He tapes her up that way to ensure she’s available.
But he leaves her that way to ensure she’s patient.
black and white
See, I completely disagree.
Good girls go bad because it’s fun. Good girls go bad because the dichotomy between good and bad is absolutely stupid and there’s no girl who is totally and completely one or the other. Good girls go bad because it’s the right climate to and they have the authority to go any which way they want regardless of the men in their lives.
Bad boys who don’t treat girls – “good” or “bad” or otherwise – with respect can go fuck themselves. But to say girls go “bad” because of boys? Well, that’s just bad. I think we deserve a little more credit.
There’s no feeling like waking up from a lovely evening to find snow on the ground. Now just to get my heater working.
I mentioned a little while ago on this tumblr that I have a friend who wants to paint me.
We keep sort of arranging to get together and make it happen, but plans keep changing. To be honest, I’ve also been horribly nervous about the whole thing. We’ve sort of fluctuated on how much of me she’d paint, whether or not I’d be wearing clothes, etc.
She said we should start out small and, if I’m comfortable, she’d love to have me back. So, I think we’re just doing my face or something.
I’m not sure how I feel about being that closely scrutinized. It was sort of why nude appealed to me, if that makes any sense. I could sort of hide behind my nudity without getting into the minute details of, say, my face.
But apparently it’s happening – potentially – early next week.
I absolutely love and absolutely hate walking around with little secrets under my clothes.
I’m referring here to crotchropes, buttplugs, writing on my skin, a mandated lack of panties with a skirt.
I feel positively naked. I feel as if everybody knows and they’re all just humoring me while being faintly amused/disgusted with what I’m doing. I have fought tooth and nail with dominants who try to send me out with things under my clothes. The entire day I’m hyperaware of it. I suppose it accomplishes its purpose, I think about the person who put it there the whole time. I feel like I’m harboring some disgusting secret, ready to be discovered, possibly already found.
But part of me likes secrets. Part of me gets off on secrets. And so naturally part of me really enjoys having those secret things under my clothes in public. Part of me enjoys that swimming, anxious feeling of walking amongst the normalcy with feigned composure.
photo by Edgar Zhukovsky
Sexually, I’m an exhibitionist.
Personally, I’ve been told I’m extremely guarded. Some people use the romanticized mysterious. An ex, while fighting with me, once used the word “mean” to imply cold, aloof. Apparently, I’m horribly “mean”.
It may sound hilarious with how personal I get on here, but I typically don’t like people knowing my business. I’ll get embarrassed if people find out I’ve hooked up with someone, regardless how I feel about the person.
I don’t know what to say for myself, honestly. I suppose a lot of it stems from the fact that I usually have no idea who I am when I really get down to it. I have some minor identity issues. I’m never entirely sure who I am, what I want, where I’m going. And so I’m never fully sure how to present myself.
Tumblr helps, certainly. I have gotten wildly candid on here a few times. I think the fact is that I actually do want to share, but I’m uncomfortable about the sounding boards I’m given. I don’t want to come across as cold, aloof, mysterious… “mean”. But sometimes it just makes me comfortable.
Jack and Jitters: Part 6
He finished on my face and in my mouth. I barely had enough time to swallow before I was bent over and spanked. He rolled me over and his hand returned to my clit and he rubbed, dragging another two orgasms out of me. By the time the second was about to roll around, I was shaking.
“Think you deserve it?” He asked. It was what he said a lot before I came. We have rules. I have to ask permission. I have to deserve it.
I could barely think straight. I was completely down in subspace. My whole body was a mess of goosebumps and jitters. It was the most intense “sexual” experience I’ve probably ever had and the boy hadn’t even penetrated me.
He smiled and rubbed harder, “I think I want you to cum right now.” I bucked back against him and moaned loudly. There was a smug causality to his face, still. Even as I was in this state, he was completely casual.
“You’re so…I don’t know,” I managed to gasp out, “like you’re just playing with something.”
He chuckled and nodded, “sounds about right.”
I felt myself slipping into an orgasm, “like you’re just handling a piece of property. Like it’s just something you use for…” I trailed off.
“That’s right,” he smirked as I was overcome by shudders. “You’re a piece of property, baby.” I came hard.
He helped me to my feet. My face was still covered in his cum, I was completely in subspace, I barely knew which way was up. He pulled me into him and allowed me to steady myself against him. I sighed into his shoulder as he took my hand, held it up, and kissed it.
A gentleman.
Jack and Jitters, Part 3
The Southern Gentleman reached down, found my clit, and started to rub it. He tugged again on the stockings, pulling my body taut. He was standing up almost completely straight, staring down at me with almost the hint of a smile in his eyes, but otherwise about as casually as one would look flipping a pancake.
“You know, you’re sopping wet,” he said. He ran his fingers down my slit before wiping them on my face. He slapped his hand back down to my cunt and kept going, rubbing my clit hard. Occasionally, I fought. He would just smack my cunt and keep going, staring down at me with a look that was somewhere between severe and completely nonchalant.
He briefly let go of the stockings around my wrists to pull the nightgown over my breasts. He grabbed my wrists once more, pulled them up, and leaned his face down into my chest. The combined attention he was giving my breasts and clit was bringing me close already.
“No,” I tried to close my legs once more.
He smacked my cunt roughly. I cried out. “What did you say?”
“No."
He smacked it again. "What was that?" I huffed and ground myself against his hand. He smacked it once more. "What did you say?” By now, he was standing up completely straight. I was close. My body was trembling.
“Whatever you want,” I moaned out.
“Whatever you want…?"
"Whatever you want, Sir,” I managed to gasp out.
He chuckled, “good answer.” He looked me over and leaned down a bit closer to me, “you’re going to cum, aren’t you?” I nodded. “Do you think you deserve it?” He asks me this question a lot, just about every time I’m about to experience an orgasm. It’s hard. It’s like self-grading. You don’t want to over-inflate yourself and miss out because of your lack of modesty. You don’t want to undersell yourself and miss out.
“I don’t know,” I moaned.
He pulled harder on the stockings that held my wrists and chuckled, “I think you should. Go on. You don’t even have to ask."
I came hard. I would have probably crumpled to the floor if he wasn’t holding me up. It was the sort that involved my entire body, the kind that left me absolutely spent afterwards. I get incredibly tender after I’ve cum and he knows it, so I was a little shocked to feel him still rubbing my clit with the same intensity.
"I’m done,” I gasped out, “come on, I’m done. It…I’m tender. I’m done.”
With this, he smirked and leaned down a bit closer to me. He was grinning wide, almost as if he were about to tell a joke. His accent came out. “Well, I didn’t say I was, baby.”
sexisnottheenemy: Nick & Meredith by Kevin Loreaux
For the many of you who have asked,
The picture of my boobs I mentioned in a previous post is not on my tumblr, but on someone else’s.
Happy Hunting, you perverts.
<3, Ivy
I know I shouldn’t like this, but I do.
Oops.