Anonymous question:
“I recently realized that I have a humiliation kink—like, I actually get turned on by being called names or degraded during sex. I’ve never even thought of myself as kinky before, but after stumbling into this by accident (thank you, spicy erotica), it just clicked. The problem is… how do I even begin to tell my partner this? We’ve had a pretty ‘vanilla’ sex life for years, and I’m scared this will sound weird or off-putting.”
There’s a scene in Succession that I can’t stop thinking about.
It’s Roman Roy—sharp-tongued, emotionally stunted, and perpetually uncomfortable in his skin—on the phone with Gerri, the family’s general counsel.
She’s older, powerful, composed, and maybe the only woman who seems to unnerve him. As they talk on the phone one night, Roman starts touching himself. Gerri, disgusted but amused, calls him a “little slime puppy.”
And that’s it. Roman Roy, billionaire failson with a long line of beautiful women he can’t have sex with, suddenly becomes aroused by something that would horrify many.
He’s not turned on by softness or closeness or even nudity. He’s turned on by shame. By humiliation. By being seen in his mess.
This moment is a mirror of a very real human truth: what turns us on is rarely logical. And it often isn’t polite.
A humiliation kink, sometimes called “erotic humiliation,” is a form of consensual play where shame, embarrassment, or degradation becomes arousing.
This can range from name-calling or being “used,” to more psychological scenarios like role reversal or power play. It exists on a spectrum and is always about consent, safety, and psychological context, not harm or cruelty.
And for many people, it’s not even about pain or punishment—it’s about permission.
Permission to let go of control. To release social expectations. To be wanted in spite of (or because of) the parts of yourself you’ve learned to hide.
Psychologically, humiliation kinks can stem from early experiences where shame and desire became entangled—though this doesn’t mean something bad happened.
Some people crave humiliation because they’re always in control in real life. Others are working through repressed desires or cultural messaging that made sexuality feel taboo or “wrong.”
In Roman Roy’s case, it’s not hard to trace the breadcrumbs:
So when Gerri calls him “disgusting,” it lands like a balm—not because it hurts, but because it matches his internal narrative. It’s the first time shame and arousal co-exist in a way that works.
We’re not static beings. Who you were at 25—what you liked, what you could like—isn’t who you are now. Desire matures. It gets more layered. And that’s a beautiful thing!
In fact, knowing yourself—really getting curious about what arouses you, even when it scares you—is the cornerstone of a healthy sex life.
What’s tricky is when what you discover feels like it doesn’t “fit” the relationship you’re in.
That’s where differentiation comes in.
Differentiation is the ability to stay connected to your partner while staying true to yourself. It’s saying, “This is who I am now,” without demanding they change, and without shrinking who you are for fear of being rejected.
A secure, functioning relationship isn’t one where you never have differences—it’s one where you can express them without fear of backlash.
Where your partner might say, “Tell me more,” instead of “What the hell?”
So what does that look like?
Try something like:
“I read something recently that really surprised me… I realized that certain language or power dynamics can actually turn me on. It’s new for me, but it felt exciting in a way I didn’t expect. I want to explore it more—and maybe even with you—if you’re open.”
Or:
“I’m learning that what I enjoy isn’t always what I thought I should enjoy. I want to be honest with you, even if it feels a little awkward.”
If they react with curiosity? Amazing. If they need time? Also okay.
The point is: your desire isn’t wrong.
The more clearly you can articulate what draws you to it—what you want to feel, what it gives you emotionally—the easier it will be for your partner to step into that world with you.
Because it’s not about the content—not the words, the roles, the scenarios.
It’s about the why.
What does it feel like to be degraded? Do you feel more wanted? Do you get to shut off your inner critic? Do you feel more alive, more in control by letting go?
Curiosity is the bridge. Invite your partner to cross it with you.
And if you’re craving a place to talk through this more deeply, that’s exactly what my coaching is for. Book a 1:1 session if you want support navigating the wild, wonderful terrain of desire.
