This post discusses consensual BDSM play, including domination, humiliation, impact play, gagging, choking (with explicit consent and safewords), and emotional vulnerability during and after sex. It also references health anxiety and boundaries being tested and negotiated. Please read with care.

This post follows directly from Consent Is the Foreplay, and continues my reflections on consent, trust, and what actually happens when theory meets a real body in a real room.

Severus knocked on the door a little early. My immediate thought was: he is hot.

The dog was bouncing up and down and squeaking – she loves meeting people. Fortunately, Severus likes dogs too and bent down to say hello. She responded by leaping enthusiastically into his face and very nearly giving him a concussion. I really should have warned him. He was fine, thankfully.

Then he turned to me and we kissed – and it was the strangest kiss I’ve ever had. He bit my bottom lip. Nobody had done that before. It was a new kind of uncomfortable, but I decided to go with it. Almost immediately I realised that lip biting doesn’t excite me at all. It’s the wrong kind of pain. Interesting.

He asserted himself quickly and we went upstairs.

I’m not going to get pornographic here. I’m deliberately not going to describe explicit sexual acts – no “insert tab A into slot B”. I want to stay at a higher level, because what interested me wasn’t the mechanics, but what I learned.

The biting came up again later. Lip biting I didn’t enjoy. Butt biting was different, but still sharp, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it yet. At least I was expecting it this time. What mattered was that, despite being very rough and very dominant, he was sensitive enough to notice – even while I was shouting out colours – that this wasn-t quite landing for me.

He gagged me, which I did enjoy. I love being gagged. I found myself wondering whether he did it because he liked the idea of me being gagged, or because the noises I was making were off-putting to him. I realised I didn’t actually care. I’m not embarrassed by noise. If the street knows I’m having a good time, so be it – perhaps that’s one of my kinks.

As discussed beforehand, he slapped me across the face a couple of times. Because I knew it was coming, it was shocking without being destabilising. In hindsight, I wish I’d played up a bit more to encourage him to do it again. That realisation led to an important insight: impact play is very different from biting or other sharp pains. I like impact play.

Afterwards, we talked about the biting. He’d already clocked that I wasn’t keen on it and said that I seemed less into pain than he’d hoped. I told him that now I had a better understanding of what to expect, I wanted to work on it – I wanted to be pushed. I also said that I enjoy flogging, paddles, and riding crops. In fact, once he’d left, I went straight to Google and ordered myself a paddle and a riding crop. It is Christmas, and I have been a naughty boy 😈.

He did try choking. It wasn’t something we’d discussed beforehand, and it scared me – partly because it was our first time playing together, and partly because of the heart attack I’d had earlier in the year. At the same time, it’s something I really want to explore. I want to get close to passing out while being fucked; that edge is terrifying and intoxicating.

What mattered was this: when I said “red”, he stopped immediately. No questioning. No negotiation. When I asked if we could try again, we did – a few times, experimenting with different approaches. Each time, when I said stop or tapped out, he stopped. I still wasn’t ready to let go completely, but my trust in him grew enormously. Afterwards I told him that explicitly – that by respecting my limits so precisely, he’d made it possible for me to imagine going further with him in the future.

He called me humiliating names – “you’re just a hole”, “slut” – but this was play humiliation. My boundaries were respected throughout, and that distinction matters.

He pushed me into places I hadn’t been before, and I really enjoyed him.

Afterwards we lay on the bed, cuddled, and talked. We spoke about our darker sides, and about how kink – and play partners – allow those parts of us to be explored safely. This is where open relationships really come into their own: they make space for needs that a primary partner(s) can’t always meet.

I told him I was disappointed he hadn’t used the belt. He said that trying something and then being told “no” was a bit of a turn-off for him, and that I seemed less into pain than he’d hoped. Although he enjoyed the sex, he described it as more vanilla. I think that’s probably fair – rough vanilla, perhaps.

Later, during conversation, he casually mentioned that I’d stopped him when he was millimetres away from getting his whole fist inside me. I was devastated. I really wanted that experience. I wish he’d said at the time – I would have asked him to slow down rather than stop. Still, he chose care over ambition, and that’s another bright green flag. He’s someone I can trust to take me further safely.

As we talked, I caught fascinating glimpses of his life. Apparently I featured in a case study he’d read – though he wouldn’t say more, feeling he’d already shared too much. I’m deeply intrigued. I must have consented to something at some point, but I have no idea what or in what context.

He wasn’t bothered by the fact that erections can be hit-and-miss for me. He even said he’d be interested in playing with a nullo, which I found unexpectedly affirming. It feels like a possibility I may yet grow into.

Eventually he got cold and needed to head off. Before leaving, he browsed my bookshelves and it turned out we share a taste in science fiction, fantasy, and television. I’m realising that I want more from hookups than just sex – I want connection on multiple levels.

He did notice the pictures of my husband: one on the bedroom wall, another as the computer background. I still love him, and I still want those images around, but I’m self-aware enough to know that gentleman callers don’t necessarily want to encounter previous loves so directly. I was reminded of visiting a widower who once asked me to wear his late husband’s leathers – an extreme example, but not entirely unrelated.

As the conversation wound down, we realised we’re both neurodivergent – he suspects ADHD. We immediately understood each other when talking about why watching the same programme repeatedly can be so comforting. That recognition felt like another small point of connection.

He asked me why I like to cuddle after sex. It’s a good question. Sometimes it’s incredibly hot when a top slaps my arse, dismounts, and gets dressed – appearing careless while actually meeting my needs in exactly that way. Other times, I want to stay close, to maintain physical contact. I don’t feel the need to resolve that contradiction. It’s simply how I am.

I did make one mistake: I overshared about a previous sexual encounter, which made him uncomfortable. That was thoughtless of me, and I regret it. I’m very conscious that my writing should never feel like gossip. These pieces are about my life and my processing, and I never want to hurt anyone else in the telling.

After he’d gone, I had a final thought. Sex in my marriage had, over time, become a weekend-only affair. My husband said it felt predictable. There were reasons for that which I won’t explore here, but I realised there may be another factor. Almost all my hookups are arranged days or weeks in advance. I like that. It adds predictability and safety to my life. Besides, being a bottom is work – you can’t just lie there and think of England. There’s preparation involved if a top’s visit to the Pleasure Domes is to be genuinely pleasurable.

Final note: Severus and I have been messaging since. I think we’ll be playing again.