black and white – Page 31

So, odds are that viewer was not SG. As we talked tonight. And he’s the type to bring it up.

He did, ironically, suggest we make a blog together. But about something non-sexual. Because I tested the waters with, “people keep suggesting I make a blog but I don’t know what it would be about.” So. Yeah. Hah.

But, just to make sure it’s not SG, I’m going to post all the things about him that kind of annoy me. Because I have been far too nice to him on this tumblr.

When I get too lazy to walk further down the hall and use the nearby men’s room instead and he decides to come in and pretend to be a stranger. Because he knows I won’t leave the stall until the other person leaves for fear of awkwardly getting caught. And so he just doesn’t leave and then starts laughing at me.
When he comments on random pictures of me on facebook with the phrase “boobs”.
The fact that he has effectively charmed my mother and formed a friendship with her completely independent of ours. And so they have fun ganging up on me.
How sometimes he forgets context and calls me “slut”. Usually over text message. Usually when I’ve done something well. Usually in the phrasing: “Congratulations, slut.”
When he calls me a dirty communist/hippy/vegetarian.
When he declares that he’s the 1%.
Numbers 5 and 6, when they happen during sex.
When he intentionally says something blatantly offensive that he obviously doesn’t believe just to see me get angry and then laugh about how easily he got me upset.

Now do you all see what I have to put up with?

Meet Switch, Part Ten

By the time we finished, the sun was rising. Switch removed his belt from my wrists, pulled me back against him and we fell asleep curled up with each other. There was something sort of sweet about the way he held me.

We slept only about three hours, we both had things to do or places to be in the morning. We wound up lingering in bed another hour before having to rush off.

I got a text later that day from him expressing that he’d like to see me again and asking what I was doing Friday night. It took some restraint to not just be cheesy and reply “you?”.

But, uh, yeah.

Meet Switch, Part Nine

Somewhere in the middle of me sucking him off, Switch seized control back. It happened sort of organically. The hand on my hair started grabbing, he started holding my head still so he could fuck my face. I didn’t fight him on it. It’s what I normally gravitate to, after all.

He completely took charge after that, manipulating me to get him off the way he wanted. When he was cumming, he informed me. He didn’t ask to. I sort of liked that fact a lot.

I kind of realize that both of our dominant streaks come out of our submissive streaks. He knows it pleases me to be dominated and so he does it for the purpose of satisfying me. I enjoy being overtaken and so I dominate him for the satisfaction of having him seize control back. It’s an interesting give and take.

And now that he had control again, I didn’t fight when after I swallowed he pushed me down to the bed and grabbed his belt from the mess of sheets to tie my wrists behind my back.

Meet Switch, Part Eight

One minute in and he was literally panting. He kept tensing harder to keep from moving. He was soaking precum through his boxers by two minutes. The entire time he was just begging.

I just watched the clock. Intermittently, I reassured him that he was being a good boy, that he was making Pretty so, so proud. I reused phrases I knew worked on me when I was being denied. I used a few unique ones.

“You want to make Pretty happy, don’t you?” I asked him at thirty seconds before time would be up, when he was just about losing it. “You’re so close, don’t fail me now, baby. That would be sad.”

He gritted his teeth and took it. It’s strange to me that in this moment of weakness and submission I figured him to be stronger than I’d ever considered him. It was in how resolute he was being, in how hard he was sincerely trying to please me.

His cock practically hit me in the face when I leaned down and pulled down his boxers. He moved when I put him in my mouth, letting a hand settle in my hair. But, I wasn’t cruel enough to take his reward away. He’d earned it well.

Meet Switch, Part Six

Eventually, he let me get off again and allowed me to go put a t-shirt on to get my composure back and use the bathroom. While washing my hands, I managed to get a look at myself in the mirror. The rain had soaked my hair and it had tried naturally, in these big, thick waves and curls. I normally straighten my hair or at least dry it straight. With my hair tousled this way, gosh, I don’t know, I felt like I was in rare form. I looked feral.

I decided I wanted to top him.

I walked back into his bedroom and he smiled and went to say something, but I cut him off. “Why the hell are you still wearing clothes?” I was nervous to do this. I’d never really done it before. He raised his hands to unbutton his shirt and I shook my head. “Did I say you could take them off? Lie down.” I pointed to the bed.

He got onto the bed and I climbed on after him. I had no idea what I was doing and I suppose he noticed, because he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me onto his face. It was the first time I’d ever sat on anyone’s face before, I’d always taken cunnilingus lying down. The position seemed to motivate me to keep at attempting to dom him.

I picked up tricks fast: breathplay through cutting off his mouth and nose with my body, teasing my lips over his mouth, pulling his hair to egg him on. I kept it up for a while, telling him he was a good boy and somehow getting used to the sound of myself saying that, even when it sounded incredibly foreign the first time it left my mouth. I slapped his hands away when he reached up to touch my breasts.

“Did I tell you that you could do that?” I reached down and buried his face in my cunt. I could barely recognize myself.

Meet Switch, Part Four

Switch claimed he’d never spanked a girl before. At first, he tended to go a little light. I urged him that I could handle harder. “Really?” He’d ask and then I’d hear the smile in his voice, “awesome.” Somewhere between impressed and inspired, he worked up rather quickly to hitting hard, to the point that I finally pushed one of my hands down to block his.

“You know, Ivy, I’m torn whether or not to move that hand and keep going,” he said. I didn’t reply. I was going to let him explore this.

But, instead, he moved his hand back down to my cunt. “I don’t think you want me to stop. You’re soaking wet.” I blushed as he ran his fingers over my slit, “now, why are you so wet? Only dirty fucking sluts get wet from spankings like this. Look at this.” He grabbed my hair with his free hand and jerked my head up. He brought his fingers in front of my face: they were coated, shining. He moved them back down to my cunt.

I practically cried out when, after teasing over my slit for a while, he finally started rubbing my clit. My gaze became unfocused, I was reduced to a series of “oohs” and moans. He chuckled, “you’re getting even wetter. You filthy little thing.” He kept going, saying things that made me blush, that made me feel simultaneously precious and degraded.

He brought me back into the moment when he slid a few fingers into me. His hands were big, his fingers large and long and imposing. I gasped a bit and lurched forward. Still clothed, still composed – a stark contrast to myself – Switch just pushed them deeper and laughed.

Meet Switch, Part One

Tumblr, meet Switch.

We’ve been friends for about a year now. In January, it seemed like something was going to develop between him and I. But, he’s teammates with that guy from my frat and he sort of backed off once he and I got involved. Man code or whatever. But, that guy from my frat and I are quite done for reasons I’ll detail when I have time. So, the playing field was wide open for Switch and I was receptive.

Just around twelve hours ago, I was at Switch’s place. Prior, we’d been out with friends to see a band and sort of broke off and hung around together. We danced. We started kissing. We made it through the whole night being relatively civilized adults. But, after a swing by my place for a toothbrush and some other essentials, I wound up at his.

And at around this time in the evening, he had removed his belt and tied my wrists to the headboard. Normally, he admitted, he liked to be submissive. But something about the way the night was panning out had driven him to ask if he could take charge instead. My top, jacket, bra, and shoes were scattered across his floor. My panties were still on, my skirt was bunched up around my waist. He was still fully dressed when he tied a scarf over my eyes.

“You know why I think I wanted to tie you up?” He asked as he ran a hand down my thigh. He was standing beside the bed. He gripped my thigh and pulled my legs open wide. “I think I liked the idea of having this body all to myself, to do whatever I wanted with.”

He ran his hand over my stomach and stopped at one of my breasts, tweaking the nipple. In normal interactions, he’s fairly reserved. Suddenly, now, the tone of his voice had changed and he spoke with a blunt confidence that seemed to suit him better. “And now that I have it, I think we’re going to have a little fun.”

“Ah! Do you have to be sensual to be human?”

“Certainly, Madame. Pity is in the guts, just as tenderness is on the skin.”

– Anatole France, The Red Lily.

seriocopulo:

and what happened when you showed that stranger yourself?

Like a frozen computer, all my buttons are getting pushed right now.

It’s moments like these that make being an incorrigible brat actually kind of awesome, even when things get humiliating.

Okay. Especially when things get humiliating. And the other party totally knows how to dole it out.

This is a fabulous example.

rolledtrousers:

“I’m just worried that my oxygen supply might be cut off as your ego creates a vacuum in the room. That’s all.” She was smirking, and she was watching him. Hoping for a reaction.

He sat there for a moment, letting it settle in the air like a bad smell, before he held out his hand, as casual as anything. An eyebrow arched expectantly, and she narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion over confusion.

“What?” She folded her arms, still staring.

“Your underwear.” His voice was casual, utterly assured, and a touch too nonchalant. She felt herself twitch as they fell upon her, as if it was the words themselves forcing her to throb. She resisted biting her lip.

“Why do you want it?” He shook his head, and snapped his fingers. The sound made her jump.

“Put them in my hand. Say another word and I’ll make sure you’ll think of me every time you sit for a week.” The threat was clear, and the method was implied. It was enough for her to bite down her response, as acerbic as it had been.

Still, she hesitated, if only for another second or two. Then the moment passed, and her hands slid down her sides, catching underneath the waistband of her panties, before she pulled them down over her legs. They were heavier than she’d like to admit, the dampness giving them weight. Delicately, she placed them in his hand.

Suddenly he was up, moving around her before his free hand went to her face, finger and thumb digging into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. She resisted for a moment, but the pressure was painful, and she didn’t want to see what he would do if she struggled. Her lips fell open, and the panties, balled and damp, went in. Stuffed, gagged, held. He forced them against the roof of her mouth with one thick finger. She squirmed.

And then he let go, moving back to his seat, and picking up his book. Her brow was furrowed, and she could feel the cotton and lace expanding to fill the space of its new home. She could taste herself. One hand started to quest upwards, to touch them, maybe remove…

“No. They stay there until I say so. Once I think you’ve earned your voice back.”

She moaned. He smiled, and picked up where he’d left his bookmark.