopped. I never had a period, I just spotted all month. “Give it time,” the gynecologist said, once she had done a sonogram to be sure that the device hadn’t perforated anything and was sitting where it was supposed to. “Your body just needs to get adjusted to it.”

I gave it six months. The effect of having blood always there murdered my libido. So I had the IUD removed. And strangely enough, it didn’t hurt at all on the way out.

So, back to condoms, since neither of us was ready for surgical sterilization.

And then it happened. The broken condom.

I’m sure it’s happened to everyone. The first few times, I was young and, well, an idiot. I just relied on trying to physically wash out the ejaculate and hope for the best. (Obligatory disclaimer: This is a good example of what not to do in this situation.) Maybe, secretly, I was hoping for “the worst”. I didn’t know what I was doing with my life, and if I ended up pregnant, completely by accident, that could be my sign that I was supposed to be a mother.

This time there was no ambivalence. I knew, quite definitely, that I did not want to be pregnant. I also knew I did not want to have an abortion. If I had to, I would. At least, I thought I could go through with it. Maybe. Actually, I’m not sure, even now, if I could have. At least the option was there.

My boyfriend (now SilverHubby) called the GP’s surgery as soon as they opened to ask about emergency contraception. They said I could come right in and see a nurse – that I didn’t even need an appointment. In we went. A few questions were asked. And we were given a pill.

I took it, and it was like having the worst menstrual period of my life, only without the period. I was moody and irritable and the cramps were dreadful. I didn’t want to be touched for over a week. Worst of all, one of the potential side effects of the emergency contraceptive pill is a delayed period. So while you’re being miserable, you can’t even be sure that it worked. I had gotten the pill in my system in less than a day after the broken condom, but I couldn’t be sure until that period happened.

And so, back around to condoms again. I completely ruled out tubal ligation, unless by some chance I happen to need surgery for something else and can piggyback it on. My boyfriend (now SilverHubby) started looking into vasectomy. Eventually that’s what he decided, but it wasn’t that simple. More about that later.

Knowing that emergency contraception exists made it easier for me to accept using condoms on a regular basis, but I hate that they aren’t more reliable. I hate that hormones fuck me up. I hate that there still isn’t a pill for men out there. I hate that the IUD didn’t work for me.

I just want to have sex without having to worry about it. Is that really too much to ask?

To be continued….


#SultrySaturday – Memories of Spunk

I remember the first time I experienced spunk.

Glass dildo and pearly spunk

Pearly spunk

It was a few months after I started having sex for the first time. We had been using condoms, but I had finally got on the pill. We had sex without a condom for the first time – and I had my first orgasm. I’m one of those rare unlucky women who doesn’t come easily from clitoral stimulation, so nothing we had done by way of cunnilingus or fingering had worked for me. I’m also one of those rare lucky women who has a ridiculously oversized G-spot, and so am able to orgasm through vaginal penetration alone.

I don’t know why I hadn’t climaxed before that day. I’m guessing my inexperience and us failing to use lubricant combined with the additional friction caused by a latex condom prevented it. When we first went without, everything suddenly worked. Especially right at the end, when those wonderful end-of-the-fuck strokes started to hit just right. And then I felt his spunk inside me. (Sometime later that night, I discovered one of the downsides of condomless sex – and the need for a spunk towel to avoid getting a wet spot in the bed.)

I remember the first time I tasted spunk.

When it comes to technical proficiency, I’m not the best at fellatio. I make up for it with enthusiasm. I was the one who tentatively suggested to my boyfriend that I could suck him. I was bitterly disappointed when I couldn’t do it to completion. I was too young and ignorant of the realities of sex to know that blow jobs aren’t the instant orgasm button for all men. I thought I was doing it wrong, even when he told me I wasn’t.

Later, it occurred to me that if he started in my cunt, he could finish in my mouth. So my first taste of spunk was mixed with my own taste, which I was also unfamiliar with. It was intense. He was a smoker, so his spunk was bitter. My own lubricant was somewhat tangy. I can’t say it’s ever a flavour I liked, but I loved the feel of him coming in my mouth. I’d heard of the ‘spit or swallow’ debate, but I couldn’t really imagine why anyone would spit. Isn’t it just more fun for everyone to swallow?

I remember my first facial.

I thought it would be hot. I loved the fantasy of it – the degradation and humiliation. But the actual physical sensation of spunk on my face felt strange and unpleasant. We tried it again, in case it was just the newness of it. But it just didn’t work. You can come on my ass, my belly or my tits. You can come in my mouth, my cunt, my ass. You can come in my hair. But not on my face. Isn’t that weird?

I remember the last time I tasted spunk.

I started SilverHubby off with my mouth, then helped him jerk off while I talked dirty to him. I remained with my  head on his thigh, cupping his balls, and waiting for the perfect moment to close my mouth over his massive cock and finish him off. That was last Saturday.

Maybe I’ll get some more spunk tonight.

Yes, I think I’d like that.
Spunk Lube

Something for the weekend

Top Sex Bloggers of 2013 – Our Nominations

Here are our nominations:-

Rebel at
Penny at
Incendiaire at
Elizabeth at
Hy at

Our blogroll is in desperate need of updating, so we’re sure we left out some of our favourites. Sorry!

Good luck everybody.

Ah! We left out Beck! But others have nominated her, so phew.

#WickedWednesday – Do We Talk Dirty During Sex?



I asked SilverHubby to give a slightly more erudite and expansive answer. And this is what he said:

I can’t remember a time when we didn’t talk dirty during sex, between sex, after sex, in the bath, doing the housework, eating, in the car etc. Hmm, we talk dirty most of the time, don’t we? Oh hell yeah! In fact, the dirty talk is effectively foreplay for us and often leads into sex of some sort. Like yesterday afternoon, after my shower, when  🙂

This probably started years ago, when we were in a trans-Atlantic LDR and physically apart most of the time. We talked dirty in chat, texts, e-mail and, most especially, on the phone. It seemed to come so naturally and flowed easily between us. It is also doubtless related to our ability to talk in a meaningful way about anything – even the hard stuff.

We both love to weave what can sometimes be quite intricate verbal fantasies, usually involving you being exhibited and used in front of others – then used by the others, then punished for being such a slut. This can get both of us from a non-aroused state to horny as hell let’s do it, very quickly. The right words can tip either or both of us over into orgasm very easily.

Often the fantasies are things we would never actually do in real life. But as often, they are things we either have done (and will do again), or really, really want to do. Being fantasies, there are no condoms involved, or worries about cocks or toys being moved between orifices. So anything goes. And does.

Our disabilities mean we can’t have half as much sex as we used to, or want to. But talking dirty outside of sex can keep our libidos ticking over quite nicely in between.

So yes, we both love to talk dirty to each other during sex. Our sex is loud, hard and we wonder if one day the neighbours will call the cops! We also love to talk dirty to each other most of the rest of the time, too.

Hmm, this may be the first Wicked Wednesday where I’ve given a straight answer.

NOTE: Silverdrop happily considers herself a slut. So does SilverHubby (he’s a slut too, but that’s another post). We both use the word in an entirely complimentary way.

Click below to see who else is being wicked this Wednesday.

Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...