So, I’ve been exploring okcupid a little for playmates.
Most of my prospects have been pretty bleak.
But lately I’ve been talking to somebody who seems to have some similar interests.
bdsm
This kind of thing makes me all melty…I love bdsm-inspired adorableness.
Yep, this is a scene from my daydreams.
It’s kind of like that. Need.
This commentary is beautiful. If you’re not currently following templeofbabalon, you’re a fool.
A cage proves to be an excellent frame through which to view one’s sub. Without freedom, stripped of volition, one can simply admire the creature itself – no longer entangled in plans, goals or responsibilities; no longer defined by clothes, style or role; no longer obscured by action, movement or achievement. Just the bare creature itself, just the self with no place to hide.
It’s this sort of tenderness amidst the violence. The calm in the eye of the storm. The sudden closeness from the cold distance. The unity in the hierarchy. That’s why I keep at this crazy game I play.
This tends to be how I remember my more drawn-out forays into really intense sessions. Everything comes in flashes. Moving snapshots. Fade in. Fade out. Fade in. Fade out. Often it’s out of order. Often it’s incoherent. When I try to go over it and move things around, I can’t always quite pinpoint the order.
But what remains is the effect. And while the memory comes fractured, the feelings are fluid. And that’s really all that counts, isn’t it?
The first time I got tied up in an intimate situation, we planned it ahead of time. I counted down until that day with bated breath, the crawl of X’s across my calendar becoming more nervous and hesitant as it drew nearer. I was tempted not to show up that day. I shook when I showered myself. I could barely clasp my bra or pull on the tights I picked out as to pull off a skirt in the crisp fall weather.
He led me up to his bedroom and closed the door. We laughed uncomfortably. Expectation hung in the air as I removed my boots and then my stockings so they wouldn’t get runs in them. I smiled awkwardly as I stumbled out of them and folded them, placing them on his nightstand. Next came the earrings, my class ring, the cardigan I was wearing. I ignored the chill that had set over my body as I sat beside him on the bed.
I playfully put up some attempt at a fight as he set to work. He had my arms pinned behind me rather quickly and used my stockings to bind them in a knot that paid homage to his Boy Scout years. I fought a bit harder when he tried to thread one of his thick winter scarves between my teeth, but he finally won. The fabric was overwhelming and the knot held harsh against the back of my neck.
I groaned, I squirmed, I explored. I twisted my wrists about and tried to push the scarf out of my mouth with my tongue. I couldn’t. I let out a frustrated huff when he found my own scarf in my purse and set to work on my ankles. I wasn’t sure what I wanted at that point, but I’m fairly sure it was contact aside from the act of binding my limbs.
But, when he had finished, he merely got up and left the room for a few minutes. It was then that I noticed he had me positioned in such a way that I was looking into the mirror on his wall. I’m not sure if it was intentional.
Either way, the effect was sobering. I saw myself. My eyes wide over the scarf, my chest pushed out slightly from the way my arms were bound, my legs lined up neatly, my body covered in goosebumps and shaking slightly with each breath. He returned and I set my attention over to him briefly before returning my attention to my reflection. I was transfixed. I looked just like myself and nothing at all like myself at the same time.
I don’t know if it makes any sense, but it was almost as if I were saying goodbye. Or maybe it’s better described as “hello”.
Primping for Playtime
Model: Isabella Belden
Copyright: LoveBondageLadies.com
The power play here is incredible. For as amazing total and complete submission by a good girl is, there is something so sexy and playful about a submissive that bites back. Sure, most dominant partners can’t stand it after a certain point. But, hey, a little brattiness always throws a little flavor into the pot.
And the pre-Colombian art tattoo (sue me if it’s not, some Maya or Aztec or what have you could’ve so made that) on his arm is just killing me. Their stuff is always so strangely, primally erotic.
Has this been an issue for me with partners in the past? Hell to the yeah. Terms are always a weird topic to go over. You feel so vulnerable presenting what you want. You’re not even sure it’s what you want half the time and you keep going over it in your head wondering if you can handle that or if that isn’t nearly enough. Terms of any kind of relationship are that way, I suppose. But when it comes to something of this nature, its “tabooness” and the associated discomfort factor in a lot. The emotional drain. The urges. The constant fluctuation of libido. The interplay of intention (for sexual gratification, for fun, for power, for love). It’s all a lot to handle.
gpoy.
As hilarious as the caption is, it’s true. Neglect can be so freaking sexy. There is something so gripping about a partner purposely ignoring me when setting me to a task or making me stand in the corner while they do something else. It shows a huge amount of restraint on their part, too, which I think is amazing seeing as I’m one of those types who just wants to get the show on the road.
Yes its nice slut but not now the game is on
I did a little investigation and my super-sleuth abilities lead me to find out that her name is Janelle Fishman. And all the photos we have been fawning over, Heart, and some we’ve even reblogged that don’t include Janelle, belong to a giant work of photographic genius by Ellen von Unwerth called Revenge.
And, get this! They’re not vintage at all. They were taken in 2002-3. That’s talent.
PS: Revenge is deviously sexy. The work itself. And the overarching concept.