hand

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.

People can just get lost with each other, in each other. Totally shipwrecked. Marooned. Until the rest of the world recedes beyond the shoreline and it’s just you – the plural kind when you’re yourselves and each other at the same time – and all the sand.

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

– Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit.

Sometimes, I fantasize about being teased in this position. I’ll be laying on my stomach, usually reading something or waking up from a nap, and the thought will just briefly cross my mind of someone easing my pants down or my skirt up.

The panties stay on, of course. There’s an understanding that when this sort of thing happens I won’t be allowed to cum, that isn’t the purpose of it. It’s just a little reminder, if nothing else, of my availability, my vulnerability. It shows what sort of grinding, moaning mess can be reduced to in a few minutes of encountering fingers through fabric. And as soon as I’m there, they’re gone.

Psst. Dacry. Come play.

Jack and Jitters: Part 6

He finished on my face and in my mouth. I barely had enough time to swallow before I was bent over and spanked. He rolled me over and his hand returned to my clit and he rubbed, dragging another two orgasms out of me. By the time the second was about to roll around, I was shaking.

“Think you deserve it?” He asked. It was what he said a lot before I came. We have rules. I have to ask permission. I have to deserve it.

I could barely think straight. I was completely down in subspace. My whole body was a mess of goosebumps and jitters. It was the most intense “sexual” experience I’ve probably ever had and the boy hadn’t even penetrated me.

He smiled and rubbed harder, “I think I want you to cum right now.” I bucked back against him and moaned loudly. There was a smug causality to his face, still. Even as I was in this state, he was completely casual.

“You’re so…I don’t know,” I managed to gasp out, “like you’re just playing with something.”

He chuckled and nodded, “sounds about right.”

I felt myself slipping into an orgasm, “like you’re just handling a piece of property. Like it’s just something you use for…” I trailed off.

“That’s right,” he smirked as I was overcome by shudders. “You’re a piece of property, baby.” I came hard.

He helped me to my feet. My face was still covered in his cum, I was completely in subspace, I barely knew which way was up. He pulled me into him and allowed me to steady myself against him. I sighed into his shoulder as he took my hand, held it up, and kissed it.

A gentleman.

Jack and Jitters, Part 3

The Southern Gentleman reached down, found my clit, and started to rub it. He tugged again on the stockings, pulling my body taut. He was standing up almost completely straight, staring down at me with almost the hint of a smile in his eyes, but otherwise about as casually as one would look flipping a pancake.

“You know, you’re sopping wet,” he said. He ran his fingers down my slit before wiping them on my face. He slapped his hand back down to my cunt and kept going, rubbing my clit hard. Occasionally, I fought. He would just smack my cunt and keep going, staring down at me with a look that was somewhere between severe and completely nonchalant.

He briefly let go of the stockings around my wrists to pull the nightgown over my breasts. He grabbed my wrists once more, pulled them up, and leaned his face down into my chest. The combined attention he was giving my breasts and clit was bringing me close already.

“No,” I tried to close my legs once more.

He smacked my cunt roughly. I cried out. “What did you say?”

“No."

He smacked it again. "What was that?" I huffed and ground myself against his hand. He smacked it once more. "What did you say?” By now, he was standing up completely straight. I was close. My body was trembling.

“Whatever you want,” I moaned out.

“Whatever you want…?"

"Whatever you want, Sir,” I managed to gasp out.

He chuckled, “good answer.” He looked me over and leaned down a bit closer to me, “you’re going to cum, aren’t you?” I nodded. “Do you think you deserve it?” He asks me this question a lot, just about every time I’m about to experience an orgasm. It’s hard. It’s like self-grading. You don’t want to over-inflate yourself and miss out because of your lack of modesty. You don’t want to undersell yourself and miss out.

“I don’t know,” I moaned.

He pulled harder on the stockings that held my wrists and chuckled, “I think you should. Go on. You don’t even have to ask."

I came hard. I would have probably crumpled to the floor if he wasn’t holding me up. It was the sort that involved my entire body, the kind that left me absolutely spent afterwards. I get incredibly tender after I’ve cum and he knows it, so I was a little shocked to feel him still rubbing my clit with the same intensity.

"I’m done,” I gasped out, “come on, I’m done. It…I’m tender. I’m done.”

With this, he smirked and leaned down a bit closer to me. He was grinning wide, almost as if he were about to tell a joke. His accent came out. “Well, I didn’t say I was, baby.”

sexisnottheenemy: Nick & Meredith by Kevin Loreaux

Jack and Jitters, Part 1

On the last evening SG and I were planning to spend off-the-radar, we attempted to go out somewhere. However, everywhere we went was either closed or just plain lame. And so we decided we’d “spend the night in”. It sounded vaguely domestic.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” I began as I picked up the bottle of Jack I had in my room. “I’ll put a nightgown on and we’ll have an evening like the Drapers.” I poured out a glass and took a sip.

The Southern Gentleman snorted, “and of course that starts with drinking.”

“Just like everything else in Mad Men,” I held out the glass to him and started to remove my clothing.

I was down to my sweater and bra when he set the glass down and came over, placing his hands on my hips. He kissed down my neck, pulled the sweater off for me, unhooked the bra. I reached for the buckle of his belt and he stepped back, smirking. “Go put your nightgown on.”

“Oh, come on,” I groaned.

It was super awkward, confessedly, when the Southern Gentleman first arrived at my place. There was – and hopefully I am not putting words in his mouth – a general pervasive feeling of wanting to jump each others’ bones.

But, there’s things like formalities. And so we greeted each other with a hug, we spent a little time discussing our holidays, we shot the breeze.

Eventually, I moved over to the corner of my room to fetch something. He followed me. I’ve noticed that men tend to do this thing when they want to start something but words wouldn’t be smooth enough. They just start encroaching on you. It sort of helped that I was in the corner.

I turned and said something to him, something completely vague and a little snarky but not having to do with the fact that he had been gradually closing in on me. He just reached down, took my chin, tilted my head up, and started kissing me. Our hands roamed, settled into comfortable permutations on each others’ bodies, his eased up my shirt then back around my back then up into my hair and around again. He shoved me against the wall and my rear hit the windowsill. He pulled my head back by my hair and started biting my neck. Somewhere in the middle of pulling my shirt off, I suppose he realized that we were right in front of an open window and pushed me over to the bed.

I don’t know why, but somehow his clothes seem to manage to stay on much longer than mine. But, I kind of like the contrast.

What was I saying about formalities?

I skyped with Blue and Byron this evening. They suggested we should have another sleepover when we get back to campus. It sounds like a lot of fun, partially because it’s mostly just a lot of hanging around, cuddling, being silly and not a lot of perviness (though I wouldn’t say it’s completely devoid of it). I can’t wait.

Ivy

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