I found this post difficult to write. Not because I didn’t have ideas for this particular Kink of the Week prompt, but because for the first time since I began blogging – admittedly not very long ago – I lost my momentum. Determined to get it back, I banished myself to a sofa until I had written at least some words, and eventually asked the wonderful DomSigns if I could use an idea (or two) he mentioned to me. Thus I must thank him, and I hope he enjoys their use here.
In my opinion, there is no better place to experience winter than the Austrian Alps. The bracing alpine air; the light, powdery snow; and the opportunities for adventure outweigh the treats other options offer. It is there that one can escape the capitalised nature of Christmas, the stress of family, and the pressure to make lifestyle goals that often feel more shaming than empowering. In winter, I prefer to rediscover my childlike awe of falling snow.
Or maybe there’s an entirely different reason why I find a week or two in the Alps so magical and cathartic.
You see, on my first trip to Austria I met a girl. It wasn’t love at first sight, and our kisses weren’t like New Year’s fireworks, she was sexy and the sex we had was hot. She was a ski instructor by winter and a photographer by summer, and almost all my plans for sightseeing and hiking were abandoned in favour of shagging her every minute she wasn’t on the slopes. (And yes, one time when we both were.) There is a lot to be said for ski tuition with a private instructor.) She met every suggestion of mine with enthusiasm and her own ideas for ways we could fuck. I never expected to hear from her again, but she slipped her email address into my coat pocket when we said goodbye, with instructions to get in touch.
I’ve gone back every year since.
My German is getting quite good, and I’m now a fairly competent skier – though once she lured me on to a snowboard and I fell flat on my face in the snow: an undignified experience that has now been moved to my hard limits list. We plan carefully, making sure we have time to fuck around her ski lessons, and a bed where she can make me scream (or, if you take her side of the debate, squeal) without disturbing our neighbours. Our eagerness to rip each other’s clothes off and fuck, however? That hasn’t changed at all.
The best sex I have is in winter.
Have you ever gone on a hike with your girlfriend to a frozen water fall, when she orders you to strip so she can take naked photos of you? I’d recommend it, because the icy chill is more than made up for by the kisses – and an orgasm, if you’ve been a good girl – she gives you when she’s done. Every time she tells me I’m just as beautiful as the magnificent natural sculpture behind me, and every time I blush.
Another favourite of mine is a vigorous spanking, finishing with her pushing a butt plug into my arse. We then walk – or sometimes sledge, because adult delights mix wonderfully with childish fun, and the bumps make me more aware of the plug inside me – into town. At our favourite café she tells me to order us hot chocolate and sits there smirking, knowing that my cheeks, reddens by the cold air, now match my arse.
If any of my friends ask about any visible bruises when I return home, I tell them I got them skiing. It’s not quite a lie. The full truth is that rented holiday chalets rarely come with a St. Andrew’s cross, but experimentation has taught me that it’s possible to improvise one from a pair of skis. Just don’t mention to the woman tying you up that the ski poles would make an excellent cane. You’re right, they do, but the number of extra strokes you’ll get for suggesting this when she’d told you to stay quiet isn’t worth it.
(That’s another lie, it is. The bruises she leaves on you are beautiful, and the look she gives you when she catches you twisting round to look at them in the mirror is so full of heat you’re not sure how the wooden chalet doesn’t catch fire from her lust.)
Being bound naked to a toboggan is lots of fun – the biting cold cancelled out by the exhilaration of speeding down a slope and the thrill of exhibitionism. There’re nothing quite like the feeling of being used by her in that position either, and she takes such great pleasure in teasing me when I’m helpless in this way. Another good one is sitting behind her on that same toboggan, with your hand inside her knickers. She’ll steer, but your challenge is to make her come before you reach the bottom of the long, steep slope.
As for a naked spanking on a ski lift? Well, you should always have something to aim for, right?
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.
