October 2012 – Page 7

Continued from here.

The Southern Gentleman has a theory about the types of men I’m into. Basically, they fall into one of two categories: a) charismatic Aryans and b) what he calls “effete feminists” but is honestly just cause-oriented hipster-types.

I told him I was going to see Penthouse and before I left he proceeded to ask me, “so, which type is he?”

“You’re a jerk,” I replied.

“Feminist it is, then.”

Thus, when Penthouse texted SG from my phone, he decided to include the fact that he straddled the two categories.

And then proceeded to solicit advice.

“What’s he saying?” I asked.

Penthouse smirked, “he’s saying to feign indifference.” He yanked on the rope, pulling my crotchrope tighter, and I gasped. “But I think I like this better.”

Craftsmate tied me up like this once and I soaked right through my panties.

Just thought I’d share, okay?

Something I’m very passionate about is in danger because of some bullshit. It’s a project I’ve been working on for a cause I very much believe in, but there are some people who don’t want to see it happen.

I found out about some pretty shady things that were going on yesterday and wound up spending nearly the whole day in my pajamas, at my computer, sending emails and trying to straighten stuff out.

That guy from my frat was actually very kind and sat with me, calmed me down and told me I would just need to let go until it was straightened out. I was in the right, he reassured me, but I had done all that I could do in the present moment.

“Now, come on, I’ll make you a gin and tonic and we’ll go to the convenience store.”

“Can I shower first?” I asked, “I’d love the dignity of being able to wear a bra before 5 pm.”

After I showered, I headed over to his place, where he proceeded to give me a sticker for my hard work and then pour a gin and tonic, lime and all, into one of those portable coffee cups so I could take it with me to the store.

Call it trashy, but I found it to be a very sweet gesture.

Continued from here.

Penthouse sat on his bed, smiling down at me. I was hogtied at the foot of it, nude, rope slung through my crotch. Every so often, he pulled on the stray end of rope threaded through his bedpost, tightening the knot against my clit.

He noticed I had gotten a text from a certain Gentleman.

A certain Southern Gentleman.

He smirked.

“You can respond, go ahead,” I murmured, already halfway to subspace. Penthouse picked up the phone and responded with a greeting and an update on the situation.

SG responded right away.

And that’s how Penthouse met the Southern Gentleman.

Kind of.

stefanradev-foto:

“Rope marks ”
Model: Petya Gencheva

Continued from here.

Penthouse had undressed me and was starting to unwind a ton of rope. He started with the harness he had put me in during the mini-munch. I smiled to myself as he worked, still figuring I had the upper hand. After all, I wanted to be tied up.

My grin faded when I felt him pull the rope between my legs from the back and tie a knot in it. My eyes widened when he pulled the other end up through the front of the harness, causing the rope to tighten up against my exposed cunt and the knot to line up with my clit.

It was his turn to smirk when he gave the rope a few test pulls.

“Feel good?” He asked and I blushed, looking away. He reached up and mussed my hair. "Go get on the bed and let me do your legs, then.“

Because the newspapers will say a male politician “spoke” about the economy, but a female politician “complained” about the economy and because people like Tony Abbott will look at their watches because a woman has something to say about it, I am a feminist.

etchersketch:

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Prime Minister of Australia kicking ass and taking names (mostly Tony Abbott’s). [x]

Continued from here.

When I heard Penthouse starting to come in, I adjusted myself somewhat, lowering the sheets here and there and raising my ass a bit. It was partially to just be a brat and partially to get out of actually having to take a nap.

“Sweetheart?” I heard him say from the doorway. “Are you trying to tease me?”

I kept my face down in the pillow to hide my smirk. “Maybe.”

After a few footsteps, I felt him climb into bed and thread his fingers through my hair, tugging my head back.

It’s kind of funny how winning sometimes looks.

People who know me tend to equate me with strength. Which I definitely appreciate, as it’s something I pride myself in being.

But, I think I’ve developed such a thick skin that it is hard for the people around me to realize how I can hurt. Because I do believe that underneath the resilience, the self-reliance, the nose to the grindstone sort of attitude I have, the flippancy and all of that is a lot of sensitivity and a lot of sweetness that maybe gets overlooked. My therapist says I have trouble being really, honestly vulnerable with people, especially when feelings are at stake. I agree. I also simply do not allow myself to be anything less than strong. I’ve got this headspace where I can’t show people my actual vulnerabilities because to do so would be unacceptable.

Part of submission that appeals, then, is that ability to be vulnerable. To be sweet and gentle and devoted and sensitive and not have that mistaken for weakness. Maybe it’s partially a coping mechanism – a safe frame within which I can actually be vulnerable rather than in a normal life situation. But, I don’t know. It helps me express a lot of what I keep buried under the surface.

My first meeting was Friday morning and it went exceptionally well.

I was tired, nonetheless, after having stayed up with Penthouse the night before. So, when I got back to his place, he ushered me into his bedroom.

“You’re taking a nap,” he said.

As a child, I was terrible at nap time. My teacher in preschool had to give me another activity to do after I would stay up and try to get the children around me to stay up with me. So, unless I am falling all over myself tired, I don’t take naps even now.

I pouted. “I can’t just nap."

He made sure to watch me get into bed and went to the door. "Close your eyes, I’ll join you in a little bit.”

I curled up in his bed and sighed. Outside, I could hear him talking to a few of his roommates. Blushing, I turned onto my stomach and closed my eyes.

If the last post didn’t give a vague inkling already, my time with Penthouse gave me the opportunity to explore the Daddy-little dynamic to a degree that I have not in the past. I’ve been into the idea of it for a little while now, but societal condemnation of it had sort of kept me shoving it into the periphery.

While I can objectively say that it’s not about my father, nor do I think of him during this sort of stuff, it still made me uncomfortable. You know, because statutory rape and incest happen. They’re not something to be taken lightly.

So, I approached it with a lot of caution.

Therefore, a bunch of the posts to come are going to feature this dynamic. So, I thought I’d post a disclaimer. Or something. I don’t know.

For all the enjoyment I derived from it, I’m still a little hesitant to associate myself with the whole Daddy-little concept.

So bear with me here. This is as much an exercise in acceptance for me as it is an exercise for your right arm.

Snicker.

Ivy

Just another Adult Content site

Month: October 2012