The Infamous Car Story, Part 5

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Continued from here

I had barely processed what my boyfriend had said when he landed a rather harsh smack on my ass. He has these hands. I can’t really explain it. They were maybe about average sized, but for some reason the force of blows he delivered distributed itself within them horribly. For this reason, he usually used his non-dominant hand and reserved her dominant one for appropriate occasions. And, even so, he could only get one or two hits in with that hand before it simply became unbearable.

This was one of those occasions. 

I cried out, bucking against the armrest as the blow landed. My entire ass stung, the pain practically radiating after where he hit in violent heat. Elle’s fingers on my clit pushed together and pinched it, eliciting a series of squirms that melted into exhausted groaning. 

“Did it feel good, sweetie?” Elle asked. I could barely muster words, but I had certainly been tugged out of any sort of post-orgasmic bliss and back into the real world. “I bet you’re mighty thirsty right now from all the screaming, hm?”

Apparently, I’d screamed. I nodded feebly and received a smack from what was thankfully my boyfriend’s non-dominant hand, “answer her correctly.”

“Yes, Miss,” I choked out. Now using words, I realized that my throat did feel raw. I hoped no one had heard me. But, from the absence of any sirens or bright lights, I assumed we would be fine.

My boyfriend patted my ass with a smile, “maybe we should go get her something to eat. Seeing as it’s all about little fucking Ivy’s needs tonight.” I hated that taunting. They knew I hated it. If they would have let me, I would have gone down on them. I would have pleasured them. But, they were intentionally denying themselves and then blaming me for it. The effect was immensely frustrating. 

Elle’s hand slipped from my clit and up to my ass, “you hungry, dear?” I shook my head and practically buried my face in the cup-holder when my boyfriend offered, “I think my little brat wants ice cream.”

At the time, little girl play was something he had started to bring up and it was something I was reluctant to try. Respecting my wishes against a foray into it, he simply resorted to taunting me with it whenever he could. I groaned felt a blush rising in my cheeks.

Elle’s hand left my ass for a second before colliding with it once more, “is that it, honey? Do you want ice cream on your special little night where you get whatever you want?”

“I guess,” I shrugged.

My boyfriend smacked my ass again. Hard. “You guess?”

“Someone’s mighty ungrateful,” Elle chimed in.

I shook my head, “I…I mean, if you guys want to.”

“You guys?” My boyfriend landed a few more spanks, “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are.”

“I’m…I’m sorry,” I choked out, “Sir, um, MIss, do you want to?”

Elle laughed, “Ivy, we asked you. And since tonight is all about you…”

“I’ll make you cum. Both of you. Really.”

“Don’t fucking interrupt, Ivy,” she smacked up near the top of my ass again, causing me to cry out, “I don’t think so, dear. We wouldn’t want to be selfish on your special little night. And it isn’t even all about you, is it? It’s about this.” She flicked her thumb over my clit before continuing, “but I’d like to know if the little whore attached to this cunt would like to get ice cream.” I went to open my mouth and she slipped her other hand over it, “and before you answer, Ivy, I want you to remember some things. I’m helping you out here. I’m being your best fucking friend. So don’t you forget manners. And if you don’t give me a definitive answer, I swear to God.”

She removed her hand and I answered, “yes, Miss, I would like to get ice cream. Thank you.”

“Good girl,” my boyfriend sneered behind me, “and where are we going?”

“I don’t…” I began and before I could even finish they had started to spank me again. by now, my ass was raw, tender. I could practically feel how red it was and how badly it had begun to sting. My eyes were watering up with tears when I finally picked a nearby place.

“And what are you going to get?” Elle asked. 

I bit my lower lip, “I forget what it’s called.”

The barrage of spanks that followed from both of them was dizzying. “How did you forget that?” Smack. Smack. “I don’t know, really.” Smack. “I think she just wants this.” Smack. “She’s holding out clearly.” Smack. Smack. “You’re only making this worse for yourself, slut.” It continued. I could barely think.

“I don’t know,” I finally blurted out, “but it has nuts in it.” I practically yelled it. The spanking stopped. There was a long silence and I assumed they were looking at each other before they both burst out laughing. 

They only untied me once we reached the place and allowed me the opportunity to straighten out my hair before we walked into the shop. It was basically empty and, as I walked, I felt the sting in my ass. They both smirked at me when I asked the guy behind the counter what the name of the one with the nuts in it was. 

Overcome by curiosity, I excused myself to the bathroom. Once inside, I turned, lifted up my skirt, and looked over my shoulder into the mirror.

To be continued.

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(Note: This should be a general note for all posts of this nature. The acts described herein are consensual. I was comfortable with the direction that the encounter went in and I was equipped with a safe word if I felt any of my limits being pushed or anything of that nature.) 

I had been horribly bad. He had tried to spank me and I had kicked him away. I winced. I braced myself for something horrible.

But I should’ve known he wasn’t the type to go crazy on me right there. I’m sure some would have just resorted to hitting so hard my teeth rattled in my mouth. But, he knew that sort of punishment would achieve nothing in the long-run. He knew the way I learned and he knew exactly what would get to me.

And for this reason, he decided to ignore me. He simply turned away, walked over to my desk, sat down, and checked his email. It was literally the worst punishment he could inflict, the most harmful, the most cutting, the most effective. And he knew it. And I knew it. And he knew that I knew it.

I crawled over beside him and knelt by his left leg. I hoped he would find the act endearing enough to stop punishing me. But it wasn’t nearly that easy. I sat there in silence for a good ten minutes before he started petting my head, a good fifteen before he unzipped his jeans and told me to crawl under the desk.

He fucked my face so hard I cried. Partially from the strain on my jaw. Partially from knowing how bad I had been. It was an almost wonderful release, punctuated by his snarl that little brats like me didn’t even deserve to have his cock in their mouths. 

He finished on my face and chest. He had me sit there with it on me, its initial heat cooling against my skin. Tears mixed with cum. I drank in the moment and realized just how much I belonged to him then. 

Soon, he pulled me up into his lap and cleaned me off. He held me, calmed me down, kissed my forehead. I choked out a thank you. He just pulled me closer and let me bury my face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. To average society, I’m sure, the entire ordeal makes no sense.

We had an understanding. There was security in our risks. There was freedom in limitation. There was trust. There was emotion.  There was pure, brutal honesty in the strangeness of our needs and our suffering. And from that there was a beauty in just being, in some odd way, completely and totally understood.

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But, Daddy, why are you taking this perfectly sexy picture and setting it in the fucking bathroom

And with that, I commence “normally sexy porn ruined by the weird or inappropriate or nonsensical setting” day. Feel free to leave suggestions in the askbox. 

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“But, Daddy, I said I was very, very sorry." 

Corner-time can be rough. 

scylvendi:

get daddy his belt.

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“Just checking to make sure it’s still there, Daddy.”

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The little girl play I engage in is so beyond just the “taboo"ness of it, like most of the other practices I enjoy. (What’s the point of shock value in the privacy of your own room, even with the thin walls?)

It’s the feeling of being nurtured that accompanies it that draws me in. For a masochist/submissive, I tend to freak out if I am not able to hold the reigns on my life and completely know what’s going on and what the outcomes of things will be. The unknown doesn’t scare me so much as the surrender of control of things which I realize are so completely out of my control.

While I certainly experience this release of control while submitting generally, there is something about being a "little girl” that gives an even greater release. I feel little. I feel dependent. I feel this overwhelming surrender to the powers that be and an amazing sense of letting go without incurring the sort of consequences that I am afraid of coming across were I to become less disciplined and control-oriented in other areas of my life. 

In the role of the “little girl”, I’m forced to let go in a different, maybe even deeper way, than when I simply submit. I’m cared for, I lose my control, I no longer have responsibilities. It’s an incredibly relaxing experience. 

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In this house, slutty little girlys get what’s coming to them.