blush – Page 13

It was my first time going over the border and I was going through the usual questioning from customs. But, I was prepared. I’d memorized the address, I had my passport out and ready, I had my return ticket at hand in case he needed to see it.

“Have you been to Canada before?” he asked, checking my passport.

I shook my head. “No, I haven’t.”

“So, how do you know your friend, then?"

The long of it is that she was my very first follower the night I started my tumblr back in 2011 and I had no idea what I wanted from just about anything in my life. In particular, the kink stuff all had suddenly rushed into my life, coagulated into something completely indecipherable. I was starting to understand the idea that I didn’t have to hide and that I could get what I wanted, but both concepts overwhelmed me pretty equally.

And so when I found tumblrs like hers – of people off doing the things I’d thought were totally unreasonable and impossible and just functioning – I thought I’d throw myself into the fray and see what came of it. I followed a bunch of the blogs I’d been lurking around. And she followed me back.

For the better part of a week, she was my only follower, generously liking stuff while I awkwardly tried to negotiate being able to vocalize my sexuality. We exchanged asks, which turned into emails, which turned into detailed exchanges about the things we didn’t feel we wanted to elaborate about on our blogs.

And weirdly, she started taking on the caregiver/Daddy role without either of us realizing it. She listened when stuff got bad or weird or just plain old disastrous. When I was too shy to post pictures of myself, I sent them to her first to try to practice being brave. After she’d encouraged me, I’d post them up.

And, yeah, I had a high-functioning crush on her. But, more than that, I’d developed an honest friendship with a really admirable, open person who was on a pretty similar adventure.

Fast forward to this past summer, when I was in a tinychat with her and the topic of femme Daddies came up. Or maybe it was the fact that I wanted a Daddy? But there was some joking that had turned into a series of "but, really"s that turned into a dynamic we’d been unconsciously pantomiming already.

I looked up at the customs officer and blushed. ”…Internet.“

He smirked. "Okay, move along.”

“Don’t you ever tell me you’re calling my bluff, sweetheart.”

Turns out he wasn’t bluffing.

I’d elaborate but I’m kind of dying of blushies.

nankingdecade:

My girl was bad today. I hope she learned her lesson.

Blush.

doctortease:

Behavior correction case file #440 UPDATE: Ivy. While the subject has shown marked improvement under treatment so far, recent indications are that progress has plateaued. It may simply be that we have reached the limitations of what can be achieved by coaxing and instructing, and need to move on to working directly with the subconscious.

Simply put, Ivy will be put on overload. Each week, her chart will be updated with a randomized stim schedule, with staggered rest periods at irregular intervals to disorient her and induce repeated fugue states. She will spend the majority of shifts in some form of sensory deprivation combined with vibration, penetration, focused impact, and utilitarian bondage or encasement. She will never know exactly who is using her body, how long a session will last, or whether she will be permitted (or punished for) orgasm. Any information she gleans about her current circumstances will be drip-fed and incomplete. Monitor pulse levels, and feel free to switch things up to keep them high.

Between these sessions, Ivy will be folded into a small case and transported to the recovery chamber on level 4. She will spend recovery time unbound but collared, and dressed in minimal decorative garments, which are to be referred to as “pretties.” She will see a small, consistent set of supervisors during these periods, who have already been briefed on treating her gently but addressing her in diminutive and reductive terms. Soothing, petting, and cuddling are encouraged. Subject is to feel as if she is receiving special treatment (which is in fact true), but also in firm and careful hands.

Until, upon waking, she finds herself at full use again.

The overarching goal in this case is to simulate a fractured reality. The subject should come to believe that her stim sessions are a dream when she is in recovery, and that her recovery is a dream when she is under stim. The alternating stresses of this contradiction should provide opportunity to examine and manipulate her psyche to an otherwise unattainable degree.

The closest we have come to using this form of therapy in the past has been as a punitive measure against hostile actors bent on harming the Institute. The intent for those subjects was to break them. With Ivy, however, it must be clear that our intent is pure and therapeutic. We do not expect her to break; we expect her to blossom.

Be careful what you wish for.

Disclaimer: I gave him permission to write this post and to use my photos. Please don’t reblog me and leave gross commentary like “hot teen ass” (though I’m kind of flattered, as I’m not a teen anymore.)

Do you think if I leave a little, umm…trail of breadcrumbs…doctortease will start posting again?

littlelaneykink:

“It’s okay to be curious, pumpkin, but daddy doesn’t think you should be looking at sites like these by yourself. You’re just too little.”

“Sorry, daddy,” she said bashfully, embarrassed that she’d been caught looking at such naughty things when he wasn’t looking.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s not mad. In fact,” he cooed, beckoning to her with a pat on his legs, “why don’t you come sit in daddy’s lap and show me what your favorites are?”

She blushed a pretty pink as she stood fidgeting to the side, looking torn between wanting to keep looking at the naughty pictures and running to hide under the bed.

“It’s alright, pumpkin. Daddy won’t bite,” he encouraged with a wink.

She smiled just a bit as she finally walked over and settled herself into his lap, feeling immediately that there was something hard in daddy’s lap that she’d never quite noticed before.

“That’s my girl. Now,” daddy said as he rested his hand high up on her thigh, “tell daddy why you liked this picture so much…”

I’m in this kind of a mood tonight.

Sir says I’m not allowed to have any secrets,

and not like I’d have anywhere to hide them.

(Agh this post is super, super blushy but Sir is having me write it so bear with me because ugh it’s so blushy I can’t.)

So, Sir decided that since we’re moving into a new sort of dynamic, I have a few lessons to learn so that I can be a good slave. The first, today, was that my holes needed to be filled up when they weren’t in use.

He taught me that the order was ass, mouth and pussy. The ass came first because I had to remember that my pleasure comes second. The mouth comes second so that I can get the gag wet with my pussy. And then the pussy is last to make sure I’m all filled up and I don’t forget what my holes are for.

It was the afternoon and I didn’t have anywhere to be for a bit, so I bent over on my bed and put my metal plug in my asshole. Then, I laid down and got my pussy all wet, rubbed my cock gag into it and gagged myself with it. And then I slipped Mr. Purple deep into my pussy, but didn’t turn it on.

It was a little overwhelming, how full I felt. I couldn’t even sit down because the pressure was so intense (I’m a very little girl) and so I was stuck either lying down or kneeling. But Sir said he was very proud of me and I was proud of myself. Usually, when it comes to doing stuff to myself on my own, I wuss out and don’t carry it out. But I just wanted to be a good girl.

I’m looking forward to learning more lessons.

The Party Sub, Part Ten

Sir brought me upstairs and had me lie down with my head resting on a pillow and my ass up. He teased his fingers over my butt and down the back of my leg, leaning in to kiss my thighs. I thought he was going to eat my pussy from behind, but instead he leaned in and started to lick my asshole.

I blushed and buried my face in the pillow. Sir’s never done that before, mostly because I’m way too squirmy about the whole thing. It had been a while since I’d been rimmed, but I found myself squirming back against him.

After a while, Sir pulled back and started spanking me. I took it and felt myself start to get overwhelmed by endorphins once more. By the time he stopped and told me to hold the position, my head was fuzzy and I was getting sleepy. With that, Sir walked downstairs and left me to wait with my ass in the air.

Some people were messing around fairly close to us and when he got back, Sir asked them if I had been a good girl.

“Yeah, she was,” one replied, “she’s a very a good girl.”

I grinned into the pillow.

The Party Sub, Part Six

Sir helped me up to my feet and started to guide me over to the steps. He looped his finger in between my cuffs, pulling me close as we walked. However, just as I was about to walk downstairs, I walked right into a tall girl in a black dress.

“Well, look at you. Look how cute you are.” She gestured to my lingerie. All I could see was a grin. “Has _____ seen you dressed that way? He likes the whole corrupting innocent girls thing."

I shook my head. I was still a little high from playing with the hitachi and being tied up in front of people, and now being spoken to this way I felt myself getting kind of small and nervous. Confessedly, I’ve always been a little shy about flirting with pretty girls.

"Can I touch her?” she asked Sir, who nodded. She smiled, her face soft and yet still a little menacing. “May I touch you?” she asked me.

“Y…yes,” I stammered out.

She placed her hand on my cheek. “Yes, who?”

“Yes, Miss?” I tested.

Her fingers twisted into my hair and she tipped my head back. Sir, still standing behind me, reached up and rubbed my shoulder. “That’s right,” she murmured and traced her fingers over the cups of my bustier. “Now you’re not going to look at me, are you? You’re going to be a good girl.”

“Yes, Miss,” I replied.

She ran her hands over me, Sir joining her. She asked me questions: if I submit like this often, if I’m a good girl, if I have been to parties like this. I answered her as best as I could, but my voice trembled.

“You’re sweet, but I wish you were more assertive,” she said. Sir reached up and cupped my breasts while she tapped my chin with her finger. “Keep that head up,” she ordered before continuing, “so nervous. I bet you’re a lot more assertive when you’re not like this, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I replied and she turned me to face Sir. "I’ll be more assertive, Miss.“ She leaned down and bit my shoulder, causing me to gasp. She continued for a few minutes and I kept my eyes up, grateful Sir was steadying me with how much my legs were wobbling.

Her hand rested on my hip and she turned me back around. "You can look at me,” she said before bending to kiss me softly. When she straightened up, she patted my cheek and looked past me to Sir, “she’s a good girl. You’re lucky.”

The praise made me glow and I grinned up at Sir. Our new friend said she’d hopefully see us around, and she walked over to the bed to talk to the host and a few other guests.