How I Discovered I Am a Kinkster
I always knew something was missing in my sex life; I just couldn’t understand what. Up until now…
Throughout my life, I’ve always had vanilla sex. I’ve had a good and active sex life (apart from two dry spells, by choice), but I also felt something was missing in my sexual life. I had orgasms; I enjoyed the pleasure my lovers gave me; still, I always felt something was missing: a raw, intense, real pleasure.
Despite being very communicative, in sex regards, I’ve always been an introvert. I can talk about it — what happened, how I felt; I’m always curious to know about how my lover felt, what he likes the most, or what he’d like to try. But I never voiced my desires, even when asked about them. I’ve always hated this personal trait about me, but I was never able to change it; out of embarrassment.
I was married for thirteen years, and our sex life was good. We always had vanilla sex, the only kink we got was him giving me some light spanking in my bottom when we were having sex in the doggy position. After becoming single again, I had several sexual partners, but no one lasted long enough for me to be vulnerable — talking about my sexual desires was a matter of vulnerability. Also, I couldn't even pinpoint what I wanted! I knew I had something missing in sex, but I had no idea how to get it.
It was months ago when I started dating Mr P. that I came to realise what was it: with him, I was able to embrace my true sexual being. Despite loving sweet, involving vanilla sex, I learned I am kink.
Without labelling my sexual preferences, I always felt that the more and the intense sexual pleasure I was seeking could have something to do with impact play (spanking, flogging…) and with being restrained — I always got extremely horny when my lovers pinned me down on the mattress or against the wall (I have a thing about being fucked against the wall.) Even so, knowing that I had intense pleasure from these things, I never asked for it.
Before I started dating Mr P. I was in a dry spell; I hadn’t dated for almost a year. At that time, I made this resolution: on my next relationship, I’d make myself release my restraints; I’d voice my desires, whatever they would be. I’d chase amazing, powerful orgasms. I’d take my sex life more seriously than I had taken up until then. I guess the universe heard my promise because it sent my way a very interesting guy…
When I started dating Mr P., we talked daily for several weeks before we met. Then we went out a couple of times before we had sex. When it happened, I already knew he had a big collection of sex toys; we talked about it. I was hungry to try them…
The first time you have sex with someone, you have a lot to learn: their erogenous zones, their limits; if the bodies and chemistry are compatible. If they’re shy or feel comfortable in their skins; if they have pleasure in giving pleasure… In our case, I came to discover Mr P. is into BDSM.
This revelation came as something very natural; like we were talking about what we’d have for dinner.
The first time we had sex, it was intense, vanilla. After it, lying down side by side, cooling our bodies and catching our breaths, I asked him: “Are you going to show me your famous collection of sex toys, or what?”
Mr P. gave me a smirking smile and brought a big backpack to the bed. One by one, he started to display his sex toys. He started with a dildo, a magic wand, anal beads, and cock rings. I was curious about it all. Besides my vibrator and bullet vibrator, I’ve never tried sex toys before, even less with someone else — not because I wasn’t curious but, again, because I was never able to ask for it or take the initiative to bring them to partnered sex.
At one point, Mr P. slowed the pace as he was taking the toys out of the backpack. I guess he was probing me, trying to guess my reaction to what was about to come. I wasn’t nervous at all. I was truly curious — I wanted to see everything he had inside that backpack.
With that, I wasn’t accepting using them; I wanted to see, to feel them in my hands, to imagine what would be like using them on me. It was also a way to know Mr P. better. I trusted him enough to know he’d never do anything I didn’t want to, and he knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t be spooked by whatever he had in his closet. Yes, there were more toys in the closet!
When I told him to keep showing me his sex toy collection, Mr P. took out of the backpack a pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, and a candle; then, after a short pause, where he looked at me, in expectation, he got out a paddle. And then another one. I felt his eyes on me, reading my facial expressions and my reactions. I was completely relaxed with what I was looking at, and he felt it. So he got up from the bed and opened his closet. He started laying in the bed his collection of impact play toys: one by one, he put in my hands his several whips and floggers.
Looking at Mr P.’s sex toys paraphernalia — some of them, instruments of (potential) pain infliction — I felt nothing but arousement. I was fascinated by the beauty of it: I’m visually in love with floggers.
Admiring me touching the flogger’s fronds, feeling it with my fingers, and running it over my skin, Mr P. asked me if I wanted to try it. I gave him an excited Yes! I lay in a sex toys populated bed, my body facing down. I was expectant to receive what I knew would be a powerful sensation — one I have never received in my life. One I never imagined being part of.
Mr P. flogged my back, in a gentle and shy way. He was assessing my reaction, obviously. My guttural moan gave him the answer: I loved it. He kept flogging me, each time harder, but never too much. At one point, I heard him moaning. Mr P. was having pleasure in flogging me; this was a two-way pleasurable situation!
His pleasure always fed mine — his horny face and sex sounds drive me crazy. Mr P gave me a few more strikes, then dropped the flogger on the floor and covered my body with his. His hands grabbed my flesh with a hunger I hadn’t felt in him before, his teeth embedded in my shoulder (a sweet spot for biting me), his hand grabbed the hair in the back of my neck, and he pulled, hard.
At that moment, with the skin of my back still sheltering the pleasurable pain administered by the flogger, with my shoulder being hard-bitten and my hair pulled, I had the most pleasurable sexual moment of my life — not so much because of the pleasure-pain Mr P. was inflicting me but because I finally had found my true self: I am a kinkster.
I will never repress my sexual voice again; I will not stop exploring the pleasures my body can feel. I’m a kinkster; I’m nothing but proud of it. I know how I am, I know how to give myself the best sex possible — everyone should be able to do that. Everyone deserves pleasure, in any way and shape that comes.
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