Romantic Couples Kits
These kits by Bijoux indiscrets caught my eye. They look really beautiful and I think they would make a great gift to share with your partner.
This is a secret agent kit.
I’ve only recently been introduced to the secret agent and spy fantasy. This seems like a good mental play fantasy for people that don’t like more painful types of play or aren’t able to do other types of physical play.
This one is a striptease kit.
I worked as a stripper and I had a ton of fun. I think this kit would be wonderful for a couple that isn’t comfortable going to a strip club together, don’t have a local strip club, or isn’t financially able to pay the big bucks for a lap dance. And the kit comes with a huge boa!
This one is called the Coffret bling bling kit.
It has some really gentle sensation devices, marabou cuffs, a tickler and lickable body dust. Don’t struggle too hard in these cuffs! you’ll need to submit to your partner and submit to the sensual pleasure
of being licked and tickled. I think this kit would be enjoyable for couples that aren’t ready for heavier BDSM or just aren’t interested in a lot of submission or pain sensations.
Dildo Misadventures & Other things funny to Others
Last week, my mom came to visit me. This is a rare occurrence in my life; living for seventeen years in Gotham, I’ve had the pleasure of a visit from either of my parents exactly five times. Needless to say, the matriarchal visit necessitates some house-cleaning on my part, not the least of which is my gathering the sex toys from hither and yon, slipping any number of them into the many velvet and velveteen bags I have, stashing the roiling velvet-shrouded silicone, stainless steel, and plastic mess of them in a large bag and shoving that large bag into the hoary-deep recess under my bed.
My mom left on Sunday, the day of the wedding that wasn’t mine. The next day, or maybe the day after, I pulled the bag of toys and whatnot out from under my bed and put a few of said toys to their designated uses. After I’d reluctantly and begrudgingly come, I washed the toys, slipped the two of them—a sprightly new vibrator and a much beloved extra-large silicone dildo of color—into a small bag and dropped the small bag into the big bag that rested at the end of, no longer underneath, my bed.
On Thursday, I returned home from my long day out working my part-time job and saw that the scarlet velvet bag containing the extra-large dildo of color sitting on the floor, squat in the middle of my bedroom. Odd place for it, I thought, as I tossed it into the big bag of toys still gaping at the foot of my bed, and then I went about my evening.
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How I came to Come
I started masturbating at around twelve. As far as I can remember, my orgasms then were kind of like a box lunch: contained, satisfying, pleasurable, sometimes even surprisingly so, but nothing to write home about. I certainly enjoyed them enough to rub myself raw in the process of procuring them. I enjoyed them enough to learn how to masturbate in such a way as to orgasm undetected while sleeping in a bunk in a roomful of other sleeping girls at camp (face down, breathing huskily into my pillow, pelvis pressing on my finger that ran ragged circles on my clit).
But these orgasms pale in comparison to the orgasms I have now when I masturbate, and they whimper and cower in the face of the orgasms I have with my lover. These were fledgling comings, and inasmuch as I knew nothing else, they were fine.
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