Erotic Asphyxiation and Helplessness

When I saw that the current Kink of the Week prompt was erotic asphyxiation, my heart leapt. I made a note of it in the Google Doc I use to brainstorm ideas. It seemed like the perfect topic for me to write about, especially at this point in my life.

I’m doing a lot of grown-up things at the moment. I’ve just been accepted onto my Master’s course, for one thing, which feels huge and daunting and exciting all at once. Just over a week ago, I collected the key to my new flat and moved all my stuff into it. And, between the key-collection and the stuff-moving, I bought hosting for my blog, moved everything from my WordPress site to my own shiny new site, and spent multiple days stressing about the fact that I couldn’t get hyperlinks to show up in Merriweather because changing fonts in CSS is an absolute fucker. In so many ways, I’ve been an entire adult, doing adult things.

So, naturally, I’ve been even more inclined towards erotic asphyxiation than usual.

A huge number of my kinks are rooted in a desire to be helpless in a controlled setting. There’s two parts to the appeal of helplessness for me. The first is that, when I’m helpless, I’m also not responsible. Of course I don’t have to worry about my blog – I should be worrying about the fact that there’s no air reaching my lungs! I like the fogginess associated with erotic asphyxiation, even when there’s no oxygen deprivation happening. It’s a combination of subspace making me pliable and vacant, and survival instinct silencing all thoughts that aren’t related to getting some fucking air into my body. Sometimes, when my Daddy takes his hand off my throat, I’ll say, “I’m stupid,” to indicate that I’ve lost the capacity for rational thought in the most pleasant way possible.

The second lovely thing about being helpless is that, in this context, it’s finite. I’ve spent a lot of time recently feeling helpless and overwhelmed about “real life” – I couldn’t figure out how to solve the confusion over WiFi in my new flat, or how to make my Twitter widget display properly on my new site. That kind of helplessness is finite too, but it depends on me doing things to solve the problem at hand. By contrast, the helplessness I feel when someone’s hand wraps around my throat will end without me doing anything. I just have to lean into the sensations of fogginess and mild panic until I’m allowed to breathe again. It’s also a kind of helplessness that puts everything else into perspective, because even when it’s practised as safely as possible, erotic asphyxiation is a matter of life and death. I’m literally putting my life into someone else’s hands, along with my throat.

I specifically like hands around my throat because it makes me feel small, and trapped. There’s no way for me to wriggle out of it, unlike with smothering – my jaw hyperextends, so I can always manage to suck some air in through my mouth when someone’s trying to smother me, unless they’re using a pillow and are exceptionally thorough. When someone puts their hand on my throat, though, they don’t even need to try and blood-choke me or close off my air supply; I’ll just hold my breath in a Pavlovian display of obedience. Even when the asphyxiation itself isn’t rendering me helpless, my own desire to please rules my brain and my lungs.

Obviously, erotic asphyxiation is considered edge play because it’s super high-risk. Its edginess is part of its appeal to me, though, because letting somebody control my oxygen intake feels like the ultimate act of devotion. Staring vacantly into a partner’s face with black spots of oxygen deprivation floating in the edges of my vision makes me feel connected to them and possessed by them. Erotic asphyxiation is part of so many of my scenes with my Daddy, including rope ones and ones with fuckin’, because it’s shorthand for, “I trust you. Do what you will with me. My body and soul are yours.”

Even writing about the fuzziness I experience when engaging with breath play has relaxed me. Knowing that, no matter what’s stressing me out, I can get the sense choked out of me is deeply comforting, and the thought of it alone has cheered me up after a couple of very challenging weeks – so I’d like to thank Molly for the prompt, and encourage my readers to go and look at the other Kink of the Week posts inspired by it!

A red lipstick kiss mark, which contains a link to the Kink of the Week page, where you can find others' posts on erotic asphyxiation

A Little Bit Naughty: How Does Littlespace Feel for Me?

Morgan, i.e. me, a white person with big hazel eyes, in littlespace with an adult pacifier in their mouth.

It’s here: the return of my headspaces miniseries. This time, we’re gonna explore littlespace, the headspace accessed by consenting adult kinksters who are into ageplay – playing at regressing to a much younger age. Personally, I don’t have a clear idea of what my “little age” actually is. I think it fluctuates between three or four (speaking in full sentences but can’t be left unsupervised) to about eleven (occasionally stroppy, but excitable, witty and precocious). Some people have a clearer idea, and some don’t – but, regardless of the age I regress to, how does it feel?

Well, you know how some friend groups have a designated “mom friend”, who always has painkillers and snacks and who looks after the rest of you? I’ve always been the “baby friend”. I cry easily and often; I need reminding to eat, wear a jumper in winter, and refill my meds; I hoard sparkly, fluffy and chewy objects (which makes me a very easy person to buy gifts for). I never mean to be an absolute mess, but my friends all seem to know that I am one, and they’ve all taken me under their collective wing. I think that’s an oddity for ageplayers. I think, a lot of the time, people who are little in scenes are very big the rest of the time, and littlespace comes as a welcome break from being sensible and responsible and rational. And I am big, when I absolutely have to be – but I struggle with it, and I spend a lot of my time on the periphery of littlespace.

I discussed littlespace with a therapist once. She was one who’d already reacted positively to mentions of BDSM and polyamory, but I was still nervous to bring up the fact that I sometimes pretend to be a small child. I had already disclosed that I grew up with some, um, less-than-ideal father figures around, and you can pretty much tell just by meeting me that I have an anxious-preoccupied attachment style that is almost certainly a result of my turbulent childhood. My therapist was, thankfully, very understanding of the role of littlespace in my life as a means to relax into myself and experience the joyful, carefree childhood I’d missed out on when I was actually a child. She told me that it was only a problem if I felt it was a problem, and that it sounded like a comfort and a useful tool for me. Viewing littlespace as a tool for healing, rather than as a simple indulgence or, worse, an unhealthy coping mechanism, reflects more closely my perspective on other aspects of BDSM: that it’s both a valid, healthy pastime and a way for me to connect with my body and my self.

Littlespace feels, for me, like being myself, but magnified. I let myself lean into my sensory-seeking behaviours. I get incredibly excited over little (ha) things, like purchasing sweets or a new stuffed toy. I’m always letting adult things fall out of my mind as a side effect of the autism, but when I’m little, I all but shove them out. It’s a happy, peaceful headspace for me. The paraphernalia associated with littlespace is a dream come true, too – I own half a dozen pacifiers and so many stuffed toys, which are perfect from an autistic sensory-seeking standpoint. I also love colouring, as so many littles do, and having something repetitive and creative to focus on can quiet the loud voices of anxiety and depression in my brain. Being little is like being in a warm bath: I’m comfortable, at home in myself, and under no pressure from the outside world beyond having to brush my teeth and be in bed on time.

And, on the topic of being in bed: some people don’t mix littlespace and sexy stuff. The taboo surrounding children engaging in sex acts is, for some people, too strong, and that’s understandable – but it’s the taboo that can make ageplay scenes so appealing for so many people. I like pretending not to understand what’s happening during a littlespacey fuck, letting my adult-brained partner do all the hard stuff like removing my clothes and figuring out what position we’ll take. I relish the idea that I’m so irresistible that my Daddy cannot keep his hands off me, no matter how little and wide-eyed and innocent I am. It’s not as straightforward as some consensual non-consent scenes are, though: most of the time, Little Morgan really wants to do the sex stuff. They like how it feels, and they love pleasing their Daddy. But it remains a CNC scene nonetheless, because I’m feigning an innocence that prevents me from giving informed consent. Even at my oldest, when I’m in littlespace, I’m too “young” to meaningfully consent, which is what makes it so deliciously taboo. And it is delicious – so delicious that I revisit the same corruption of innocence storylines in roleplay with my Daddy over and over again, asking, “Why’s that hard?” and “What are you gonna do?” until, fuckdrunk, I abandon all pretence and beg him not to stop whatever he’s doing, even if I’m too little to ask for permission to cum.


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Smut Saturdays #17: Four Hot Ways To Fuck In Summer

To depict the essence of having a fuck in summer: ice cubes on a black background with orange flames all over them, because I am a sucker for dramatic stock images.

I’m gonna be real with you: I am not a summer person.

I don’t like to be sweaty. The inevitable increase in visible insects freaks me out. I don’t want any of my confectionery to be melted and sticky. I get headaches very easily and I’m not good at staying hydrated. I would much rather it be autumn or winter, so I can wear oversized jumpers and huddle up under blankets. Personally, I’m not super excited to fuck in summer when I could just sit in front of a fan.

However, a lot of people seem to be extra horny in summer, so I thought I’d list some summer-specific ways to get it on, if you can bear to leave the freezer aisle of your local Tesco.

  1. At night

The sun goes in at night. You’re in bed, the fan still on, grateful for the few degrees’ difference in the temperature. It’s too hot to sleep with clothes on, so you and your partner lay naked, side by side, talking about your day. You realise that this is the closest you’ve been to their body in the past 12 hours, and you shuffle closer still. You reach out a hand to touch their thigh. Then, cautiously, you slide your hand further north, towards their cock, which you can already feel hardening under your fingertips. Soon, your hands are all over each other, and their thigh is wedged between your legs. Not long after that, the duvet is on the floor and you’re in doggy style (because it’s too hot for anybody to be on top of anybody else) and you’re building up an aggressive rhythm. Neither of you has turned the light on, so you’re blindfolded by the darkness of the bedroom, all your focus on the crescendo you’re both building to.

Later, the cum and sweat all over your thighs is highlighted by the fan, and you thank the heavens for evaporative cooling.

2. Coldly detached

You’ve had a long day. You’ve only been home twenty minutes, and your partner is across the room, doing nothing productive on their laptop. You watch the cute crease in their brow as they read something a little too sophisticated for the brain-melting summer heat and you’re overwhelmed by the desire to help them turn their brain off. You snap your fingers to get their attention.

“On your knees, here,” you order, pointing to the space in front of the sofa between your legs.

They all but throw their laptop down and scurry over, wide-eyed and eager to obey. They watch, transfixed, as you unzip your trousers and pull out your cock. You know you’ll taste like sweat, and you know they’ll secretly savour it. 

As they work on you, sucking and stroking and licking and occasionally gagging, you don’t so much as put a hand in their hair. You spend a little time looking at ice cube trays on Amazon, but you spend more time pretending to look at your phone, unable to actually take any information in, as your partner diligently licks your balls, their hand sliding up and down your shaft with only their own spit for lubrication. 

By the time you come, your phone has slipped out of your hand. You growl. Your hands are still nowhere near touching your partner, but you let your leg bump against them as you zip back up.

“Good job, pet.”

3. On your own

Sometimes it’s so hot that the thought of another person’s body heat within two metres of your personal bubble is disgusting. You lay in bed, directly in front of the fan, and plug your favourite vibrator into the wall. You press its thrumming head hard against your clit and grind against it, thinking of all the dirty things you want to hear somebody say when it’s finally cool enough to let their mouth within a few inches of your ear. “Come for me, you desperate slut. That’s it, it’s building, isn’t it? I can see how close you are, how your toes are curling… that’s right, little girl, come for me. Good.”

Your orgasm rips through you, and with your non-vibrator-wielding hand, you clutch the sheets so hard that they might rip, too. You realise you’ve been moaning loudly and the window is open, but you cannot summon the energy to care.

4. With ice

This one is self-explanatory, but I’ll leave you with the thought of an ice cube buried deep in your cunt, slowly melting, with water dripping out of you and mingling with your increasing wetness. Your partner is watching some sports thing on TV, but occasionally throws you a sly glance, especially when she notices you squirming. You know that soon, your soaked thong will be in your mouth as another ice cube – or something else – is slid inside you, to press against your G-spot and make you squirm again.


Every fourth Saturday (mental health and life events permitting, of course) I’ll be posting erotica here for your wanking enjoyment, based loosely on my own experiences or fantasies. Feel free to get in touch via Twitter if you have a theme to suggest, and remember to check out my Patreon page if you’d like early access to exceptional filth!