Just thought I’d share how ridiculous my sex life is.

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Our safeword for when I want Craftsmate to stop what he’s doing is red. The safeword for just slowing down a little is yellow.

Tonight, Craftsmate was kind of idly tickling me and I was squirming around on the couch.

“Stop!” I gasped out when it got too much, “stop! Red!”

Without a beat, Craftsmate replied: “the blood of angry men.”

This is clearly my punishment for not agreeing to see Les Miserables tonight.

Edit: He’s now sitting here playing the song and looking all proud of himself.

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So, I decided to finally share something that’s kind of super blushy but I’ve been holding out on talking about.

I went over to Craftsmate’s one day after he said he wanted to show me something. When we reached his bedroom, he pulled out this mess of straps and told me to open my mouth. I was shocked and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I complied.

He pushed the ring behind my teeth, lining it up so my mouth was forced open. I had never worn a ring gag before and I simultaneously enjoyed and dreaded how receptive it made me feel. With a smile, Craftsmate set to tightening the straps around my head, under my chin, alongside my nose, shifting and undoing them every so often to make the fit tighter.

When he had finished, he grinned and pressed his thumbs to the straps along the side of my nose, holding my face still. “You look so pretty like this,” he said, before shoving two fingers into my mouth and probing around. I could do just about nothing to prevent him from doing so aside from attempting to shove him away.

After he had withdrawn his fingers, his hand settled on my chin and he tilted my head slightly. I groaned, feeling drool start to form around the sides of the gag. Without warning, Craftsmate spat into my open mouth and, without any other options, I accepted it.

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Brittany Matthews is my spirit animal for when I decide to stop taking people’s shit.

Which is, uh, what I need to start getting better at doing.

fudgeflies:

“Jennifer McMenamin says you’re not even from France. You’re from Montreal.”

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“Are you a good girl for your Daddy when he fucks you?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, good. Because I don’t fuck bad girls.”

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The only spirit he saw in her gift was the one he sought to break.

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Current status.

ahoycalicojack:

mickeyalice:

Un femme est un femme, 1961

Aaaaand home!

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dull-knives:

Holy bloody hell.  This.

It’s scary to think of the old adage that “antelopes need not be able to outrun a cheetah, but only to outrun each other.”

Come on and use your frontal lobe, humans.

borderline-babe:

calecake:

Bam

SHIT. i have never even considered this.