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I did a little investigation and my super-sleuth abilities lead me to find out that her name is Janelle Fishman. And all the photos we have been fawning over, Heart, and some we’ve even reblogged that don’t include Janelle, belong to a giant work of photographic genius by Ellen von Unwerth called Revenge

And, get this! They’re not vintage at all. They were taken in 2002-3. That’s talent. 

PS: Revenge is deviously sexy. The work itself. And the overarching concept.

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This year’s May Day festivities kicked off with a pleasant romp around the maypole. 

(PS. The ferocious-looking dark-haired woman shows up a ton in photos on this site. If anyone knows her name, please please pop it in my askbox. I dig ‘er.)

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You know you’re kinky when a common disagreement in your relationships is which color of bondage tape to purchase.

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I really haven’t gotten into the art of knot-tying and rope-arrangement with any of my partners. I’ve just happened to encounter a bunch of function over form people who prefer to leap into action rather than take time in painstakingly spacing and tying each knot. It’s never really a problem for me, either. I love just getting down to business.

But, there’s really something so sexy about having to lie there and wait while your partner goes through the motions of neatly arranging the patterns in the rope work. I doubt I could hold still so long without just breaking down and begging him/her to get the show on the road. But, hm, maybe knot-tying itself is a form of sadism.

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See, here’s the thing a lot of people don’t get about BDSM. Despite the fact that there is a lot of pain involved, although there are tears and bruises that come about, and in spite of the fact that general mainstream portrayal of the lifestyle usually leans toward showing it as either a casual/paid encounter involving a lot of leather or something couples try when they’re fresh out of ideas, there is a lot of comfort, love, and happiness that people derive from exploring this sort of dynamic. 

ariaonthefloor:

Awwwwwwwwww! Look at her face. 🙂 She’s so happy to have her own little place in the world to feel safe in.

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See, I could use this kind of discipline right now.

I could also use the kind of discipline that would make me work on my gosh-darn term papers.

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There’s something really understatedly elegant about that buckle at her shin, as opposed to the harsh messiness of a knot. 

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Maybe I shouldn’t be doing all my work after all…

dirtyscientist:

What you get for failing the midterm exam.

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That cold, devious hand. 

I need a cruel woman to tie me down like this and tease her hands over me. I’d beg her to bring her hands a little lower and she would just put the ballgag on. We’d spend a good portion of the night like that. And the time we didn’t, I’d be watching her please herself. 

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The First Time Ivy Tried Knifeplay, Part 2

(part 1 can be found here)

“Oh, God, Ivy. I told you not to open your eyes.”

It was too late. It was this massive, cold, harsh serrated blade, something a little less menacing than a meat cleaver. She held in in her fist like she was in some kind of slasher movie with how my t-shirt had been destroyed. I swallowed dry air and shuddered. 

I have to say I was mildly surprised to notice the wetness that had puddled beneath me. I bit down hard on my lower lip for a moment, gazing up at my girlfriend who was still holding the knife as if waiting for me to give her some sort of approval or to just freak out over the size of the thing.

I cleared my throat before finally saying, “I trust you.”

“Good,” she gave me a little smirk, “because now the real fun can start.” She set the knife down on my chest, the blade pointed straight at my throat. As long as I didn’t heave or start hyperventilating, I would be fine. “Hold that for me, would you?”

She chuckled as she walked over to her closet and looked through it for a moment before coming back with a winter scarf. She tucked the knife into the strap of my panties before starting to wind the scarf over my eyes. It was a bit scratchy, but it certainly served its purpose.

And suddenly I was in the dark again. The inescapable, unrelenting dark. She dragged the knife out from its spot in the strap of my panties, cutting the strap as she pulled. She started her rounds again of bringing the blade over my body, down my stomach, and up the sides of my neck. I quivered as she played it over my breasts through the holes in the shirt. 

She brought the knife back down and sliced the other strap on my panties. I heard her set it down on the bedside table and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“I don’t know what you’re so happy about,” she began as she slowly eased the front of my panties down, exposing my pussy. They were nearly stuck to it with my wetness. “You’ve gotten yourself all over my sheets." 

A flush burned in my cheeks. "I’m…I’m very sorry, Miss,” I whispered as she gathered my panties up in her fist, their removal expedited by the fact that she had cut the straps. Her fist remained down between my legs, my panties soaking up even more of my wetness.

“No, dear,” she began as she raised her hand to push my panties into my mouth, “you don’t even know what sorry means yet."