Sir just used the phrase “bedtime, young lady.”
Pinch me, I’m dreaming.
“Trans-Europ-Express” (1967) – Alain Robbe-Grillet
Month: November 2013
i want all my outfits to have that “i want to have sex but not with you” look
So, this is totally a fair question.
A year and a half ago, what he did was *not okay.* He had believed that I knew it was going to happen and it would be okay, but it was still not all right. And he admitted that and apologized.
I don’t forgive people easily. I carry grudges and I get really cautious about getting hurt. We basically had to build our friendship back up from the ground over a year and a half.
And in the course of that time, we’ve become different people. We’ve grown a lot. I see it in him and I see it in myself.
We’ve also grown closer than we even were before the whole incident. We get each other, we respect each other a lot more, we understand what to expect and what the other person is expecting. We’re both in healthy relationships with strictly defined parameters for openness.
I cannot begin to explain how touched I am that you’re looking out for me, though. Sincerely. It means a lot to me that you all aren’t just whacking off to me and sincerely care about me. So thank you. I’m really thankful for wonderful followers like you.
Guyyyyys.
I don’t wanna jinx it.
But the Southern Gentleman is planning to be around during the holidays and he is taunting me about conspiring with Sir to plan a really sexy, really kinky threesome and and and and and.
Christmas miracles are real.
Hehehehehe.
And for all these reasons, I’ve decided to scalp you, and burn your village to the ground.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
Preeeeach.
Entree
Standard“So how do you feel?”
She squirmed. For a second, she listened to the din of the restaurant around them, considering whether nearby tables could overhear. He raised one eyebrow.
“I feel… full.”
“Is that all?”
She opened her mouth to answer, and got as far as “No, I…” when she heard:
“Can I get you two some drinks?”
She jumped. She hadn’t seen the waitress behind her. Her heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat, and she blushed. He waited a beat, picked up the menu, smiled, and turned to the waitress.
“Yes, I’ll have a sazerac. And for her… an old fashioned.”
“No problem, I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Waitress gone, he turned back to her and smiled. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”
“I said I feel full.”
“And what else?”
“I ache. I’m very wet. And I’m embarrassed.”
– – –
She arrived at his apartment an hour before dressed as he had requested: black top, skirt, and stockings, her hair up in a loose bun, and a small pendant tied around her neck with a choker (his subtle replacement for a collar).
A little erotica for your Thanksgiving morning. Unf.
Trying to make it to the third panel.
Bagh.
