Gang signs are not funny Rain!!

Back when I was a baby kinkster and taking my tentative first steps to explore this amazing new world, I went to the only place I could think of as a resource-Myspace. I only wish that Fetlife existed back in the day, but nope. Myspace is what you had to work with. In short order, after some poking around in the darker corners of the world of Myspace, I found someone who would end up becoming my first Dom.

Richard was a good ol’ boy country music listening, pickup truck driving, Catholic police officer from Napa. I know, I know. I needed kink badly enough in my life that I was willing to overlook country music and pickup trucks. Richard was on the fast track to becoming the youngest gang detective in Napa and hung out with a hard drinking crew of fellow police officers. It is astounding just how much police officers drink. They were Bukowski level.

His biggest complaint was that he could not find a nice Republican conservative kinky girl. “All the kinky girls I can find are San Francisco liberal vegetarians with tattoos!” he would grumble. Yes, as it turns out, us kinksters tend to be more open-minded and liberal. Which leaves poor kinky Republicans having to grit their teeth around all of us vegetarians.

Coming from such wildly different worlds, the only thing we had in common was our mutual love of BDSM. I was his dirty little secret that he kept in the closet. (Literally. I did spend a lot of time tied up in his closet) This was fine in the beginning, but after half a year or so I got tired of being such a hidden part of his life. “Why don’t I ever get to meet your friends?” I would ask, “Are you ashamed of me of something?” Richard would shrug it off and tie me up some more. I was not happy with the situation, but the bondage and beatings were very distracting.

Then one night he called me up, completely plastered. “Heeeeeyyy girl, all my buddies are here and they want to meet you! Come on over!” he slurred, the fumes strong enough I could smell them through the phone line.

I shouldn’t of gone. But I did. I drove to the address Richard had given me and knocked on the door. I could hear the party raging behind the door.

When I walked into a room full of drunken police officers that specialized in gangs, they did a quick visual takedown on my liberal tattooed ass. Then one of them spoke up, “Why do you have a gang sign tattooed on your arm?”

Gang sign? What fucking gang sign? I didn’t have any…oh. That. Years ago, I had heard of a documentary on Mexican street gangs called “Mi Vida Loca”, aka my crazy life. Their sign was 3 dots in the shape of a triangle. My crazy life seemed fitting for how I chose to live life, and I had had my tattoo artist tattoo 3 dots behind my right elbow years ago and promptly forgotten about it. I had honestly forgotten I was rocking a gang sign on my arm. The dots were the size on a pencil tip and easily overlooked. Unless you are in a room of police officers trained to look for that sort of thing. It was not a good first meeting.

“Oh that? It is…err, a joke. Doesn’t mean anything” I replied nervously while covering the the back of my elbow with furtive fingers.

They were not amused. “Gangs are not a joking matter!” bellowed the drunken room of officers.

All the while Richard was slowly dying in the corner. Introducing his kinky liberal tattooed secret sub was not going as smoothly as he had hoped.

We broke up a few weeks later. I now date only liberals and still rock my joke gang sign tattoo. I can only hope he has found the conservative Republican girl of his dreams to do his dishes with a ballgag in her mouth, it will just never be me. And in retrospect, I probably didn’t really need to get the gang tattoo. Good thing I never told him about the 666 tattoo I have hidden in my hair over my left ear. I don’t think his heart could of handled it.

Puking on James Deen

This is the grin of a man that can handle some accidental puke...

This is the grin of a man that can handle some accidental puke…

Say what you want to about James Deen, (and there are people rather strongly camped out in both the pro and anti camps) there is no doubt that the man was put on this planet to fuck. He LOVES it. He is extremely good at it. He is youngest winner ever of the AVNs coveted “Male performer of the year” award, and justifiably so. He claims 5’8″, which I will give him and bring up only to make a point-when you are in a gangbang with 5 other guys and they have half a foot on height, 30 pounds of muscle and 10 years on you and you STILL are in charge and leading that whole gangbang? Then yes, you were put on this planet to fuck.

I had been aware of him for years, but never had the pleasure of the James Deen experience personally. Until the fateful day I was booked to do a scene with him and rounded out the day by throwing up on him as well as getting choked unconscious. Both courtesy of the Deen, naturally. He is a giver like that.

When I was asked to do a public scene with multiple other performers in front of a live audience with James as a co-star, I knew that my night was going to be memorable. I just didn’t know how memorable. The “warm up” scene was multiple blowjobs happening in front of the crowd, and I somehow ended up on my knees in from of James. He is both…substantial and has a, shall we say, vigorous, face fucking style. I was all good with having massive cock being repeatedly jammed deep down into my face hole-until I wasn’t. It happened so quickly I couldn’t even stop it or hold it back. One minute I am gamely hanging in and opening up my throat as much as I possibly could, the next minute James’s thigh is wearing my lunch. In front of 60 people.

It was in this minute I was about to find out why they keep chucking so many awards at James. He looked down, immediately ascertained the situation, and without slowing his pace in the slightest he pivoted his hips slightly to hide the mess and held one hand high above his head out of the range of camera, snapping his fingers at the nearest PA for a towel. When he realized that he couldn’t get the attention of a PA for a towel, he reached down and used my hair to wipe up his thigh, never slowing the pace of the blowjob. The whole thing-situation, assessment and containment, happened in under a minute, and he did it so flawlessly I am quite certain that the entire audience watching never even noticed what happened. Dude is a pro.

He finished up the evening by choking me unconscious while assfucking me. (To be fair, I had previously informed him of my love of breathplay) While looking me directly in the eyes, he throttled me with his hands until I passed right the fuck out. I came swimming back to the surface of consciousness in a roaring rush, the crowd forming back in front of me out of the darkness. He. was. still. assfucking. me. Passing out limply mid-sodomy is not a deal breaker for Mr. Deen, and let me assure you, there is no better way to regain consciousness then with a cock in your ass. He watched me come to, a mischievous grin dancing on his face. Yeah, ok, credit where credit is due James, you are phenomenal at the sexings. I had been throughly hit and repeatedly run over by the James Deen truck. And I loved every minute of it. Thank you.

Ok Rain, seriously, what is with all the vomit??

At this point I am probably fairly well-known for my….relaxed relationship with vomit.I get people on a regular basis that are rather squicked out by my proclivities. So I thought I would explain exactly what the fascination is for me.

I DON’T have a puke fetish. Puke is nasty & messy & you have to stop everything to clean it up.
I have a CONTROL fetish. The concept of controlling someone so utterly that you literally control their bodily functions makes me hot. The thought of so completely owning the back of someone’s throat that you can make them vomit, whether they want to or no….well that works for me on so many levels it isn’t even funny. Forcing someone to vomit is like making them squirt from their throat. In my book.Almost...

So here are Rain’s tips on how to do successful vomit play:

1) Do it on an empty stomach. You want the *threat* of puke, actually getting a lapful of digested lunch is a boner killer.

2) Throw down massive amounts of towels. Lots of towels makes cleanup a breeze.

3) Drink a fair amount of fluids. I like apple juice or cranberry juice. It is sweet and not unpleasant coming back up.

4) Get an understanding partner that doesn’t judge.

5) Insert fingers, cock or dildo deep into the eager little mouthhole. Await results.

Is this all still too gross? Try vomit play in the shower! Get a nice warm shower going and start deep-throating your partner’s dick with vigorous enthusiasm until the inevitable happens. That shit washes right down the drain. No muss no fuss.

Hope these tips have helped. Go forth and let your freak flag fly and know that somewhere in a corner of your mind I am watching and I approve.


What is with the cock shots??

As someone who gets naked for a living, I understand how the men of the world could think that I can’t get enough of the dick. I can understand how men could think that I will never be content until I have reveled in the awesomeness of every single penis this planet has to offer. At least if the constant stream of unasked for dic pics that get emailed, tweeted and Facebooked to me on a daily basis is any indication. But even my friends that are not professional naked people mention to me the constant bombardment of penis pics they receive.

Yes Yes, we know...

Yes Yes, we know…

I get it, I really do. You are so proud of your penis. It is the coolest thing in the entire world! Naturally, you want to share it’s glory with all of humanity. How could they not want to bask in the awesome that is Mr. Happy? Well, my friend, let me cue you in on a little something- nobody else on this planet finds your penis as fascinating as you do. I know, right?? How could they NOT??

As it turns out, 50% of the people on this planet possess a penis. Your dick is not unique and special. Unless it can lift weights or speak a foreign language or rewire a house, it is just a penis. A somewhat odd looking flesh tube dangling there and in particularly sweaty moments getting stuck to your balls. (I know that might seem harsh, but it isn’t like vaginas are possessing of world-shifting beauty either. They get the job done is all.)

Your dick is not a magic snake that when shown to a woman is sufficient to daze her into a cock mesmerized trance. She will not sink awestruck to her knees, mouth open and eager at the mere sight of your fuckstick. Women are funny like that-they are into your intelligence, your sense of humor, your confidence, if your have your shit together and are a functioning adult. Things like that. Your flesh tube is actually somewhat lower on her list of priorities.

Oh, there are women out there that don’t give a damn about a single thing but your penis. If you can hold a conversation, if you are not wanted in 3 different states, if you can properly tie your shoes, they just don’t care. Only the penis matters man! But those women are rather few and far between. The vast bulk of women are not going to be so cock hungry that they are oblivious to the man attached to the dick.

So stop leading with your dick. Stop subjecting anyone that happens to wander by to that quivering disembodied sausage poking hopefully into the air. Give people a chance to know the WHOLE you, not just the thing between your legs that 50% of the planet is packing. When you lead with your dick, it tells people you are just that-a dick.

Fisting injuries. They can and do happen.

I love me some fisting. Love love love. There is nothing in the world that makes me happier then turning someone into a human muppet. I like to get in there until I feel like I hold their heart and very beating soul in my hand.

And my hat is off to anyone that can be successfully fisted by me. I was unfortunately born with giant man mitts. My paws are HUGE. I am held back in my desire to fist the whole world with these hands of mine as only size queens can take what I am dishing out. If I had smaller hands, there is not a hole that would be safe.

The reactions I have seen from fisting are many and varied. The first time I successfully fisted someone, I was so turned on and blown away by the realization of a lifelong dream that I came and collapsed on top of him shuddering, fist still firmly lodged inside. Yes, you can be so turned on by something that you cum, it happens to me all the time. I have made two different guys go blind. The blindness only lasts about 15 to 30 seconds, but the sensations from fisting can get so intense and overwhelming that vision can grey or short out. Turns out these fists of fury can induce blindness. I got *skillz*! I have had guys get dizzy and body temperatures drop to the point that I have had to pop them in a hot shower. Mind you, they are sitting in the shower with a wide and beatific grin across their face as they struggle to recall their own name, looking at me in a pleasure-addled stupor, so I wasn’t too concerned.

A while back, a play partner contacted me to give me a follow up update. We had engaged in a rather long and drawn out fisting session, which topped out with me doing a half hour timed insertion to test his stamina. He loved it, I loved it, we were all winners. Until the next morning. He was at work and reached out for something in a long stretch and…well…evidently his muscles hadn’t fully snapped back from a 30 minute extended insertion with my giant man hands. He…soiled himself. A full load in his pants. He had to make a mad dash to the restroom to clean out his pants. I can only imagine the undignified waddle he had to make down the hallway to the bathroom.

Well, I am going to be honest. I was sitting in a chair when he told me this. I laughed so hard I fell out of the chair and bonked my head quite badly upon the floor. I had a bruised noggin from fisting!! Don’t ever let people tell you that fisting can’t be hazardous. My bruised head can attest otherwise.


I would never want anyone to think I don’t take health and safety seriously. I happened to think that my large hands making someone shit their pants the next day is a funny story. This happened over a year ago, we have successfully fisted many times since, there is nothing in him that is torn.

My fisting sessions are done carefully, with vast oceans of lube and time. I do NOT believe in injuring the ass. If someone gives up the ass to you, that is a sacred responsibility. I teach anal play classes and consider myself a bit of an anal expert. The spincter is rather elastic and forgiving, and can snap back from a lot, even my massive mitts. If there is a sharp and tearing pain, for god’s sake, stop!

The point of this story is that if you engage in a multi hour fisting session at night, sometimes in the morning of the next day you could reach from something and the strain of the angle could cause you to shit your shorts because the muscle hadn’t fully snapped back. And then I will laugh so hard I will hurt myself.

Why Archie comics turned me into a complete pervert


I know it might seem like an extreme statement, but I really do feel that my early childhood love of the triad situation that Archie, Betty and Veronica had going on had a distinct hand in the shaping of my adult sexuality. Archie didn’t do much for me in terms of art or characters or plot, but oh that poly triad….it blew my little mind.

I have spent most of my adult life attempting to have that triad situation for myself, with greater and lesser degrees of success, but I will never stop trying, and am currently ridiculously pleased with the triad I have going on at the moment. I recently added “Putting poly into practice” to the classes I am currently teaching.

Yesterday I did a radio show about my views on poly for Fccfreeradio and wanted to post the link to the podcast so that you all can check it out. Just click the play button below! It is 2 hours of me ranted about poly, Burning Man, bees, and whatever else crossed my mind during the interview.



Archie and his girls

Archie and his girls

I mean, come on, it is pretty obvious, huh?

I mean, come on, it is pretty obvious, huh?

Outdoor bondage

During the summer, shoots on their upstate NY farm location. I just wanted to post up some photos of what we have done recently. The 3 pictures of me are from my feature shoot “Fear the Woodsman” and the other photo is of Elise Graves from her latest shoot “All used up”. This is for all the outdoor bondage enthusiasts out there, enjoy!

Crucified on the farm

Crucified on the farm



Elise Graves enjoying the lovely scenery at the farmA little fence bondage

An upside down inversion

An upside down inversion

Rocco Siffredi. The Man. The Myth. The Magic.

Rocco Siffredi. The man, the myth, the magic penis. I had heard of his work, of course. Anyone that was a fan of rough sex had heard of him. His skill at deconstructing a woman with his massive dick was legendary. He used his dick as a tool to take women apart, reducing them to an undone puddle of sticky flesh quivering at his feet, eyes glazed over and babbling nonsense fragments while various fluids leaked from all of their holes.

Alas, he was Italian and mainly worked in Europe. An entire ocean separated me from his magic penis, and I never figured I would ever get a chance to meet him in the flesh, much less work with him. I would just have to be content to perv admiringly at his work, watching a master at play.

The world works in mysterious ways, and I found myself booked on a John Stagliano movie that had Rocco in it. John was friends with Rocco from way back and had convinced him to make the long trek to America to reprise his role as as Vlad the villiainous vampire in his latest movie. I was finally going to meet the legend!

When John emailed me my copy of the script, I tore through it to see what I had in store for me. I was incredibly disappointed to see that I didn’t have any scenes with Rocco, but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like that stop me. My secret plan was just to throw myself on his dick the second I got into his vicinity and hope Stagliano didn’t yell “Cut!”. It seemed like a rock solid plan to me.

The day before I was due to start shooting, I got a desperate phone call. Evidently Rocco was not doing well. He had been diagnosed with a small gallstone the week before he came to America, and was now in extreme pain and needed to be taken to the hospital immediately. Was I available to drive him? I replied “Of course!” and hauled ass to the hotel address I had been given, panicking all the while. Rocco was one of the central characters and could not be replaced. What if he needed emergency gallstone surgery? It would spell disaster for the movie.

When I pulled up to the hotel, Rocco was waiting for me. In discomfort and full movie wardrobe, as he was supposed to go onto set before the pain got too bad for him to ignore any longer. He swooped up to my car in head to toe black, leather trench coat flaring in the breeze, laying kisses all over me European style and murmuring in his thick accent. He was extremely charming for being in such pain. I tried to keep my cool and not look at his dick.

The hospital visit was surreal. Rocco clocks in at 6’3, and his black clad Italian vampire presence could not be missed. Naturally the doctor recognized him and kept asking not so subtly how long he was in town for “work”. “Yes, I am a friend of your intimacy” Rocco grinned up at the doctor with a knowing wink, a phrase I later found out was his go-to line when someone recognized him. While I holding his leather trench coat up off the hospital floor, a brick of cash that looked to be around $5000 fell out of a pocket and almost broke my toes. The attending nurse’s eyes bulged as she stammered, “That is the most money I have ever seen in my entire life!” Evidently Rocco was not a big believer in the power of hotel safes. I tried to pick up the brick as calmly as possible and stuffed it back into the nearest pocket.

While I lead a fairly interesting life, it isn’t every day I lounge about in hospitals with famous Italian porn stars dressed as vampires whiles bricks of cash rain out of their trench coats. After a few hours of blood and urine tests, the doctors finally determined that it was overly strenuous yoga resulting in muscle strain combined with excessive aspirin that had led to Rocco’s crippling pain, not out of control gallstones. No need for emergency surgery, he was cleared to work. My pussy did a tiny dance for joy.

Evidently my burning desire to pounce on Rocco was obvious enough that Stagliano took pity on me and wrote me into a preexisting 3some scene. I now got to play a Mother Superior nun that stumbled across Rocco having his way with Roxy Raye and Ashley Fires and gets sucked into the sex vortex. The day of the scene I crouched on the sidelines waiting my turn to join the festivities and marveling at Rocco in action. Rocco and Ashley Fires particularly clicked, and he was really going to town on her. Ashley is a pretty girl, blonde, amazing figure, perky in all the right places, just plain hotness. Hot enough she didn’t *HAVE* to do hardcore, she could have coasted by on her looks and never bothered to challenge herself. Today she was challenging herself with abandon. Rocco was slapping and choking her, ripping rough kisses and slamming his dick into her ass up to the hilt without mercy. I was breathless watching it unfold. The rougher he was, the more she gave herself up completely to him. They were locked into an animalistic dance. “Damn,” I thought to myself, “This Ashley girl is a filthy wanton whore. I had NO idea!” My respect for her was growing by the minute, roughly in proportion to Rocco’s giant dick.

When it was my turn to enter the scene, Rocco was supposed to call me over while he was getting his dick sucked. When the director yelled “Action!” Rocco locked eyes with me and summoned me over while Ashley crouched at his feet in a tattered nun outfit. I came over and grabbed Ashley’s head, forcing it deeper down on to Rocco’s dick. She sputtered and gagged. Rocco, locked into his intense pace, started slapping me and forcing his long fingers deeply down my throat hole. Soon I was sputtering and gagging as much as Ashley was.

Looking deeply into my eyes Rocco murmured in his commanding voice “I want you to vomit all over her face”, all the while forcing his fingers deeper down my throat. Vomit? Ok, I wasn’t expecting that, but Rocco wants he gets. Who am I to say no? It wasn’t hard, his fingers were so far my throat the vomit came up easily. I leaned over and heaved bits of bagel and apple juice all over Ashley’s upturned face.

“Cut cut cut!! We have vomit!! We need a towel!” All action stopped abruptly. Ashley looked up at me, false eyelashes blinking thickly, as chunks of puke were caught in them. Thin rivers of bile traced down her cheeks, cutting tracks into her makeup. The entire crew looked shocked. What was the problem? Rocco had told me to puke on her, why did everyone look so taken aback?. A quick conference cleared up the confusion. Rocco’s English isn’t the best, and while he had said vomit, that he had actually meant was SPIT all over her face. Well now. There is a significant difference between vomiting on someone’s face and spitting on it.

To Ashley’s immense credit, she wasn’t even phased. Most people would not handle being accidently puked on with a quarter of the style and grace of Ashley did. She looked up and me and grinned, “It is burning my eyes” and then pulled me down into a deep passionate kiss, shoving her tongue into my mouth. I could taste the remainments of my apple juice in her mouth. “I totally just ate your puke you know” she giggled. It was then that I felt just a little in love with her. She was one of a kind. An unapologetic pervert with the face of an angel.

Ashley was wiped down and the scene continued. I only got around 5 minutes on Rocco’s magic penis, but it was everything I had hoped for and more. He sticks his massive manmeat in and the second he does, your brain shuts off completely. The arched back, carefully tossed hair and slightly parted lips that is the mainstay of porn? You don’t do that with Rocco. There is no “acting sexy”. You just try not to die. I desperately hung onto the nearest wall with what little muscle control I had left while Rocco did his best to fuck me to death. Gurgled sounds bubbled out of me. I couldn’t tell where the camera was, I could not act or pose. I was just trying to survive. My brain was goo. He only operates at one speed-destroy. It was epic. I couldn’t remember my name, I could hardly even stand.

Alas, all too soon, the scene was over, and I came back to earth. I was simultaneously in mourning that it was over so quickly and uncertain I could have survived much more of the Rocco experience…I lie, I lie. I could have survived more. I want more. I NEED more. That magic man is addictive as hell. I will forever be in Stagliano’s debt for having the kindness to write me into that scene, it was one for my mental scrapbook I will call up again and again, knowing that I have had the privilege to experience some fairly incredible things in my life.

Me, Rocco Siffredi and Ashley Fires. Photo credit to Roxy Raye 2013

Me, Rocco Siffredi and Ashley Fires. Photo credit to Roxy Raye 2013

Vomit at Christmas

We bonded over a mutual love for cock sucking. Her love of sucking cock and my love of getting my cock sucked, to be specific.

I am one of those rare girls that could get off from someone sucking my strap-on, but I had rather specific desires. Strapped between my legs, a cock became a weapon of destruction. I didn’t want someone to daintily slurp on my dick, I wanted to own the back of their throat.

I wanted to make people choke and gasp and flail about, eyes streaming, made even better if they were wearing massive amounts of eyeliner so that they ended up looking like a sad-eyed panda on the end of my dick. I wanted to shove my cock so deeply down someone’s mouth hole that every molecule of oxygen in their lungs was only there because I permitted it to be so. I wanted to face fuck someone until they vomited and then use their puke as lube to continue the face fucking. I wanted to destroy people with my dick, unraveling them to the very core of their being until they were an undone puddle of flesh at my feet.

With needs like this, it was not often that I met someone that could take it at the level I liked to dish it out at. This all changed when I met Juliette. She was a cock sucker with such fevered dedication it boarded on the manic. Her religion was blowjobs. She could take everything single thing I dished out and come crawling back for more. When we played she would look up at me with bloodshot eyes and croak between puffy lips, “You could kill me with your dick you know. I wouldn’t mind”. And I knew she meant it with every fiber of her body. To have that much power over someone else? It was intoxicating.

When our friend Mike West invited the two of us to do a performance piece at his annual Black Christmas party, Juliette and I could think of only one act we would want to do: Xtreme Cocksucking. Not that we were going to put on an act of any sort, we were simply going to do what we did on a regular basis behind closed doors. Putting it on stage wasn’t going to change a thing.

The night of the party was crisp and cold as only a San Francisco winter could be, but Mike’s house was packed to the rafters with various perverts and the combined body heat of so many people made the place muggy and overly moist. Juliette and I killed time before our set watching the various other acts and bondage suspension performances. There was a lot of rope and people being hit-fairly standard San Francisco party fare. When it was our turn to go on, I placed out some towels in a “splash circle” over the rubber mats that covered most of the wooden floor, then led Juliette onto the center of the towels. Turning to the sea of upturned faces, I announced “This is going to be a demonstration of edge play. Everything you are about to see is completely consensual. If vomit or breath play makes you uncomfortable, you are are free to leave.” Nobody made a motion to stir. “Alrighty then.” I said.

I pounced. There was no warm-up, no grace period. My strap-on was abruptly and forcefully sheathed to the hilt down Juliette’s cranked open mouth. She struggled and gasped, her thin limbs thrashing about uselessly. Her eyes watered and her makeup slowly shifted from “pretty party princess” to “mental disturbed with epilepsy hands”. Whenever makeup runs into cock, cock wins every single time. The drool flowed and thick viscous back of the throat slime ran down off her chin, coating her breasts. Whenever she would slide limply off my dick and onto the floor I would haul her back up by her increasingly disheveled hair and pop her back onto my cock. She looked like she had been hit by a truck. The cock truck.

Then the vomit started. I didn’t let it slow my pace. It wasn’t her fault. Anyone in Juliette’s circumstances would be puking. With each deep thrust of my dick vomit would spurt around the sides of my strap-on and mix with the sticky throat slime slathered over her breasts and body. Her eyes rolled back into her skull until only the whites showed. Vomit ended up covering my hands and I used Juliette’s matted hair as a convenient towel to wipe them clean. Well, cleaner. The smell of bile rose up thickly in the warm room and people began to gag. It was a triggering effect, as the more people started to gag, the more gagging there was.

The sharp smell of hot puke and gagging noises finally succeeded in penetrating my cock drunk haze and I looked at the chaos around me. The towels I had placed down as puke protection were a complete fail, as she had thrashed off of them in the first 30 seconds. Vomit and drool was all over the floor mats. Juliette was a crumpled mess on the floor and we were both covered head to toe with multiple bodily fluids. It was time to wrap it up.

The downside of having vast amounts of fun is the cleanup needed after the fact. MAKING messes? Ever so much fun. CLEANING up the mess? Not nearly as much. I ended up spending the rest of the party crouching naked in Mike’s bathtub while scrubbing vomit off the many floor mats, as the party swirled about me. Juliette was in no shape to stand upright, much less scrub puke. It was a price I was willing to pay, but I must admit it was a rather anti-climatic ending.

A behind the scenes visit to Insex

Recently I had the privilege of being hired on full-time at the legendary BDSM company that started it all, Insex. When I was a baby kinkster just starting out on my journey, I would hear about Insex, but I never figured that I would have the chance to get to work there. We had a journalist stop by for a visit at the studio and do a three part piece on us. If you were ever curious what a day in a BDSM studio was like, here is the article: