📬 Dear Cherrie: Our First Time at Kink Camp

I never thought I’d have the nerve to write one of these letters, but after last Friday, my wife Emma and I just couldn’t stop laughing—and moaning—about what happened.

We’ve always been curious about kink, but never managed much more than fuzzy handcuffs and giggles in the bedroom. So, when a queer-friendly community center held a “BDSM for Beginners” night, Emma and I signed up, determined to branch out of our suburban comfort zone. Walking in, I honestly felt more nervous than the time I met her parents.

The room was full of all kinds of couples (and a few solos) nervously eyeing the snacks and ropes, everyone in jeans and Pride pins, chatting about everything except what we were here for. A nonbinary instructor named Dakota, decked in leather suspenders and a spectacular grin, put us right at ease. “Tonight is for curiosity and consent—no pressure, and safe words for all,” they said, passing around neon-green wristbands and long, red ropes.

Emma and I paired up in the corner, staring at the length of rope like it was a wild animal. She tried to look serious, but her eyes sparkled. “So, who’s tying up whom first, babe?” she whispered, winking.

I volunteered, channeling my inner Top, even though my hands were shaking. “Step one,” Dakota called, “find your wrists!” Somehow, I managed to wrap Emma’s wrists together… and then realized I’d basically created a massive knot I couldn’t undo. The couple next to us burst out laughing. I blushed. Emma grinned and wriggled her fingers, pretending to struggle. “Well, I’m yours now, hopelessly knotted and helpless,” she breathed, in a mock-dramatic moan that nearly sent me over the edge.

The second time went better. Emma—more practical and far less flustered—tied me up with a perfect little bow. Dakota wandered past, nodding approvingly. “Looks like you two are naturals.”

Then came the gentle, consensual exploring. Emma tugged me closer, whispering, “You like this, don’t you?” My heart raced. The other couples faded into laughter and gasps. She leaned in, her lips grazing my ear. “Wait until I get these ropes home…”

We left the workshop hand-in-hand, hearts pounding—flushed, a bit tangled, and more connected than ever. That night, in the privacy of our own room, the ropes came out again. Somehow, we got all tangled up—but this time, we didn’t bother untangling ourselves for a very, very long time.

So thank you, Penthouse, for inspiring us to discover not just kink, but each other—knots, giggles, passion and all.

Love,

R.

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Dear Cherrie: That Night Changed Everything 🍒

Hey Cherrie,

Okay, full confession—I never thought I’d actually write in about this. But after lurking on your blog, I just had to share.

So, last weekend? My husband and I did something we’d only ever whispered about in bed. (And let me tell you, my legs are still shaking just thinking about it.)

It started like this: I put on my “troublemaker” red dress—you know, the one that makes me want to be bad and makes him want to misbehave. He looked me up and down, grinning like he had a secret, and then we headed off to this lifestyle club we’d been stalking online for ages.

Walking in, I was nervous and half-excited, half-scared out of my mind. The place was everything I hoped. Lights low, people looking hot in all kinds of outfits, and this feeling in the air that anything could happen. We grabbed drinks, and pretty soon we were chatting with this gorgeous couple—she was curvy and confident, and her guy had flirt written all over him.

The four of us clicked right away, and before I knew it, her hand was on my knee under the table. I almost spit out my drink from the rush. Soon, my husband was flirting with her and I was flirting with him, and wow, I just kept catching my husband’s eye—his “you okay?” look was making my heart race (and more). We quietly set some ground rules (no vanishing acts, we play together, consent all the way), and then…well, we said yes.

Upstairs, it was like a scene out of every fantasy ever. Clothes dropped fast. Her lips so soft on mine, my husband’s hands all over my hips, his lips tracing fire down my neck. I was dizzy, laughing, then moaning, then laughing again. Every touch was electric—her mouth, his hands, my husband’s gaze locked on me as things started to heat up.

For a while, it was just pure sensation: bodies tangled together, her breath on my ear, his hand down my spine, my husband moving between both of us, all of us together and separate at the same time. There was zero awkwardness—just real chemistry, trust, and killer energy.

After, we ended up in a big happy heap, laughing and sweaty, complimenting each other like only people who just shared a fabulous secret can. And on the way home? We made out at every red light and couldn’t stop touching. We closed our bedroom door and…let’s just say, round two was very inspired.

We feel closer than ever. More honest, more alive, a little more in love—and a lot less afraid to chase what we both want. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night or the way it made me fall in love with my husband all over again.

So, thank YOU, Cherrie, for showing us this stuff isn’t just fantasy. Sometimes you just have to put on the dress, say “yes”, and see what happens.

Kisses (and maybe a spank or two),
Curious No More

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Cherrie’s Reply:

I LOVE this for you! 🔥 There’s nothing better than taking that leap together and realizing just how strong your connection really is—and how much fun you can still have. Here’s to many more red dress nights and yes’s that end in messy, beautiful memories. Welcome to the wilder side, babe. 🍒

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Have your own story or question? Slide into my inbox—judgment-free and 100% confidential, promise.

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Hey Cherrie: What Happened in That Elevator… and After

Hey Cherrie,
This isn’t something I ever thought I’d confess, but last week… something happened. Something that’s been replaying in my mind night after night, leaving me breathless whenever I let myself think about it.

It all started at the hotel bar. He had this energy about him—commanding, confident, the type that pulls you in before you even realize it. The way his tie hung loosely around his neck, the way his shirt clung to him just enough to tease the firm lines of his chest… I could feel his eyes lingering on me, dark and warm, full of promises I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

But I didn’t look away.
And neither did he.

By the time I finished my second drink, he was standing close enough for his words to brush against my skin. “Let me walk you to your room,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. It wasn’t really a question, and I liked the way it wasn’t.

The elevator ride was electric, the silence between us humming with tension, like neither of us dared speak, afraid the moment might break. But then—oh, Cherrie—he turned to me, his hands gripping my waist, pressing my back against the wall before I could even think.

The first kiss wasn’t soft or tentative—it was hungry. The kind of kiss that takes your breath and leaves you clinging to whatever shred of control you thought you had. His fingers traced up my thigh as his lips worked their way down my neck, slow and deliberate, like he was claiming every inch of me.

By the time we stumbled into my room, his hands were pushing up my skirt, rough and demanding, while his mouth poured hot, filthy promises against my skin. I shivered when his fingers slid under the lace of my panties, exploring, teasing, coaxing me to the brink as I gasped into his kiss.

“I want to feel you…” I managed, my voice trembling, my sanity slipping.

He didn’t make me wait long, Cherrie. The moment he was inside me, it was everything. The way he filled me—slow at first, like he wanted me to feel every inch of him—then deeper, harder, until I couldn’t do anything except hold on to him. My nails dragged down his back, pulling him closer as his name escaped my lips, louder with each thrust.

The way his body moved against mine, the way his breath caught when I whispered just the right things—it was intoxicating. No hesitation. No restraint. Just raw, reckless desire that left both of us undone by the time the night was over.

This wasn’t just a fling, Cherrie. This was something else. A fire I didn’t want to put out, and, honestly? I don’t think I ever will.

Signed,
Going UP

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Hey Cherrie: My Gym Buddy Went Farther Than I Expected

Cherrie,
Let me tell you about a workout I’ll never forget.

There’s this guy at my gym—Tyler. He’s someone you can’t help but notice: tall, broad shoulders, sweat dripping down abs so defined they look like they’ve been carved out of stone. I kept catching him looking my way in the mirrors while I worked out, his smile subtle but unmistakably bold.

For weeks, it had just been harmless flirting. You know, sharing a machine, casual comments like, “Let me know if you need a spot.” But the tension was building, hanging in the air every time we ended up too close, his tall frame towering over me, his scent—fresh sweat mixed with something intoxicating—making it impossible to think straight.

Yesterday, something shifted.

I was stretching in the corner after my session, and he came up behind me. His voice dropped low as he asked, “Mind if I join you?” I could feel him before I saw him—warmth radiating off his body, his presence so close I almost lost my balance. I nodded, my throat dry, and suddenly we were stretching together, but it felt anything but innocent.

And then, Cherrie, he said it. “You look tense… Let me help.” His hands were on me before I could say no—not that I wanted to. Their grip against my hips was firm but teasing as he guided me through the stretch. His touch lingered just a little too long, traveling up my thighs, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that sent a shiver straight to my core.

The gym was nearly empty, and I could feel how close his body was to mine, the barely-there touch of his chest against my back, the way his breath hit my ear as he leaned in to ask, “Feel better?”

I turned to face him, my heart pounding. There was this moment, Cherrie, one of those electric silences where the air feels too thick to breathe, where you know something’s about to happen but can’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it.

His lips crashed onto mine, urgent and hungry, like he’d been waiting for this as long as I had. I melted into him, gasping against his mouth as his hands slid up my shirt, fingers grazing bare skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. His touch was demanding, confident, and I could barely hold myself up as he pinned me gently against the wall, his hands tangling in my hair.

Cherrie, I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly we were in the bathroom, the door slamming behind us. His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me onto a sink as his mouth moved to my neck, then lower, sending sparks down my spine with every slow, deliberate kiss.

I can’t forget how he felt—the way his body pressed against mine, rock hard, demanding, commanding me to let go of every inhibition. The low groan that rumbled from his throat when I wrapped my legs around his waist. And when he slid inside me? Cherrie… it was like he unlocked something primal in me. I couldn’t hold back the whimpers that escaped my lips as he thrust into me, each movement deeper, harder, leaving me trembling and breathless.

The sound of our bodies echoed through the empty space, his hands gripping my hips as he pulled me closer, took me like he couldn’t get enough. And I didn’t want him to stop—ever.

When it was over, we just stayed there, tangled together, my legs still wrapped around him as we tried to catch our breaths. He kissed me softly this time, his lips brushing against my forehead as he whispered, “We should do this again…maybe after leg day?”

Cherrie, I don’t know where this will go, and frankly, I don’t care. All I know is, Tyler made me feel alive in a way I didn’t know I needed—and I’ll never look at the gym the same way again.

Signed,
Stretching My Limits

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Hey Cherrie: Touching What’s Off-Limits

Hey Cherrie,
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I need to tell someone what happened Friday night. This isn’t a confession—I don’t regret a second of it. But, God, it was wrong.

It started during one of those quiet evenings, you know? There’s nothing special about a work dinner at some upscale rooftop bar surrounded by clicking glasses and polite conversation. Except for him. Aaron. My boss.

I had always noticed his confidence—the way he owned every room like he belonged there, how his voice silenced everyone else just enough to make me lean forward. But I’d never thought of him beyond that. Not… like this.

At least, not until that night.

The wine was flowing more freely than usual. He loosened his tie, leaning closer every time we spoke, the heat of his presence warming my skin as his fingers brushed against mine “accidentally” during dessert. I wasn’t naïve—I knew what he was doing. But the way his dark eyes fixed on my lips each time I laughed? It became impossible to ignore.

“Want to take a look at the view?” he murmured at one point, nodding toward the far end of the terrace.

I hesitated for half a heartbeat, but the electricity pulling me away from the table was too strong to resist.

We stood there, next to the glass railing, the quiet night stretching between us like a whisper. The city sparkled below us, but I barely even noticed it—my focus was completely on him. On the way his body shifted closer than it should have.

“Have you ever thought about this before?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and steady.

My breath caught in my chest. I knew exactly what he meant. I couldn’t answer.

But when his fingers tipped my chin toward him, when his lips brushed mine, any doubt spilled away faster than the wine I’d been drinking.

Cherrie, it wasn’t subtle—it wasn’t careful. His kiss was hungry, claiming, pressing me back against the cool glass as his hands slid down my sides. In that moment, there wasn’t a single rule I cared about breaking.

His mouth found my neck. His fingers teased at the hem of my dress. I could feel the urgency in the way his body pressed against mine, the soft whispers of my name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

We didn’t make it past the terrace, and it was risky enough. Anyone could have seen us.

But I didn’t care.

When he kissed me goodnight at the elevator and told me, “We’ll have to never speak of this again,” there was just one thought in my mind: We will.

Was it wrong, Cherrie? Sure. But I’ll be waiting for the next rooftop dinner, wondering just how far we’ll go next time.

Signed,
Falling For What’s Forbidden

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Dear Cherrie: The Night the Beach Wasn’t the Only Thing Getting Wet

Dear Cherrie

So I have to admit—I picked the Costa Rican resort because the website winked at “open-minded, lifestyle-friendly guests.” Still, I packed more anxiety than lingerie, and at the first “rainbow cocktail welcome,” I nearly lost my nerve and headed back to my room alone.

But that’s when Jordan—broad-shouldered, nonbinary, with a silver eyebrow ring and the kind of laugh that makes your pulse skip—caught my eye at the bar. “Ever notice nobody actually mingles at these? Think the hot tub’s more honest?” Jordan grinned, biting their straw, and I instantly felt naked (in a great way).

Fast forward: after a blur of flirty banter, we ditched our half-finished drinks and snuck to the bubbling hot tub under the stars. Jordan’s thigh brushed mine as we slid closer, water swirling around limbs and toes. Under the gentle roar of the jets, they leaned in and whispered, “We could play a game. First person to break eye contact has to… confess a fantasy.” I barely nodded before they pressed a slow, daring kiss to the side of my mouth.

I lost first. So, I stammered out my softest wish—being gently held down, exploring both surrender and sweet control. The look in Jordan’s eyes shifted: hungry, understanding, careful.

Back in their suite, the world was all shadows and salt on our skin. We tumbled onto the cool sheets, laughter giving way to deeper urgency. Jordan’s lips found the hollow of my neck as I shivered with nerves and electric want.

“Tell me to stop, anytime,” they breathed, one hand resting on my chest, the other brushing my hip. I didn’t.

Their mouth traced every line of my body, teeth grazing my nipple, fingers ghosting between my thighs as I arched into their touch. Every moan was matched with a grin, a whispered, “Is this good?”—and my breathless, “God, yes.” Jordan’s nails raked gently up my thigh as they pinned my wrists above my head; the sweet burn of surrender was hotter than any sunburn.

We spent hours exploring new textures, tastes—Jordan tracing their tongue down, coaxing me to louder, shameless cries than I thought possible. When I begged them to slip their clever fingers in, they grinned: “Now we’re on vacation.”

We came tangled up, gasping, sun-warmed and nerves still singing—over and over again, long after the surf quieted the rest of the world.

So, Cherrie, here’s to sunscreen, safe words, and the gift of saying yes to both passion and tenderness when the night wants more.

Signed,

Sunburnt (& Absolutely Spent)

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Dear Cherrie: I Never Thought I’d Love Being Watched—But Then I Did

Dear Cherrie,

I always thought exhibitionism was for other people—wilder women in darker rooms, the ones who didn’t flush or look away. I believed I was too private, too self-conscious; in fact, I avoided mirrors during sex, let alone windows. I’d never have imagined that one perfect night, the city would become my stage… and I’d never want the curtains drawn again.

It started with a dare, as so many delicious things do. My lover—let’s call him A.—and I had just moved into a high-rise downtown. Wall-to-wall glass. Everyone said, “The views are incredible!” I thought of them as intimidating: day or night, anyone could look in. I joked about “accidentally traumatizing the neighbors.” It was a line—until one hot summer night, while fresh out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, A. looked at me with that smile. The dangerous one.

“Let’s give them something to talk about.”

I rolled my eyes. But I didn’t close the drapes.
A. pulled the towel from my body in one slow swoop, held my hand, and led me in front of the window. The city below glittered—a thousand tiny lives, all busy, all indifferent. Surely no one was looking. Or maybe everyone was. Just the thought made my pulse race.

He kissed me there, arms circled around my waist, naked back pressed to cool glass. My whole body became nerves—part terror, part rush. I felt raw and real, not hidden. He whispered, “Do you want them to see?” and I almost said no—except my body gave a different answer. Every time his hands slid lower, every time I arched into his mouth, every time I saw the shimmer of movement—headlights, a far-off balcony, someone’s television—I shivered, wanting it all the more.

I was wet, embarrassingly so, before he even touched me between my thighs.
“Look,” he said, and I did—down at the city, up at the darkened glass of someone else’s living room. Just the possibility of being witnessed, of letting anyone see how much I wanted, cracked me wide open. I stood tall, hands splayed on the window, heart thudding.

He knelt behind me and licked me until I forgot to breathe, until I moaned so loud I worried the world might echo. But A. didn’t slow—he fingered me, then stood and entered me from behind, hard and deep. I pressed my breasts and cheek to the glass, skin tingling, everything balanced on the knife-edge between humiliation and hunger.
“Let them see how you come for me,” he growled.

When my orgasm hit, I thought I’d collapse. I didn’t care about my cries, didn’t care who caught the show. All I cared about was the incredible, illicit freedom. We finished, panting, slick with sweat, limbs tangled and sticky. Only then—when he slid down the glass to rest on the floor, my legs shaking—did we remember the open curtain.
I went to close it. He grabbed my wrist, pulled me close, kissed me wild. “You’re fucking radiant,” he said. “This is yours. This power, this body. Let them all see.”

Since that night the windows have stayed open more often. Maybe no one out there is watching… or maybe every light on in the tower next door is for us. I hope so. I want to share that liberation, that heat, the way shame slips away when you dare someone—everyone, maybe even yourself—to see you as you truly are.

Cherrie, I never thought I’d love being watched.
But with the right partner, in the right city, I’ve never felt more free.

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For the Voyeurs and the Vixens,
Still Blushing but Wide Open in the Night

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Dear Cherrie: Loft Lust – Our First Swinging Foursome Ignites Unbridled Passion

Dear Cherrie,

I’ve been a loyal reader of your blog for few now, devouring every post on swinging, BDSM, and those juicy polyamory tales that get my pulse racing. You always nail that raw, no holds barred vibe, and it inspired my wife and me to finally dip our toes into the scene. What happened last weekend blew our minds, and I had to write in to share hoping it’ll fire up your readers like your stories do for us.

We got an invite to this exclusive private party at a sprawling townhouse downtown, the kind where the air hums with anticipation and the faint scent of burning candles mixes with something muskier, more primal. My wife, Elena is a curvy lady with full hips that sway just right and long dark hair that flows down her back, wore a slinky red dress that hugged her like a second skin. I’m no slouch myself, I’m broad shouldered and work out often at the gym, but that night, I felt like we were both prey and predators in a playground.

The crowd was a mix of couples and singles, all eyes lingering, conversations laced with innuendo. We started slow, sipping wine by the bar, when this stunning woman approached. She was tall, maybe 5’10”, with olive skin, piercing green eyes, and curves that screamed confidence. Her name was Sofia, and her partner, Marcus, was right behind her. Also tall, built like a linebacker, with a grin that promised trouble. They bought us drinks, and before long, Elena was laughing at Marcus’s jokes, her hand brushing his arm, while Sofia leaned into me, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered about the ‘no rules’ upstairs lounge.

We migrated there as a group, the room dimly lit with plush couches and sheer curtains moving from hidden vents. Sofia didn’t waste time, she pulled Elena into a deep kiss, their lips parting with a soft moan that made my cock twitch instantly. Elena’s hands roamed up Sofia’s sides, cupping her breasts through the thin fabric of her top, thumbs circling nipples that hardened like pebbles. Marcus and I watched for a beat, then he clapped me on the shoulder, Your turn? I dove in, tasting Sofia’s mouth, her tongue slick and demanding as she ground against my thigh.

Clothes came off in a frenzy. Elena’s dress pooled at her feet, revealing lace panties already damp at the crotch. Marcus stripped her bra away, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers teased the other, making her arch and gasp. Sofia dropped to her knees in front of me, yanking my pants down to free my throbbing cock. She wrapped her lips around the head, swirling her tongue over the slit before taking me deep, her cheeks hollowing as she bobbed, saliva dripping down my shaft. I tangled my fingers in her hair, guiding her rhythm, the wet sounds mixing with Elena’s whimpers as Marcus fingered her pussy, two thick digits plunging in and out, stretching her wet folds.

We shifted to the couch. Elena on her back, legs spread wide as Marcus positioned himself between them. He place a condom and rubbed his cock along her lips, coating himself in her juices, then thrust in slow, filling her inch by inch until she cried out, nails digging into his back. I watched her pussy lips grip him tight, her hips bucking up to meet each pump. Sofia straddled Elena’s face, lowering her shaved pussy onto my wife’s eager mouth. Elena licked hungrily, tongue flicking over Sofia’s clit, lapping at the wetness that trickled down her chin.

The heat built fast. I placed my condom and knelt behind Sofia, spreading her ass cheeks to expose that tight pink hole. She was soaked, so I slid my cock into her pussy first, feeling her walls clench around me as she rocked back. Elena’s moans vibrated through Sofia, pushing her closer to the edge. Marcus pounded harder into Elena, his balls slapping against her with every drive, and soon she shattered, her body convulsing, pussy squirting around his cock in hot spurts.

We swapped. I pulled out of Sofia and aimed for Elena’s ass, she loves it there, prepped and ready. I eased in, the ring of muscle yielding to my girth, her heat enveloping me completely. Marcus took Sofia from behind now, his massive frame slamming into her, making her tits bounce. The room filled with our grunts and slaps of skin, sweat slick bodies colliding. Sofia came first, screaming as her pussy spasmed, juices flooding. I followed, burying deep in Elena’s ass and unloading, pulse after pulse of cum filling her until it leaked out around my shaft.

Marcus wasn’t done, he flipped Elena onto all fours, sliding back into her pussy while I recovered, then pulled Sofia over for a sloppy blowjob, her lips stretched around his thickness. Elena begged for more, and he gave it, railing her until she orgasmed again, her whole body shaking. Finally, he groaned, pulling out to shoot ropes of cum across her back and ass, marking her as we all collapsed in a heap, panting and spent.

Cherrie, it was pure bliss, no jealousy, just this deep trust and connection that made us closer than ever. Swinging unlocked something wild in us, and we’re already planning round two. Have you heard from other couples who’ve gone this route? Any tips for easing into BDSM next? Can’t wait for your next polyamory post!

—Swinging Newbies from the City

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