Playdates at Heart’s are equal parts fun and scary.
But that’s what you get for putting off work to have a playdate.
bondage
It’s going to take a lot more to get me to hold still for much longer, Daddy.
What a lucky girl she is to be gagged with such a pretty scarf.
Recently, the Redhead, Craftsmate and I were at an event with some readily available candles. We were all sort of goofing around about it, but we each wound up taking some afterwards for “personal use”. The shifty glances the three of us were giving each other were kind of priceless.
As the evening wound down, I shoved a bunch into Craftsmate’s shoulderbag.
“Did you take any for yourself?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t have my backpack, where would I put them?”
He smirked, “I have a few ideas where you can put them.”
Currently, they reside in the top lefthand drawer of my desk.
They have to get creative with the squirmy ones.
Playdate with Popcorn, Part Three
Before Popcorn came over, Penthouse treated me to a little sensory deprivation. Because, yes, that sort of thing is a treat to me. I’m a funny girl like that.
He secured the blindfold over my eyes, tied me down to the bed, and popped the headphones into my ears. He had recorded something rather filthy and entirely too blushy for me to go into too much detail about. But it was really hot, let me assure you.
At one point, he turned the recording off and called up Craftsmate to thank him for the blindfold and the ballgag he had made. I blushed deeply as he did, his hand trailing up my thigh as he implied over the phone that I wasn’t really in any condition to talk.
Shortly after he let me out, Popcorn confirmed that she was headed over. Honestly, the deprivation had put me in about the right headspace. I was incredibly calm and quite ready to submit.
Not to mention very, very worked up.
Chained, Part Seven
“I love how she stays up on her toes,” Popcorn said.
Penthouse got down on his knees and tied my legs together at the ankles. He patted my calf before standing back up. “Can you stay up until we’re done with you like a good girl?”
I nodded, biting down on the corners of the gag as Popcorn hit me with the flogger.
I’m proud to say I did.
One of the mornings I was there, Penthouse had to go somewhere a few hours before one of my meetings. We had messed around in bed a bit and he took some rope and tied one of my ankles loosely to the bed-frame.
“Now, edge yourself and text Daddy all about it and you can let yourself out,” he said, kissing my forehead before grabbing his backpack.
I pouted as I heard the door click shut and reached down between my legs.
I have an absurd amount of kink in the woods themed photographs in my drafts. Can somebody make something along these lines happen soon for me, please? It’s a chicken and egg situation of having the fetish and having the pictures.
Continued from here.
From the cabinet, Penthouse took out a string of plastic clothespins, spaced out on a thin piece of rope. “Do you know what this is?” He asked, shaking it a bit to try to untangle it. I groaned behind the ballgag, starting to feel drool well up on the sides of my mouth.
At the beginning of keeping me gagged, he had slid a buzzer from a Taboo game into my hand and told me to squeeze it if anything was starting to cross a boundary, as a sort of surrogate for a safeword. He told me to test out the buzzer once more before sitting down between my legs and clipping one of the clothespins to my labia.
I squealed into my gag, whining softly as he tried to untangle the line of clothespins, or zipper, with one attached to me. Once he had the next untangled, he clipped it onto my other labia and I winced. “You ready to tell me?” He asked.
I looked over the clothespins still on the line and smirked, shaking my head. I was enjoying how much it hurt. The rest went up to my chest, pinching the skin of my breasts and then my nipples. I whimpered softly as he gave the line a tentative tug and, when he saw I wasn’t going to push the buzzer, he gave a much harder one, pulling all of the clothespins off of me quickly.
I squealed loudly and he grabbed the nipple clamps, sliding them tightly onto my nipples before duct taping over them. I raised an eyebrow as picked up the riding crop and started cropping my taped nipples. “If you don’t tell me,” he said through my squeals, “I’ll move down to your cunt.” He taped it shut and moved between cropping it and cropping my clamped nipples.
Finally, I gave in, tugging hard on my bonds and telling him in a gagged slur that I would show him where the wallet was. He untied me and, with my nipples still clamped, had me fetch it for him and bring it to him.
“Good girl,” he said when I dropped it into his lap. “Now, was that so hard?”