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nanking-decade:

“You’re doing a good job being used like a filthy whore, sweetheart.”

When he reassures me like this, even the filthiest stuff somehow becomes sweet and intimate. I feel safe and cared for and brave and loved. Maybe that’s kind of weird, but it makes me happy.

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It was the first time I had been fucked while I had something in my ass.

We were rough, almost urgent. He fucked me while standing at the side of the bed, holding my legs up against his shoulders and chest. My wrists were tied in front of me. I got subspaced rather fast, falling so deeply I could barely talk.

He kept me there with slaps, with fucking me so hard I cried out, by clamping my nipples and making me hold the chain with my teeth. 

Lately, I’ve found that despite some of the roughness involved in the dynamic, there’s these glimmers of sweetness in it that makes me feel close and safe and loved. 

“I need you closer,” I gasped out, the chain falling from between my lips.

He leaned down, continuing to fuck me roughly, and kissed my lips and forehead sweetly. And, all kinds of overwhelmed, I melted just a little bit.

“Just Friends” by Ivy Kink

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In this installment of excerpts of my collection of erotica, I take on the stereotype of bi-curious college girls. Enjoy!

Since she had moved away to college, Jenna was not used to being awoken by anything aside from an alarm clock and her anxiety that she would oversleep class. Sometimes, an ill-timed triggering of the fire alarm or the wail of a truck backing up into the construction on the new Chemistry building across the quad would jolt her from sleep, but certainly not another person. So, she was surprised that Saturday morning to feel the brush of fingertips across her shoulder. “Hey, Jenna,” a familiar voice whispered gently, a lock of hair tickling over her arm as her morning visitor leaned closer, “wake up, it’s almost eleven.”

Jenna attempted to shoot up in bed at the mention of it being so close to the afternoon. Usually, she prided herself on her punctuality: a quality so many of her classmates had abandoned in the second semester in favor of an extra few minutes of sleep. However, before Jenna could scramble off of her bed in order to snatch up her backpack and sprint across campus to class, two factors stopped her from dashing off in a blur of scattered bed sheets. The first was her realization that it was the weekend, which momentarily abated her distress until she noticed the second: that she was immobilized, held in place by bonds she could not immediately recall. She panicked, twisting in her sheets as best as she could until she was lying on her side and found herself face-to-face with her roommate, Brenda.

“Brenda, what the fuck?” She exclaimed, noticing the wicked grin that had crossed her friend’s face. She followed Brenda’s gaze and discovered the neat layers of thin, white plastic looped above and below her breasts, pulling her nightgown taut over her chest. Her nipples protruded beneath the light cotton in conspicuous arousal, drawing a mortified rush of blood into Jenna’s cheeks. Giving what she was sure was even more of the strips plastic encasing her arms and legs another tug, she recalled the events of the night before with a heavy sigh.

She had just finished brushing her teeth when Brenda returned from the novelty store in town with the bondage tape, which she had excitedly shown her roommate with a flourish. Tearing the roll from the packaging with Christmas-morning eagerness, Brenda explained the merits of the tape’s abilities to not stick to skin to her visibly underwhelmed roommate. While Jenna was hardly a prude, she was caught off-guard by her roommate’s willingness to discuss her sexual repertoire in painstaking detail, her unabashed carelessness that resulted in the chain of her nipple clamps being left to dangle over top of their minifridge, her willingness to lend Jenna her vibrator – an offer of generosity that was a tad too intimate for Jenna to redeem.

Although she had not shared her roommate’s joy over the new method of restraint, Jenna was intrigued, if a little skeptical. “I mean, it’s cool, I guess,” she replied, stepping out of her slippers, “I just don’t really think it could hold that well if it’s just sticking to itself with – what – static?”

“It’s pretty effective from what I’ve heard. And once Dave gets back, I’ll have a personal testimony,” Brenda cracked, winking and plunking down on her bed at the other end of the room. Although the two shared a bedroom, Brenda’s proclivity to sleep at her boyfriend’s across campus made Jenna often feel as if she had the place all to herself. While the privacy came in handy for late-night study sessions or the occasions that Jenna would bring a boy around, she was grateful to have the company of her roommate that evening while Dave was away.

“And how would you know, anyway?” Brenda added with just a hint of coyness, “nobody’s ever tied you up like that, right?”

Jenna shrugged and reached for her hairbrush, “educated guess.” With a sigh, she started to comb her hair.

“You want to try?” Brenda asked, offering the roll of tape with an inviting shake of her hand, as if wagging a chew-toy. “I’ll tie you up, you get out.” She strode over to Jenna’s side of the room, running her thumb excitedly over the loose end of the tape, “in fact, we’ll make this fun. We’ll turn it into a bet. You get out, I’ll buy you lunch. You concede that you can’t and lunch is on you.”

Mulling over the offer, Jenna hesitated. The tape did not look very harsh or so completely inescapable, but the idea of being tied up was not particularly appealing. As far as sex went, Jenna was what her roommate deemed “a nice scoop of vanilla ice cream at a church picnic.” She was much less interested in relating the details of her escapades. Any tales that Brenda had managed to wheedle out of her roommate were seriously abridged and relied heavily on euphemism. To Jenna, cunnilingus was just as exciting and scandalous as flogging was to her roommate. Unlike Brenda, Jenna seemed immune to diminishing returns and was content to repeat her preferred repertoire.

“Come on,” Brenda pressed, a wicked grin crossing her face, “you said yourself that you’d be out in two seconds.”

“I didn’t say it that way.”

“Oh, same difference,” Brenda insisted, plopping down next to her on the bed, “now lie down on your stomach.”

Jenna shook her head, “I’m not into it, Brenda.”

“Aww, you didn’t think I was coming onto you, did you?” she asked slyly, looping arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “We’re just doing this for fun, okay? Just as friends, I promise. It’s just a silly bet.” She winked and wagged the roll of bondage tape once more. “Now, really, get on your stomach.”

With a huff, Jenna set the hairbrush down on her bedside table and swung her legs onto the bed. Tentatively, she settled onto her stomach and rested her hands up by her pillow. “Fine,” she groaned, “but hurry up, would you? I’m getting sleepy.”

Brenda rearranged Jenna’s arms behind her back. Carefully, she began to wrap them in the tape, encasing her roommate’s forearms in the slick, white plastic from wrist to just below the elbow. “I picked the white kind so Dave can wrap it like a bra, too, make me look like the girl from The Fifth Element,” Brenda explained as she cut the tape with a pair of brow scissors and carefully tucked the loose end under the bonds. In order to ensure it stuck, pressed it carefully against the looped plastic. “But it comes in all sorts of colors.”

“Cool beans,” Jenna replied with just a hint of snark. Her brow furrowed in confusion as her friend carefully eased her torso up and began to wrap the tape under her breasts, securing her bound arms to her back. “Hey,” she exclaimed as Brenda shifted the tape above her breasts, wrapping the tape some more. “Isn’t that a little excessive?”

“Shush, would you?” Brenda chided as she sliced off the tape from the roll. “I haven’t even gotten to your legs yet, whiner.”

With that, she began winding the tape around Jenna’s legs, easing her nightgown up slightly to extend the wrapping up to the middle of her roommate’s thighs. Despite her general aversion to bondage, Jenna could not help but blush as Brenda’s fingertips brushed her legs and her skin receded below the meticulously wrapped bondage tape. When Brenda leaned down to bite off the tape from the roll, Jenna felt a slight tremor at the feeling of her roommate’s lips dragging along her skin, the sharp motion slowed in Jenna’s mind by its sheer audacity. When the bite proved unsuccessful, she found herself stifling a shiver as she felt the chill of the scissors.

“All right,” Brenda said, straightening up and climbing off of the bed, “let’s see your best attempt.”

Although she attempted to wriggle out, to snap the plastic, to work some part loose, Jenna found that the tape did not give. What she did find, however, was that she had underestimated the degree to which she would enjoy being encased in the stringent white tape. While she dreaded the fact that she might not be able to free herself, she relished the new sensation of helplessness at the hands of her roommate, however trite. She felt her cunt tingle, wet and eager at the prospect. With every squirm and tug, she sank further into the fantasy of having been captured and was unable to contain a moan or two as she considered what her roommate might do with her in such a state. Or, what she might have to do to encourage Brenda to release her. Or, touch her again. She couldn’t decide.

Brenda was nothing short of demure, politely asking every so often if her friend’s circulation was unobstructed and watching with only the faintest hint of smugness. In her struggles, Jenna grew tired and, before she knew it, found herself staring up at her grinning roommate the next morning.

“You bet me you could get out,” Brenda explained, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her. She brushed her roommate’s hair off of her face before reaching for something behind her. Jenna craned her neck to see where her hand had fallen, but her question was quickly answered by a flash of red and her friend’s fingers pushing firmly into the corners of her jaw as she pushed the thick, rubber ball past her teeth. She buckled it in a quick – almost rehearsed – motion. “Looks like you lost that bet, huh?”

Brenda got to her feet and moved to her dresser, flicking open her jewelry box. “Anyway,” she continued, “you fell asleep in the middle. It was pretty cute, to be honest.” She extracted a pair of silver hoop earrings, clicking one into place in the lobe before turning and adding, “you know you drool when you sleep.”

Flushed, Jenna hung her head as Brenda put on the other earring. She moved around to the side of the bed and took a seat, stroking the back of Jenna’s head. “It was funny,” she commented idly, tickling the skin behind her roommate’s ear with the pad of her thumb, “waking up this morning to find the whole room smelled like your cunt. And there you were, insisting you didn’t like this sort of stuff.”

As her roommate’s accusation felt more and more valid with each squirm, Jenna felt her embarrassment spread from her cheeks, coloring her chest in the glow of her new sexual discovery and the humiliation of having Brenda there to bear witness. 

“You’re lucky you’ve got me,” Brenda continued, her voice something of a purr. “Forget about lunch, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, don’t we, get you up to speed on all the fun things you can do?” Jenna shivered as she felt her roommate’s thumb wander beneath her nightgown and brush the fabric of her panties with barely the tip of her fingernail. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to fuck you. We’re just friends, remember?”

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“Good. Now repeat to us, very slowly and in great detail, all the ways in which you are a sick, filthy slut.”

I remember when you made me do this just to you.

That alone was humiliating enough.

I still blush and squirm thinking about it. 

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Sweetheart figured she could sneak out past curfew.

She also figured she would just get sent back to bed if she was caught.

Good thing Sweetheart’s not really a betting kind of girl.

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Bumblebee by Ivy Kink

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Here’s another taste of my forthcoming collection of erotica. Next week, I’ll reveal the title and a bunch more details about the project. 

You have several strengths, bumblebee, but subtlety is not one of them.

I found the leash and collar you left on my desk, incongruous and comical amongst the endless drafts of dissertation and supply of partially dried highlighters. Like a dog who wants a walk in the park, dropping the instruments of her release at her owner’s feet in blatant suggestion. You’re precious, I’ll give you that. And so very, very determined. But subtle? Hardly.

Of course I noticed that the duct tape had been eased to the front of the usually innocuous drawer of household supplies, along with the scissors, coupled with the relocation of my riding crop to the closest, most convenient hook along the wall of my closet to be nestled amongst my belts. Surely this was the purpose of your sudden interest in home improvement, that I might notice it.

But, such efforts imply that I had somehow been neglecting you. And it is awful dramatic to confuse disregard with denial. I assure you, my refusal to reach for the crop (or the harness or any other item in this house that you’ve managed to somehow pervert to your own little fancies) has been entirely intentional.

But, if you want to be tied up so badly, I’ll certainly indulge you. 

I’ve taken the liberty of laying out a few things myself. Maybe you’ll recognize your old friends – the duct tape, the scissors, the crop, your leash and collar. Perhaps it’s been some time, but I am sure you are not completely estranged from the cuffs, the clamps and the blindfold.

Your face drops when I order you to pick up the scissors, but you comply and dutifully bring the blades toward the waistband of your jeans. 

“All right, love,” I interject, relishing the fact that you have obeyed, “you can just remove them. Fold them on your bed. But leave the panties on. Those get sliced off.”

You pout, “they’re new.” 

“And here I was, being generous,” I lament, reaching for the scissors that you have returned to the bed. You act fast, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down to your ankles. You kick off your sandals and shake the rumpled legs of your jeans from your calves. “The shirt, too.” You obey, unhooking your bra and sliding it from your arms for good measure.

I hold the scissors back out to you, handle-first with the sort of attention to detail and safety a mother exercises when handing such a device to her child. You huff and swipe them out of my hand, hitching them into your panties and exhaling anxiously with the first snip.

“I would’ve cut the sides if I were you, not straight-on down the middle,” I comment, taking a seat on the bed. “But I suppose you always do have a flair for the dramatic.”

You draw the scissors back and sip through one side, then the other with an indignant “hmph.“ 

“Let’s see them,” I say. You hold them up by the remainder of the waistband between your thumb and forefinger, disdainfully and just a little flushed. “No, come on, let’s see the crotch.” Your brows furrow and you take hold with both hands, stretching the fabric to reveal a small patch of wetness. “There’s the moneyshot,” I tease. You cannot meet my gaze.

I rise to my feet and reach forward, taking hold of your chin. Tilting your head as to bring your face in line with mine, I chuckle when your eyes continue to look away: a tiny rebellion. “Girl,” I scold and feel the smallest trace of a shudder tremor through your jaw, followed by a hard swallow. You so hate being admonished, even in a single harshly-delivered word.

“Yes, Mistress,” you choke out, eyes darting to meet mine. 

My grip softens. “The scissors, please,” I request and open my palm. Unable to look down, you cautiously tap the handle on the pad of my thumb before dropping them into my hand. I release your chin, but continue to stand closely. Your anxious breath tickles my collarbone. “The panties should be in your mouth. Doesn’t that sound about right?” 

You nod solemnly and ball up the fabric before pressing the wad past your teeth.

I grin and return to my seat on the bed, enjoying the show. “Now the duct tape. Three strips over that. Neatly.”

Before applying any of the strips of tape to your mouth, you rip each off and arrange it on the nightstand. Ensuring that the lengths were more or less equal, you press them one after the other onto your lips, bulging with the fabric of your panties. When you have finished, you shift your jaw in an attempt to demonstrate that you have done your job well and that the gag will not be dislodged.

Smiling, I reach once more for the roll of duct tape and wave it in front of you. “Around your head. Three times.” Your nostrils flare and you stomp your foot in protest, letting out a low whine below the tape. “Don’t give me that. Just pick up your hair and be careful about it.”

You collect the roll and carefully press the exposed end of tape to your right cheek. With your left hand carefully lifting your hair out of the way, you pass the tape around your head in three meticulous winds. I hand you the scissors and you snip away the excess before allowing your hair to once more frame your silent face. 

“There we are,” I sigh contentedly before tossing you the bundle of crocheted rope. “Tie your ankles. Not so tight you’ll cut off circulation. And take care with it, be a diligent little Girl Scout, bumblebee.” I wink. 

You groan and untangle the rope. First, you attempt to sit on the bed, but a meaningful glance redirects you to the door. Grumbling under the gag, you secure your ankles together and adjust yourself so your bare ass is settled on the carpet and your restrained legs are extended in front of you. Wordlessly, I toss you the handcuffs, which you catch with narrowed eyes. You click the first into position before sliding the other hand into the opened cuff.

“Nope, behind your back, love,” I interject and you roll your eyes, rearranging yourself until I hear the decisive click.

I sit down on the floor beside you, cupping your face softly. You welcome my grip this time, mistaking gentleness for mercy, and meet my stare. “Very good, love,” I coo, stroking your cheek through the layers of duct tape with my thumb, patting the skin that bulges slightly over the gag. “Now take a deep breath in and be even better for me.”

You squeal into your panties as I attach the first clamp, followed by the second, to your hard, eager nipples. Your arousal has betrayed you, allowing the tools of your torture to be applied so easily. I kiss your brow, dotted with anxious perspiration.

“Don’t give me that look,” I tease and give the chain a slow yank down to your navel. You squeeze your eyes shut, your face contorting deliciously with pain. “This one suits you so much better anyway.” I unhook my finger from the chain and remove my hand from your cheek before rolling you onto your stomach.

I relish the whine from behind your gag as your clamped nipples come into contact with the fibers of the carpet. “So, maybe I should explain tonight, bumblebee,” I begin, reaching for the riding crop. I trace the leather up the inside of your thigh, a threat that leaves an adorable trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

“It was so nice of you to send me such a cute little reminder,” I tease, using my free hand to push the leash and collar off of the bed, letting them fall in front of your face. “Did you want to be my little pet real bad, baby?” You nod eagerly and I scoop up the leash and collar, tossing them over my shoulder. “Too bad.”

“Hmm?” You exclaim behind the gag.

I draw the crop away from your skin before hitting the bottom of your left foot. Grunting, you grind your bound feet into the carpet. I settle my other hand on the back of your head to stroke your hair. Seeing you in such a state, I can’t help but chuckle.

“Awww, love, you don’t think you were going to get away with getting what you wanted, did you?” I land the crop on the back of your thigh, eliciting a squeal. “Maybe next time, bumblebee.”

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So, I got a little brave and sent this picture from the other day to a pretty girl.

And I’m coping with my exhibitionist rush by posting it here too before I come down from it and blush and hide for days.

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“You’re just far too little and you’d be up far too late to play with Daddy and his friends. But, look, all of your little friends are right here, just in time for bedtime.”