Month: July 2014

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Piss Shy, Part Six

Disclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.

“Come here,” WRM said when the video had ended, motioning for me to move closer to the couch. I crawled over before sitting back up and resting my hands on my knees. However, my arms were forced over my head as WRM pulled my shirt off and tossed it aside.

“Look at this,” she murmured, her mouth curling into a grin as she hooked her thumbs under the straps of my bra. “Did you wear this special for us?”

“I…no…” I blushed. “Just wore it because I can’t get away with not wearing a bra with this shirt.”

WRM grinned harder. “If it’s not special, it comes off.” I pulled my bra off and set it aside. Flint reached forward and grabbed my arm, tugging me up so I was up on my knees. WRM unzipped my skirt as Flint hauled me up to my feet, and soon I found myself naked in the middle of the room. 

With a hand in my hair, WRM tugged me back down to my knees and kissed me deeply. “Two fingers in your pussy, right now,” Flint said. “You’ve got three chances to get yourself wet enough that when you pull your fingers apart, you’ve got a string between them.” The combination of him counting down and the eyes on me inevitably made me fail. 

“So,” Flint began as Lida emerged from the shower. He grabbed a towel and laid it down on the floor. “Anybody into group stuff? Getting used by a group, getting thrown into a group blindfolded, all that stuff?” Gingerly, I raised my hand.

WRM chuckled, “oh, Ivy loves blindfolds.”

“Yeah?” Flint asked, “now, why didn’t I know that?”

The rest panned out like a bunch of vignettes, blurry around the edges, my heartbeat thumping in my ears. Flint put the blindfold on me and had me lie down. Then, there were hands, fingers. WRM was between my legs, biting my thighs and making me jump and whine. Besides that, I couldn’t tell who was doing what.

“Now, hold her down so I can tickle her,” I heard Flint say.

Fucker.

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Piss Shy, Part Five

Disclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.

WRM arrived and greeted me with a kiss before settling onto the couch. I sat down in the floor in front of her and she leaned down and kissed me, placing her hands on my shoulders and scratching her nails over my back. 

Flint’s primary, Lida, showed up soon after in a sweatshirt and a pair of lycra workout pants. He sent her off to the shower, telling her to come back in her bra, her panties and the pants. While she was washing off, Flint told Macy to show WRM a video she’d made of her. Apparently she was drinking…something.

Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty sure I know what it was. 

“Look at her,” Flint said to me as we watched Macy sit beside WRM, showing her the video. She was actually watching along – which I give her major credit for, because I’d be hiding behind my hands in two seconds. “Look at her face.”

I chuckled nervously, “yeah. That’s contrition." 

"Should be,” Flint replied, sitting down on WRM’s other side, “what she did was disgusting. Do you want to watch?”

I shook my head, blushing.

“Why not?” Flint asked.

“I like to be excluded,” I replied. 

He smirked, pointing next to the television. “Go kneel over there,” he ordered. “Hands behind your head.” I moved over and got myself into position. “Legs wider,” he said, and I adjusted. 

Making sure my posture was straight, I watched the three of them: Macy’s face a little pale from the humiliation, WRM smirking with the sort of amusement that indicated that she was both glad and a little jealous that the girl in the video wasn’t her, Flint somewhere between smug and proud. 

Standard

typically-unique:

I want to be one of those people who does yoga and eats berries for breakfast, but I’m one of those people who stays in bed until 4 pm and eats pizza. 

I’m kind of both.

I guess you can say I’m living the dream.

Piss Shy, Part Four

Standard

Flint pulled out a key and pushed the door open, letting me in. His partner, Macy, was sitting on the couch in a dress and a shawl, watching television. “Nice dress,” Flint said as he stepped inside, “take the shawl off and get on the floor." Macy slipped the shawl from her shoulders and slid onto the floor, folding her legs beneath her.

"How’s it going?” I asked, setting my purse down. “Could I use your bathroom?” Macy pointed. My head was a mess of nervousness and excitement, to the point that I had forgotten I was even wearing shoes and attempted to cross the living room. 

Flint swung an arm out and cut me off while I was walking, catching me in the gut and knocking the air out of my chest. “Take your shoes off,” he ordered. I stumbled out of my shoes before dashing into the bathroom.

Once I was out, Flint grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the wall. He leaned down to kiss me, and I had to struggle to my toes to kiss him back. Pulling back, he slapped my face and told me to go sit down on the couch and wait for WRM and his primary to arrive.

I sat down on the couch, clapping my hands on my knees and smiling nervously at Macy down on the floor. I’d met Macy once before, at the first munch, but I hadn’t realized how young she was. I was envious, confessedly, remembering where I was at eighteen and seeing how uninhibited she was about doing the things that excited her. She’s also just striking as hell, with gorgeous hair and sharp cheekbones. 

“You’re cute,” Macy said.

I shook my head. “Sheesh, me? Thanks.” Flint sat down and put an arm around me. “I didn’t realize – you’re just a baby." 

Looking down at Macy, I couldn’t help but remind myself that this girl was five years younger than me. It had been five years since I’d first started even remotely acknowledging what I’d wanted, and I’d been at a significantly different place at eighteen. I was scared and reticent, just beginning to understand that I was allowed to ask for the things that made me feel free.

Still, it had been a long five years. 

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When I was a little girl, my mother told me that you always had to “rise to the occasion.” There was this idea that no matter how you were feeling, when you had somewhere to be, you had to pull yourself together and act like nothing was wrong and be entirely present and accommodating. 

Growing up, I judged other people when I saw them call off plans or not meet standards because of how they felt. I considered them weak. I was angry because I had always been expected to be able to be 100% myself when the situation called for it, to deliver regardless of what I was going through.

“But who’s really expecting that of you?” my therapist asked me recently.

I’m learning more and more that sometimes it’s just okay to retreat into yourself and that it’s not always the best idea to just put your face on and go. I was supposed to go out for a party tonight. I’ve just felt off all day. So, I’m having a burrito and staying in and taking care of myself. I offered to buy the host a drink another time and I’m not going to linger on it anymore.

Here’s to – sometimes – not rising to the occasion and making yourself the priority. 

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doctortease:

The Exam, Part Three

The study lasted—well, they later told her it was six weeks. She’d lost count by day four.

She returned to the doctor’s office each morning, and since Daddy had to leave early for work, most days she got belted into the back seat in her slippers and nightie and sleepy fuzzy hair. She always got put in a gown (and usually taken out of it) as soon as she arrived anyway. And it didn’t matter if she’d just had a bath or not; they always stripped her down and scrubbed her clean before they started.

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Oh. My god.

Just read this walking home from a party.

Words can’t even…

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So, sometimes I’m not a kitty.

Sometimes I’m a certain farmer’s little piggy,

who’s the runt of the litter.