A while ago, Craftsmate and I were in bed together, spooning, when the topic of the whole Daddy/little dynamic came up. He’s not into it at all. While he respects the fact that I like it, he just doesn’t understand it.

“I spoke to Penthouse about it,” he said, “and he said it kind of added a dimension of guidance to the normal dynamic. Like a protection thing. And it makes me think that you feel like I can’t protect you.”

I felt my stomach turn over. It’s not like that at all, it’s a classic case of the way we sometimes interpret things in wildly different ways. We joke that we’re the same Myers-Briggs type, but there are some moments where we don’t connect and some signals get crossed.

And while Craftsmate told me the other day that he is completely at peace with the whole thing now and is totally fine with it, it still stings that he thought I felt that way.

I can’t tell if this is the solution to her whining problem or just another source of it.

dominantteacher:

I’d love a version of that device that has a tiny bit more give, e.g. hardened leather with thin metal strips reinforcing.

I’d like my girl to be able to be in it for a while with chafing or getting too achey….except for where I like making them ache.

Sweetheart, they’re not laughing at you. They’re laughing with you.

Last night, someone asked me how I thought people who’ve met me would describe me.

I said, “as a motherfucking rapper.”

I’ve really got to learn how to channel that more often.

And she’d better not dream of hopping up on that bed.

Even if it is disheveled,

rules only survive if they are consistent.

Current status.

Or, attempting to make it my current status.

But being a grownup is haaaard.

Crafthouse slash-fic for the win! I am oddly turned on by this thought. also .. in my head it’s kind of ‘rules-of-attraction-y’

Oh sheesh.

I’ve never watched that movie in its fullness. Any good?

So, Craftsmate, that guy from my frat and I decided to spend yesterday afternoon doing arts and crafts.

Except, it was the sort of arts and crafts that Craftsmate earned his nickname for in the first place.

Essentially, that guy from my frat has been asking him to teach him how to make a flogger. And, with the snow, we figured it would be a fun thing to do inside after what I still consider to be a pretty unfair snowball fight.

While they worked on floggers, I set to finishing a blindfold Craftsmate had started on but had not gotten around to finishing. It looked like the one pictured, with individual padded circles and a strap running through them and around the wearer’s head.

After we had finished, that guy from my frat went to return his floggers to his dorm and said he would text us in an hour about potentially grabbing some dinner.

One he had left, I held the blindfold out to Craftsmate and told him that I wanted to try it on. With it buckled to the tightest rung, I couldn’t see a thing. Most blindfolds allowed some trickle of light to come in by the nose, but this one literally left me in darkness by virtue of its design.

Rendered blind, I suddenly felt indescribably helpless as Craftsmate reached out to stroke my cheek and push me down onto my knees in front of him.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

I nodded, “yeah. I feel kind of helpless.”

“You do?” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I can’t see a thing,” I answered before gingerly adding, “would you cuff my hands? Just for a minute?”

The cuffs went on fairly quickly and he looped his finger into the chain, jerking me forward and launching into an inspection right there. I nearly died when he pried my mouth open and started checking my teeth, moving his thumbs over my molars methodically.

He stopped when he heard my phone buzz. “You should text [that guy from my frat] back.”

What had felt like two minutes under the blindfold had somehow been an hour. I guess time moves a little differently in complete darkness. Go figure.