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It was a game she enjoyed playing when she had an afternoon alone. She had honed the craft well, gradually introducing more complicated ties that threw her into even deeper reaches of helplessness.

Still, she kept the emergency shears close and maintained a few failsafes should her little adventures take a wrong turn.

Despite the provisions, she still managed to immerse herself in the sensation of powerlessness at the hands of an imaginary captor. And, today, with the implementation of the clamps, she felt herself drifting even deeper into the fantasy that she had built.

“You should really put a chain between them.”

Her eyes shot open just in time to watch her roommate swipe the shears out of the way.

“That’s not how these work,” she continued, eliciting a frantic squeal from her bound friend as she tugged the clamps tighter. “See? The chain’s supposed to help increase the pressure as it gets pulled. Make sense?”

And though she grew frantic as she watched her roommate – who she could have sworn would be out for the afternoon – play her fingers over her trapped body, she could not help but grin around the gag as she realized she had gotten exactly what she wanted.

“Just Friends” by Ivy Kink

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In this installment of excerpts of my collection of erotica, I take on the stereotype of bi-curious college girls. Enjoy!

Since she had moved away to college, Jenna was not used to being awoken by anything aside from an alarm clock and her anxiety that she would oversleep class. Sometimes, an ill-timed triggering of the fire alarm or the wail of a truck backing up into the construction on the new Chemistry building across the quad would jolt her from sleep, but certainly not another person. So, she was surprised that Saturday morning to feel the brush of fingertips across her shoulder. “Hey, Jenna,” a familiar voice whispered gently, a lock of hair tickling over her arm as her morning visitor leaned closer, “wake up, it’s almost eleven.”

Jenna attempted to shoot up in bed at the mention of it being so close to the afternoon. Usually, she prided herself on her punctuality: a quality so many of her classmates had abandoned in the second semester in favor of an extra few minutes of sleep. However, before Jenna could scramble off of her bed in order to snatch up her backpack and sprint across campus to class, two factors stopped her from dashing off in a blur of scattered bed sheets. The first was her realization that it was the weekend, which momentarily abated her distress until she noticed the second: that she was immobilized, held in place by bonds she could not immediately recall. She panicked, twisting in her sheets as best as she could until she was lying on her side and found herself face-to-face with her roommate, Brenda.

“Brenda, what the fuck?” She exclaimed, noticing the wicked grin that had crossed her friend’s face. She followed Brenda’s gaze and discovered the neat layers of thin, white plastic looped above and below her breasts, pulling her nightgown taut over her chest. Her nipples protruded beneath the light cotton in conspicuous arousal, drawing a mortified rush of blood into Jenna’s cheeks. Giving what she was sure was even more of the strips plastic encasing her arms and legs another tug, she recalled the events of the night before with a heavy sigh.

She had just finished brushing her teeth when Brenda returned from the novelty store in town with the bondage tape, which she had excitedly shown her roommate with a flourish. Tearing the roll from the packaging with Christmas-morning eagerness, Brenda explained the merits of the tape’s abilities to not stick to skin to her visibly underwhelmed roommate. While Jenna was hardly a prude, she was caught off-guard by her roommate’s willingness to discuss her sexual repertoire in painstaking detail, her unabashed carelessness that resulted in the chain of her nipple clamps being left to dangle over top of their minifridge, her willingness to lend Jenna her vibrator – an offer of generosity that was a tad too intimate for Jenna to redeem.

Although she had not shared her roommate’s joy over the new method of restraint, Jenna was intrigued, if a little skeptical. “I mean, it’s cool, I guess,” she replied, stepping out of her slippers, “I just don’t really think it could hold that well if it’s just sticking to itself with – what – static?”

“It’s pretty effective from what I’ve heard. And once Dave gets back, I’ll have a personal testimony,” Brenda cracked, winking and plunking down on her bed at the other end of the room. Although the two shared a bedroom, Brenda’s proclivity to sleep at her boyfriend’s across campus made Jenna often feel as if she had the place all to herself. While the privacy came in handy for late-night study sessions or the occasions that Jenna would bring a boy around, she was grateful to have the company of her roommate that evening while Dave was away.

“And how would you know, anyway?” Brenda added with just a hint of coyness, “nobody’s ever tied you up like that, right?”

Jenna shrugged and reached for her hairbrush, “educated guess.” With a sigh, she started to comb her hair.

“You want to try?” Brenda asked, offering the roll of tape with an inviting shake of her hand, as if wagging a chew-toy. “I’ll tie you up, you get out.” She strode over to Jenna’s side of the room, running her thumb excitedly over the loose end of the tape, “in fact, we’ll make this fun. We’ll turn it into a bet. You get out, I’ll buy you lunch. You concede that you can’t and lunch is on you.”

Mulling over the offer, Jenna hesitated. The tape did not look very harsh or so completely inescapable, but the idea of being tied up was not particularly appealing. As far as sex went, Jenna was what her roommate deemed “a nice scoop of vanilla ice cream at a church picnic.” She was much less interested in relating the details of her escapades. Any tales that Brenda had managed to wheedle out of her roommate were seriously abridged and relied heavily on euphemism. To Jenna, cunnilingus was just as exciting and scandalous as flogging was to her roommate. Unlike Brenda, Jenna seemed immune to diminishing returns and was content to repeat her preferred repertoire.

“Come on,” Brenda pressed, a wicked grin crossing her face, “you said yourself that you’d be out in two seconds.”

“I didn’t say it that way.”

“Oh, same difference,” Brenda insisted, plopping down next to her on the bed, “now lie down on your stomach.”

Jenna shook her head, “I’m not into it, Brenda.”

“Aww, you didn’t think I was coming onto you, did you?” she asked slyly, looping arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “We’re just doing this for fun, okay? Just as friends, I promise. It’s just a silly bet.” She winked and wagged the roll of bondage tape once more. “Now, really, get on your stomach.”

With a huff, Jenna set the hairbrush down on her bedside table and swung her legs onto the bed. Tentatively, she settled onto her stomach and rested her hands up by her pillow. “Fine,” she groaned, “but hurry up, would you? I’m getting sleepy.”

Brenda rearranged Jenna’s arms behind her back. Carefully, she began to wrap them in the tape, encasing her roommate’s forearms in the slick, white plastic from wrist to just below the elbow. “I picked the white kind so Dave can wrap it like a bra, too, make me look like the girl from The Fifth Element,” Brenda explained as she cut the tape with a pair of brow scissors and carefully tucked the loose end under the bonds. In order to ensure it stuck, pressed it carefully against the looped plastic. “But it comes in all sorts of colors.”

“Cool beans,” Jenna replied with just a hint of snark. Her brow furrowed in confusion as her friend carefully eased her torso up and began to wrap the tape under her breasts, securing her bound arms to her back. “Hey,” she exclaimed as Brenda shifted the tape above her breasts, wrapping the tape some more. “Isn’t that a little excessive?”

“Shush, would you?” Brenda chided as she sliced off the tape from the roll. “I haven’t even gotten to your legs yet, whiner.”

With that, she began winding the tape around Jenna’s legs, easing her nightgown up slightly to extend the wrapping up to the middle of her roommate’s thighs. Despite her general aversion to bondage, Jenna could not help but blush as Brenda’s fingertips brushed her legs and her skin receded below the meticulously wrapped bondage tape. When Brenda leaned down to bite off the tape from the roll, Jenna felt a slight tremor at the feeling of her roommate’s lips dragging along her skin, the sharp motion slowed in Jenna’s mind by its sheer audacity. When the bite proved unsuccessful, she found herself stifling a shiver as she felt the chill of the scissors.

“All right,” Brenda said, straightening up and climbing off of the bed, “let’s see your best attempt.”

Although she attempted to wriggle out, to snap the plastic, to work some part loose, Jenna found that the tape did not give. What she did find, however, was that she had underestimated the degree to which she would enjoy being encased in the stringent white tape. While she dreaded the fact that she might not be able to free herself, she relished the new sensation of helplessness at the hands of her roommate, however trite. She felt her cunt tingle, wet and eager at the prospect. With every squirm and tug, she sank further into the fantasy of having been captured and was unable to contain a moan or two as she considered what her roommate might do with her in such a state. Or, what she might have to do to encourage Brenda to release her. Or, touch her again. She couldn’t decide.

Brenda was nothing short of demure, politely asking every so often if her friend’s circulation was unobstructed and watching with only the faintest hint of smugness. In her struggles, Jenna grew tired and, before she knew it, found herself staring up at her grinning roommate the next morning.

“You bet me you could get out,” Brenda explained, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her. She brushed her roommate’s hair off of her face before reaching for something behind her. Jenna craned her neck to see where her hand had fallen, but her question was quickly answered by a flash of red and her friend’s fingers pushing firmly into the corners of her jaw as she pushed the thick, rubber ball past her teeth. She buckled it in a quick – almost rehearsed – motion. “Looks like you lost that bet, huh?”

Brenda got to her feet and moved to her dresser, flicking open her jewelry box. “Anyway,” she continued, “you fell asleep in the middle. It was pretty cute, to be honest.” She extracted a pair of silver hoop earrings, clicking one into place in the lobe before turning and adding, “you know you drool when you sleep.”

Flushed, Jenna hung her head as Brenda put on the other earring. She moved around to the side of the bed and took a seat, stroking the back of Jenna’s head. “It was funny,” she commented idly, tickling the skin behind her roommate’s ear with the pad of her thumb, “waking up this morning to find the whole room smelled like your cunt. And there you were, insisting you didn’t like this sort of stuff.”

As her roommate’s accusation felt more and more valid with each squirm, Jenna felt her embarrassment spread from her cheeks, coloring her chest in the glow of her new sexual discovery and the humiliation of having Brenda there to bear witness. 

“You’re lucky you’ve got me,” Brenda continued, her voice something of a purr. “Forget about lunch, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, don’t we, get you up to speed on all the fun things you can do?” Jenna shivered as she felt her roommate’s thumb wander beneath her nightgown and brush the fabric of her panties with barely the tip of her fingernail. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to fuck you. We’re just friends, remember?”

In which I am discovered again. (And then have fun with gifs.)

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So, Craftsmate informs me that one of his kinky friends sent him a message like, “look at what I found I think she goes to Ivy University.” And then a link to my blog.

To which he was basically like

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And, as you remember, when Craftsmate found me I was just completely

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Followed by

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And then just straight

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But, ugh, this time I’m sort of just like

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And now thinking about it I’m just completely

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Because, whatever, it’s going to happen.

So, hi there. Glad to hear you’re enjoying what’s been going on here and I hope you’ll keep this between us. 

Growing a Pair, Part One

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So, I paid a visit over to Ivy University the other day. I have been talking to the guy from my school who found my tumblr and he informed me that he would be in town. We’ve discovered we have a bunch of mutual friends so I figured I may as well get to know him.

This turned into possibly one of the most uncomfortably fun afternoons I can think of.

And, yeah, whatever. I got flogged. But it was purely academic. I swear. Just let me explain.

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“But I don’t want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want goodness. I want sin.” – Aldous Huxley, Brave New World.

Shame

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I didn’t like Shame when I saw it. To be honest, I didn’t really give it a fighting chance. I got together with friends and watched it with a ton of booze and we drank every time someone did something creepy and sexual. We couldn’t get the volume up high enough, we got wasted pretty fast and we just started making fun of all of it.

But, damn, the title was perfect for a movie of that nature. I don’t think I’m a sex addict, but I certainly have a lot of sexual secrets I carry around. And the dominant emotion surrounding them since I started becoming sexual is shame.

I felt shame when I was discovered by another student from Ivy University the other day. While he was totally friendly and promised to keep my secret safe, I still feel a little sick when I think about it. Part of me wishes he hadn’t contacted me, but part of me is sort of glad he did because it brought the issue of discovery to my attention. Because it could have been a lot worse.

I told my therapist about my blog tonight. Her face kind of dropped and when I pointed it out, she smiled and replied, “no, I’m not judging you. I’m just concerned. You know this is very dangerous.” The issues, she says, that I need to deal with here are whether or not I’m comfortable with being identified with the blog and why I actually have it in the first place.

Why is a matter of catharsis and exhibitionism. That’s easy. The first question is the harder one. And a lot of it is rooted in shame. The fact is that I’m ashamed of myself and the things I’m into. I’m ashamed of some of the things I’ve mentioned on here. While writing here has made me feel less ashamed behind the veil of anonymity, being associated with this writing would only make me even more ashamed.

There’s a part in Shame where Sassy Fassy is at his computer and his obviously named sister Sissy comes over and opens it. Maybe the sequence of events here is wrong, she may have opened it herself, but either way she sees just this stream of unavoidable porn and Michael Fassbender literally freaks out. He’s not angry about her finding the porn, I don’t think, so much as he is humiliated that he’s there, that is secret life has been accessed. It’s the reason why the movie is called Shame, in my now-sober opinion. While he’s completely unashamed at telling some guy that he’s ready to fuck the guy’s girlfriend, he’s ashamed of his sexual secrets only when those close to him find them.

When I told my therapist how many people followed this blog, her eyes widened. I realize I’m totally unashamed to tell hundreds of random strangers about my sex life and proclivities. I don’t even think twice about it because I guess I’m just anonymous, like Michael Fassbender’s character in the bar when he told someone he was going to fuck their girlfriend. He was, to that guy, a nobody. Here, on tumblr, I like to pretend I’m pretty much no one. I get messages from people, even couples, saying that they read my blog, that they relate to me, that this and that. And it’s strange to me because I feel like a stranger, so I feel unashamed.

To have someone pull part of my real self into this tumblr brought out a ton of my shame. Because I’m not just no one anymore. And I don’t want to have to be associated with this tumblr because, yeah, unfortunately, I am still ashamed of my sexuality. I don’t know how it would honestly get in the way of my life goals, but I don’t want my family finding out or acquaintances or anybody else. On the ride home from therapy, I considered what it would mean to be the person who was unashamed of all of my kinks. I’ve never been into munches or fetish clubs or public displays of kinkiness, but I tried to consider myself as one of those public sexperts or whatever.

And, honestly, I couldn’t. I’m not ready to be that person. So, as this blog nears a thousand followers, I’m debating what that really means. I used statcounter and was alarmed by the amount of hits this place gets a day. While it’s a great stroke to the ego, it’s also pretty terrifying. I don’t want to be outed, I don’t want to be discovered, I don’t want to be Think Ivy Kink aside from on this blog.

I’ve just got a lot of thinking to do. I know I don’t want to take this blog down, but, gosh, tumblr’s too small of a world. Discovery is terrifying. Shame is crippling.

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There’s a lot I write on here that has to do with people discovering each other in different ways. And, discovery is a huge part of relationships and sexuality. It’s definitely a valid thing.

But self-discovery is really equally important. And while a lot of people reading a sex blog are usually a little busy discovering themselves already (winknudge), there’s real validity to the fact that getting to know yourself is a really important part of sexuality.

You need to know what you like. You need to know where your limits are. And a really safe way to figure that out is on yourself. Because then it’s between you and your hands. And that’s an incredibly safe space.