Hi tumblr, apologies for the inactivity. We’ve been, well, busy.
blush
Daddy is going to sleep with a hard cock, thinking of you.
Stuff Sir texts me that makes me blush forever.
Just fyi Sir sent me a postcard to surprise me during my stressful thesis-finishing crunch time and signed it “xoxo Daddy” so there’s no denying it now.
She might always get so blushy for her inspection times, but she’s far too little to be left in charge of such an important part of her anatomy.
Leftovers, Part Three
Sitting down on the couch proved all the more difficult. The crotch rope pulled harder and my head was yanked back even further. I felt incredibly silly, and the only saving grace of the whole thing was the fact that it kept me from making eye contact with most of the people there.
Sir and Star were flanking me on the couch, which felt somehow a little bit protective and yet a little bit condescending with the way they were talking over me. Every so often, one of them would reach over to smooth my hair or check in with me. Sometimes, Sir would give the rope running down my back a little tug. I was too nervous to really participate in much of anything conversation-wise.
Eventually, Sir let me out so that I could use the bathroom, but sent me off there with one of his new purchases. It was a remote-control vibrator, and because it was a brand-new toy, Sir was obsessed with it like a kid in the days after Christmas. He kept making me wear it around his place, and figured that this party was an even better opportunity to give it a go.
Despite how humiliating it was, I consented and ducked into the bathroom to slip the bullet inside of myself.
Sir’s been giving me tasks lately, and every so often he likes me to write about them here. I’ve been enjoying them, and it’s helped me to feel like I’m still submitting to him even with the timezones and the distance and all the other absurd hurdles we’re handling right now.
You’ll remember we had a tally system of me misbehaving over the summer. It was going to culminate in me drinking a cup of my own piss (guh) after eight tallies (one tally per ounce.) It never went anywhere because I’ve been a good girl (heh.) Also, after I drank his piss, it put drinking my own in perspective. Because, meh.
But still, a cup is a lot of urine.
The other day, I surprised him by taking some initiative and suggesting I might be okay with taking just a sip of it. Like, a little sip.
I’ve got this sippy cup my friend gave me as a gag gift. She doesn’t know about the Daddy/little stuff, it was more a joke on my 21st birthday for me to put booze in there and walk around holding it. Every so often, I put a drink in there when I’m hosting a party because I can dance around with it and it won’t spill (don’t judge me.) So Sir suggested I pee into the sippy cup and, in his words, “take a sippy.”
Lately, I’ve been on this humiliation kick and he’s been doing Daddy stuff and it all felt kind of right. I drank enough water that I was pissing clear. I got up the courage and sucked through the straw, but totally misjudged how hard I’d have to suck because I was so nervous and wound up getting quite a bit of it and legitimately gagging on it.
I thought I’d be more anxious about writing about this, and I’m not sure if this is a sign of growth or not. But, yeah. I peed into a sippy cup (and then sanitized the crap out of that thing) and drank it. I choked on my own urine. I survived.
For the record: I’m a healthy girl and it tastes just fine. Still, yuck.
Dignity is for grown ups and real people.
Sir, making me blush.
I woke up in the middle of the night last night after having a super vivid/realistic nightmare. (The worst kind, really. Keep your monsters, something about dreaming about something actually, tangibly, believably terrible in perfect clarity.) Just now, I was complaining to Sir about how I needed to be up early today but would be out late tonight with Pup, so I might need to take a nap after work.
“That’s what you need,” he replied. “Nap times.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“With my deputy,” he said. “Wish you had a paci.”
This, coming from the guy who a year ago insisted he really wasn’t into Daddy/little stuff. Who now was deciding that my task today is to go find a pacifier and then take a nap today.
“Do you really like this?” I asked, nervous as I always am that he’s just doing this to appease me.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I do.”
Guys, I don’t even call him Sir anymore. Like, ever.
Leftovers, Part One
A few days after Thanksgiving, Sir and I went to a get-together Star was hosting with some other kinky/poly people to eat leftovers and hang out. Sir’s a little bit more familiar with and closer to these people, but I like Star and it’s always nice to connect within the community. We also had plans to go to a play party afterwords, so I had something fun on underneath my sweaterdress and coat.
I like going places with Sir where we can be “ourselves” because I like our dynamic and I like sharing that with other people. I don’t mean to say that I enjoy showing off (okay, maybe a little) but rather that I really love being able to be submissive to him in interactions that are just not exclusively with him. We talk a lot about the framing of our relationship and how the paradigm is really more of us using the frame of “boyfriend/girlfriend” as sort of a disguise/more palatable way of explaining ourselves on top of our “dominant/submissive” dynamic. So, it’s nice to just sort of go to a place and casually be Sir’s sub. It was enjoyable to put things on his plate for him, to fill his drinks for him, to sit patiently on his knee while he talked to someone.
At some point in the evening, I was feeling a little awkward (I really only knew Sir, Star, and Star’s partner but just barely) and was keeping to myself when Sir said he wanted to have Star show him how to put me in a harness. I got up and walked onto the carpet, where Star asked if I felt comfortable removing my dress.
For a minute, I hesitated, but then removed it and handed it off to Sir. “Thank you, Ivy,” said a guy I then realized I recognized from New Year’s a year ago. Aka, he was the guy who Sir totally messed up my game with. “I’m sorry,” he added, “am I allowed to look? That’s just…that’s super.”
I blushed. “Yeah, you can look. It’s fine.”
He gestured to the two girls sitting with him on the couch. “We like your stockings.”
“He gave them to me,” I said, pointing to Sir.
“Aren’t they nice?” Sir asked, turning me so the people on the couch could get a better look. He’s got this funny little ringleader/auctioneer streak where, when we’re in a group of people who are of our inclinations, he likes to show off. I can’t even pretend that I really mind all that much.
💋
Sir says I’m no longer allowed to claim I’m not into feeling worthless.
Because otherwise I’d be a liar.