Link to this image submitted by sage-green, who appears to be taking my upcoming birthday VERY seriously.
Followers, you’ve officially got a week as of ten minutes ago.
black and white
Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Six
Craftsmate tied me facedown on his bed and proceeded to get his flogger out. He beat me until I was crying out so much that he had to gag me and put music on to drown out all the noise.
Then, he sat down on me and started to tickle my ribs. I am absurdly ticklish and I absolutely hate being tickled. A few minutes in, I was panting for breath and drooling around the gag. He stopped, moved his duvet cover so I could see the small puddle of my salvia that had soaked into it, and proceeded to scold me for drooling all over his bed.
“Look at the mess you made,” he chided, pulling on my hair before pushing my face into it. I blushed six shades of red.
He rolled me over and tied me back down, picking the flogger back up and starting to beat my breasts.
Tonight’s one of those nights when I cannot believe a year has past.
It’s the Winter Formal.
In case you forgot, here’s last year’s craziness.
I’m heading out with Craftsmate tonight as a break from grad school applications/finals/insanity. Excuse my general inactivity around here lately, but I promise I’ll be back to my usual standard soon.
<3, Ivy
What do I have to do to get a pretty girl to come here and bite my sweet spot?
This is what my ballgag looks like.
Due to the demands of blah blah academia, I haven’t had the opportunity to wear it in a while.
This is simply unacceptable.
Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Five
Craftsmate wiped my face clean and smiled down at me. “Why don’t you show me your tail, kitty?”
I blushed and turned, dipping my back and presenting my ass to him.
“Wag it a bit,” he said.
I shook my hips a bit and felt the tail wag back and forth between my legs. He reached forward and tugged a bit on the tail, eliciting a sharp gasp as I bucked back against the yank. He chuckled softly and got up to his feet, patting the bed.
“I think you owe me for my glass, don’t you?” He grinned. “Let’s see how you can pay me back.”
Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Three
While I was washing the dishes, Craftsmate came over and picked up a knife I had just cleaned. It was long, wide, fairly sharp looking. Without introduction, he reached up and started to tease it over my collarbone.
“Did you use a knife like this the first time you tried knifeplay?” He asked, his voice almost teasing.
I nodded anxiously and set down the glass I was washing. My hands were trembling.
He raised the knife to my throat, “hey. Keep going.” I picked the glass up and started to wash it again as he continued to run the knife over my neck and chest. I could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, “look at you. You’ve got goosebumps.”
I went to put the glass down to dry, but my hand shook and I broke it against the counter. Craftsmate set the knife down and I looked up at him nervously. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not mad,” he replied and started to sweep the glass into the garbage carefully with his hand. “But you’re getting punished for that later, kitty.”
Her daddy always says she’s the greediest at playdates.
She says she’s just the best hostess ever.
“Speak every time you stand so that you do not forget yourself.
Never let a moment go by you that doesn’t remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day.
That there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.
Do not settle for letting these waves settle and for the dust to collect in your veins."
– Anis Mojgani, Shake the Dust.
I’ve always been a bit shaky on boundaries.
So come a little closer.
It’s not crossing the line when I’ve redrawn the line.