Month: October 2011

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The Southern Gentleman asked to see my porn last night. No, not a porn I’ve been in (there are none). Rather, my porn collection. He wanted to see a video from the stash of things I watch.

I don’t watch a ton of videos, but I have a few gems I go to. The issue is he wanted to see “my favorite”. I don’t have a favorite, but the one that instantly popped into my mind presented a few problems. It was very kinky. It included James Deen, so it was kind of male-focused as well. Despite his proclivities, SG doesn’t watch a lot of kinky stuff (according to him). He also tends to focus on stuff that is really female-focused.

Not to mention I was uncomfortable. Sharing your porn is like sharing a piece of yourself. It’s a reflection of your taste and your libido. I was worried he’d be weirded out by it. But, he coaxed me into it. I was coaxed, not coerced. I mentioned that I was actually experiencing anxiety over him liking it. I’m rarely that insecure about my sexuality with him. To which he replied, “calm down, I’m sure I’ll like it.”

I was also juggling some feelings of ambivalence after his recent breakup. Sure, they had been poly and that wasn’t their undoing, but I wasn’t sure how to maneuver the waters after the entire thing. I didn’t just want to swoop in, but I wanted to show support. So, this was the first time we’d been vaguely sexual beyond kidding around after the entire thing. 

We started the video. I was blushing at first and we were awkwardly making jokes about it, constantly sort of checking in to make sure the other was actually enjoying this as well. We then sort of switched into a sort of director’s cut mode, making more definitive commentary about the way James Deen was acting. He was impressed with the guy. Impressed.

And then he suddenly got serious. 

“Ivy, I want to humiliate you like this,” he said, “I want to abuse you so casually.”

He got it. He got the dynamic right on the head. 

Then came the flood of filth, the dirty-talking, the threats, the promises. The “do you own any rope?”, my “nope”, the “oh, I will”. He was inspired. Damn you, Cosmo, for being right. It is helpful to watch porn with a guy. It’s like when Caesar visited the statue of Alexander the Great. If you weren’t already ambitious, you are now.

He used the word “invoke” at one point. Please don’t tell me that’s not hot. Please.

When it ended, there was a sort of awkward pause. We kind of laughed about it. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Now what?” he asked.

I shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“You want to watch another?”

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Dear. Lord.

bendingsubmission:

This is why I said the black dress and nothing more. For this moment, when we hear the laughter of the party through a closed door. It’s good we’re in the drawing room. Running my fingers across you until I almost draw a quiet orgasm out of you is appropriate. I’ll stop just before you swear and shake. We are guests after all, and I have something in mind that doesn’t allow for you to let go.

We’ll return to the party so I can watch you walk the floor. Engaging in polite conversation, knowing you aren’t listening. Knowing the longer you are made to wait the deeper that ache gets, until the shortness of that dress becomes a liability. Part of me would love for them to see what I’ve created with my fingers. For them to see your secret slowly wind down your legs, past the hem. But that’s for me.

I’ll leave the ghost of my hand echoing beneath the dress, knowing how furiously your cunt is betraying you. Knowing you can’t stop looking at my fingers around the tumbler of scotch I’m holding. Knowing you can still feel them against you. Knowing that standing here with all these people, on fire and nearly dripping in a short black dress, has your heart pounding. Knowing each beat of it is felt deepest between your legs. Knowing each pound is filling your body and pushing your secret closer to discovery. Knowing the thought of being exposed this way has just broken a wall in you, sending rivulets down your thigh to merge into one thick bead just below the edge of the fabric.

I’ll let it and you hang there.

Then we’ll take our leave, with polite goodbyes. As you walk with me to the door, that bead will break and run down your leg. You will want to run to the car, to match the pace of it. Once we are inside, you can hike that dress to show me the paint you made for me to work with. I’ll bring it slowly back to the source while you tell me how that bead was your undoing. How easily it cracked a wall you so carefully built, but never really wanted.

I’ll tell you how I saw it break you. How it made me smile to watch you undo yourself. How I can feel everything that was behind the wall, pent up, waiting to be released. How I’m fighting my own nature to take it with a stray brush of my fingertip against the center of your ache. How I simply won’t let that happen. How we will drive and I will slowly push your lust everywhere but the center of your ache, and watch as more pours from you. How this maddening act will make me swell and you writhe, pleading in a quiet voice for me to pull over and fuck you. How I’ll drive on, taking pleasure in watching you plead after hiding this for so long. How watching you will make my cock so thick it hurts. How I’ll hold this thick ache from you until we’re somewhere deserving of everything you had behind that wall. How I think I could breathe on you and watch you break. How you will break on this thick ache the instant it starts to split you. How I’ll bury it in one furious stroke and watch your breath leave you. How both you and this gorgeous pouring cunt will sob when I do. How cruel these last four miles will be.

Followers.

Standard

New and old. But, suddenly, very many more new. 

I’m diving into a bunch of homework and reading right now. You should definitely go hit up my ask box so I can procrastinate multitask.

Seriously, just stick it in my ask.

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I felt her pull my jeans down.

Her palm was on my ass quickly, smacking it with rough, rapid hits. “What the hell are these?” she asked as she tugged on my panties. They were white, cotton, something of a bikini cut. 

“I’m sorry,” I managed to gasp out as she hit my ass a few more times, “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“These are completely unacceptable.” She was hitting even harder, “did you think I would like this?” She managed to contain a chuckle, trying to keep up the fearsome role she had taken on.

“I didn’t know!” I cried out and tugged on the scarf that held my wrists together and to the headboard. My head was starting to swim. After two months abroad, it had been a while since someone had done this to me. I was sinking into that space already. My thoughts were getting a lot simpler, my voice had a new quality to it.

She smiled and reached around on the floor for a minute before coming up with something I couldn’t see from my position. “I like lace,” she said calmly as she started to slice my panties off of me with the scissors she had just gotten, “but I don’t like thongs.”

I moaned as she pulled them off and the air touched my cunt, its wetness betraying my pouts as I said, “I have lace panties.” Another moan came as she traced a finger down my slit before going to pull my jeans back up. “What are you…?”

“Maybe if you’d have worn them, I’d keep going,” she chuckled as I groaned in protest.

I realized I was probably going to have to beg.

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Basically. 

But that doesn’t mean I like handing control over to everyone. I am in no way chewing one of my followers out when I say that a comment made on a post I made about being sassy to someone who doesn’t own me got me thinking. Paraphrasing, the follower said that he was grateful that ballgags were around to put bratty subs like me in their place.

This was in reference to a person in my frat, who had told me that liked to dominate women, and who I decided to be a little mean to. Once again, I was not terribly offended by what the follower said, and I got the joke. But, it reminded me that I’m not submissive to everyone. And thank God.

There are people with terribly submissive personalities. I don’t think I’m one of these people. I consider myself driven. I believe that I am intelligent. So, no, when some guy makes a cheesy comment to me, I have a right to be sassy and not just melt into the kid’s arms at the first mention of interest. And I exercise it. 

I’m not owned by everyone. I’m not submissive to everyone. That’s what makes the experience of someone being able to consensually tackle my strength and control me so powerful.

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“What is it you women want
you want to be strung up with hoods and gags and blindfolds
stretched out on a board with weights on your chest
you want me to sew your legs to the bed
and pour gasoline on you
and light you on fire
is that what I have to do to keep you?”

– Charles Mee, Big Love.

Flirttexting.

Chat

Guy in my frat: Sorry I couldn’t be your date to that thing.
Me: Date? I was inviting you and a bunch of other people as friends.
Him: You’re the one who used the word date.
Me: Only I didn’t.
Him: I was joking.
Me: Sure.
Him: To the joke or to a date?
Me: Smooth.
Him: Don’t hate the player, hate the game.
Me: Too bad you have no game.

I think I’ve found a new hobby. This sort of back-and-forth continued for a good chunk of the evening. He once told me after some liquid confidence that he liked to dominate women. I told him he couldn’t handle me. Apparently, he took this as a challenge.
I’ll just need to brainstorm some sort of nickname for him.