drooling – Ivy

Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Six

Craftsmate tied me facedown on his bed and proceeded to get his flogger out. He beat me until I was crying out so much that he had to gag me and put music on to drown out all the noise.

Then, he sat down on me and started to tickle my ribs. I am absurdly ticklish and I absolutely hate being tickled. A few minutes in, I was panting for breath and drooling around the gag. He stopped, moved his duvet cover so I could see the small puddle of my salvia that had soaked into it, and proceeded to scold me for drooling all over his bed.

“Look at the mess you made,” he chided, pulling on my hair before pushing my face into it. I blushed six shades of red.

He rolled me over and tied me back down, picking the flogger back up and starting to beat my breasts.

The thief likes to make me do this.

Kneeling, ass up, back arched, hands spreading myself apart, mouth open. It emphasizes vulnerability, availability, openness. I’m not allowed to speak when I do it, just listen and receive.

At first, I wasn’t too into the idea. I didn’t like how, after a few minutes, having my mouth open would make me drool. I didn’t enjoy just how exposed and small it made me feel.

However, since then, it’s grown on me. Sometimes, I don’t want it to end. It’s just so very simple. And when I seem a bit overwhelmed to him or when I have too much on my mind, he’ll stop what he’s doing and have me get into this position. It centers me. I don’t even mind the drooling anymore.