bdsm

They couldn’t even make it inside. He could see how badly she needed it. He made her sit and beg for it like a sweet girl. He made her thank him for being so, so generous when he finally stroked that aching, needy pussy through her panties.

He teased. “Does that make you feel good, pet?” He asked it over her moans, her desperate, tremulous “thank you, sir"s, her ragged breaths. "Does somebody need to cum?” He wondered as she bucked against his hand.

With that, he lifted his hand and made her thank him for the attention, leaving her on the shivering brink. He’d teach her manners, no matter how many times he would have to deny her.

Confession: Sometimes I do miss being dominated by a woman.

It’s not that it’s that women are better than men, or that I had stronger feelings in those situations that I do in my current one (I’m fairly sure I didn’t), or even that I’m getting tired of having a man pulling the strings. Or that, between my experiences with men and my experiences with women, I necessarily preferred those with women to those with men. (Let’s put me at a perfect 5 on the modified Kinsey scale. I’m a person, not gender, kind of girl.) I’m not. Honestly.

It’s just a totally different vibe when a girl is dominating you. Not better. Different. And I can’t really put very many words to it, but I miss it sometimes. I’m not saying I want that over a man or to replace what I’ve got or anything of the sort. I’m saying that a little lady fun would be … well … fun, too.

Think like that song “I Want it All”. Now stop thinking of Freddie Mercury. Now think of me getting tied down and played with by a sexy lady with a smoking gaze like this one. It’s kind of like that.

I’ve totally entertained this fantasy in my head before. They’re a very happy, very healthy couple who are very much in love with each other. I’m the little slut they have not because they need to fix their marriage, but because they find it to be fun to take turns spanking me and letting me pleasure them, they find it to be convenient to have me around to cook and clean, and mostly they just find it damn sexy to have some cute little college girl around to play with.

theplotthickens:

I plan on getting my wife one of these for her birthday.

He has some pretty big forniphilia kicks. It was something he just kind of had rumbling around inside of him, I never even introduced him to it. I’d never even really expressed much of an interest in. But, I’ve really gotten into it as a result of his interest. And, thus, yes, I’d be his tie rack if he wanted me to. I’ve already been his footrest a couple of times.

Bottom line: A couple that kinks together grows together.

Crawling in the nude to the door while my fully clothed lover comes home is one of my strongest, sweetest fantasies. He’s been off all day, working and doing his thing, and I’ve been waiting (im)patiently at home for him to come back and be with me. Hopefully I get some of this soon.

daddyshand:

Greeting Daddy after His long day at work…

Secretary is, was, and will always be one of my favorite movies. I remember first hearing Whoopi Goldberg talking about it when she hosted the Academy Awards the year it was released. She discussed the outrage that many felt when seeing a film about a woman being forced to carry manilla folders between her teeth while crawling around on the floor like a dog.

Then, I was this ear-reddening, tingle-inspiring feeling that my eleven or twelve year old self couldn’t properly interpret as aroused and intrigued.

Now, I’m outraged. Because this is not what the movie is about. That’s like saying Citizen Kane is about a sled or Reservoir Dogs is about a cop getting his ear cut off. These are incidental things that happen in relation to what the film is really about.

Secretary is not a movie about a woman who willingly carries manilla folders between her teeth (the gal wasn’t forced) or crawls around on her knees. Secretary is a movie with these things. What Secretary is about is trust, love, self-discovery and suffering. It tackles the fragile balance of these concepts vis-a-vis a sadomasochistic relationship.

I can understand why, to people not open to this sort of lifestyle, Secretary can be an incredibly disturbing movie. At first glance, it appears to be anti-feminist in the way that Lee depends so whole-heartedly on Mr. Grey, even to the point of starving herself to prove her devotion. Surely no self-respecting modern woman would do something like that. Right?

Wrong. What people tend to ignore is that Lee did not do these things because Mr. Grey forced her. She acted out of her own volition. She behaved in a way that satisfied her. She put herself on the line in such a way because it met a need that panged around inside her, a need to serve. We even see her backing out of other, similar situations because she did not enjoy the sort of behavior that was being asked of her. She was in control of when she surrendered her control, making her powerful.

She realized the depth of her trust for Mr. Grey and knew the fruit that came of giving it over. She understood the human quality of suffering and knew that to suffer for someone, with someone, who was suffering, too, was better than to “suffer” alone. This degree of trust and suffering brought her happiness. It was what she wanted. She had the power to quit her job. She had the power to stop the other situations. She had the power to end a relationship that wasn’t serving her. And she had the power, in her final test, to stand up, leave the office, change out of her wedding dress, take a long shower, and move on with life. And by the same token, she had the power to endure what she was given.

And in the end, there was love. There was tenderness. And it’s just really screaming in the photo. It’s not all about suffering. It’s about care. It’s about security. It’s about seeing what putting your trust in someone else can do.

So, I’d say there’s really nothing degrading or disgusting about the film. In fact, it’s almost empowering. It certainly empowered me to stop being so ashamed about certain desires and to pursue what made me happy.

I’ll get off my soapbox now. Thanks for listening.

And sometimes it’s more fun to be spanked when you’re good.

dr-tarl:

Sometimes it is more fun to spank the good ones.

Once, he tied me down to my bed in a terribly vulnerable position and blindfolded me with one of my scarves. To top it off, he put a pair of headphones on me, which were playing a rather loud recording of a washing machine. And that was about it. I was trembling with anticipation. I was dripping, squirming, waiting to be played with, and yet I felt nothing. No hands sliding up my sides, no lips trailing over my neck and chest, nothing. Nothing for a while. I went to ask what was going on, and I got smacked. So I kept quiet from that point on. And then, more silence. And nothing.

It got to the point where I was fairly sure I was now alone in the room. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I was terribly disoriented. I could feel my sheets dampening beneath my exposed pussy. I could smell myself. But that was about anything sensory, besides the maddening sound of the washing machine and the chill of the air over my damp pussy.

And then I felt his hand slide underneath my chin and lift my head, the other occupied with guiding his cock into my mouth. He didn’t remove the blindfold or the handphones. But, it didn’t matter. I had all the comfort I needed.

Pride has been such a hinderance for me, too. When I’ve had terms like “puppy” and “little girl” used during scenarios, my initial response was one of defensiveness, frustration, and, most importantly, fear. It’s very easy and simultaneously incredibly difficult to live in denial of a desire to be degraded and humiliated. What was probably the strongest feeling associated with terms like those and treatment like what is depicted in the picture is not a fear of discovery, but rather a fear of admitting to myself that I love being dragged down from the standard of respect that I hold myself to and expect others to hold me to, as well.

However, letting go of that has produced some of the most beautiful feelings of trust and understanding imaginable. It’s usually a slow process to get there, but once I’m there, I’m sold.

masterandslave:

My pride so often stopped me from embracing who I am and all I share with Master. My pride stopped me from being the animal I am, from the humiliation I crave, from the obedience I desire.

I am letting go of so much pride in exchange for happiness. ~His

And thank you.

(via thewhore, softsea)

Ivy

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