Sex & Kink Resolutions For 2019

An image of two journals: one blue, faux snakeskin journal with no writing on it, and one spiralbound blue and white marble journal that bears the words 'Two Thousand & Nineteen' in a cursive font. They are on a green carpet background and the blue & marbled one is laying over the top of the snakeskin-like one.

I realise that it’s only the 22nd of December and Christmas hasn’t even happened yet, but we explored just last week why Christmas does not inspire horny blog content in me, so I figured instead I could think ahead a little to the new year: specifically, to the New Year’s Resolutions I might make regarding sex and kink.

A couple of Decembers ago, I firmly resolved that 2017 would be the year in which I’d get fisted. A number of factors prevented this, including significant blows to my  ability to trust people, the intimidating hand size of one of the few partners I did trust, and a heightened inability to relax any parts of my body least of all my genitals. When I ended the year only having achieved a measly six (thick) fingers in my vagina at once, sans the palm of a hand, I was devastated.

Six fingers is an insane accomplishment! But because it wasn’t within the framework of the task I’d set myself, I was disappointed and self-critical. I lean towards that pattern of thought and self-talk at the best of times, but sex and kink are a. extraordinarily vulnerable and b. my thing, so I’m that bit more prone to responding to my perceived “failures” in ways that are as non-constructive as they are misery-inducing. With this in mind, I’m keeping these resolutions as nonspecific as possible, so that I don’t have any concrete metrics by which to judge my own “successes” or “failures”.

  1. Wank more. I tweeted about the creation of my Wank Journal, wherein I’ll be cataloguing and celebrating all the wanks I have. At present, trauma and depression have alienated me from my body and I’m still working through a lot of the terror I experience regarding my own arousal (especially when it’s “purposeless”, i.e. not for the consumption of a partner), so I wank once in a blue moon, and sometimes dissociate during or after the process. In 2019, I hope to wank just a little more often and a lot more enjoyably, and I’m hoping that my (super pretty) Wank Journal will help motivate me to do that.
  2. Explore my dominant/toppy side. As I unpacked in my piece on why bratty bottoms scare the shit out of me, I identified solely as a dom and then as a switch for a large part of my kinky life, but let that facet of my identity fall to the wayside as a result of Impostor Syndrome. I’d like to experiment with service topping, but I’d also like to dabble a little more with power exchange. Being called “Sir”, “Miss” and “Daddy” makes my dick real hard, and we all deserve hard dicks after the dumpster fire that was 2018.
  3. Lean into the kinks I feel the most shame about. “But Morgan,” I hear you whispering to your monitor/tablet/phone screen, “you are beyond shame! Your tits are on Twitter! You’ve blogged about ageplay and watersports! Which kinks, pray tell, evoke shame even in your own slutty heart?!” But the thing is that kink is weird, and brains make very little sense. I got into DD/lg roleplay when I was 16, but admitting I have kink feelings around feet makes me feel like my insides are curdling. It might be the relative newness of the kink, the intensity of the feelings it draws up in me, or some nebulous combination of factors… but my foot thing makes me squirm. I don’t think there’s any problem with more squirming in 2019.
  4. Do more S&M, more rope and more butt stuff. I’ve bundled these three in together because the reasons that I’m resolving to do more of them are largely the same. In all three cases, I find myself leaving these activities on a back burner because I’m too tired, feeling unattractive, worried I’m not in the right headspace, and often can’t be bothered. In 2019 I would like to be bothered; I think it’s high time I sent myself the message that my pleasure is worth time, effort and even money, as long as it’s pleasure I want, rather than pleasure I’m pressing myself to seek. Butt stuff in particular I dismiss as being “too much effort”, but every time I do it I conclude that it was worth it – so I’d like to spend 2019 proving to myself that there’s no such thing as “too much effort” when it comes to enjoying my body.

There are a lot more measurable aspirations I kinda-sorta have (get fucked in the butt! Finally get fisted! Do an inverted suspension!) but that I will not set as 2019 goals, because I’m going to use 2019 as a year of recovering, being kind to myself and reconnecting with my body and my sexuality.

What do your sex and/or kink resolutions for 2019 look like? Are they measurable, or more vague? Let me know in the comments!

Smut Saturdays #8 – Okay, So I Have A Foot Fetish…

Image is of a pair of feet belonging to a white person (Morgan) bound together with hemp rope, some of which runs between the toes and binds one wrist to one ankle as well. Morgan is wearing teal nail polish on their fingers and none on their toes, and the background is a black patterned floor mat.

Every fourth Saturday, I’ll be posting erotica I’ve written, based loosely on my own real life experiences or fantasies, for your wanking enjoyment, and all under the heading ‘Smut Saturdays‘. If you’ve got any feedback or requests, put ’em in the comments or hit me up on Twitter @KinkyAutistic!

Content note: this post refers to a ‘Daddy’ but has no other explicit ageplay, and features foot stuff, consensual degradation and, y’know, fucking. Just so y’all are aware.


One of my favourite ways to flirt with people is to gaze longingly at them whilst licking and/or sucking on something. It works well enough on people with vulvae, who are (I hope) enticed by the intensity of my gaze and the thought of my lips and tongue on their junk – but it works even better on people with penises, because you can (if they let you) steal one of their fingers and simulate fellatio by sucking on it and moving it in and out of your mouth. You’ve got to already be at the physical flirting stage, and you’ve got to move their hand towards your mouth super slowly so that they have a chance to opt out of hand-to-mouth contact… but something about having fellatio imitated on one of their appendages makes them extra desperate to have the same happen to body parts further south.

Incidentally, one of my favourite ways to hang out with my Daddy is sitting on the floor whilst he sits on the sofa, in spite of there being two perfectly good armchairs only feet away. It doesn’t matter whether I’m so far into pupspace that I’ve forgotten how my thumbs work or I’m fully in Adult Human Mode™ after a long day at uni; sitting on the floor whilst a dominant partner is on furniture makes me feel small and secure. I’ll retreat to an armchair if my joints hurt too much to endure the floor or if I have things to do that require lamplight or similar, but otherwise I stay on the carpet while we watch Masterchef, Don’t Tell The Bride or various foodie vlogs.

D’you see where this is going yet?

My attention span is woeful at the best of times, and it only gets worse when I’m horny or stressed – and sometimes, reader, I am both of those things at once. Sometimes I’m cruisin’ for a (consensual) bruisin’ as a way of relieving both sexual tension and being-a-grownup-is-hard tension. And sometimes my Daddy lies on the sofa with bare feet, his toes just… there. Right there.

So once, I wrapped my mouth around one of them.

The biggest toe. I laid my lips around it slowly so that he could stop me, but he just sort of… watched. I couldn’t tell whether he was turned on or bewildered or whether he was both. I dropped my tongue down a little and took his whole big toe into my mouth. It was broader than a finger, and rougher, but it wasn’t a challenge to give a mini blowjob to – so I did, for a few intense and strange moments, until he pulled his foot away.

I lowered my head, unsure whether I was in (consensual) trouble and unsure of how I felt. When I suck on people’s fingers, I sort of feel like a powerhouse of irresistible sexual energy – sort of how I imagine sirens must feel whilst they’re luring men to their deaths. With my mouth around a toe, though (and especially a toe belonging to my Dominant), I felt… smaller. Lower. Subjugated. And, even though his toes were clean and entirely neutral in smell and taste, it felt more like an endurance – like a sign of devotion.

I guess he was on that wavelength, too, because he tapped my cheek with the side of his foot. Gently, experimentally. I lifted my eyes to look at him but barely tilted my head, and I stayed stock-still as he tapped my cheek with his foot again. Harder. And again – this time hard enough that you could possibly categorise it as a kick.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been kicked by an impact top, but it was the first time I’d been kicked in the face by an impact top, and also the first time that so much of my attention was on the foot in question. I watched his expression change from detached amusement to sadistic glee as he kicked my face harder, and harder, until it was an effort to keep my neck steady and my head in place. The last kick was so hard that my teeth felt jarred, and I was so deep into subspace that all I could say was, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“On your hands and knees.” He was already sitting up and unbuckling his belt. My brain was too subby to process it fully, so I just shifted myself into doggie style and pressed my face into the prickly, acrylic-y fibres of the carpet. “You’ve got me hard, you fucking dirty bitch.”

Being called a dirty bitch is as inclined to make me do the heart-eyes emoji as being called “Princess” or “angel”. I half-lay, half-slumped there with my butt in the air, and I mumbled, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“No need to be sorry; it just means you need to fix it.” He got to his knees behind me and peeled my leggings off my waist and arse, leaving them bunched around my knees. I knew my cunt was wet but I couldn’t find my wits long enough to be embarrassed about it.

My own toes curled in anticipation at the sound of his zip coming down. It took minimal effort to cram his cock into me, but not minimal pain – I squealed and writhed, a familiar burning at the very entrance to my cunt, but he grabbed my hips with hands bigger than my head – so unless I safeworded, I was stuck. I took breaths in through pursed lips as he began to fuck me, and slowly the pain was replaced by deep, delicious A-spot stimulation.

How did I land myself in this predicament? I wondered vaguely, in between scrunching my face up and moaning. Oh… I sucked his toes. He likes his toes sucked. I like sucking his toes… a lot.

“Daddy?” I asked, in a small voice. The thrusting paused. “Do you think you could put your foot… on my face?”

It’s worth noting that my Daddy is 6 foot something and I’m about 5’6 on a good day. He’s also flexible, and strong, and obliging, so it was only sort of a surprise when his weight shifted behind me and then, still in doggie style and still with his cock buried in me, he managed to press the ball of his foot into my cheek, my head turned to one side and pushed into the carpet. It felt oddly right, like lots of other D/s things: all I could think was, Now I’m really getting under his feet. Heehee.

He carried on fucking me, and, whilst it was awesome, it would be very boring to transcribe here. Rock-hard dick going in and out, front wall of my cunt aching pleasantly, feeling his fingertips dig into my arse as he grew closer to cumming, etc., etc. When we came to a wet, panting, wonderful end, he lifted his foot from my face and brought it back towards himself, whilst withdrawing from my cunt. In the crossfire, I felt and heard a drip, and sat up to turn around.

Cum had dripped onto his foot.

Reader, I lit up with joy. I asked permission to lick it off. And I was forced to concede, as my tongue flicked its way between his toes, that I definitely have a thing for feet.