Month: January 2012

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Jack and Jitters, Part 2

(Note: What is to follow here depicts some consensual nonconsent. In no way was I ever actually not consenting to what was going on this evening, nor was I coerced into these acts by physical force. While certain acts depicted can be completely considered to be illegal and wrong in a very different context, SG and I are two consenting adults with a mutual understanding about the dynamic of our relationship and the fact that I could have terminated these actions anytime I wanted. While alcohol was involved, I was coherent and completely aware of the situation, not to mention I had the equivalent of what you’d rub around a baby’s mouth when it has a toothache. Seriously. Sober, safe, sane. Consensual.) 

I was feeling a little bit bratty by the time I pulled the nightgown over my head. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with the fact that he’d made me go through the formality, so I decided I wasn’t going to make anything too easy for him either.

I took the glass out of his hand and took a sip. Then another. I set it back down on my bedside table. He reached for my hand, I took a step back and cocked a brow, lowered my head, raised my eyes. He reached out again, this time grabbing my arm, and swung me over to the bed.

SG has a sort of favorite way he likes to hold me where I’m bent over backwards on the side of the bed. The bed is on risers that put the mattress about a yard off the ground, so really just my shoulder-blades and up touch it. This time, he pushed me hard and I pushed back. He tried to pin my arms down, I struggled against his grasp. The second he reached down to pull the nightgown up, I used my free hand to try to shove his away. He gathered both hands above my head under one of his and proceeded to try to use a sheet to tie my wrists. Obviously, that’s just way too much fabric.

“My stockings are in the second drawer from the top,” I said, briefly breaking character. He smiled through his, reached in and grabbed a pair of black stockings. He secured my wrists together impossibly. Freaking Eagle Scouts.

He held onto the ends of the stockings with one hand, yanking my arms up further across the mattress to the point that I was forced onto my toes. He reached down between my legs and his fingers brushed over my lips and I closed my legs. “No,” I breathed. (Once again, dear readers: safe, sane, consensual, sober.)

“What did you just say?” He shoved my legs apart, holding one open and trapping the other between his. 

“No,” I groaned again and tried to close my legs. He reached down and smacked my cunt. Hard, sharply. I cried out.

It’s strange. I wanted him and because I wanted him I wanted to refuse him. I know it doesn’t entirely make sense. But it’s like every time I said “no” and every time I refused him, I was bringing more of him out and into this. And the more of that part of him came out, the more of that part of me came out. It’s carnal. It’s completely and totally animalistic. 

And it was also a demonstration. It was a trust fall. And as he pulled the stockings harder, pulling my body taut and arching my back more dramatically, I knew he’d catch me.

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Jack and Jitters, Part 1

On the last evening SG and I were planning to spend off-the-radar, we attempted to go out somewhere. However, everywhere we went was either closed or just plain lame. And so we decided we’d “spend the night in”. It sounded vaguely domestic.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” I began as I picked up the bottle of Jack I had in my room. “I’ll put a nightgown on and we’ll have an evening like the Drapers.” I poured out a glass and took a sip.

The Southern Gentleman snorted, “and of course that starts with drinking.”

“Just like everything else in Mad Men,” I held out the glass to him and started to remove my clothing.

I was down to my sweater and bra when he set the glass down and came over, placing his hands on my hips. He kissed down my neck, pulled the sweater off for me, unhooked the bra. I reached for the buckle of his belt and he stepped back, smirking. “Go put your nightgown on.”

“Oh, come on,” I groaned.

In Plain Sight

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I’m not huge on public or semi-public stuff usually. I just get all nervous about being discovered and that usually completely ruins it for me because I just keep thinking about that.

Some of my earlier sexual encounters were in a car by a lake, but there’s a huge line between that and some stories I’ve heard of people doing it on park benches. Seriously. How? How do you guys manage that?

But, the Southern Gentleman and I had a few semi-public encounters that I’m super proud of. Because I only freaked out a little. Oh, neuroses. 

The first was when we were taking a shower. I had just washed the last of the shampoo out of my hair and he, having considerably less hair, was waiting against the wall of the shower stall for me to finish. I grabbed his hand, pulled him against me, and started to kiss him. I’ve done things in showers before, but what set this apart was when the door opened and in walked maintenance to clean the toilets. My eyes widened and I put a finger over my lips. I went to push him away, but he just put his hand over my mouth and kept going. Such a good move.

The second was in a lecture hall. I had stopped into the building to drop something off and we went to pass through the hall because it was a faster route to the exit that would take us to our next stop for the day. (Yes, we actually got outside sometimes). Halfway through the hall, I stopped, looked around, and asked him, “do you think there’s any cameras in here?” He scanned the walls and shook his head. I smirked, took my coat off, dropped my bag, and he met me halfway, grabbing my arm and pulling me into him.

The specifics of the third I cannot fully reveal without revealing my location. But it’s the most public of them all and we were, for all intents and purposes, outdoors in the early-evening chill in what can basically be considered a sculpture. People were probably about five inches from us without knowing I was in there, giving a blowjob. It was incredibly terrifying and also completely hot.

So, um, yeah. That happened.

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“So, have I mentioned you’re really good at choking me?” I asked the Southern Gentleman on Thursday morning while we were still in bed. He was curled into me, I was laying on my back. I like this position, I feel like I’m simultaneously cradling someone and being cradled. Spooning sometimes feels a little alienating and disproportionate to me. 

The Southern Gentleman chuckled. I shrugged, “because, like, you’re really good at choking me.” His hand settled over my throat. I shook my head. “Come on, stop it. Number one, it is too early for choking. Number two, it is too early for choking. Number three, you’re going to get me worked up. Number four, it is too early for choking.”

He moved his hand from my neck and started kissing it. Soon, he’s rolled over on top of me, hands yanking up my t-shirt. He leans down and bites the skin right below my navel. I huff. “You’re going to get me worked up. Stop it.” There was that winning grin as his hand snaked down my sweatpants.

I reached down and pulled his hand out before attempting to push him off, “seriously, too early.”

He pulled my shirt over my head and started playing with my nipples. I tried to push his hands away, but I was starting to really enjoy it. His mouth joined in. I was moaning, I was grinding against his leg. He was smiling like a jackal against my breast, looking up at me as he did.

“Too early,” I sighed once more as his hand moved back up to my throat. You can’t say I didn’t try.

He chuckled and his hand moved back down over the waistband of my sweatpants, “then tell me you’re not getting wet.”

“That’s not the point I was making,” I huffed, “of course I’m wet. It’s just too…” He applied pressure. I gasped. My fingers dug into my sheets. His other hand snaked down to my cunt.

I’ve probably mentioned he’s really good at choking me.

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It was super awkward, confessedly, when the Southern Gentleman first arrived at my place. There was – and hopefully I am not putting words in his mouth – a general pervasive feeling of wanting to jump each others’ bones. 

But, there’s things like formalities. And so we greeted each other with a hug, we spent a little time discussing our holidays, we shot the breeze.

Eventually, I moved over to the corner of my room to fetch something. He followed me. I’ve noticed that men tend to do this thing when they want to start something but words wouldn’t be smooth enough. They just start encroaching on you. It sort of helped that I was in the corner.

I turned and said something to him, something completely vague and a little snarky but not having to do with the fact that he had been gradually closing in on me. He just reached down, took my chin, tilted my head up, and started kissing me. Our hands roamed, settled into comfortable permutations on each others’ bodies, his eased up my shirt then back around my back then up into my hair and around again. He shoved me against the wall and my rear hit the windowsill. He pulled my head back by my hair and started biting my neck. Somewhere in the middle of pulling my shirt off, I suppose he realized that we were right in front of an open window and pushed me over to the bed.

I don’t know why, but somehow his clothes seem to manage to stay on much longer than mine. But, I kind of like the contrast.

What was I saying about formalities?

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The Southern Gentleman and I had some time to ourselves for the past few days. It looked a liiiiittle like this. Except, we somehow managed to watch some Seinfeld and get some fresh air. I promise.

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SG and I took a few days away.

I’m back now and I hope you’ve all been well, tumblr.

Various texts today from the Southern Gentleman

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SG: So, Iowa today. RON PAUL!
SG: Seriously if Rick Santorum wins this thing I am punishing you when I see you tomorrow.
SG: Packing up, leaving early tomorrow morning. Things are looking good for Santorum. I hope your pussy is scared.
SG: Santorum won by 18 votes. I’ve got some feelings I need to work out. See you tomorrow.
SG: 😀

Wow.

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I’m not sure what it was, but after those 10 facts about me, you’ve all become a ton more participatory.

Maybe it’s the idea that somewhere, floating around tumblr, there’s a picture of my breasts. That’s been the nature of a lot of my asks. And, like I said, happy hunting.

But, a lot of you are just curious. You’re asking questions, you’re looking for advice. It’s really sweet and really wonderful. I wish I could say I’m an expert on all of this, but I’m really not. 

One of you even sent me a nude. For the sake of her privacy, I’m keeping it to myself. But, as I told you, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Really, just stunning.

I sincerely appreciate all the love you all give me, but I have never seen my tumblr so busy. It’s shocking and I am immensely flattered.

<3, Ivy