There is not even nearly enough erotica about switching, as far as I’m concerned, so I was absolutely over the moon when today’s guest blogger offered a post that honed in on that deliciously-hot moment that is the switch tipping point. When something turns, or catches fire, and suddenly the roles are exchanged. So much amazing kink is about power-exchange, after all, and doing this switching mid-fuck, or mid-interaction, is especially horny. I switch too, and personally some of my favourite moments have sat right on this tipping point. Hats off and huge thanks to Anna Syrma (who has written a gorgeous piece before about the honorific ‘goddess’), for capturing the hotness of switching so beautifully…
Find and follow Anna on BlueSky and Mastodon.
The switch tipping point
As a switch, a good deal of my favourite intimate interactions have involved an element of ebb and flow.
However, even in situations where I find myself firmly in one role or the other, there is always a moment when something – and somebody – gives, and everything comes tumbling down.
If I could bottle that feeling, I would – and it comes in many flavours.
The moment in a play fight when one participant just starts to overpower the other.
The moment a brat realises their desperation outweighs their contrariness.
The moment a kink you were hitherto ambivalent to suddenly clicks.
In a lot of these moments, it is the sense of inevitability that makes them so delicious – especially if you’re on the submissive side of it.
Oh no – they’re stronger than me and they’ve pinned my arms and their hands are so big they can just hold both of mine in one, leaving the other free to do whatever they want to me.
Oh no – I was really enjoying being a little shit but now it’s obvious just how riled up you are and this time, when told that if I ask nicely I’ll be allowed to touch myself, I will.
Oh no – I’d only joked about calling you that name before because it’s so cliché and I really don’t get what people see in it but this time, when I say it as “a joke”, I feel it right in my cunt.
These tiny moments transform the thrill of the chase into exquisite microcosm – no matter how much you squirm, sneer, or scoff, the person pushing you over the edge is going to force you to admit what you actually want. Whether you like it or not (but you do).
And, best of all, they’re (usually) going to give it to you.
Sometimes the tipping point can be a long time coming, the first domino falling days, months, years before.
One boyfriend, after I’d come particularly hard following a prolonged buildup, pulled me close to him and muttered “good girl” in my ear.
As we dozed in bed together, I could feel the wheels turning in the back of my brain – did I like that? Did I like that? I didn’t think I’d like that.
Oh no.
I brought it up as casually as I could muster during a walk not long afterwards.
“You know when you said ‘good girl’ that time? I actually kind of liked it…”
I don’t remember the exact response, but it definitely involved a good-natured chuckle and the conversation moving on to other, entirely unrelated things not long afterwards. Acknowledging, not dismissive, but not encouraging either. Indifferent.
He never called me a good girl again.
But someone else did.
So much of sex takes place in the brain, and while sometimes hunger outweighs the need for preparation, you almost always get more satisfaction from a meal you’ve taken the time to prepare.
Perhaps part of this penchant for back and forth is because I like winning.
But also, sometimes, losing.
(“Losing”)
And to work your way towards someone’s tipping point requires you to know them and their proclivities at least a little bit.
A little effort goes a long way.
I want to fuck your mind as well as your body.
And you’d better fuck mine.