grab

I can’t get into shibari. It’s fascinating and sometimes really beautiful, but I just don’t even think I have the patience for it.

I need it rough and sudden and urgent. The time it takes to get the ropework just right really detracts from that. I prefer function over form. Hands to hold me down, rope or whatever is around to replace the hands, then hands and pressure to subdue me when I try to fight.

And I want the other person to not even be able to wait to have everything tied off so perfectly before tearing me apart. After the takedown, sure, things can be adjusted. But, during that first struggle, I want to feel the urgency. And shibari is too paced, too patient for that.

While by no measure mute, Switch isn’t usually a very outspoken person in public situations. By this I mean he’s usually not one to speak his mind, to get too blunt. He’s fairly polite.

So, it’s even sexier when he does stuff like shoving me up against the wall of his place once we’re alone after being out with other people, grabs me through my clothes as if he’s going to tear right through them and murmurs in my ear, “I love when I finally get my hands on you”.

Because contrasts are hot.

Trapped, Part 3

(Disclaimer: The acts described here, despite their forcefulness and my resistance, were entirely consensual. I had a safe word and I could have stopped the encounter at any time if I did not feel comfortable.)

Switch groped my body like he was claiming it, communicating in chuckles and grunts the vastness of the control he wanted. He sneered at my lace bra and the way it barely shielded my breasts from his hands, barely hid the arousal voiced by my nipples.

“Look at this,” he breathed, pushing my shirt aside further. I gasped and tried to shove him off, attempting to push myself off the wall. He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, “I don’t think so, slut. I don’t think that’s how this goes.”

He dragged me over to his bed and shoved me up against the side of it. He bumped me with his body, forcing me to bend over as he started to yank off my clothing. My hands fumbled at my clothes, snatched his hands, frantically tried to protect my body.

Switch pulled the off the last of my clothing, my panties, with a rough tug He grabbed me quickly after, throwing me onto his bed and pushing me down on my stomach. The whole while, I fought feebly.

When I saw the belt already looped around his headboard, ready for my wrists, I swallowed hard. He must have seen me, because he placed his hand on the back of my head and shoved my face down into his sheets. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell what it was, but the texture of his sheets somehow felt different.

“Now, hold still, baby. Don’t want to have to hurt you like this,” he pulled my wrists up toward the headboard. I yanked back theatrically. “I want it to be fun when I hurt you.”

Trapped, Part 1

It was a trap.

The lights were out in his bedroom. I was three steps in, hand over the switch, when he grabbed me from behind. I gasped as one of his hands twisted my arm up on my back and he nudged me against the wall with his knee. He pressed himself against me and his other hand wandered upwards, grabbing my face between his fingers and forcing my lips to purse. His breath was hot against my neck and the light scruff below his lips tickled my skin as he spoke in a voice that gave away his grin.

“Hi there, pretty girl."

Meet Switch, Part Eight

One minute in and he was literally panting. He kept tensing harder to keep from moving. He was soaking precum through his boxers by two minutes. The entire time he was just begging.

I just watched the clock. Intermittently, I reassured him that he was being a good boy, that he was making Pretty so, so proud. I reused phrases I knew worked on me when I was being denied. I used a few unique ones.

“You want to make Pretty happy, don’t you?” I asked him at thirty seconds before time would be up, when he was just about losing it. “You’re so close, don’t fail me now, baby. That would be sad.”

He gritted his teeth and took it. It’s strange to me that in this moment of weakness and submission I figured him to be stronger than I’d ever considered him. It was in how resolute he was being, in how hard he was sincerely trying to please me.

His cock practically hit me in the face when I leaned down and pulled down his boxers. He moved when I put him in my mouth, letting a hand settle in my hair. But, I wasn’t cruel enough to take his reward away. He’d earned it well.

Meet Switch, Part One

Tumblr, meet Switch.

We’ve been friends for about a year now. In January, it seemed like something was going to develop between him and I. But, he’s teammates with that guy from my frat and he sort of backed off once he and I got involved. Man code or whatever. But, that guy from my frat and I are quite done for reasons I’ll detail when I have time. So, the playing field was wide open for Switch and I was receptive.

Just around twelve hours ago, I was at Switch’s place. Prior, we’d been out with friends to see a band and sort of broke off and hung around together. We danced. We started kissing. We made it through the whole night being relatively civilized adults. But, after a swing by my place for a toothbrush and some other essentials, I wound up at his.

And at around this time in the evening, he had removed his belt and tied my wrists to the headboard. Normally, he admitted, he liked to be submissive. But something about the way the night was panning out had driven him to ask if he could take charge instead. My top, jacket, bra, and shoes were scattered across his floor. My panties were still on, my skirt was bunched up around my waist. He was still fully dressed when he tied a scarf over my eyes.

“You know why I think I wanted to tie you up?” He asked as he ran a hand down my thigh. He was standing beside the bed. He gripped my thigh and pulled my legs open wide. “I think I liked the idea of having this body all to myself, to do whatever I wanted with.”

He ran his hand over my stomach and stopped at one of my breasts, tweaking the nipple. In normal interactions, he’s fairly reserved. Suddenly, now, the tone of his voice had changed and he spoke with a blunt confidence that seemed to suit him better. “And now that I have it, I think we’re going to have a little fun.”

“Find me now. Before someone else does.” – Haruki Murakami, IQ84.

“O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.”
– W. H. Auden, “As I Walked Out One Evening”.

I have a tendency to curl my hands into fists when I’m anxious or upset. It’s never really a violent thing, it’s more of a tension and control thing. I regulate the tension in my hands. I feel the squeeze. It’s controlled chaos.

And submitting is like someone taking that fist and pulling it open. It’s a release. It’s a loss of control, but it comes with such an overwhelming freedom. It says, let me play with the tension, let me control your chaos.

Sometimes, I just want to be pushed around. No real rhythm to it, no finesse at all. I want to be afraid of you. I want to fear that you’ve completely lost control.

Of course, the reality is that you haven’t. But, there’s such a freedom in feeling as if you’ve just totally tapped into something primal, something completely sub-human that the Rubicon is fading fast on the horizon.

I want you to drag me around by the hair, shove me into things, make me doubt that we’ll ever return to normalcy again. And once you’ve pushed me that far, I want to show me how well you can restrain yourself. Because pure self-control is dull and pure carnality is dangerous.

Rollercoasters need agonizing rises and uncontrollable falls. Show me you know how to ride.

Ivy

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