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Leftovers, Part One

A few days after Thanksgiving, Sir and I went to a get-together Star was hosting with some other kinky/poly people to eat leftovers and hang out. Sir’s a little bit more familiar with and closer to these people, but I like Star and it’s always nice to connect within the community. We also had plans to go to a play party afterwords, so I had something fun on underneath my sweaterdress and coat.

I like going places with Sir where we can be “ourselves” because I like our dynamic and I like sharing that with other people. I don’t mean to say that I enjoy showing off (okay, maybe a little) but rather that I really love being able to be submissive to him in interactions that are just not exclusively with him. We talk a lot about the framing of our relationship and how the paradigm is really more of us using the frame of “boyfriend/girlfriend” as sort of a disguise/more palatable way of explaining ourselves on top of our “dominant/submissive” dynamic. So, it’s nice to just sort of go to a place and casually be Sir’s sub. It was enjoyable to put things on his plate for him, to fill his drinks for him, to sit patiently on his knee while he talked to someone.

At some point in the evening, I was feeling a little awkward (I really only knew Sir, Star, and Star’s partner but just barely) and was keeping to myself when Sir said he wanted to have Star show him how to put me in a harness. I got up and walked onto the carpet, where Star asked if I felt comfortable removing my dress.

For a minute, I hesitated, but then removed it and handed it off to Sir. “Thank you, Ivy,” said a guy I then realized I recognized from New Year’s a year ago. Aka, he was the guy who Sir totally messed up my game with. “I’m sorry,” he added, “am I allowed to look? That’s just…that’s super.”

I blushed. “Yeah, you can look. It’s fine.”

He gestured to the two girls sitting with him on the couch. “We like your stockings.”

“He gave them to me,” I said, pointing to Sir.

“Aren’t they nice?” Sir asked, turning me so the people on the couch could get a better look. He’s got this funny little ringleader/auctioneer streak where, when we’re in a group of people who are of our inclinations, he likes to show off. I can’t even pretend that I really mind all that much.

babygirlssweetsurrender:

💋

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I’m hanging out with the lovely worthlessrapemeat tonight and getting dinner at a place we both love.

She kind of looks like the pretty meanie in this gif.

Except she’s prettier.

And meaner.

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Piss Shy, Part Twelve

Disclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.

Flint had devised the clever and totally mean plan of pitting WRM and I against each other with a little bit of impact play. He started by holding her still, kissing her as he let me hit her ass with a tool that looked like a lot of skewers bundled together.

While I was beating her with it, I got a little cheeky and scolded her for not cutting her nails. “We’ve been out, what, three times?” I reprimanded, “and still – still – you keep your nails that long. You need to clip your fucking nails.”

Of course, I was significantly less cheeky about it once Flint was holding me still while I cried into his chest as WRM beat me. I felt absolutely awful for hitting WRM with it once I knew how much it hurt, but she had been such a sport about it while I was a big baby about taking half of what I’d given her. 

Then, Flint had WRM pin me back down while he aggressively rubbed my g-spot and clit. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push back the oncoming orgasm with just about any neutral, unsexy thought I could summon. “I can’t,” I pleaded, “I don’t want to drink piss, please.”

“You’d better drink a lot of water beforehand,” Macy said from the corner. 

As hard as I tried to hold off, I came. Hard. Flint didn’t relent, continuing to assault my clit and g-spot with his fingers while WRM held me still. “Hey, think you’ll get another tally for each time?” He asked jovially. He wrenched another orgasm out of me before I pleaded with him to stop, my pussy was far too sensitive and tender to continue. 

WRM let me go and I rolled over onto my belly, covering my face with my hands. I started to cry, overwhelmed by the idea that I was probably halfway to drinking a cup of my own urine, hating that I’d secretly enjoyed every second that led up to this, that I even liked the fact that I was facing these consequences. 

corwinprescott:

“Rain on The Morning Bird’s Throat”
Philadelphia, Pa 2014 

Corwin PrescottNicole VauntAnastasia Arteyeva

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I hiiiiighly recommend the full video this comes from.

It’s one of those things I only watched this past year but still consider “formative." 

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Maybe there’s something a little sick about it. The fact that I gravitate to pastel colors and bridal lingerie for play parties or that I enjoy feigning innocence in the midst of doing something depraved. I like being the one sweet little outfit in a sea of leather and fishnets. I like feeling impressionable and corruptible. I like how there’s something inherently a little more perverse about an outfit like that than a mesh bodysuit.

I’ve spent a lot of time shaming myself about the stuff I’m into or finding places to draw arbitrary lines where “this” is okay and “this” isn’t. I’ve done a lot of useless work of sorting through which taboos are still acceptable and which are simply just too far. Frankly, it’s just gotten counterproductive and exhausting. 

So, yeah, I’m a little sick. But I am getting better at accepting these facets of myself. 

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“This centerpiece kind of overwhelms the table, honestly. Let’s try another.”

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So I’ve got this fantasy where a handful of people gather around to just sit and watch me in a situation like this. Just to talk and laugh, have a few drinks, maybe occasionally pull the chain between the clamps or brush my hair off of my face. 

I guess I just really, really like that sort of inattentive attention. Like a bunch of people crowded around me, but also being absorbed in their own business. So I’m just kind of the background noise to whatever else is going on, but I’m still clearly a focal point.

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Hi can I just dress like this every second of every day?

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So, what do I have to do to get dressed like this in the morning?

lipstixxx:

See the full video at Bondage Cafe.
View more Lipstixxx gifs!

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I’m the fussiest girl ever. And knowing that, having my clothing bunched around one of my wrists, stuck there because I was cuffed, would drive me absolutely nuts.