I mean, Christmas is coming up. Here’s one idea.
Le noeud papillon rouge
bow
“When shall we learn, what should be clear as day,
We cannot choose what we are free to love?”
– W. H. Auden, Canzone.
So, um, I kind of want this dress.
I need to get a muse. Or be a muse. I have all this creative energy lately and I just can’t seem to find an outlet.
Where is this from? I want this in every color.
it’s like a massive bow tie for your tits
Well, followers, I’ve flown the coop and left the country.
Not to worry. I’m just here for my summer internship and I am not totally sure how reliable the Internet will be (if I get any). But, I made sure to stock my queue, so it’ll almost be like I’ve never gone.
<3, Ivy
Dearest Tumblr,
(Please feel free to skip. This is a rant and a little too TMI)
I am not a doctor. I don’t really know much medically. But let me tell you a little something about a drug called Chloroquine.
It’s used to prevent malaria. I took my first Chloroquine yesterday with my lunch, as instructed. My stomach hurt a bit, but I was told this would happen. I proceed with my day normally and was fine. Then, at three in the morning, I woke up and got sick. I never, ever do that. Really.
I got incredibly cold. I was trembling harder than I have ever before. I literally could barely walk and I managed to go to sleep. I wake up a few hours later and cannot even bring myself to leave bed. I have to force crackers down to keep from getting sick again. I chug a gatorade (yuck) and my friends take me to a diner where I manage to get some eggs down.
I send an email to the woman who prescribed it to me with a ton of enthusiasm. I google the drug and speak to montecervesa, who is seriously a wealth of knowledge and was a huge help/provided a ton of support. Google and The Count agree, Chloroquine is a horrifically bad drug. People would rather get malaria than take these pills. I had a huge list of pills I could’ve possibly taken and this woman gives me what appears to be the worst.
She responds to my email really blandly and says she’s going to prescribe me more pills. I google this brand. It looks just as bad. I send back something that may have been a little bitchy, but I’m tired and I have to work 9 hours and gosh darn it.
Thanks for listening.
<3, Ivy
(Note: This should be a general note for all posts of this nature. The acts described herein are consensual. I was comfortable with the direction that the encounter went in and I was equipped with a safe word if I felt any of my limits being pushed or anything of that nature.)
I had been horribly bad. He had tried to spank me and I had kicked him away. I winced. I braced myself for something horrible.
But I should’ve known he wasn’t the type to go crazy on me right there. I’m sure some would have just resorted to hitting so hard my teeth rattled in my mouth. But, he knew that sort of punishment would achieve nothing in the long-run. He knew the way I learned and he knew exactly what would get to me.
And for this reason, he decided to ignore me. He simply turned away, walked over to my desk, sat down, and checked his email. It was literally the worst punishment he could inflict, the most harmful, the most cutting, the most effective. And he knew it. And I knew it. And he knew that I knew it.
I crawled over beside him and knelt by his left leg. I hoped he would find the act endearing enough to stop punishing me. But it wasn’t nearly that easy. I sat there in silence for a good ten minutes before he started petting my head, a good fifteen before he unzipped his jeans and told me to crawl under the desk.
He fucked my face so hard I cried. Partially from the strain on my jaw. Partially from knowing how bad I had been. It was an almost wonderful release, punctuated by his snarl that little brats like me didn’t even deserve to have his cock in their mouths.
He finished on my face and chest. He had me sit there with it on me, its initial heat cooling against my skin. Tears mixed with cum. I drank in the moment and realized just how much I belonged to him then.
Soon, he pulled me up into his lap and cleaned me off. He held me, calmed me down, kissed my forehead. I choked out a thank you. He just pulled me closer and let me bury my face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. To average society, I’m sure, the entire ordeal makes no sense.
We had an understanding. There was security in our risks. There was freedom in limitation. There was trust. There was emotion. There was pure, brutal honesty in the strangeness of our needs and our suffering. And from that there was a beauty in just being, in some odd way, completely and totally understood.
And here I was thinking I’d never find an extracurricular to suit my particular strengths.
This year The Grey Academy for Wayward Girls will produce a stage musical version of Cleopatra in tribute to Dame Elizabeth Taylor.
Casting has begun for the role of Cleopatra.
The girl on the right wants to be next, look at her unbuttoned blouse.
Aw, sweetie, I know you’re uncomfortable. But it’s making Master and I so happy. And that’s really all that counts when you think about it, hm?
(In other news, I am so hunting down that dress or sewing myself a version of it.)