“I thought you said you were feeling brazen, Sweetheart. Maybe you just flew a little too close to the sun.”
blush
It’s when he asks for those certain things that she blushes, bites her lip, tells him to keep his voice down. And she worries everyone around has abandoned their own preoccupations to hear what he had just whispered.
“I can’t possibly do that right here.”
It’s funny how fickle the concept of “can’t possibly” can be.
midsummer daydreamer by Seatory on Flickr.
Otherwise, she’s far too fidgety.
Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away
If you can use some exotic booze
There’s a bar in far Bombay
Come on and fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away
Since I’ve been brave lately.
This is my tail, gifted by Craftsmate.
It’s fake fur, attaches to the handle of my butt plug and makes me blush like no other.
Meow.
So, I decided to finally share something that’s kind of super blushy but I’ve been holding out on talking about.
I went over to Craftsmate’s one day after he said he wanted to show me something. When we reached his bedroom, he pulled out this mess of straps and told me to open my mouth. I was shocked and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I complied.
He pushed the ring behind my teeth, lining it up so my mouth was forced open. I had never worn a ring gag before and I simultaneously enjoyed and dreaded how receptive it made me feel. With a smile, Craftsmate set to tightening the straps around my head, under my chin, alongside my nose, shifting and undoing them every so often to make the fit tighter.
When he had finished, he grinned and pressed his thumbs to the straps along the side of my nose, holding my face still. “You look so pretty like this,” he said, before shoving two fingers into my mouth and probing around. I could do just about nothing to prevent him from doing so aside from attempting to shove him away.
After he had withdrawn his fingers, his hand settled on my chin and he tilted my head slightly. I groaned, feeling drool start to form around the sides of the gag. Without warning, Craftsmate spat into my open mouth and, without any other options, I accepted it.
She always found inspections blushy. She hated being on all fours with the lights on and her bum in the air. The vulnerability, the lack of control, it made her squirm just to think about the way he used the word “present” (as in presentation). It made her want to hide. It wasn’t one of her favourite things, but it made him happy. It made him proud. And he rewarded her so sweetly.
But that would have been preferable, easy even, compared to the inspection he gave her last time. She sunk in her seat when he looked in her ears, and when he said “let me check your teeth” she felt cornered. She prayed for the chair to eat her alive, she wished she could disappear. She protested. He was firm. She scanned his face frantically, searching to assess her chances of changing his mind: Hopeless.
She considered it for one fast second, saying her safe-word. She never had before, but as she cowered under him she put the word on the tip of her tongue just to see how it felt.
“Stop being silly and open your mouth,” her fussing didn’t move his resolve.
She was angry. He knows how stubborn she is, how could this be the one thing she couldn’t bear to do for him? After the long and depraved list of occasions where she had exceeded his expectations, after the times she had shocked even herself, how could baring her teeth be the line she wouldn’t cross?
They teetered on the edge like that, a stand-off to the untrained eye. But they both knew what would happen next, the question was only how long it would take for her to concede.
“Good girl,” he took his fingers out of her mouth and cooed at her. “Was that so hard?”
Image: And Then by AomochiNAKAHARA Story by: Heart
I usually hate it when people on tumblr are like “oh my god such and such and I are the same person oh my god”. Because tumblr provides such a limited scope of who somebody is that the whole idea of taking a small fraction of somebody’s life and saying that you are therefore identical to somebody is really obnoxious to me.
But, this fraction overlaps right now in a very real way. I’ve been behind on writing about my experiences and mostly I’ve been too busy blushing over them.
So maybe I can just get away with reblogging this (oh, and this) and calling it a day without having to recount the not-so-sordid tales?
“Awww,” Craftsmate said when he saw whyexactly’s comment. “He thinks you’re already housebroken. But that’s just not true.”
There is so much condescension in being told to slow down.
Like, “shh, shh, sweetheart, slow down.”
I can honestly barely write it, it makes me blush so much.
Craftsmate had made me dinner and, after serving himself, put my plate on the floor. I got down onto my knees and went to start eating when he interrupted me.
“Not yet,” he said, picking up the roll of duct tape and taping my hands into little fists.
I huffed, pawing my napkin closer before gingerly lowering my face down to pick up a piece of broccoli.
Craftsmate watched for a few minutes with a smirk on his face as I carefully avoided getting food on my face as best as I could. All of a sudden, he reached forward and grabbed my hair.
“That’s not how kitties eat,” he insisted before shoving my face deep into the plate, covering it in food and sauce. “Kitties are messier, like this.” He pushed down a bit longer, shaking my head against the plate before pulling me up.
I stifled a whimper and cursed at him. Getting this vulnerable still scares me sometimes. I’m frightened when things start to get messy, especially when it comes to how much I enjoy it.
My head processes this sort of stuff in a way that figures that if I express outrage my partner will do it again without me having to ask. But this time, I had to.
“Do that again?” I choked out. I hated having to admit I liked it. I was ashamed to admit I wanted it. But, he complied, reaching up and shoving my face into the food once more.
“Good kitty,” he murmured as he practically wiped the dish with my face.
Without another word, I swallowed my pride and started eating.
Even if you do everything right, inspections are still going to be blushy.
That’s just how inspections work.