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Seawank

Good news, everyone! Not only are you now reading this in Professor Farnsworth‘s voice, but also my computer is working again! You may not have realised that it wasn’t working, but of course it’s hard to tell you on here that I can’t really make any blog posts when I can’t really make any blog posts. Sure, technically I could blog from my phone, but ew, no.

Anyway, I’m back, though honestly still likely to be intermittent as this summer has really caught me in a hands-off sort of mood.

Although, that’s not always the case.

You see, at the weekend I went to the beach. There were a bunch of us, Crush included of course, and we had a great time being ridiculous and summery. We swam, we bought fish and chips, we doused ourselves in sun cream, we ribbed each other, we built sandcastles, we collected the world’s tiniest shells (that aren’t outright sand, clever clogs) and we dug a giant hole.

In the process of building said giant hole, I became absolutely head to toe covered in sand. There’s probably a fetish for that, because there’s a fetish for everything. In any case, there was no way I could get changed back into my clothes like that, so I headed for the waves for the third time that day.

This time, because it was getting late, none of my friends would come with me. Fine, I thought. I’ll enjoy myself anyway. The sunshine was starting to cool and the lifeguards (what luxury!) had just headed back indoors. The only people even in the sea besides me were paddling and that just doesn’t count.

At my depth, just deep enough that I could comfortably put my feet down if I wanted, I was alone. The people in the breaking waves were far away, the people on the beach even further. Suddenly, a naughty thought overcame me. No-one could see what I was up to. It’d be ages before I was back in the sea again and even then I wouldn’t be alone.

Fuck it, I thought, I’m trying a seawank.

Why not? A bit odd, maybe. The sea was cold and British and not the most romantic of notions. I’d come from a group of my friends and would be going back right after. People could see me, though not what I was up to with the water so dark and deep, and I could see people. But why not? It’d be interesting, exciting, adventurous, though probably not much of a success.

So I slipped my Special-K-red swimming costume aside and found my clitoris with my right hand, the other one keeping me vertically afloat and just bobbing off the bottom now and then. To onlookers, I was just having a very lazy swim.

As I say, it was cold, though it was the warmest water of the day. It was also unusual and even a little uncomfortable, so it took a little while to get my engines going, as it were. I could try and make it sound erotic (and in a way, it was). Heck, I’ve made zombie sex sound erotic, so I’m convinced I could do it. But, though there’s something erotic about daring and, even uncomfortable, adventure, it was more fun. Frivolous. A bit of (not so) innocent fun.

Why not wank in the sea? A guy might leave unwanted substances in the water for the other (zero) swimmers, but my juices would be there whether I was coming, ahem, or going. No harm done. I came to a satisfying, though not mindblowing, orgasm and I felt incredibly content with myself. Like a child with a secret. A secret they tell everyone on the Internet.

Once I’d adjusted my cozzie, I tipped myself back and floated for a while. With my friends around earlier there’d been too much horseplay just to float, eyes closed. I’d have ended up with a dunking or a face full of seaweed. But now I could float and slowly drift, with the sun beating through my closed eyelids, turning my world into one of peachy-yellow warmth and weightlessness.

I grew up by the sea and I’m too wise not to open my eyes every now and again and check I wasn’t drifting out, but in the minutes at a time that I floated there, I felt supremely peaceful. I felt my body stretch and relax and revelled in my senses much more than during the supposedly more sensual bit of self-pleasure. By the time I decided to come back to the shore, it was like a beautiful non-religious religious experience. I was appreciating life.

I came out of the water feeling powerful, free, peaceful. I wish I could say it was the seawank that did it, but I think it certainly helped set me up for it. The daring, the childish glee, that laid the basis. It’s something I’d never have done if I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t disturb anyone, but I’m glad I had the opportunity. I recommend it, if you’re careful and you go in with no expectations.

Plus, that’s another masturbation location to add to my (short) list. Dear diary, things I’ve done: had a wank in the sea. ♦

Little Known Facts

♦ I’m in the mood for sharing. There are things about me that you perhaps wouldn’t expect (or you might). There are interesting little snippets that can’t really hold the weight of an entire post on their own. So I thought I’d share some in a list of ten little known facts about your very own Blacksilk. In keeping with the blog, they’re largely sex and relationship facts or other relevant thingummies.

And here they are! ♦

  • I’d slept with Crush long before I ever went on a date with him. Luckily, we already knew each other very well.
  • Learn yo bitch’s particular flaps! For example, I prefer my finger-on-clitoris stimulation in clockwise circles with the intensity focused on the bottom left.
  • It took me about six months from the day I lost my virginity to the day I finally put a cock near my mouth.
  • I’ve been masturbated in an alley while trying not to giggle at impromptu dinosaur facts. Classy.
  • I won a creative writing award when I was 14. I’m glad to see that potential eventually paid off a little.
  • In a reversal of expectations, I’m into anal sex, but my boyfriend sadly isn’t.
  • I find it hard to crush on male actors, but very easy to crush on many of the characters they play.
  • I used to regularly masturbate to a CD released as an accompaniment to a roleplaying game. Nerd! (The game? Vampire: the Masquerade by White Wolf. The track in particular? Prey by Seraphim Shock. Doesn’t seem so silly on listening to it, does it?)
  • I had my first non-consent fantasy quite early in life (involving being tied up naked by bandits) and had some trouble coming to terms with it.
  • Green glitter reminds me of Crush, thanks to an incident involving the first time we slept in the same bed and a birthday party.

Intent – a poem about mindsets

Intent is everything
The simple balance between anger and arousal
A slap
The one in the heat of rage, the other the heat of passion
Intent, the decider between reassuring and raunchy
When it comes to a squeeze of the thigh
A moan
Pleasure? Pain? Intent decides
A finger passes over pussy lips
The action has occurred a hundred times
It’s the intent that makes the shiver
Mind over matter, my dear
And matter it does
I flicked the switch
I changed my intent
And, intending now to receive pleasure, pleasure came to me
The light brush became a solvent trail on fire
Nerves sang
Mind raced
From the mundane to the glorious
All with intent

I wrote this short erotic poem in one of the few gaps in my currently very hectic life! It’s about how the mental and the physical interact and how making up your mind one way or another is often the only thing between something meh and something amazing. It’s based on a real experience from recently. With handcuffs. And a blindfold. And it was wonderful. 

I hope you enjoy the poem! Let me know what you think? How important is the mental mindset over how good the physical act feels?

Jitterbug

♦ Jitterbug is a manic, tumbling, ragtag little poem I wrote in about four minutes while hyped up on coffee. I hope you like it and its weird little structure. I do. Apparently, it doesn’t take much to get me playing with frantic and oddly placed rhymes. I’d only had two cups. It’s inspired by a quote from Gore Vidal. ♦

Sex is a continuum, a spectrum
A plectrum
That plucks my strings
As I fuck with things and girls and boys and toys
While I scream and shout
Call their names out
Out of my head on love and other drugs
And coming alive as I rise through the fug
Of everyday thoughts and everyday bull
Greyness
Explodes into sparks colourful
Full of his cock, her fingers, hir words in my head
A dildo retracting, spilling cum on my bed
The dread of returning to the mundane
My brain filling
With vapour and bliss
How could there be something greater than this?

Wicked Wednesday

“Objectification” by Blacksilk

So, if you’ve read my latest blog post, the first one ever written by my beautiful partner Crush (and if you haven’t, do, this will make slightly more sense), you’ll have realised that I found myself entering a singularly unusual sexy situation just the other evening. I came home and up the stairs to Crush’s room, opening the door to a strange, but undoubtedly erotic, sight. Sprawled on the bed was Crush, strapped by his ankles and wrists to the under-the-bed restraints, wearing his sexy green shirt open to reveal his chest. He was wearing his jeans, but they were pushed down to his knees. He was bare from his knees right up to his neck.

But I didn’t get to see everything. Oh, no. His head was covered by what turned out to be a cider box, it’s side covered in white paper on which was drawn a head with a question mark for a face. Covering his cock was a homemade cardboard “Censored” bar that obscured what I assumed was his erection. A new vase of flowers stood on the chest of drawers and four red ones had been plucked from it and draped across his legs artfully. The computer screen showed a fantastic, and sarcastic, mini-essay about gender and objectification. Crush’s words explain this whole set-up best.

Nonetheless, a picture does speak a thousand words…

Objectified Crush

I was… well, flabbergasted. I’m not often lost for words of any kind. This left me speechless in surprise, shock… I was assailed by both the fact that Crush had planned something elaborate and thoughtful for me but also by the absolute absurdity and weirdness of the situation. I flailed helplessly for a moment before Crush drew my attention to my camera sat on his desk. I knew I had to take advantage of the situation. I stripped off my clothes and spent a few minutes restraining myself from touching him, taking photos of his beautiful body and his strange… art installation? I knew that once we really got started, none of this would go back the way it was.

Putting the camera down, I removed the flowers from Crush’s legs and put all but one of them back in the vase. I sat down next to him on the bed, naked, and began to run the petals of the flower head over his exposed skin. I trailed the flower over his chest, his arms, his thighs, then excruciatingly slowly up the length of his cock from base to tip. He sighed and I took to varying the sensations over his body: the edge of the petals, the face of the flower, the tip of the stalk. Each of them trailed over his flesh and teased his nerve endings. He couldn’t see except for a crack at the base of his head-box, which helped magnify the strange sensations.

I was peppering my exploration of his body with frequent spluttering cries of “You are actually mad, you know that?”, “I love you!” and “What on Earth possessed you?”. He explained a bit more of his thinking behind it all and mentioned in passing that the particular feminist he’d been reading had said something along the lines of that it was possible for women to objectify men but that it meant that they were basically really men and vice versa. My gender-bending kink pricked its ears up at this point.

“So, that means I’m a guy….” I said.

I know that genderfuck doesn’t really do it for Crush and that he still finds the whole idea a bit out of his comfort zone, but I was pleased to hear him reply so positively. Then he said a word that sent an honest-to-God jolt through my pussy and up into my brain.

“Master,” he called me.

I couldn’t even tell you why that did it for me or why that thought still does it for me. It’s something I feel rather than think. I like to analyse my kinks, of course, because it’s interesting; I’m just not very good at it.

Nonetheless, the word “Master” coursed through my body in a way it never has when I’ve said it in submission to a man. It was true arousal, devoid of thought, a direct line to my body. I grinned and he said it again. The rest of the evening, in fact, was spattered with it.

I removed his homemade “Censored” bar and took him in my mouth. I might have been nominally in control, Crush might have been wanting me to take the lead, but I still wanted to give him pleasure. That and the fact that he’d done this all for me, the fact that chemistry was powering my mostly-a-sub body more than intellect or emotion, meant that I was finding it hard to be anything other than pliant and grateful. But I love to suck him. His cock tastes beautiful, feels wonderful in my mouth and smells so good to me. His come, I’ll be honest, I can take or leave. But his cock…

Not too long in, I had a better idea. Sucking Crush’s cock was fun, but I wanted to tease and torture him at the same time. I straddled his chest facing his feet, took my beloved Tango vibrator from the bedside and placed it, buzzing, between my pussy lips. It nestled helpfully between my body and his, pinned by his taut chest and my folds, as I leant forward to suck him again.

It wasn’t the easiest of positions, let me tell you. I was awkwardly placed to keep hold of his cock as I needed my hands to prop my body up on all fours. When I shifted position, the Tango would sometimes move about and once made a beeline up Crush’s chest to rumble by his collarbone. But it was worth it when I moaned hard around his cock and came, shuddering, on top of him, my pussy mere inches from his obscured face.

I wanted him inside me and he readily agreed. He suggested I stay facing his feet and give reverse cowgirl a go, something we’ve never tried before. Again, it turned out not to be the easiest task, but to be worth it. I falteringly guided him inside me as I straddled him around the hips and called him my bitch. My slut. He called me his Master.

Objectification Head Box

He could still peek out of the bottom of his box and I wondered briefly what the view, if really any, was like for him. It was a much more awkward position for me and for the ease of thrusting/riding than the usual girl-on-top, but the novelty (and the vibrator I held to my clit) made up for that. Adventure, after all, is exciting. Trying something new together, whether a resounding success or just a new sensation, is a wonderful experience. Whilst it’s not a position we’ll go back to regularly, the discovery was wonderful.

I dismounted and turned to face him, adding some lube to his cock for an effortless re-entry. This time, I’d go for “normal” cowgirl. It was just too hard to let go and come when I was in the other, more awkward, position. When it suited me, I pulled the cardboard box from his head, leaving him blinking up at me in the bright light of the bedroom. I know he loves to see me anew after being deprived. He started to up the frequency of his dirty comments to me and I lapped them up, asking for more, more, more. I bounced on his cock and he thrust up into me, making himself mine with every one of his utterances, giving himself to me with his body. Before long I was asking from one phrase and one phrase only, on repeat, as I climbed towards my summit.

“Please come, Master.”

He begged, he pleaded with those words. I shook, the Tango still at my clit, the sweat coating my skin, my knees weak with exertion. And I came. I came perhaps as hard as I’ve ever come. I talk big sometimes with metaphors and similes and rhetoric, I write my orgasms as storms and bullies and destruction. This was cataclysm. When it finished, I could barely speak, barely move, barely think. My body could support myself no longer and I let myself tumble sideways from Crush’s body. I fumbled, dumb, a zombie, at his nearest wrist strap, releasing him from his bonds and told him to fuck me again. I demanded that he take me as I recovered on my back.

And he did. His cock slid inside my honestly quite battered pussy, my pleasure-weakened body. This fuck was for him. His time to come. I told him as much and he certainly didn’t hold back. His Master spoke firmly to her little slut, goading him, urging him on until he too came hard, gasping, panting.

He collapsed onto me and we athletes rested our tired, hot, sticky bodies in each others’ arms. And I’ll tell you something: as they say “I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like.”

And Crush’s exhibition was certainly a resounding, earth-shattering, love-tempering success. ♦

“Objectification” by Crush

This post marks the first (but hopefully not last) instance of Crush, my gorgeous boyfriend, writing on my blog! Hooray! He explains the set-up that lead to a noteworthy encounter between us recently. And now, over to him…

♦ So where to start this story, I guess I should start with Monday, where Blacksilk and I were talking. She’d just finished her glass-to-arse session and we’d done all that mundane life stuff, so were getting an early night. Blacksilk, not for the first time, raised the topic of my penis and how the online world was sorely lacking in its finery, having already got the rest of me. Sorry to disappoint all my fans out there, but you’ll have to wait a bit longer. :P

But the conversation had given me an idea, Blacksilk is occasionally keen to take photos, but due to my insistence on cock-less shots they require framing or editing or, I dunno, I’m not a camera-wielder, some magic along those lines. Clearly what is needed is a censor bar, like the one Blacksilk has on her Twitter pic and presumably elsewhere where nipples are frowned upon (weird mental image there1 ). But not just any censor bar, a shadow censor bar, um, I mean, a real-life one.

I’d initially planned to do this for Tuesday, but then remembered that I was supposed to be cooking food for the rest of our house, and that may be hard to do appropriately without clothes on (Alt has declared on many an occasion that he is most definitely not attracted to me, and the rest of our housemates would be similarly unkeen). Plus, a day’s a bit short notice.

Okay, so, I hadn’t really got a plan formed at this point, so Tuesday involved thinking up an idea, by the end of which I’d narrowed it down to: find a box, sellotape some card or use a bin liner somehow… A quick check with Red confirmed my belief that two of these three plans, combined with hair, would be painful, so a box it was. I initially planned to use a kitchen roll tube somehow, but then Wednesday morning I realised a much better plan, using a cling film (that’s plastic wrap for our overseas friends) box. I also thought, hey, while I’m obscuring the photo, why not get a box on my head or some such.

Of course, once you’re putting a box on someone’s head, it’s only a tiny jump to objectification, because that’s a thing. From my devastatingly large sample size I get the feeling that this and many other forms of objectification are, shall we say, a little more called out when it’s women as the victim than men, so I thought I could make some sort of statement about it, because political statements and sex are a good combination. Bah, whatever.

So Wednesday I went and got some black card, cut up some stuff, did a bit of gluing and came up with:

Censored

Truly I am a master of basic craft skills.

I had initially thought of putting something like “objectify this man” on the box, but then decided to go with the classic question mark in a silhouette style thing. Obviously this meant that there was nowhere to put the description of the idea, so I thought “Hey, maybe I could make it like an art piece”. I did some research, well, not really, just a bit of reading on the Internet, but that’s close enough, and came up with the following (warning: the following may contain the view that extreme feminists are mental cases):

Objectified Man?

To complete the plan I also got some really expensive flowers. They were like £3. And they say chivalry is dead. Blacksilk called me after she got out of work (as is the norm, because we’re soppy romantics or something) and I subtly worked out what time she was getting home, by asking her for it (thanks, Equilibrium).

So, how to sort out a good art exhibit, well, firstly, a few clothes, not really covering much, more as a decorative piece, jeans around ankles, shirt fully undone, censored bar in place. Place some flowers for emphasis… Oh, and cuffs of course, ankles are easy, but then I had to fiddle a bit to cuff one wrist and then slip into the cuff of the other wrist, but fortunately I had a bit of time spare. I also had a hole in the side of the box, so I could see what time it was and check my screen-saver didn’t do something stupid.

So Blacksilk got home and came upstairs to say hi, upon entering the room she, well, I guess that’s a story best told by her in another blog post. ;) ♦

A round of applause for Crush, everyone! I hope you’re all excited to see him writing for a sex blog for the first time, do please be gentle with him. And tell him/us what you think! Wasn’t he fantastic? Don’t forget to read the follow-up!

  1. *I’m kinda imagining that bit in Gangnam Style, but with a frown rather than a weird shout and boobs instead of bum. []

Cunt Colouring

Cunt Colouring

Click picture to embiggen.

♦ First things first. I didn’t draw this cunt, I just coloured it in. Yes, that’s right, today I spent a chunk of my afternoon colouring in in an actual colouring book as if I was eight all over again. And it was brilliant.

Because this colouring book isn’t fairies and dragons and swords (though I would totally still colour all those things). No, this the Cunt Colouring Book.

It’s a series of line drawings of real, actual vulvas of all sorts of shapes and sizes and idiosyncrasies that you can colour in at your leisure and it was originally designed for sex eduction back in the 1970s. The author and artist, Tee Corinne says:

“As adults many of us still need to learn about our external sexual anatomy. Colouring is a way for the child in each of us to revision and reclaim this portion of our bodies from which we have been estranged.”

I couldn’t agree more. I recently took Crush on a little tour of my vulva and vagina because, although he’s very used to touching me and making me feel good there, we realised he’d very little anatomical and technical knowledge of all the different names for all the different parts and so on.

So I sat down with a mirror to help me show him all the wonders of the pussyverse and noticed a startling thing. I didn’t really know that that’s what my own cunt looked like. I found myself drawn in by the wrinkles and folds and curves, the way it changed shape when I moved. Even I, someone very familiar tactilely with her cunt, was still in a way “estranged” from it.

I’d bought this book for a friend a few years back, but I decided I wanted one for myself and I’ve really enjoyed filling in the wriggly and flowing lines of the human vulva. So far, I’ve done a couple of “”outrageously” coloured cunts (a blue and yellow artsy one and a green-with-purple-pubes She Hulk one) as well as the more standard one shown above.

And I have to say I’m quite proud of my colouring here, with its delicate pinks and peaches that look almost like Raspberry Ripple. If I can find the appropriate pens and pencils, I want to do a nice, engorged, reddened one next and then experiment with skin tones different to my own. What’s strange is that I really do feel like I’m gaining a higher appreciation for the glorious cunt through this. I loved them before, of course, especially my own, but taking the care and attention to look at one with a careful eye is an enlightening experience which I wholly recommend.

If you’ve the inkling, try it and do show us all what you come up with. And if you’ve not, just settle for trying to absorb what this book teaches you: cunts are as varied as fingerprints and flowers, cunts are beautiful, powerful and far too glorious to be “perfect”, cunts are to be loved and looked after, cunts are not for shutting away and shaming, cunts are to be truly appreciated and to be proud of.

And, you know, if I’m feeling artistically brave in future, I may even try to draw my own to colour in! ♦

SinfulSunday

Eroticon 2013 Meet and Greet

Eroticon 2013 is nearly here! Woohoo! I can’t wait until that suddenly dawns on me and then I collapse in a panic-strewn heap! But it’ll be great, I know. Two days of talking sex, writing and all sorts of awesome. It gives me a whole other day to attempt to fight past my hilarious levels of social awkwardness! There’ll be lots of people I’ve met before, lots I know online but haven’t met and lots still out there for me to get to know, so I’ll have plenty of practice. Here’s my Eroticon Meet & Greet questionnaire-thingy. Oh, God, what do I wear?

Eroticon 2013 Write Sex RightName: Blacksilk

Twitter ID: @BeingBlacksilk

Must attend Eroticon 2013 session: SEO love with the lovely Michael Knight. I’m getting really into the techy side of blogging and this man certainly knows his stuff! Whilst there are maaaany writing and content sessions to divide my interest, this is the only one like it for the tech side!

Bloggers you’d like to be trapped in the lift with: Lady Pandorah, Epiphora, Mia More and Molly.

Erotic writer you’d like to write dramatize your life story: Guy New York. Everything he writes is fucking gold. In both senses. It’s erotica meets literature with a sort of slightly wild nostalgia that I can’t really describe. Oh, yeah, and it’s all super hot.

Expected biggest fangirl / fanboy moment: Weren’t we just talking about that? :)

What keeps you awake at nights? Lately? Hmm, Crush’s hacking cough. Though it turns out that enough glasses of mead and girl kisses will sort that out no problem.

See who else is coming to Eroticon 2013 in the Meet & Greet link up. I look forward to seeing you all there, it’s going to be great. London, here I come!

Review – Fetish Fantasy Shock Therapy Kit

Fetish Fantasy Shock Therapy Kit

Disclaimer: I was provided with a free Fetish Fantasy Shock Therapy Kit by UberKinky in exchange for my honest review. Click any image to embiggen.

♦ The Fetish Fantasy Shock Therapy Kit is an electric stimulation (or e-stim) kit intended for beginners, which is sold by UberKinky. This device sends small shocks through your body to ease muscle pain and, for some people, provide sexual pleasure. I’d never tried one before and (aside from a violet wand which is a different sensation altogether) I’m also new to electro sex, so I had no idea if I’d be “some people”.

But it turns out that that is pretty much exactly one of the things this kit is great for: if you don’t know if you like electric stimulation, you can try it out with minimal potential wasted time and money. Electro sex can be an expensive kink and the Shock Therapy Kit costs just £29.99, so it’s a great way to try a new experience on the cheap and work out if you’d enjoy something a bit more “professional” later.

Shock Therapy Kit Packaging

The packaging is a sturdy box featuring typical Fetish Fantasy fare, i.e. the front shows another contender for the title of World’s Porniest Toy Package Woman. To be fair, I’m probably just jealous of her globular mammaries, her mulleted partner and the way her eye shadow matches her hair… In any case, a fairly convenient box, but super unsubtle and tacky.

Inside the box is a plastic insert containing the Shock Therapy Kit itself and – Oh, sweet, free mask! Friggin’ masks, Ishizu! Seriously, though, the mask is awful, please stop packaging all your stuff with awful (free!) masks. Anyway, the kit itself consists of very lightweight control unit, four adhesive pads, one bi-polar lead wire and the instruction manual.

Shock Therapy Kit Instructions

The instruction manual for the Shock Therapy kit is a bit of a joke. It covers information that should be obvious to anyone alive in this decade, such as the troubleshooting (make sure the wires are actually attached to things). Then, on the other hand, I feel like it’s missing a lot of information. For example, it has minimal safety advice and absolutely NO advice whatsoever on different places to attach the pads. I got a couple of unpleasant shocks from trying the pads in the wrong locations and it’s also very easy to accidentally zap yourself fairly shockingly in the fingers if you try to adjust or re-stick the pads during use. Considering that I feel most people who use this kit will have no experience with electro sex, the instructions could have done with being a more comprehensive guide. That said, if that’s the only thing stopping you from buying this kit, don’t panic, there’s a wealth of information easily available online about what and how to do.

The instruction manual explains the three main modes of the Shock Therapy Kit too (Tap, Modulation and Kneading) along with a brief explanation of what they do. Tap feels like the shock from touching a lightweight electric fence: a short throb of electricity that does feel a bit like a mini-thump on the body. Modulation feels like a mobile phone on vibrate and Kneading is about the same, but for longer periods with bigger gaps. But it completely fails to mention the fact that there are a good half dozen modes after this that correspond to where you’ve put the pads (so there’s a “knees” mode or an “arms” mode). These are pretty incomprehensible even in use.

The “easy-to-read” LCD screen that “clearly displays” information is also vague in parts. I understand the bars for speed and power, but some of the things it displays in the top middle of the screen don’t seem to match what it’s actually doing. It’s all a bit opaque.

Shock Therapy Kit Buttons and Screen

Onto the Shock Therapy device itself. There are four buttons: one turns the device ON and increases the settings, one turns the device OFF and decreases them, one is labelled “S/P” and switches what you are increasing or decreasing between speed (rapidity of pulses) and power (intensity of pulses) and one that cycles through the e-stim modes.

The control unit connects to the bi-polar wire via a jack and the wire then splits out into two Ys, each with a sort of popper on the end that attaches to one of the adhesive pads. These pads are covered in a plastic film to keep them sticky and protect them from dirt. Once you’ve removed those, you place each pad on the body. All four need to be attached for it to work.

The pads are very sticky indeed (but leave no residue). However, they quickly lose their stickiness, unless you’re very careful, under attack from oils, sweat, lint or dirt. (While we’re on that note, don’t lose the plastic film and don’t share your pads as they can’t be sanitised). Mine have gone from very sticky to kinda sticky in about half a dozen uses, but I’m not the most careful of owners. If you want yours to last a long time, be extra clean and extra careful. Oh, and possibly not so hairy? I fucked my pads up royally in terms of crap-levels with just the trimmed hair of my vulva. Smooth body parts work best.

Flat ones too. I couldn’t use it on my nipples (like the box shows) as the pads really need flat, even contact with the skin to conduct the electricity, so the Shock Therapy Kit wouldn’t even start. Too bumpy. I settled for a pad either side of my nipples, but that just shocked my breasts and left the nipples alone.

It did feel very nice, though, especially when coming, even if I couldn’t turn it up much past power two or three. Yup, it turns out that even though it runs on two AAA batteries, it has a hell of a kick. I’d offered to review the kit expecting it to be pretty pathetic with just that powering it, but I was seriously impressed. Not only was I impressed, but my kinkster housemate Alt was very impressed too and he’s tried a “real” electro sex kit, that is to say one that costs significantly more and doesn’t run off triple As. We both feel that, in terms of power, this kit will certainly satisfy all but the more experienced electro-experts.

CONCLUSION

The Fetish Fantasy Shock Therapy Kit is a troubled beast. On the one hand it’s a little confusing with its lack of information on suggested electrode locations, its sometimes confusing LCD and the fact that I often don’t quite know what it’s up to. I really think all of these problems could actually just be solved with a longer and more detailed instruction guide. On the other hand, it’s reasonably priced, simple to actually operate and attach and capable of delivering very strong electronic pulses and shocks. Not only that, but it’s dual use: the kit can be used sexually (I loved masturbating with it tingling my breasts), but also therapeutically (it felt lovely buzzing away on my tired shoulder and neck muscles).

I think that, poor instructions and level of detail aside, it’s a really great little kit. It’s cheap and powerful and probably the best way (besides knowing someone who’ll do you a demo) to get an entry level start in e-stimulation and electro sex. You can try it out for little money and effort and you’ll soon know if you like it or want something more involved, especially if you couple it with freely available information on the Net to make up for what the instructions don’t provide. So, if you’re curious about electro sex, I’d say give the Fetish Fantasy Shock Therapy Kit from UberKinky a whirl. ♦

Why not read some more of my sex toy reviews?

Humble Bundle

♦ It’s not often I have sex to the gentle sounds of cartoon bears growling, but I suppose that’s what I should expect if I come over all insistent while Crush is playing Triple Town.

After being effectively locked up in my house for most of my suddenly three-day weekend, my snow shut-in was seeming a very lazy and cosy affair, but arousal was bubbling in my mind. I all at once decided that I could do with some sex and, hey, why not just go and get it? I love growing intimacy and flirtation leading to a desperate need to rip each other’s clothes off, sure, but there’s also something severely awesome about just deciding you’re in the mood for some sex and then undertaking to have some.

I padded into Crush’s room and attempted to gently pull him onto the bed from his computer. It didn’t quite work. He motioned for me to try again, always keen for a bit of daftness, but I settled for wriggling backwards onto our bed and pretending to use the Force instead. Because obviously.

I found myself backed into the corner of the bed near the pillows, bundled up where the walls met at ninety degrees. In a way it was not an astoundingly erotic image, the two of us in comfort clothes against the cold that persists in this house, he in sweats and I in pyjamas and woolly bits, but as soon as he smoothed his palm over my soft and braless breasts, some sordid energy ran through me from tip to toe. I so wanted this, now in body as well as mind.

His fingers massaged my nipples through my dinosaur top as mine padded and clawed at his back. I rolled my hips against and soon he was skilfully employing both banter and deft fingerwork in a push to get my top up and off. I lifted my layers and his mouth moved magnetically towards my now-bare nipples, tongue flicking out like a lizard.

And there I was, head squished up against a hastily-moved pillow, the only thing protecting my poor skull from the discomfort of the walls by our bed, folded up, squished in, no room to pull back from Crush’s ministrations, no way to escape. It should have been uncomfortable, but I loved being ‘trapped’, being surrounded, being my own little humble bundle. I love restraint, it’s no surprise to hear. But that’s not always a sexual thing and even when it is, it’s not all rope and cuffs and shackles. I like the heavy weight of a winter duvet providing pressure. I like to press my feet against a wall and draw my knees up tight into a ball when I touch myself. I’m not best built for it, but I think I like to be made compact.

So I really loved being crumpled up in a corner with Crush painting ecstasy on my skin.

I loved it even more when we were both naked, his cock rubbing smoothly over my wettened folds, our bodies close and our eyes fixed on each other. With a little wiggling he slipped inside me and began to slowly pump in and out, fucking me as his body formed a barrier that only added to the wonderful bundled-up, boxed-in feeling.

And oh, the angle. Something about the position of our bodies or the incline of thrust meant that the bulk of his erection was rubbing and pushing with each movement against the front wall of my vagina, kneading my G-spot. Each thrust was like a shove in the back towards a precipice, each pull back like the tide rushing back over buffeted and polished pebbles. I ground my hips in rhythm and I was soon gasping through one of the fastest and most satisfyingly overwhelming orgasms of my life.

By my second climax, he too was coming and I relished squeezing my muscles to milk him of every last drop of pleasure. As he left to return to his quickly-cooling lunch and his adorably strategic bears, I pulled our duvet and fuzzy blanket up over me, content to stay dripping but cosy in my lovely little bundle for just a while longer… ♦