Source: Ebony.com
USA – When you hear the word kink, what pops into your head? If you said Fifty Shades of Grey, then, baby, this article is for you.
Kink is SO much more than the whips and chains we’ve been spoon-fed by mainstream media. Sure, that might be part of the fun, but kink is really about freedom. Exploration. Liberation. It’s about stepping outside of the “vanilla” box and daring to ask yourself: What actually turns me on?
Kink is not the same as a fetish. A fetish usually centers on a specific object or body part that someone must have to get off. Kink, on the other hand, is a broader playground. It’s a sexual preference or practice that simply veers away from the “norm.” That could mean bondage, role-play, impact play, dominance, submission, or just using words in bed that make your toes curl.
Kink has been whitewashed to hell and back. Most of what we see in media is a sanitized, leather-clad version of kink that centers white folks, especially men. Rarely do we see us—Black women—at the center of kink stories, desires or communities. But quiet as it’s kept, there’s a whole thriving underground of Black women living loud in their kink. I talked to six of them and let me tell you: they’re not just participating, they’re leading, innovating and healing through kink.
Unlearning Shame, Reclaiming Power
“I didn’t realize I liked kink until after my divorce,” says Goddess Blue Moon, a 36-year-old dominatrix based in Tennessee. “I grew up super religious, so I always thought masturbation was wrong, let alone kinky sex. But once I started shedding the shame, I realized a lot of the things I was already doing were kink—I just didn’t have the language.”
For Blue Moon, kink is more than pleasure—it’s liberation. She created Holy House, a soft, pink, glitter-filled space that uses kink as a tool for sexual empowerment and HIV prevention. “There’s this idea that kink is always harsh or scary, but my page is pink and fluffy. I want people to see that there’s softness in domination, too.”
The Brat Who Found Her Power
Tatyannah, 29, found kink through a college field trip to the Exxxotica Expo. “I volunteered to be suspended in a rope bondage scene, and it changed my life. I’m usually in control in my day-to-day, so letting go like that was freeing.”
She identifies as a bratty submissive: “I love to talk shit while being tied up—like, ‘Is that the best you can do?’ It’s playful but powerful.”
Still, she says navigating kink spaces as a Black woman isn’t easy. “A lot of times, I’m the only one who looks like me in the room. I’ve learned to vet events through Instagram—to make sure it’s not just one token Black person in the promo pics.”
From Spankings to Self-Discovery
Aycee, who keeps her age close to the chest (and I respect it!), got into kink after meeting a dom on Tinder. “He was the first person to ever spank me—and I liked it. That opened the door.” She describes herself as a submissive with a brat streak. “I love praise. Worship. And I’ve definitely topped people too, so maybe I’m a switch.”
She says Black women need to let go of the idea that pleasure is deviant. “Pleasure is in everything we do—when we eat, put on lotion, walk out the door. Kink helped me realize that I don’t need a relationship to validate my sexuality. Sometimes, I just want good sex and that’s okay.”
Visibility as Resistance
For Sapphire, a 36-year-old podcast host and self-described “selective hoe,” kink is deeply spiritual. “I’ve had healing sex—like, truly transformational experiences. And I only want to sleep with people who understand aftercare now. That’s non-negotiable.”
As a Black woman in an interracial polyamorous relationship, she’s faced her share of judgment. “People called me a race traitor and said I let colonizers disrespect me. But kink is about trust. My dom just happens to be white—it’s not about race play or slavery. It’s about someone I love honoring my body.”
She now uses her platform to normalize Black kink and broaden the narrative. “We’re not all video vixens or trauma survivors. We’re out here building safe, sacred sexual spaces.”
The Submissive Who Found Herself
Valika, 40, came to kink by accident—through an audiobook series laced with BDSM themes. “I always thought kink was painful or weird, but that story made it sensual. And when I went to a local panel and heard other Black folks talking about it, I thought, ‘Okay, maybe I belong here.’”
She identifies as a submissive and exhibitionist. “I’m still figuring it all out, but it’s been liberating to say: I want more.”
Building a Life in Leather and Love
Candy Liquor, 46, known in the scene for her long-term experience and insight, wants Black women to know they don’t have to ask permission to enjoy kink. “I’ve been doing this for over a decade, and I’m still learning,” she says. “This isn’t something you master overnight. It’s something you grow with.”
For her, kink is deeply tied to healing and spiritual alignment. “I pray before my scenes. I meditate. This isn’t just play—it’s sacred.” She adds, “You get to define your pleasure on your terms. That’s the power in it.”
What Black Women in Kink Want You to Know
Across every interview, one thing was clear: kink isn’t about being broken—it’s about being bold. “People assume you must have trauma to like this. That’s not true,” says Blue Moon. “I’m here because it brings me joy—not because I’m trying to escape something.” For Aycee, it’s about reclaiming desire. “We need to normalize Black women wanting sex, pleasure, intimacy—for themselves. Not for a man. Not for approval. For you.”
Tatyannah echoed the need for visibility: “Don’t let the lack of representation make you feel like kink isn’t for us. We’ve always been here. We just haven’t been centered.” And when it comes to getting started, the message was unanimous—start slow, but start. Whether you follow sex educators online, attend a munch, or crack open a book on kink, there’s no single right way to begin.
These women are rewriting the rules. They’re not waiting for permission, and they’re not hiding behind shame or societal respectability. They are claiming kink as a space for joy, healing, and reclamation. Over and over, they reminded me that kink isn’t just about sex—it’s about agency. It’s about saying, “My body, my rules.”
Whether through domination or submission, spanking or silence, each woman found her way back to herself. And listen—this doesn’t mean you have to jump into latex on a Tuesday (unless that’s your thing). It means embracing curiosity, consent, and communication. It means letting liberation lead.
So, if you’re a Black woman reading this thinking, maybe I am a little curious…—then baby, welcome. There’s a whole community waiting to embrace you—with ropes, with affirmations, with open arms. Because yes, kink can look like whips. But it can also look like healing.
