Hermione Danger is now Sex and Silks!

Welcome readers, old and new, to Sex and Silks, the revamped home of the sex and kink blogger formerly known as Hermione Danger. As is my unfortunate habit, it’s been a few months since my last post, and that intervening time has been…well, it’s been a lot. Of course there’s the whole global pandemic wreaking havoc, and as I type this, mass demonstrations are happening around the country to protest another wave of murders of black folks by police. (Please donate to your local Black Lives Matter organizations and/or community bail funds!)

In sex blogging more specifically, there’s been some super transphobic nonsense happening recently, in which trans bloggers came under attack for speaking out against bigoted posts, tweets, and contest submissions. I am not here to speak for them, but I am here to unequivocally voice my support for trans folks in our community and elsewhere.

That is a major part of my decision behind this name change, as a matter of fact. It’s well-known by now that JK Rowling is a massive TERF, and I could no longer stand by and write under a persona related to her, however tangentially. There is more to come from me on this specific issue in a later post, but I’ve been mulling over a shift in online identity for quite some time; I just hadn’t found the right inspiration, until now.

Which brings me to the other component of this change: aerial silks, which I’ve written about on this blog previously. My love for it has only grown since, and though my studio has been closed since mid-March, I am even more passionate about it now than ever. (I even have my own personal home rig now, thanks in large part to my incredible partner!) It’s become an essential part of my life, both online and off, and I look forward to integrating it more into my writing and photos here.

So goodbye Hermione Danger, hello Sex and Silks! Kindly bear with me in the coming days as I tweak the site, change over old links, etc. My actual blogging content won’t be changing all that much, but I feel this is now more representative of who I am and what I’m about.

Slap that face / slap it ’til it’s dizzy

In the decade that I’ve been experimenting in kink, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve moved a particular activity from the “maybe,” “I guess,” or “I honestly have no idea” categories in my brain over to the “hell yes!” column. What I have not experienced often, however, is the near-sudden migration of a hard limit into constant fantasy fodder.

Face slapping was one such rarity.

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Under The Sexual Microscope

“Are you…studying me?”

My eyes, which I had reflexively closed in the throes of my passion, had managed to flutter open, and they landed on the face of my (relatively new) partner. The expression upon it contained the expected lust, but even more noticeable was a look of intellectual curiosity, one I’d seen on him in sexual situations before. It was like he was cataloging me.


We’d been dating for a few weeks at this point, and our chemistry was undeniable. We were entangled on my couch, with me in a disheveled state of undress and him knuckle-deep in my cunt.

“Something about the way you look at me when we’re fooling around, it’s like…like I’m an intriguing science experiment to you.”

He laughed, kissed me, and asked, “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” I breathed in a reply that was more sigh than word, as at that moment, he began again with his machinations below my waist.

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Cirque du Danger: How I Fell In Love With Aerial Silks

I collapse onto my back, sweating and panting heavily. I’m flushed, both from the heat of the room and the flood of endorphins, and I can’t stop grinning. My muscles are deliciously sore from use, and I can already feel bruises beginning to form on my hips and thighs.

But I’m not in my bedroom, at a play party, or in a dungeon, and I haven’t just had sex or bottomed in a scene. I’m in a fitness studio, surrounded by little else but about eight other women, a bunch of mats, and fabric dangling from the ceiling.

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Hermione Danger Did Not Disapparate: A Brief Update

Hello, dear readers! I know it has been a shamefully long time since I have written here, but fear not, I have not abandoned you or this little blog of mine.

If you’re not following me on Twitter – and if you’re not, you’re welcome to @hermionedangr – you wouldn’t know that my summer and fall have been quite the whirlwind.

In the past few months, I moved to a new apartment, got a promotion at work, went to LeakyCon Dallas, said goodbye to my grandfather, returned to more regular attendance at the weekly kink community social gathering, started online dating again and soon found myself in a relationship with an incredible man (more to come on that in future posts!), supported a dear friend during a divorce, and beta-read another friend’s book, among other things.

This has left me with little energy to write, but the aforementioned new relationship has rejuvenated not only my sex life but also my well of ideas. There are things coming soon, friends, so watch this space.


How To Torture A Submissive Bookworm

“Hold your arms out straight. Good. Now don’t let them drop.”

Somehow, a right swipe on Tinder over the holiday season had led to this: kneeling naked in a hotel room a couple hundred miles from home, silver clamps dangling from my nipples, a childhood favorite book in my trembling hands, next to a man who feigned indifference to my plight and only looked away from his video game to make sure my arms were staying level.

Though we’d been texting daily for months, we’d only hooked up once prior to this – a frenzied couple of hours during his brief visit home to his family, where we had fantastic (but relatively vanilla) sex. We’d talked about our mutual kinks a lot, both in sexts and casual conversation, but we didn’t delve too deeply into it during our first in-person encounter.

This time, though, things were different.

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Two Collars, One Sub, No Dom: Reflections on Self-Collaring

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, one of my favorite things about the kink community is our ability to tailor our kinks and dynamics to fit our needs, to attach as much or as little meaning as we like to certain words, phrases, objects, or body language. Collars, of course, are no exception: for some, they are akin to wedding rings, symbols of a deep commitment that are only to be donned after much time and consideration. For others, a collar is more of an aesthetic choice, a method of signaling to other kinksters in the wild.

Personally, I fall somewhere in the middle, and it’s very dependent on context. There were sexual encounters with a former FWB during which I wore a collar for little more than the utility of it; while I cared about him, I wasn’t romantically attached to him, and though we played with some power exchange, I wasn’t his submissive. I wore a collar sometimes when we’d play together, but I wasn’t collared.

With my ex-partner and Dominant, the idea of a collar meant a lot more. Several months into our relationship, we picked out a lovely purple leather posture collar at a sex shop together, which we used during scenes. Then, for our first anniversary, he purchased a beautiful silver o-ring pendant, which I wore nearly every day as a subtle day collar until our breakup. While not on wedding ring level for us, they certainly were imbued with meaning, symbolic of our commitment to each other – at least, that’s what they meant to me, as I suppose I shouldn’t speak for him. I got rid of both after our relationship ended, but the necklace was harder to let go; had I not left it in his car immediately after, when I was still in full quiet rage mode, I don’t know if I would have been able to part with it.

It’s been over 5 months now, but it’s still a little strange, not having it around my neck every day. And now that I’ve had time to heal and rediscover both my sex drive and my submission, I’ve found myself longing to wear a collar again – not because there’s anyone currently in my life to collar me, but because I want to better acknowledge, cultivate, and celebrate my submissive identity in and of itself.

In short, I think I want to collar myself.

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Choose Your Own Adventure: Kink Dynamic Edition

I first realized that I was submissive about 10 years ago, at the age of 20 and in the middle of my first “adult” relationship, i.e. my first relationship that hadn’t begun in high school. Looking back now, my kinks manifested in various ways prior to that – including a childhood period of fascination with historical methods of corporal punishment – but it wasn’t until college that I was able to attach a label to those desires.

Labels can be helpful. As I’ve written before, discovering words to accurately describe my queerness was a revelation, and finding labels to reflect my burgeoning kinks was equally eye-opening. But labels can also be restrictive, when they almost fit but not quite – like a pair of leggings that’s just a bit too tight. Suddenly, you find yourself uncomfortable, self-conscious, and questioning why you ever put the damn things on in the first place.

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Six Weeks Later

Six weeks ago, I endured a seismic shift in my life.

Six weeks ago, my long-distance partner of over 4 years told me that he had developed feelings for another woman, and that he was leaving me, in part so he could be with her. I had just arrived on a plane that morning, ready for a week of laziness and quintessential New England autumn activities, and instead I found myself in his new apartment (his job meant regular relocations), staring out the window at a city I’d never seen before that day while my world crashed around me. Everything I’d built up in my head, everything about what our lives were going to be like once that grand mythical day arrived and we’d finally live in the same place, crumbled.

But this isn’t about that. It’s not even about him, and it’s definitely not about her. This is about me, and what came after.

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