Sex Toys: Bad Dragon

Cern, bless his cotton socks, has introduced me to things that I had no idea existed. I know I know, shocking right?!

Now for those of you like me who had no idea what Bad Dragon was until it was wedged between your legs as you squealed and back-peddled up the bed then you’ll be delighted to know that they are an adult sex toy shop. Which isn’t about normal sex toys. Oh no.

They have some pretty amazing items in there.

And that’s just some of the interesting implements that they stock.

I got lost looking at their website and it was only after Cern chased me up the bed with his torture device did it all start to perk my imagination a wee bit.

You see he has the bruiser and a sheath basilisk in large. We’ve had some fun with both. I mean, after I picked my jaw up from the floor and said that they wouldn’t fit because I’m too little. He proved me wrong. He likes proving me wrong. He gets this evil glint in his eye when he does and that cheeky “I’m right” grin on his face that makes me want to stomp my feet and rawr at him.

However back to the toys, oh the tooooooooooooys. So anyway. The first time he pulled out the bruiser my eyes watered and I may have climbed up the bed to try to get away. He slid the darn into his jeans and grabbed me to pull me back down again. And let’s just say that anytime he climbs above me and pins me down, I turn into a gooey mess is probably the best description I can think of. So he slowly edged the thing into me as I whimpered and thought “Oh sex gods, I’m dying” because it felt like I was being split in two. It was uncomfortable as it was different. He kept his eyes glued to mine the entire time. He stopped pushing that damn thing in. I silently thanked whichever god was listening and took a deep breath. Then he slowly moved out and in. He kept up a slow rhythm. And before long I may have panted and moaned. Raising my hips to meet his as he thrust. It still felt like I was being ripped in two. But it was a ripped in two I could happily get off on. And I did. Repeatedly. Until, that was he tried to push past the huge fuck off knot the damn thing has near the base of it. It’s the size of my fist. I measured. And my eyes may have bulged out. It felt like they did anyway. No matter how hard he pushed, that thing wasn’t going in and I started to climb up the bed again.


The Bruiser


Cern thinks I can take it. I think I may die if I do. We’re at an impasse and I fear the day he takes it in his head to spend an afternoon between my legs making me take the entire thing.

Second on the list was the basilisk sheath. Now that thing was fun. We used it early in our relationship, just before I broke his penis.

It was uncomfortable too, but not to the point that I thought I was screaming (apparently I wasn’t) and wanting to die. This one was a lot more fun. I think it’s because of the added bonus of the tip of his penis peeking out the top so that he gets sensation from it as much as I do. There are ribs inside the sheath for his added pleasure too. He said it grips him and he can feel the thrusts through it. So not only does it have knobs on the outside, it has knobs on the inside!! Winning on both ends here.


How did it feel? It felt like I was still being ripped in half, however there was no uncomfortableness. It was pleasant, yet felt like I was being stretched in a good way. There was no “oh gods no” there was just “oh. oh my gods, yes!!!” But like the bruiser it’s nice that he went slow at first. I don’t think you can rush these things, unless you have a buckload of lube on hand and don’t mind tearing something. And since Cern has a nice habit of tearing me without toys, I found it nice that he took it easy on me with them. Yes, I know, I’m keeping him.

So Bad Dragon? Why weird sex toys? Well you see, there’s a whole subset of people who get off on role-playing. This plays into so many different sub-sets and areas of sexuality because the toys are so wonderfully sci-fi, fantasy and amazingly fun that how could you not want to have a go? Granted, maybe try the smaller sizes first since the big ones scare me. Unless you’re into that kind of thing. In which case GO FOR IT. Then send me a video.

However, getting back on point. I think this plays really nicely into the being taken, stretched, used and having a lot of cum dumped in you fantasy really well. Especially since the bruiser and other toys come with the tube where you can use their goopy lube as cum to insert into the person you’re currently fucking with it. I don’t know about you but it seriously turns me on when I can feel my insides filled, on nights when I can actually feel Cern’s cock throbbing as he comes turns me on to the point where I have to masturbate afterwards furiously. He made a funny comment the other night saying that most guys would be upset if their partner felt the urge to masturbate after sex because they thought they weren’t doing a good enough job getting her off, but I’m masturbating because his orgasm turned me on more. He found it endlessly amusing. I got off fine during sex with him. I love sex with him on so many levels. But when I can feel him actually come deep inside me? And that pulse as he moans? Ohhh phwoar! It turns me on like nothing else. So yes, masturbating while I feel his come dripping out of me? Even hotter. 

So these toys can do that for you too. Considering they have those nifty tubes. Like the feeling of being filled? Then go for it. And yes, you still have to send me a video.

All in all though? I think these toys have a delightfully long list of uses. From fantasy role-playing, to using them as base sex toys, to using them as part of your regular sexual shenanigans. So many options… I can’t wait till we get some more goodies from them.


Whore-phobia – Waving the red flag.

I’ve been through a really emotionally draining yet uplifting weekend. However something I came across through my travels that made me sit up and get a bit cranky was this belief that sex workers, hookers, whores… they are somehow less than human. What they do is degrading.. well no, it’s not actually.

Now being that I’m a slut positive and anti-shaming anything kinda gal, I decided I needed to have a rant about it.

Since I live in Australia, prostitution is legal here. Yes I thank the many gods about this fact daily too. What that means is that if I wanted, it is a viable and very profitable way to earn a living. I have friends that earn upwards of $300 an hour for their services.

I have many many friends who are sex workers. They are intelligent, funny, sassy, amazing women and men with degrees from universities all across the country. Does that they get paid hourly to fuck people somehow detract from that? Being that they spend their time being paid to supply sex, does this somehow now make them inferior? Damaged goods? Unwanted because they are used already?

A lot of this ties into slut shaming. And we all know how I feel about that – basically what it comes down to is that as humans we all love sex. Yes, even those people who have a low sex drive and enjoy maybe once every 6 months to those like me who would be having sex every minute of every hour if I could except Cern may just override that and tie me up in a corner to make sure I die from the horny while he tortures me a bit more by sexually frustrating me. Yes I whine, but secretly I love it.

That’s beside the point however.

The point I’m trying to make here is that just because someone has chosen to do sex work doesn’t mean that they are doing it because they have a drug habit, or are sold off in the sex trade, or forced into prostitution. Don’t get me wrong, these things do happen and they are a blight upon sex workers all over the world. It’s unjust, inhumane and shouldn’t be tolerated at all. However, on the flip side, there are also a lot of sex workers in Australia who chose this job for a myriad of reasons which are positive.

I’ve heard some people say that they would never date a sex worker. I never understood this concept. Maybe because the way I view sex and intimacy is really rather different to everyone else. I mean you can totally have sex with someone without caring deeply for them. There doesn’t have to be a connection of any kind apart from the physical act of shagging each other. And when I talk to my friends about their personal relationships with others I came to the realisation that just because they get paid to have sex with people, doesn’t mean that at home they can’t have a fulfilling and loving relationship with someone else. Sex doesn’t equate to love. A loving sexual relationship is so much more. Yet when my friends take on a client that is one of their regulars there’s a level of intimacy there, yet it’s still professional and its still work.

I think sex workers get such a bad rap because people believe that somehow sex makes you dirty. If you’ve been with a lot of people or you take payment for sex then it means you’re tainted goods. I blame the men who wrote those stupid religious texts for these misconceptions and the belief that somehow working as a sex worker is a bad thing.

I once applied and nearly worked at a brothel. Granted it wasn’t a full service house, it was part service or what I like to call a “rub and tug”. You got dressed up in pretty lingerie and massaged people with a happy ending included. No penetration. Only they wanted me to take out all my piercings to work there so I said no. As they say, don’t get between a girl and her piercings man. Which is a shame really, because I think I would have had a ball at the rub and tug.

Basically, I think, it all comes down to sex workers just being like the rest of us. Some have families that they are supporting by being sex workers, other’s are putting themselves through university or just earning a living. Thankfully we live in a country where brothel’s have stringent rules and regulations for all workers including safe sex practices and regular testing and checks.

Maybe I’m just a bit weird but I honestly don’t get the anti-whore-ism that seems to be prevalent in society. Sex workers are amazing people who contribute something amazing to the community, even if you don’t agree with it, it’s an important service that other’s do appreciate and do support.

Myself included.

So when I read or hear anything anti-sex workers I take a stand. I have marched with Scarlet Alliance for worker rights, acceptance and to stop the government from deregulating the sex work industry. I’ve put my hat in the bag and supported friends and other’s I deem family in what they do, their right to do it and the fact that it doesn’t make them less of a person or unable to be a loving partner.

So where do you stand on dating a sex worker? Does it bother you? Would it bother you? Why?


Sex worker positive sites that have some interesting information and links:

SWOP – Sex Workers Outreach Project
Scarlet Alliance – Australian Sex Workers Association



Sex Accidents: I hurt what?! !!!!

You know those times you are busy fucking so hard, so fast and so often that you feel that your gentials are constantly entangled and may not survive being separated for long periods of time? I’m pretty sure that’s where we were at… And since he said I could post about it but will suffer the consequences, I hope you all realise the pain I’m putting myself into for your reading pleasure.

Anyway, a few weeks ago Cern and I were having a marathon sex session. Not that many of our sex sessions aren’t marathon… but that’s beside the point.

Cern learned something that no one has done so far to me, that if he makes me cum over hours and hours of sexing my entire body becomes electrified and when he touches me, I start to shake. If he touches me in certain spots I feel like there’s a current running from his big warm hands into my body, under the layer of my skin. It feels like my cells are sparking and making me jittery. My stomach knots up, my whole body has this reaction to him that I have no control over. He found it delightful. I found it disconcerting. He started to run his fingers up and down my spine, from the base all the way up to my neck. And being that my neck is super sensitive without the rest of me being electrified; so with the way my body was my neck felt like he had ripped my skin off and was playing with my nerve endings that led straight into my panties. I shook, I moaned, I clenched my hands and I couldn’t figure out if he kept going whether I was going to cum from his scratching my back or maybe I was going to splinter into a million and one pieces of orgasmic ecstasy.

He kept going, this time he added nails too. Before long I was starting on a wave of pure touch induced bliss. The more he kept at it, the closer and closer I came to reaching orgasm – yet he persisted. The fingers, the touching, the scratching, the nails and my withering at his fingertips. Surprise orgasm. Let’s call this one a surprise orgasm. Who knew you could get there with just touching alone? I sure as hell didn’t. But he did get me there. And as I lay there totally spent, having a hard time breathing and waiting for the fireworks to subside and my skin to get back to non-tingle stage, I wondered what the hell just happened?

What was that? Is that even normal? Does that even happen? I know I’m a bit weird in the way I’m wired. I cum from spankings. I can orgasm from giving blow jobs, I cum from nipple torture and now it seems I can spontaneously orgasm from oversensitive back touches. He seemed to love that he could get me somewhere I’d never been before. I wanted to smack his smugness but laughed instead. I’ll give him his cherry, he did good. He seems to be finding a lot of cherries that I didn’t even know I had and relishing in popping them.

By the time Monday afternoon rocked around we’d had a pretty big deep and meaningful that morning and I was feeling a bit emotionally raw and frayed and I’m pretty sure he may have been as well when I offered snugglefucking to cure our woes because nothing fixes anything like losing yourself in each other right? Right. For a pair of people who aren’t in a relationship I’m loving our communication, anyway… He offered his place as long as I was quiet. Me? I could do quiet, I can totally do quiet as long as you don’t hurt me. Hurting me means all bets are off the table unless you put your hand over my mouth to ensure I don’t scream while growling in my ear to not make a sound. That usually works a treat too. But anyway, I promised I would be quiet and we organised to have a shag fest at his place.

We spent most of Monday night chatting and sitting around with his housemates before I really needed to go to bed as I’d not slept the night before and was feeling the pull of sleep. He had to drive someone to the train station for them to get home and I took that as my leave to go get in a nap for at least 30 minutes. I have no idea how long I had a nap for, it didn’t feel very long but I was woken up with by the sight of a great big hunk of man. A girl can’t complain, honestly. We spent most of the night shagging. I was so quiet, everyone should be proud of me. We pretty much christened nearly every surface in his bedroom and his en suite. Note to self: tiles on the bathroom floor bite into one’s knees pretty hard. It’s nearly as bad as kneeling on rice.

At some point the next day after a full night of fucking and sleeping and fucking and sleeping and fucking… He bent me over the bed and he was slowly turning me into putty with long, sure strokes that were alternated between hard and soft. To be honest I have no idea what happened, all I know is at some point I was cumming and I may have clenched and he may have missed the re-entry, or something – when he didn’t say anything and I certainly didn’t think anything of it. So it kept going until we finished. Then a bit extra, like in the shower. The bathroom. The bathroom floor as I may have tried to crawl into his bedroom. He didn’t let me go anywhere.

We fuck a lot. And it’s pretty amazing. Apparently I’m good sex, cheers Cern. I’m pretty awesome, I know. But getting back to the story and not our fucking antics…

We stopped to have a break and to lounge around waiting for his appointment during the day. When we went into the bedroom and I dropped to my knees to worship his cock for a while and as soon as I got it out and into my mouth he frowned.

Hmmm. Warning Houston, we may have a problem.

He said hold on, so I did. He felt his penis a bit while I was eye level with it and he said does it look weird to you. So I looked and looked and wanted to lick it and nuzzled it and show it some loving, but I behaved and just looked. And he was right. There was a slight purplish bulge along the left side of it. I blinked. Um, that’s not right I said. I asked him if he hurt, he said it doesn’t hurt like he’s dying kind of hurt, but he can feel the pain of it there. I sat back on my heels and frowned.

My blow job. It just went the way of the dodo – however his penis health trumped my suckling urges. Penises are really rather important to fun times, it was more important to me that he hadn’t done anything that was going to damage it or himself.

So we held off on my sucking his cock, yes I was disappointed but I was more worried that we’d hurt it and that he was in pain. So we discussed the pain a bit, was it sharp? Shooting? Could he walk? After ascertaining all this he decided we should get it checked out. I agreed, there is no reason for us not to and it’s better to be safe than sorry.

So off we trundled to the ER in the next town. We checked in with the triage nurse and I have to admit, I giggled she asked what had happened and he waved at me and said “her”. To be fair, I felt pretty horrible, I’ve never broken a penis before. Sure I may have accidentally snapped an ex’s ribs, but we were wrestling at the time and we fell off the bed – plus she was tiny…

I didn’t know what else to do but touch him. Pat him, hold his hand… I couldn’t imagine what was going through the poor guy’s brain at this time. So I offered what I could… touch. Comfort. Hopefully some stupid humour to get him to crack a smile. Before long we were ushered into see the nurse, who took notes and asked about the injury. We left said nurse and waited some more when the Dr then called him in. I figured I didn’t need to be in there for that bit and sat outside waiting. Thankfully he didn’t leave me alone long enough with the cricket on the TV so that I didn’t try scratching my veins out. However he did come out with a smirk so at least I knew it was going to be ok.

We started off back towards his car and I asked. Sooooooooooooooooooo?

He said that the Dr thought he’d burst a blood vessel of some kind which is why it was swollen and purplish looking and he had the sharpish pains in his groin. He said he had to rest it for an entire week. I may have felt my heart drop… What I asked? A WHOLE WEEK?!

Yes, he says. No straining it. Not even licking it? No, not even licking it apparently.


Of course I kept my composure and may have giggled. He had to keep it in his pants. snickersnicker at least I could wank.

Suffice to say we didn’t last a week of not fucking, especially since we spent nearly the week together. However we haven’t been able to have a marathon since because of it. I miss riding it. Devouring it and just enjoying it without it hurting him. It pains me that it hurts him so. I did enjoy sucking it while we were watching GoT the other night on the couch, there’s something to be said about a guy that lets you enjoy his penis with your mouth for as long as you want, I threw a pillow on the floor and kneeled on it. My housemate came up for a smoke at one point so he told me to stop, so I stopped but kept him in my mouth. But being that I’m so nice I put him away as soon as she stepped outside and curled up next to him on the couch for the rest of the night.

But dear gods I am so fucking horny.

And this is where we’re at dears, a week later and it’s still hurting him a bit. I’m rabidly horny and contemplating taking on my housemates fucking machine called Humphrey to dull the itch a bit. Oh Humphrey, if only you didn’t scare the bejesus out of me!



Morning tears for humanity

Yesterday I started the day by crying, in bed whilst scrolling through Facebook. My cat thought I was a wee bit insane but snuggled up to my mopey self anyway.

It was this video that had me crying.

I was teary all morning due to this and it wasn’t until I stopped to question myself why this video had affected me the way it had.

And I think it’s because I’ve been there. I’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of hatred before, unjustifiable, unreasoning, un-containable hatred. For loving someone of the same gender. I can’t and don’t understand the blatant anger, hatred and blind rage that it causes in people.

Why does what and who I do in the bedroom matter? Why do people feel the need to tell me that I’m going to a hell that was concocted just for the very reason that people could be subjugated? Why is it ok for people to feel that they have the right to scream abuse at me and my partner while they drive past in their cars? To spit at our feet as they pass us in the street because we were holding hands? To tell us that we’re less than human because we’re in love…

I don’t get it. I don’t want to get it. I refuse to get it.

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Reformed lesbianism? Is that even a *thing*?!

Reformed what?

I’ve written before about monosexism & my bisexuality.

As mentioned in that post, I was a lesbian before I became bisexual. I’m not going to go into that again with this post. What I did want to talk about was my transition. My journey. My experience.

And my love of women. And men. And possibly some of my relationship epiphanies.

It started young you know, I was kissing girls behind the school toilets when I was 7.

We started experimenting with more than just kissing in the long grass at primary school, possibly about age 10.

I got very familiar with vagina’s during this experimentation period. Don’t get me wrong, they were very confusing, yet endlessly fascinating to me. Look at that YUMMYNESS!!!!!

Sure I experimented with girls, but I didn’t really have a girlfriend until my late 20’s. Like a proper girlfriend. Move in together and be monogamous kind.

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Brunch, ben wa balls, butt plugs and girl on girl beginnings…

There comes a time in everyone’s life… well ok, maybe not.

But there’s always a time in mine when I get asked such random questions that I often don’t see them coming and end up doing this…


One of my girlfriends called me up one day to advise that some her kinky friends are coming up from our nations capital and she had some unexpected work pop up, so would I mind being hostess to them while they were in Sydney for a night? She says they are a married couple and really lovely people. I say sure, why not. I don’t have anything on that night so it seemed like a good idea.

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Consensual non-consent & rape.

**Trigger warning: Sexual assault & rape discussion below**

During my time on FetLife I’ve come across so many many women referring to some of their fantasies as rape fantasy instead of consensual non-consent.

It’s not the same thing. It’s a pet peeve of mine. Why? Because until you’ve actually been assaulted you have no idea of the difference in these two things.

Consensual non-consent can be a fun space to play in with your partner. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an area of my sexuality that I love to push. That I love watching my partners eyes light up when he/she realises that they have my full consent to do whatever they want. Obviously within reason, I don’t want to end up dead or a vegetable – but that falls into mutual boundaries that should have been set by now. Consensual non-consent can be hot, dirty and endlessly vitalise one’s sex life with their other half.

Rape, on the other hand, is not fun. It’s not hot. It’s not something that I look forward to or encourage.

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Para-noir – I fuck you because I loved you

“para-noir,” which was meant to represent excessive darkness and the paranoia of trust – Marilyn Manson

I was listening to this song while working and the meaning of the song, why it was written and the responses made me think about the various reasons why I’ve fucked people.

You see, according to Manson – he had a huge amount of girls come through and he asked them why they would fuck him. Their responses are what makes this song. The chorus is his reply to them.

And I thought what a quaint idea. To make a post about the why’s of fucking.

I’d fuck you because you’re famous

Would you? Have you? Could you?

My answer… Possibly. Chemistry has always been a very big reason in whether I let someone get between my legs. Because they are famous doesn’t change the equation. I need chemistry. I need lust. I need something.

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The Leaf Vibrator – an eco-friendly orgasm!

I did a talk in a sex shop not too long ago now…

However that’s not what this post is about, it’s about them gifting me with a box of goodies and inside was this box.

It was brown all over, with Bloom Leaf written on it. A cardboard box. Saying it’s 100% silicone finish, rechargeable, natural pleasure.

It was the box that got me. It was so plain. I had no idea until I pulled it out. The smooth cardboard finish filled my inner greenie with glee.

It couldn’t be an eco-friendly vibrator, surely!?

I opened the box with haste forgetting the rest of my goodie bag and pulled out a green item. It’s flexible. It’s silicone, it’s rechargeable.


The chargeable hole for the vibe is actually at the smaller end, blink and you’d miss it. I left it to charge overnight as I anticipated the next nights string of orgasms from a new toy.

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