clothespins

tease-and-deny:

alexandhissubmissivepet:

-Sir

Look at me. I want you to look into my eyes and tell me how proud it makes you to suffer for me. I want you to tell me that it makes your slutty little pussy wet.

(Also, Team Yellow Clothespin, woot woot)

It’s so hard for me to admit I like it or I want it. I so often hide behind some struggling victim persona to avoid having to confront the shame of actually enjoying it. But I’d like to become brave enough to stand behind all of my desires, even the most depraved, and this might just be the way to do it.

Playdate with Popcorn, Part Eight

Penthouse held me open as he let Popcorn flog my cunt. For the most part, I stayed still of my own volition, trying to affirm that I was the good girl she said I was. Amidst the gasping and bucking, I tried to keep my eyes on her. This left me so incredibly subspaced that I wound up slumping back over once Penthouse let me go.

“Can we use the zipper on your pussy?” Penthouse asked and I nodded, moaning softly.

They pushed me up onto my knees, with my head still resting on the bed and my ass and cunt exposed. Popcorn applied the clothespins over my labia and clit. I was a mess of moans and whimpers as they took turns trying to flog the clothespins off of my cunt.

“She’s such a good girl,” Popcorn echoed, “I can’t get over how well-behaved she is.”

Penthouse chuckled, “it’s only because you’re here. Usually it’s all ‘Daddy this’ and ‘Daddy that’." I felt myself blush.

By the time we had finished up, it was about four in the morning. Popcorn gave me a kiss and thanked me for allowing to play with her. After she left, Penthouse brought me some water and helped me into bed, curling up beside me. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, satisfied, and fell asleep to the sound of him telling me how proud he was.

Chained, Part Nine

I heard the tell-tale rattle of clothespins on a line and whined a bit into my gag. Penthouse had grabbed the zipper off of the desk and from my soon-to-be-proven-correct assumption, handed it off to Popcorn.

“What you do,” he explained, placing a hand on my shoulder, “is you just put them all over on her breasts, then yank the end of the string, and they all come off.”

Popcorn was a little ruthless. She went excruciatingly slow, debating out where each one should go, so I was stuck sitting with two particularly harsh ones near the skin over my collarbones. Eventually, I couldn’t take it and just hit the buzzer.

They took care to remove the blindfold and the gag, making sure I was all right, and took off the clothespins gently by hand. I was a little disappointed I hadn’t had the guts to ride it out, but I figured it was better to know my limits.

Penthouse untied my legs and I got up to my feet, adjusting my nightgown and giving Popcorn a hug. We thanked each other for a fun experience and she left, having somewhere else to go.

With the rope marks on her breasts implying she’s probably been tied up in another position recently, coupled with the growing fear in her eyes and the way he’s grabbing her, I’d have to say this is just the right amount of scary.

“Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone’s hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted—wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don’t look at me. If you don’t, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me,“ Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

thrushbone:

by Anatoly Toor

Ivy

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