Gallery

The truth is that I don’t mind sharing at all as long as I get attention. I guess that says a lot about my values.

Gallery

shiftingsubmission:

daddysnaughtythings:

What is it you want, princess?  Use your words….

IS IT LIKE A UNIVERSAL TOP THING TO MAKE THEIR PETS USE THEIR WORDS?! Words suck. It’s so much easier to give puppy dog eyes and make myself useful. WHY. WORDS. DAMMIT. 

This commentary.

Gallery

Sir’s been giving me tasks lately, and every so often he likes me to write about them here. I’ve been enjoying them, and it’s helped me to feel like I’m still submitting to him even with the timezones and the distance and all the other absurd hurdles we’re handling right now.

You’ll remember we had a tally system of me misbehaving over the summer. It was going to culminate in me drinking a cup of my own piss (guh) after eight tallies (one tally per ounce.) It never went anywhere because I’ve been a good girl (heh.) Also, after I drank his piss, it put drinking my own in perspective. Because, meh. 

But still, a cup is a lot of urine. 

The other day, I surprised him by taking some initiative and suggesting I might be okay with taking just a sip of it. Like, a little sip. 

I’ve got this sippy cup my friend gave me as a gag gift. She doesn’t know about the Daddy/little stuff, it was more a joke on my 21st birthday for me to put booze in there and walk around holding it. Every so often, I put a drink in there when I’m hosting a party because I can dance around with it and it won’t spill (don’t judge me.) So Sir suggested I pee into the sippy cup and, in his words, “take a sippy.”

Lately, I’ve been on this humiliation kick and he’s been doing Daddy stuff and it all felt kind of right. I drank enough water that I was pissing clear. I got up the courage and sucked through the straw, but totally misjudged how hard I’d have to suck because I was so nervous and wound up getting quite a bit of it and legitimately gagging on it. 

I thought I’d be more anxious about writing about this, and I’m not sure if this is a sign of growth or not. But, yeah. I peed into a sippy cup (and then sanitized the crap out of that thing) and drank it. I choked on my own urine. I survived.

For the record: I’m a healthy girl and it tastes just fine. Still, yuck. 

Gallery

Spent my day in a t-shirt and yoga pants, mostly wallowing, because I’ve unfortunately got the kind of anxiety that doesn’t lend itself to making me industrious and just digs the hole deeper.

On a lighter note, here’s my butt.

Gallery

mysecretsexy:

ourlexielove:

There are 278 things in my drafts. Oops. This is one of those things. Also like this is pretty perf. 

Is this the same one you have thinkivykink ?

Oh, it’s SUPER similar!

Gallery

Leftovers, Part Two

Star set to showing Sir how to put me in a harness that would, in her words, make my boobs look awesome. She wasn’t lying.

While a lot of the harnesses I’ve seen and experienced tend to press the breasts down or contort them into weird shapes, this one almost imitated a bra. My arms were folded behind my back palm to elbow, which made me stick my chest out. The rope over my chest was pulled up into little triangles, and as a result my breasts were tugged up and out as if they were in a push-up bra.

“I should let some people at the party tonight slap them, shouldn’t I?” Sir asked. I nodded bashfully as Star brought the rope around my front.

“So,” she said. “We’ve got a bunch leftover. If you want, we can give her a crotchrope with it.” I pouted a little, but wasn’t totally upset when Star put a really convenient knot in the remaining rope and threaded it up between my legs, pulling it tight.

Up until then, Sir had mostly been watching intently, trying to learn the harness so that he could put me back in it later at the other party. But, he suddenly gave Star a conspiratorial look over my shoulder, and helped to dip my head back while Star knotted the rope carefully into my hair, showing Sir how to do it safely.

As a result, when I tried to lower or straighten my head, the crotchrope was pulled taut and the knot rubbed against my clit. My head was forced back so far that I couldn’t keep my mouth closed, and I felt silly and exposed and could barely look at the other people in the room.

“Let’s sit you down, hm?” Sir asked and took hold of my arm, guiding me over to the couch. “Why don’t you make some friends?“

Do you like to listen to music during sex?

Standard

I really do, but I haven’t in a while. Like, in a year, I think.

Sir and I used to love to fuck to Leonard Cohen or The National if we were feeling sweet, Lana Del Rey if we were feeling dirty. 

Some of my friends have sex playlists, but I’ve never been that elaborate about it. Although, I have heard songs occasionally and thought, “if I had a sex playlist, that would be on it.”

Edit: I lied. Sir and I fucked on the floor of his apartment on my birthday after my friends had left and we didn’t turn the music off. But that barely counts.