My wife is vanilla. To be more vanilla she would need to be in a cone with sprinkles on top. She is also lovely, warm, funny, clever and successful in her business. I added a set of initials to the complex lexicon of Kink just for her: I refer to her as LBV, Lovely But Vanilla.
She is a great wife, mother and homemaker. I love her and don’t tell her so often enough. But she is vanilla. She was completely unresponsive to my attempts to introduce kink elements into our early love making and when kink comes up in films or TV she is baffled that folk could be turned on by such things.
I, however, have needs that are not satisfied in a vanilla relationship and over the years I have come to realise that if those needs are not met I become grumpy, angry, stressed, dissatisfied at home and at work and generally NOT A NICE PERSON. When I am having an engaging, fulfilling kink life alongside my day to day vanilla existence I am relaxed, motivated, focussed and satisfied at home and at work and generally QUITE A NICE PERSON.
I recently met Molly from @Mollysdailykiss and @domsigns, a lovely couple who have been together in a kink orientated relationship for, I believe, five years. It was the first time in 40+ years of being aware of my kink that I had ever discussed it with someone who I wasn’t paying to listen to me. This was always going to be a thought-provoking meeting. Afterwards I wondered, somewhat wistfully, what life would be like in such a relationship.
I thought back to all the times a desire or thought had been in my head that I had been unable to act on; in fact had quashed completely. I wondered whether, in a relationship that included kink, those desires would be OK:
Would it be OK when we are in the kitchen with a glass of wine to push her over the work-top face down and spank her till she’s hot and panting then fuck her hard in the same position, not as punishment but just to show her how much her pilates toned bum still turns me on after all these years.
Would it be OK, when the kids are at school, to set up long elaborate role plays involving bondage, domination, flogging and non-consensual sex fantasies that we still smell of when they return.
Would it be OK, when I finally get home after a frustrating week spent working with fucking idiots and two hours in a fucking traffic jam in the fucking roadworks on the fucking Motorway to silently walk into the house, hand her a cane and have her thrash me deep into an endorphin filled subspace where all the crap has disappeared and my whole world has shrunk to be me, her and the cane.
Would it be OK to send her into the garden with secateurs, have her cut switches from the birch tree and then watch her follow my precise instructions to tie them into a bundle with a ribbon before beating her with them, first slowly then harder until she’s crying before wrapping her in my arms and taking her to bed.
Would it be OK to have her put harsh, bitey clamps on my nipples during sex because having pain and pleasure sensations arrive in my brain at the same time pushes me over the edge into a whole-body, shuddering earthquake of an orgasm with aftershocks that go on for ever.
Would it be OK go to the hardware store and buy some rope, have her tie my hands to the exposed beam in our bedroom and flog me until I can’t take any more then kiss cold champagne from her mouth into mine before flogging me some more, flogging me in fact until I am red and sore all over and totally, utterly hers for ever.
I have done none of these things. My regret is not a big thing because my life has many compensations. I have the freedom to explore my kink with whomever I choose whenever I choose, handing over the fee in an unsealed envelope soon after I walk in their door, exactly in the approved manner. And afterwards I walk away, back to my Lovely But Vanilla wife.