hands – Page 7

(Blah blah my queue spat this out too early blah blah I guess I can start this story.)

Penthouse and I share an interrogation fantasy. I had articulated it to him for a while and had shared that the only time I had tried it, the guy was really half-hearted and was basically like, “one question now blowjob.” Which, I’m sorry, I love sucking dick but that killed it.

We were hanging around and I was messing with Penthouse’s wallet. “What are you doing?” He asked.

I smirked, “oh, I was thinking of hiding it when you weren’t looking so you’d have to ask me where it was.”

“Oh,” he replied, “I suddenly have something to do…elsewhere.” We both laughed and he got up and went to the other room.

Practically giddy with the fact that this was going to happen, I hid the wallet and waited for him to come back. When Penthouse returned, he feigned surprise at his wallet being gone.

“Sweetheart,” he asked in that Daddy-type voice that makes me blush. “Have you seen my wallet?" I just smirked and shrugged. He grabbed my arm, "did you hide it?” I shrugged again and he pushed me up against the wall. “Where is it?” I shook my head.

Suddenly, I felt him pull the ballgag between my teeth and buckle it at the back of my head. “Fine, when you’re really to tell me, I’ll take this off.” He shoved me towards the bed.

People who know me tend to equate me with strength. Which I definitely appreciate, as it’s something I pride myself in being.

But, I think I’ve developed such a thick skin that it is hard for the people around me to realize how I can hurt. Because I do believe that underneath the resilience, the self-reliance, the nose to the grindstone sort of attitude I have, the flippancy and all of that is a lot of sensitivity and a lot of sweetness that maybe gets overlooked. My therapist says I have trouble being really, honestly vulnerable with people, especially when feelings are at stake. I agree. I also simply do not allow myself to be anything less than strong. I’ve got this headspace where I can’t show people my actual vulnerabilities because to do so would be unacceptable.

Part of submission that appeals, then, is that ability to be vulnerable. To be sweet and gentle and devoted and sensitive and not have that mistaken for weakness. Maybe it’s partially a coping mechanism – a safe frame within which I can actually be vulnerable rather than in a normal life situation. But, I don’t know. It helps me express a lot of what I keep buried under the surface.

I had expressed to Penthouse before my trip that I was into being imposingly touched right before I went to sleep. It was more of a situation where I would be sent to bed and the other party would climb in behind me, wrap an arm around me and touch as if I wasn’t trying to sleep. It started here, when Switch had me tied up during the whole abduction thing and started groping me.

Penthouse and I went over safe words, a necessity if you’re playing around with concepts of feigned reluctance or consensual nonconsent, and tried the same thing.

Except, I wasn’t tied up. So, I could playfully try to swat him away and tease him by rubbing back up against him immediately after. And then whine and pout when he persisted anyway and rubbed my pussy through my panties, squeezed my breasts through my shirt, slipped his fingers into my mouth.

“I’m trying to sleep,” I huffed as he pulled my panties aside, “you’re being too handsy.”

He hushed me and murmured in my ear, “then sleep, I’ll just take what I want.” He dragged his thumb over my wet slit.

Naturally, I didn’t go to sleep.

Sometimes, you just need to let go and lose yourself completely for a little bit.

I love that feeling when that very last piece of clothing is cut from your body and it flutters to the ground. There’s such brutal finality to it, it’s almost poetic. It’s the point of no return, the crossing of the Rubicon, a thousand different clichés of that nature rolled into one experience.

Because, of course, the only reason a cliché is a cliché is for the harsh obviousness of its truth.

Like a Brisket, Part Nine

When I was out of the hogtie, Penthouse cracked some joke, asked everyone if they wanted to see something funny, and threw me over his shoulder. I flailed a bit, mostly because I was wearing a dress and I had accidentally flashed my butt enough that evening.

“Be careful,” I said when he put me down. “I can kick your ass.”

He chuckled, “fine. Come here and kick my ass.”

Welp, I made a conscious effort to do that. Honestly. But I wound up over the kid’s knee pretty quickly. I squirmed and fought and tried to sit up, but he had me down pretty well.

“I think Ivy needs a spanking,” Penthouse said. “What do you think, Prodigy?”

“I defer to Craftsmate,” The Prodigy replied.

Craftsmate snorted, “and I defer to Ivy.”

So, here I am, over this guy’s lap, in a group of kinky people, having to decide whether or not I deserve to get spanked. And, tumblr, it’s damn hard for me to articulate when I want something like that. It’s part of the whole shame thing. I would rather have someone else impose it upon me and pretend I dislike it than admit I want it. Yes, even in a crowd of kinky people I was ashamed to admit I enjoy it.

But, part of it was the issue of tone. I wasn’t sure if the entire day was supposed to be entirely demonstrative and academic or cross into something more playful. Thus, I am over somebody’s knee attempting not to get turned on. I am literally going over in my head and telling myself not to act like I liked this when it was pretty obvious that I did.

“Well,” I answered to Penthouse, “I guess I defer to you.”

That spanking hurt like a bitch. In a good way. But what didn’t hurt in a good way was how anxious I was getting and unnecessarily insecure around the people I should have been the least insecure with. Oh, shame.

Like a Brisket, Part Four

I had nothing to show for show and tell, so I figured I’d let Craftsmate and Penthouse show me a knot and I’d stubbornly try to get out of it before the final member of our party arrived. Penthouse used the belt from a robe and did a fairly simple but pretty tight two-column sort of deal on my wrists in front. I didn’t want to put my mouth all over it, so I figured if I just got one of my thumbs out I could manage just fine.

While I was stumbling around, trying to work my wrists lose and pressing the knot against my knee, corners of tables, and basically anything else around, Penthouse and Craftsmate set to laying out the things they had bought and figuring out how exactly they were going to make a pair of cuffs.

Eventually, Craftsmate looked up and chuckled, “I love how we’re just discussing this while she’s trying to get out over there.” I rolled my eyes, but I had to laugh. I had gotten the knot loose enough that I could slide my thumb up about halfway through the belt, but not enough to get it out fully.

I’m still not entirely sure what the exchange was, but for some reason I called Penthouse a bitch and he pretty calmly grabbed me and pulled me over his knee. I went to sit up, but he used an arm to pin me down. “Now, what did you call me?” He asked.

I stifled a laugh and looked over to Craftsmate, “come on, vouch for me here.”

“No can do,” Craftsmate replied, “I’m kind of a voyeur.”

I huffed and craned my neck to look back up at at Penthouse, “a bitch. I called you a bitch.”

“Uh huh,” he said, hauling me to my feet by my shoulders and walking me over to the carpet. “Thought so.” He applied some pressure to my knees and I knelt down, still trying to work my hands free. He looked down and chuckled, “how’s it going?”

I groaned and tried to use my knee for leverage, “I just need to get the thumb out.”

Penthouse laughed and pushed me down on the carpet. “Go on, then, get your thumb out,” he said, holding me down in an effort to make it more complicated until his phone buzzed that the girl from Ivy University had arrived. He helped me up and I stumbled forward before feeling that there was finally the give in the belt I needed.

“Oh, here it goes!” I exclaimed and yanked my thumb, followed by my whole hand, out of the belt. I shook it loose and set it down on the counter.

Penthouse and Craftsmate applauded. I took a bow.

pausesbetweenthought:

Tied with a bow.

Like a Brisket, Part Three

When we got to Penthouse’s place, we played a game of show and tell.

Craftsmate went first and produced from his bag a series of floggers he had made, including something Penthouse had essentially commissioned him to make. When he took out the flogger he had hit me with, I had to chuckle. That thing and I had a history.

Penthouse showed us this giant leather glove he had been using to essentially flog people with that didn’t hurt very much but made one hell of a noise when it made contact with anything and his new riding crop. However, the highlight of his show and tell had to be this absurd wooden toy sword he had found and bought because he figured it would be good for paddling people with.

Leave it to kinky people, right?

Craftsmate let me try out hitting him with it and Penthouse made some room in his kitchen to allow me a good swing. To play fair, and out of pure curiosity, I turned and allowed Craftsmate to hit me back.

I shrieked when it made contact with the fabric of my sundress and my rear. It was probably one of the hardest hits I’ve received on the ass from anything. My experience with paddling is fairly slim, so I was walking around the kitchen, holding my ass, and whining for a few minutes after the hit. It stung like crazy.

“Turn around,” I said, “I want to look at my butt.”

I looked over my shoulder and just saw red. With a huff, I told them to turn around. “You’ve seen my butt already anyway,” I cracked before turning and lifting the bottom of my dress once more, “take a look at this.”

Penthouse chuckled, “there’s a line on your butt. That’s kind of awesome.” He looked over the toy sword and smirked.

“Sorry, Ivy,” Craftsmate said, “but, yeah, line on your butt.”

So, followers. I’m aware of this tendency I have to begin describing a part of my life, conflict, etc and then being too lazy to continue it or describe the resolution. So, ah, I’d like to get around to that sometime.

definitelydope:

gallows hung around (by the girl who tamed the tiger)

“Daddy, I’m not fighting you. I’m just high-fiving you.”