“On second thought, bitch, I like you much better down there.”
crawl
One thing about Sweetheart is that she’s the sneakiest.
Pet-sitting.
I want to be told to crawl to her, with no assurance of when I’ll be returned.
Caledonian Antisyzgy.
And she’d better not dream of hopping up on that bed.
Even if it is disheveled,
rules only survive if they are consistent.
Babe. Those are pigs.
Cows are my passion. What I have ever sighed for has been to retreat to a Swiss farm, and live entirely surrounded by cows – and china. — Charles Dickens
Easing out the Kinks, Part Eight
After I kissed Craftsmate’s cheek, the two pushed me down onto the floor.
“I don’t think you’re allowed on the furniture,” Penthouse explained, “I didn’t hear either of us say you could sit up here.”
“Kneel,” Craftsmate said, moving me back down to the floor when I tried to get back up.
“Sit up straight,” Penthouse added, “legs further apart.”
I can only imagine how much I was blushing. But it wasn’t as much as when we were leaving and Penthouse told Craftsmate to “make sure Ivy is housebroken” the next time we came to visit so I didn’t keep climbing up on the furniture.
As we left, the two agreed the day turned out much better than they had thought. I huffed and went to interject, but they were quick to reply that I had gotten exactly what I wanted.
Touché.
The first time she tried to bring the crop over, she used her hands.
She’s been trained a little better now.
I would very much like the opportunity to be very, very mean to a boy again.
Please and thank you.
Sometimes, this is where we go. When words have lost their sway, when language is nothing but a convention, when everything is ambiguous and conceptual. Phrases loaded, two outs, no clear way home.
Sometimes, we crawl to each other. Vulnerable, human, needy. Sexuality can be sadness. Intimacy can be painful. Carnality is just that, carnal by virtue.
Because words can sometimes be just that simple, even when they’re wrapped in entendre.