vacation – which means we won’t be around as much over the next month. That said, we didn’t want to leave you in a lurch, with nothing new to read here while we’re away, so…

To help us cover things off in August we’ve recruited a slew of guest contributors, to share the stories of their best and worst dates EVER. Writers like: Alex, from the urbandater.com; Helene, the lovely lady behind Man-shopping in Paris; Jami, the woman responsible for all the hilarity to be found on Datewrecks.com; and everybody’s fave perv with a penchant for face-sitting, Ken, who holds it down at Lustmongers.com (just to name a few). That’s right folks, for the next five weeks you’ll be getting the best, the worst and the funniest dating stories we and the talented team we’ve assembled have to offer – simply because we adore you, our readers, and we don’t want you miss us for even one minute while we’re away.

Now about our time away, I know some of you are wondering where the metanotherfrog.com team is going and how long we’ll be gone, so let me fill you in. The crew is about to embark on our three week long European Debauchery Tour (I believe Elizabeth Rose is the one to thank for that name, but I’m sure none of you are surprised to hear that). Yes dear readers, Sam, Elizabeth and I, will be tearing it up in Scotland, England, Wales, Spain, and Ireland.

And you want to know what the best part about our pending trip is? We’re going to write about all the shiny new bed mates we hook up in our quest for the hottest vacation action we can find shenanigans, hi-jinks and straight up foolishness we get up to. Yes people, we’re going to share all the juicy highlights (and probably more than a few low-lights) with you all when we get back. (You’re excited now aren’t you? Yeah, I knew you would be.)

Good people, the fun begins this Monday with a five week run of dating stories, followed by our European Debauchery Tour Highlights in early September.  So, be sure to come back soon and check in frequently so you don’t miss a moment of the fun.

Skye

ELIZABETH ROSE, SAM SHARPE, and SKYE BLUE

We’re finally here folks. It’s time to recap the fourth and final week of Fringe Month 1. And oh, what a week it was…

First up was The F’in Man himself, our boy Sam Sharpe. In his post  I Love Me Some Panties he shared both his love for panties and his general disdain for being asked to don them.

Next, in My Submissive Cyberstalker, I told you all about the adorable, persistent, black woman-worshipping submissive who has been stalking me online for years.

Elizabeth hit you hard mid-week by admitting she has a thing for men’s backdoors – and by thing I mean she wants to get real up close and personal with them. Really she does. Don’t believe our Cambridge educated English rose whose vowels cut glass has such ‘dark’ desires? Then read Fringe in Action for yourself.

Coital Cabaret yet another funny tale by the delightful Elizabeth, that could prove to be helpful to any woman who wants to ensure that the sex tape(s) she films with her bed mates, never see the light of day.

In Fantasy vs. Reality, I shared the story of one of my long time friends, who was hit with a hard reality bitch slap when she chose to fulfill a long time fantasy.

To close out the week Sam Sharpe offered up Careless Whispers, a cautionary tale that highlights the importance of thinking before you speak at all times – yes, even when spewing the dirtiest of dirty talk as you turn your lover out.

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Happy Reading All,

Skye

Guess what kids? Today we’re going to discuss the latest trend among vampire obsessed (and possibly horny) teens and a fetish that appears to be pretty popular among pain lovin’ kinksters (over 61 000 people on fetlife.com are down with getting their kink on in this manner) – Odaxelagnia. In plain English that’s sexual arousal achieved through biting a partner or being bitten.

For the record I’m not a fan of biting – giving or receiving (yes I know, I’m a punk ass) – but it seems that our cultural obsession with vampires is making biting seem like a real sexy thing to do – even with the kids. And my peeps who are into biting point out sinking your teeth into your bed mate or having their teeth sink into your flesh, can be a huge turn on – if done correctly. With that in my mind, I’m going to go ahead and throw up some sexy biting tips I collected from some of my kinky buddies…

Enjoy!

1. Check your technique. You can nibble, do full on biting – with a whole lot of teeth, or just kick it like you’re still in high school and do the hickey thing, which (for my old timers who may not remember) involves both biting and sucking. The choice is yours. Just do what’s comfortable for you – and your mate.
2. Start easy. Always begin by nibbling and then work your way up to harder bites. This is especially important if you’re new to biting and/or you’re trying it for the first time with a new partner. This gives you both a chance to learn the level of pleasure-pain, you can tolerate during your sex play.
3. Have a Safe Word. This is especially important if the two of you are into to really painful bites (you know the kind that may break the skin and sometimes draws blood – generally not recommended, but I’m not here to judge, so go ahead and do you – SAFELY). Having a safe word will make sure you don’t send your partner reeling to new heights of un-pleasure because the pain you’re inflicting is beyond unbearable.
4. Stick to the erogenous zones. Don’t just roll up on your partner and bite his/her ear or forehead like you’re a cannibal looking for your next meal (unless of course you know for sure your mate digs that shit). From what I’ve been told, most people (even those who are really into biting) will find it super un-sexy and you don’t want to turn your kink into konk just as the games begin. So just stick to nibbling on the nape of your lover’s neck, inner thighs or nipples.
5. Keep It Quick…Unless Serious Pain Is What You’re After. If you want to keep real pain out of your biting, then make your bites short and sweet – that’s a few seconds only.  FYI: Longer bites = more pain being registered. So if inducing pain is NOT your goal, make sure your bites keep your bites quick. However, if on the other hand, you and your partner like to bring the pain, then clamping your teeth down on the same spot for a while oughta do the trick.
6. Leave the Growling and Barking to the Animals. Although your partner may love the animal in you in the bedroom, he/she probably doesn’t want you to make noises like one. Virtually every one I spoke to on the subject stressed this point, stating that – NOTHING kills the mood like growling or barking as you bite your mate.  So, people please keep the farm animal noises out of your bedrooms.
7. Never EVER Gnaw. Gnawing is apparently even more unappealing than the animal sounds. So good people, keep your bites crisp and clean (that code for keeping the slobbering to a minimum folks) to prevent your mate from feeling like your dog’s chew toy – yeah, the really old and always soggy one.
8. Pay Attention to Your Partner. Now, if you’re the one doing the biting, don’t get so caught up in what you’re doing that you fail to notice your partner’s reaction. Be sure to listen and watch while you put in work, so you know that your partner is groaning and writhing from pleasure-pain, and not the unbearable kind…unless of course causing your bed mate to suffer is your goal. In which case you need to hunker down and bite his/her whiny ass a whole lot harder. Come on, really put your teeth into it. You want to get laid don’t you?

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And there you have it folks – my eight tips to get your bite on in the boudoir.

Until next time happy biting and as always…

Play safe.

I think finding your kink. Is kind of like finding your G-Spot (for women, I’m still working on the analogy for men). Some women seem to know it from birth, inherent in its qualities. Some ladies doubt its existence, disheartened by time spent searching with no results. And then there’s chicks like me.

We. Are the Christopher Columbuses of Kink.

We are constantly proposing new voyages. Preparing for new excursions.  Always ready to map out some new territory for ourselves. Because after all, we want the world. We want the whole world. I don’t just want a little piece of sexual satisfaction. I want the whole pie. Which sometimes involves a physical exploration of my pie. And other times involves the sorting of my mental laundry basket. Figuring out just what the fuck I like. What I want. What I need. To feel. To think. To be a part of. To be connected to. I have to chart the waters. Conquer the mountains. I have to map this shit out. And that’s what I’ve been doing.

And the thing is. It’s a fucking process. I mean. It’s literally. A Process. In Fucking. And I’m figuring out all the kinks. In my kink. See. I started having sex was I was 18. And back then. It was about power. And feeling hot. And desired. And then I graduated. And for 6 years I was in a committed relationship. And that’s when I really started to test the kinky waters. That’s when I began my journey into the rough seas. But it was still a team situation.  We were co-captains. Me and him. Navigating our way through the kinky deep. And then we broke up.

And that’s when it became about me. Figuring out my kink. Captain, O Captain. I was in charge. Because after all it was just me now. I mean sure enough there were the “somethings” that I was dating. But they weren’t soul mates and I wasn’t attached. And this is my journey. And they are grown men who can take care of themselves. This was new. And it was all about me. So I was exploring. Testing waters. Charting territory. Lush greens there. Return soon. Angry natives there. Do not disturb again. Volcanic eruption on that island. Return with supplies. Land ho! But it’s deserted captain? You’re right. Far too boring on that island. Not a fan of the isolation. Mark it down but move on. And the journey continues.

And this is why, when Skye asked me to write on the topic of “Pain and Pleasure”, I answered with such enthusiasm. Because after all, it’s brand new.  My discovery and navigation through it. Finding my niche within it. And the funny thing is. Though I may still be quite vanilla in my kink. I now know about my vanilla. I know I want high quality. Double churned. Top shelf vanilla. I want Veruca Salt vanilla. I want what I want when I want it. So pay attention boys. Because I’ll only say it once.

Pull.

My.

Hair.

I know. It’s nothing new. It’s not shocking. But it’s important. Because I like it.  Oh. Sigh. How I like it. And what makes it kink. Is that not every chick will like it. Sure there will be lots of others like me who do. And we’ll all be varying degrees on the spectrum. So you have to talk to your lady. Or take baby steps and assess. Baby steps and reassess. And if they’re like me. If they are me. Then go ahead. Because I like it when you kiss me. Tease me. Pull my head away. And hold it. No, not like a little girl in elementary school. Take that man hand of yours. And slide it in under the curls. Close to my scalp. You’re going for pleasurable pain not annoying ouch! Don’t yank. Or jerk. Just pull. Tight.  Close. In control. Show that strength. Control me with those man hands. In missionary. Or from the back. Potentially when my warm mouth is all over that cock (but I’d recommend a double check since this one can be more precarious with us ladies since after all we’re already on our knees).

But I’m telling you this gentlemen. Of this kink I am certain. If you want to make this a repeat experience. If you want to leave me satisfied. If you want a place on my map. Pull my hair. Pull my hair. For the love of pie, Pull my hair.  And if you’re lucky. I might let you be my first mate.

Cause, baby, these things you’re doing to me
It hurts so bad but, It’s worth all the misery

Cause it hurts so good, don’t you know that
It hurts so good
-Millie Jackson, It Hurts So Good

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It was a silly dance. One repeated over and over and over again. Me meeting her new boyfriends over and over, me forced to pretend that it didn’t matter. Make that, forced myself to pretend. She was always quick to remind me of that, that I didn’t have to sleep with her anymore if I didn’t want to. But she would say that they didn’t understand her like I did. They didn’t touch her like I did. But for Christ sakes how many times can you meet some poor bloke and say, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you” without feeling….something.

“When we were together, did you have other men?” I asked her once.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snorted “There was never anyone but you”

I once told myself that I would stop. So the next time she called I didn’t answer my phone. She showed up at my door anyway; with a bottle of rum, a bottle of wine and some massage oils.

“One for you, one for me and a little something for both of us” she said.

Apparently the more she took the more I gave. The more we behaved as if we were together. Until the morning would come, or her phone would ring or…then it would start all over again.

It didn’t make sense unless we were naked. I loved to run my tongue along the back of her thighs, linger in the small of her back, tasting her. Caressing her. I’d press my body against hers, making sure that she could feel me against her ass, on her thighs. Or in between them.

She loved to hold my hands and extend our arms over our heads until they hung over the rails of my bed. Then she would look me in the eye and ask me if I was ready. She would proceed to kiss and nibble on my neck, slowly meander in sinuous fashion over my chest and abdomen. Releasing my arms she would put my hands on her head so I could guide her.

Our last time together wasn’t tender. Or gentle. Or sweet. It started as a casual conversation over drinks at my place. I was telling her about Jen, whom I’d just started seeing. For some reason things got heated. Insults were exchanged. Names were called.

I told her to fuck off. She followed me into the kitchen, hit me in the back of the head and tried to slap me again as I turned around. But I grabbed her arm. And then the other one and backed her against the wall. It was stupid. It was some clichéd movie bullshit. But I was hard. She could tell.

She placed her hands on the inside of my thigh and started to kiss me. I pushed her away, turned her around and bent her over my counter. She stepped out of her panties as I hiked up her skirt and undid my pants. I entered her. We both moaned. Deeply. It was violent. It was hard. It was fucked up. It felt fuckin’ good. But it hurt. Really hurt.

A couple of weeks later I was at the Rivoli with Jen when she walked in with a group of her friends. Our eyes made four. She approached my table and said hello.

“Jen, this is______, ______ this is Jen”

She focused her gaze on Jen.

“Pleased to meet you” she said, “I’ve heard so much about you”.

Partaking in pain as pleasure is a personal choice. I like a spanking to frame my orgasm with a short, sharp slap. Others may like something a little more intense and indulge in nipple clamps, beatings, gimp suits and the like. These folks may need a safe word – a word or phrase unlikely to be used in normal sexual conversation that signals a true end to the event. Choosing to use phrases like the obligatory “Oh stop, no, no, that hurts” are unlikely to work, as they are often said during bedroom romps, even when you may not really want your partner to stop.

Being the helpful sort, I have come up with some suggestions for suitable safe words you can use the next time you dabble (I know – I just spoil you)…

1. Maggie Thatcher on a cold day – one to yell at the top of your voice, repeatedly.
2. Hosepipe Ban – something seasonal for the South of England.
3. This is a passenger announcement – nothing more annoying than a travel interruption.
4. The British are coming – yes, we are.
5. Autofrettage – a word that means boring metal tubes; but sounds kind of dirty.
6. Geronimo – the old ones are the best!
7. Gerbils! – urban myth or Richard Gere’s hobby… it can be yours too.
8. Cowabunga – Bart Simpson or Nick Hornby, both worthy to quote.
9. Crouch. Touch. Pause. Engage. – for the rugby fans.
10. Yellow Card – for the sports fans.
11. Your Mum – take the wind out of anyone’s seductive sails.
12. Alright treacle! – in faux cockney accent.
13. Respect my authority – if it works for Cartman…
14. I ain’t getting on no plane – if they can remake the A-Team, I can steal the catchphrases for my sex life.

Those of you who’ve been coming around for a while may remember that week three of Fringe Month 1, was a veritable hodge podge of kink. That week we gave you all a glimpse into our preferences, tastes and curiosity about various fetishes…

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Our man about town, Sam Sharpe, kicked things off right by sharing the fact that during the folly of his youth he failed to oblige two of his past lovers, resulting in some very regrettable Missed Opportunities.

Then he followed up with a post warning us all about the perils of a bout of role playing gone wrong in Don’t Get Burned (both literally and figuratively).

In Why Knot? I broke down the do’s and dont’s, the hows, the whys and the wherefores of bondage.

Next, Elizabeth, our lovely English rose, confessed her love of The Delicate Art of Spanking – both giving and receiving. Unfortunately, to date I don’t believe she’s had any luck finding a man who’s willing to receive. What gives boys? You afraid of a little paddling?

Choosing to stand in solidarity with my sister from another mister, in my post Eureka! I’m a Spanko I too declared my love of spanking, before going on to highlight the physiological reason why a little paddling can lead to a whole lot of pleasure in the boudoir (YUMMY!).

And to close out the week, Elizabeth Rose hit you all with Fantastic Fantasies, in which she urged you all to explore, express and do your utmost to fulfill your deepest and darkest desires.

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So, don’t waste another minute. Hurry up and (re)read these posts. Then get busy role-playing, spanking, hog-tying and fulfilling those fantasies.

Play Safe and Stay Kinky,

S

Which of the following is true?

a. Sam Sharpe enjoys being pegged.

b. Sam Sharpe enjoys being choked.

c. Sam Sharpe enjoys being spanked.

d. Sam Sharpe enjoys being gagged.

______ ended a relationship with me and called me a freak because I asked her to ___________. The fact that she got turned on by the idea of me f***ing other people while she watched or that she used regular household items as dildos or that she loved to receive facials didn’t make her a freak. But my simple request to _______ apparently was enough for her to throw that final parting barb my way.

Two things about this. One, I don’t mind being called a freak. However, I do mind the term freak being used in a pejorative sense. Two, these things really are relative. I mean I was planning to get all self-righteous and blast _______ for being judgmental and then metanotherfrog’s powers that be decided that we were going to talk about breath play. And part of me freaked out.

Breath play? You mean, erotic asphyxiation? I know what you’re thinking. “C’mon Sam, we already know that you’re open minded. You just told us that last week. Plus, after reading this how could you possibly be threatened by a little breath play whether done with a partner or self-administered? And since we know all of this, we’re sure you’re blowing smoke up our ass.” (Blowing smoke up your ass huh? Now that might be something I could get behind.)

Well you’re only half right. It’s not the run of the mill jerkin’ off with a belt around my neck or pounding you while you strangle me that gets me a little nervous. It’s the other stuff that makes me quiver. It’s the less conventional stuff that gives me pause. It’s stuff like this (NSFW). And this (NSFW).

Let me be clear here. I’m not claiming that there is anything wrong with any of these activities. Its just been a long time since a sexual act, behaviour or predilection truly made me a little nervous. And this feeling made me reconsider the ire that I directed at ______ for calling me a freak. Because though I don’t believe in attaching negative attitudes to any person’s sexual tastes and desires, I could relate to her discomfort.

Plus, the more I perused the sights, the more open I became. Now, I’m not likely to ever get all rubbered up and shit, nor am I likely to get aroused by it, but I think I can see how someone else would. And maybe that’s what bothered me most about _______’s words; I mean she didn’t have to be into _______ but she didn’t need to judge either. Oh, and about that quiz, the answer is e. – none of the above. But I’ve got an open mind.

I awaken to touch, and then confusion.

I feel the ghost of a caress on my neck and my breath catchs in my throat.

My eyes are still closed, and in the darkness I reach out to you.

My hand finds the arm of my chair. My eyes open.

I feel your touch again, and my body sinks into it.

My shoulder pressing firmly against the chair.

I look over, you are not you. You are a stranger sleeping next to me on the plane.

Your touch is not your touch; it is the hot breath of the form sleeping next to me.

Disappointed, I close my eyes to sleep again.

But the caress continues.

I feel the lightest touch against my throat from this stranger’s breath.

My pulse quickens.

I lean my body in towards the stranger.

His breath plays across my exposed flesh.

I feel goose bumps form across the bare skin of my chest.

With my eyes closed – each of his breaths are your fingertips, tracing from my ear lobe towards the swell of my breasts.

I feel my nipples harden.

I lift my hand to trace the line of your touch.

And as if I was physically struck, suddenly I miss you.

I remember our last night together, and wonder why am I flying away from you.

My hand hovers over my heart while the breath of the stranger dances over my skin.

The memory of you fills my senses.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

With a sideward glance I check to make sure stranger is still sleeping.

I undo the top two buttons of my blouse.

I turn away from the aisle and towards the sleeping stranger.

As his breath sweeps across my chest, I manoeuvre my hand  beneath my blouse to gently cup my breast, freeing it from the lace of my bra.

The stranger’s breath now rushes over my erect nipple.

I check again.

The stranger sleeps and my flesh is hidden from other passengers.

I slide my hand under the fabric of the aeroplane blanket.

I am surprised to feel the wetness between my legs.

I close my eyes.

I let visions you fill my mind.

The stranger’s breath is your mouth, my hand is your hand.

The stranger’s breath is your hand, my hand is your hand.

The stranger’s breath is your hand, my hand is your mouth.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

My fingers are not yours, but they play out the same path.

I arch my back as the sensation builds.

I am lost in the moment.

I am lost in you.

Your hand joins mine.

Your fingers take over. Reaching deeper, rubbing faster.

I gasp, but the sound is lost as your lips cover mine.

Your kiss lifts me, and as you move your mouth to my exposed nipple, I bite my lip to stifle my moan.

I lift my hips to your hand to take you deeper, to take all of you.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

Your teeth draw out my nipple; your other hand massages my breast exquisitely.

My breath stops.

I crest, deliciously, marvellously, exhilaratingly; I crest and ride a wave of you.

As I reach the shallows of you, I exhale.

Your hand slows and stills.

Your mouth leaves my chest, and you rearrange my bra and blouse to cover me.

I sigh into your mouth as you gently kiss me good night.

Without opening my eyes, I draw up the blanket, and turn away from the stranger.

My body is spent, and begging for rest.

“Sweet dreams” a voice says in my ear that is not yours.

I feel the stranger shift in his seat and lean back into his chair.

I close my eyes and smile.

I sleep and I dream of you.

When Skye recently came to me and asked if I’d be interested in writing on breath play my immediate response was yes. And not just a regular yes. But a yes with enthusiasm and gusto. A ‘Hell Yes!’ if you will. And I know what you’re thinking. Is SSD an erotic asphyxiation aficionado? Well, not quite kids.

My enthusiasm stems less from a knowledgeable, expertise, (what’s the opposite of vanilla) standpoint than it does from a recent awesome experience. A recent awesome experience that taught me about how and why I like those man hands around my neck.  But I should tell you now. I’m only barely out of vanilla territory. Actually I’m still possibly in vanilla territory but maybe with some sprinkles or something.

Breath is very important. It keeps you alive, that much is obvious. Take a breath. A breath of fresh air. I can’t catch my breath. Under your breath. Your breath is on fire. I just want to breathe him in. A gasp. A sigh. Hot and heavy. Slow and steady. Breathing is everywhere. It’s generally how I indicate to a fella that I’m having a good time if ya know what I mean. So it seems to follow then that as a woman who likes to give up control in the bedroom…I might want to let someone else take control of one of my most important bodily functions.

When I was in my early twenties, I had a friend. And you could say we were partners in crime. Our “crimes” generally consisted of boys and shenanigans. So clearly story swaps and technique talks were a regular occurrence. During one of our many booty banter sessions. She told me the following.

“Yeah ya know…like…I just whip off the pillowcase and throw it around my neck…and he just kind of holds it…like reigns…while he hits it from the back.”

I thought this to be very interesting. And not one to shy away from something new.  I gave it a shot. Honestly, it didn’t do that much for me. At the time I didn’t really get it.  Later I’d start to understand that everybody needs something different and while the decrease in oxygen may have been enough for her. I required more. I require a story. A fantasy. A reason for the lack of flowing breath into my lungs. A reason for the tension around my neck.

Now before you start picturing me in one of those Law and Order scenes (I may watch too much TV) with extreme asphyxia gone awry. I assure you. I’m still far more of a novice at the sport and my participation is way less dangerous. See for me. It’s more mentally kinky. Than physically. Which, anyone who reads my blog and knows my keen appreciation for science and logic, will know is just about right. Spot on really. Because for me. It’s the why more than the how that’s important.

Now I’m not really going to get into the why (me personally) of the why (the fantasy) that this gets some of us ladies off (and a warning for all you gentlemen out there, because the line is so fragile and not all women even want you anywhere near it, you better ask your lady what she wants before you get your hands all around her neck). But I will just say this. For me. The story line. Is only a fantasy. It’s only fun and hot as long as it remains a fantasy. If you tried to dominate me in everyday life per say, I’d likely tell you to fuck off or simply kick you in the nuts. But in the bedroom. When I’m ready for you to put your hands on me. I want to be dominated. I want to be manhandled. I want to be tossed about. I want to be viewed as so hot that you simply cannot control yourself and must take it all from me. And most importantly (as is the topic of this post). I want it rough. I want your big strong hands around my neck. And I certainly don’t want to have to ask you to do it (that kind of ruins it). I want you controlling my breath (in fantasy). I want you in control completely.

So I say one more time. Before you choke her….talk it out. Because it’s all fun and games until it’s not fun and games. And while Cindy wants a Chokehold, Melanie-Lee may just want to Make-Love. So you better find that shit out first. And even once you’re there. I suggest you take it a little slow and steady at first. Because nothing turns kink into konk (aka FAIL) faster than a bad experience.