bondage – Page 41

Continued from here.

I cannot begin to stress the importance of aftercare.

After being hogtied on Penthouse’s bed, tied up in a lot of rope and having that crotchrope pushing the knot against my clit, I’d gotten pretty subspaced. I was speaking a lot of nonsense, I had trouble keeping my eyes open and I could barely sit up straight.

Penthouse untied me gently, held me close, was patient when I struggled to coherently express myself. He brushed out my hair and tucked me in. He checked in to make sure I was all right.

For as hot as the whole thing was, the aftercare really sealed the deal for me on the experience. Anybody can set up a situation like that, but to be able to care for a very subspaced girl is real dedication.

darkangelsbride:

“No escape”

Photo by Jerome G.

myanonymouslair:

If Ivy had a Barbie it would look like this.

Giggle. Yep.

Used to tie up my Barbies when I was a kid, though nowhere near as ornately.

Continued from here.

The Southern Gentleman has a theory about the types of men I’m into. Basically, they fall into one of two categories: a) charismatic Aryans and b) what he calls “effete feminists” but is honestly just cause-oriented hipster-types.

I told him I was going to see Penthouse and before I left he proceeded to ask me, “so, which type is he?”

“You’re a jerk,” I replied.

“Feminist it is, then.”

Thus, when Penthouse texted SG from my phone, he decided to include the fact that he straddled the two categories.

And then proceeded to solicit advice.

“What’s he saying?” I asked.

Penthouse smirked, “he’s saying to feign indifference.” He yanked on the rope, pulling my crotchrope tighter, and I gasped. “But I think I like this better.”

Craftsmate tied me up like this once and I soaked right through my panties.

Just thought I’d share, okay?

After the whole awkward walking through the kitchen debacle, Craftsmate wound up trying out a bunch of floggers on me while I was tied down on his bed, ballgagged, and blindfolded with one of his ties. (Yeah, yeah, I know. Casual.)

At one point, he took out his knife and ran it over the line of the back of my knee. It’s been a really long time since I’ve enjoyed any knifeplay and my hand squeezed into a hard fist around the bedsheets. I heard Craftsmate chuckle and realized I’m one of the most transparent people ever.

Last night, we tried it again. I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard him flick it open. It’s a massively satisfying and anxiety-producing noise at the same time. He somehow was using it in a way that I was actually convinced he was cutting my arms, legs and stomach. He wasn’t, but I had gotten high with some people before then and marijuana always makes me really hypersensitive.

At one point, he reached under my shirt, which had been rolled up under my breasts, and tucked the knife into my bra. “You need to hold still,” he said, “or you’ll hurt yourself and it’ll be all your fault.”

In other news, having a kinky friend is kiiiind of awesome.

And sometimes she bites off much more than she can chew.

I like when I’m in so deep that I am utterly convinced that being able to suck on your thumb is something of a gift. It hinges on the idea that having some piece of you, however small, either earned or given in good grace, is simply enough to satisfy. It’s a kind of worship where that person, for a small amount of time, suddenly becomes just about everything.

Last night, Craftsmate came over and we chilled a little bit.

Somehow, I wound up hogtied.

Yep.

I let him use a few of my winter scarves and he had put me into an all right hogtie, considering the materials. He blindfolded me with another and wound up gagging me by rolling up one of my face towels, threading it between my teeth, and knotting it behind my head. This was, surprisingly, terribly effective as it held my mouth open and pressed my tongue down, rendering me capable of essentially just a few whines and grunts.

He sat up next to me on my bed and told me that if I was uncomfortable with anything, I could just shake my head hard and grunt three times and he would let me out. I should clarify that Craftsmate and I are basically two kinky people goofing around and not sexually involved, for a few rando followers who asked and for whoever else is thinking I’m about to get laid or something.

Instead, the asshole tickled me. If I moved too much, he spanked me fairly lightly. If I tried to struggle away, he would reach down and pinch my ass through my shorts. Hard.

So, while there were no handprints, as the picture would imply, there were a few little pock marks on my butt where Craftsmate pinched it.

What a jerk.

Though she wanted to be shared, she was frightened at the prospect of someone new having control.

And so, when the time came that she was to be given to someone else, he sat with her. He played with her hair, he stroked her cheek, he whispered encouragements. He grounded her when everything else seemed so foreign and terrifying.

Even though she could not see him, she felt safe, if not a little bashful for how much she was enjoying herself. And when it was done he held her and they both, in their own ways, were proud.

In which it is convenient that people I know follow my tumblr:

I would like to try this.

Please and thank you.