The thing I think I love best about the online community I have stumbled into is the acceptance that everyone’s experience is different. There isn’t one path or one goal.
It’s easy to get swept away by mainstream portrayals of sex and especially sex with more kink than a satin blindfold. It can be so many things: beautiful people madly in love; an exotic adventurous activity with no emotional ties; weaponised into a control mechanism for individuals or groups.
What sex rarely seems to be, in media of any type, is slightly old, exhausted, baggy people, muddling through while trying their best to support the people the value most. But that is who we are, me and Mr Hunt.
We hadn’t planned our lives to be this, and our path to a moderately adventurous sex life based on a broadly D/s dynamic seems even more pedestrian. Sometimes we lie in bed and plan a trip out to something openly sex positive that we rarely get to. Sometimes I twist my embarrassed tongue around the description of something kinky I fancy trying. More often I blurt something out when we’re driving somewhere and eye contact or detailed discussion is impossible.
I understand some people know their sexual orientation from very young and others don’t, so I guess similar things apply to how you like sex. I knew I was interested in the power balance and sensory aspects from before my first real sexual experiences. I remember feeling weirdly excited reading stories about dystopian oppression. I developed crushes in school on people who were “of a type”. Gender didn’t matter. It was about an attractive, magnetic, confident persona. Something about the way they looked at and spoke to people. My best friends from primary school on have always had what might be called dominant characteristics.
A particularly memorable early experience involved a good friend and a heavy, spiky hairbrush. I learnt in various ways to appreciate the endorphin release of good pain.
But how I got from there to this point in my relationship with Mr Hunt, I’m not really very sure. Tiny steps. With the occasional leap.
Mr Hunt sort of came with me for the ride. But as I said, I crushed on a type, even if he didn’t realise it when we first met and I’m a very lucky lady that he has embraced and researched and thrown himself into every experience I’ve expressed an interest in. It takes a special sort of man to take on a lady who knows kink is a staple of her life, with only slighty spanky porn as his reference point. And he is very special.
I wrote and self published a couple of ebook shorts while the kids were tiny and sleeping in the day, so to be encouraging, and because he knew I’d never go without a shove, he bought me tickets for Eroticon in 2017.
A year on and I went again, with much less shoving. And because they are astoundingly generous with their time, energy and knowledge, there were things to try from Molly and Michael’s toy bag. There was a medical stapler ordered on a very quick shopping app and delivered to a rather bemused Mr Hunt before I even get home.
This is new, because unlike most toys we’ve played with where you can vary intensity, there is either a staple sticking into your skin or there isn’t.
And in a nutshell for me, that is the appeal. It is leaping off a cliff. So much of this adventure can be done hesitantly. But sharp things that pierce the skin are in that split second a done deal.
If anticipation is part of your enjoyment then staples are good, because there is a bit of prep and (if you go for a design) that can be drawn out in touches to sensitise the skin while mapping and planning, as well as making sure the area is clean.
There is also a wide range of placement. Within a range of variance, I guess a large percentage of marks end up on the bottom or backs of legs where you craning in a mirror to see them. Staples can be placed where you can see the immediate aftermath or watch, or be made to watch them happen.
I love the aesthetic of piercing. Of everything from a staple to full on body mods. But when you’re one half of a slightly old, exhausted, baggy couple, with kids and middle class job expectations there is only so much you can change without issue. Staples are great for that. There and then gone so much more quickly than bruises, but with a massive ‘in the moment’ visual rush. I love the look of my skin with metal sticking through it.
I love it even more that I submitted to the person I trust and let them do it. That rush that comes from letting something happen. Of letting go of the decision. Each staple placement is different, and just because one went in easily with little discomfort, the next one might be more painful and I don’t have to worry about it at all. Just be. This hits a particular button for Mr Hunt also.
The trust is deeper than that squeeze of a trigger. Because of the structure and needs of our family life (social workers have inspected my house including the bedrooms again today), we have to be seen to be sticking to a societally approved life plan. In my mind, there is a sort of heirarchy of acts that have a greater societal taboo that we can easily get up to and that appeal. A smack or a slap on the backside is at the bottom of list. Staples come nearer the top. Breaking the skin. Letting or encouraging this to happen shows I willing to break boundaries as an offering of trust. Mr Hunt completing the act shows the same trust in me.
Although I sensory seek for things others would call pain, staples are not as gratifying in that way as some other things. I think the lovely padding just beneath my skin helps with that. In some ways I would like there to be more pressure. A sharper sting. But there are other things out there for that. Or places on my body. Kneecaps, elbows, feet…and I’ll have to stop there or I’ll distract the masochist who lurks deep within. And Mr Hunt will eventually read this…so….oops.
You can play with the sensation when staples are in place. Wobbling them while playing with threads (on a large embroidery needle with a blunt end) or ribbon (so much easier to lay out and staple over) will make you more aware of them…so if you’re after more of the good hurt, this can be fun.
Oh…and they have to come out. Personally, even with the proper remover, this is the bit that makes me flinch.
Mr Hunt wishes there was more mechanical noise with our staplers. A more mechanical feel, like the old desk staplers, even if that was purely manufactured in for the kinky user and not part of the receivers experience. I have, just once, shot myself in the hand with an upholstery style staple gun, the type used for display boards in schools. I think he want a user experience like that, but I, even enjoying a good sensory rush, don’t fancy repeating that experience. It was, I hasten to say, an accident not an experiment.
If you’ve never tried staples and think they are scary because a board stapler is what comes to mind, the experiences are off the scale different. Staples (and this is just the experience of this one particular woman, not general wisdom) are much less scary in practice than in the distant idea or even the immediate anticipation. Quick, potentially beautiful and easy to tidy away without much in the way of marks.
One last word of confidence. Even with my tendency for breaks in the skin to heal slowly (insect bites can take months to heal), staples have not caused an issue.