I like buckles. They’re considerably neater. They even feel a little bit institutional. That rubs me the right way.
hands
I’ve unfortunately never been dominated or punished by someone while they were wearing the sort of shirt with sleeves that they would need to roll up. This is regrettable.
I like the immediacy of just being thrown over someone’s lap and spanked. The idea of not having to tend to too many articles of clothing besides some of my own appeals to me in the sense of instant gratification.
However, there’s something so perfectly condescending about having to wait for someone to roll up the sleeves of their shirt. It kind of makes me tremble and feel terribly small.
In a good way.
Jack and Jitters, Part 4
He rubbed for a while longer as I ground myself against the bed, squirming and gasping with how sensitive I had become. As I got close, he yanked the stockings that bound my wrists and pulled me down to my knees. His other hand gathered up a chunk of my hair and held it roughly, pushing my face into the crotch of his pants.
I reached up with my bound hands to try to undo his belt and he let go of my hair, grabbing onto the knot in the stockings. “You have way too much freedom.” He tightened the knot, making the removal of his belt, pants, and boxers a tad more difficult.
He reached down and pulled my nightgown up, knotting it above my breasts as to expose my body without removing it. He combed his hand through my hair, pulling it a bit as his hands left my scalp to dip my hair back and open my mouth. “Look at me while you suck it,” he said as I took him into my mouth.
I don’t want to fully admit that I started grinning when he sighed, “I love the way you suck my cock.” I really don’t want to own up to the fact that a phrase as simple or lewd as that could make me feel awesome. Because, well, I’d like to think I’ve got other stuff going for me and other important skills. But, gosh, I don’t know. There’s something about making a man sigh.
I didn’t break eye contact until he hauled me to my feet somewhere in the middle of it by the stockings around my wrists. He removed the stockings and yanked the nightgown over my head and off of my body. My hands wandered to his shirt and I pulled it off. We were both naked. For a few moments we were – as it seemed – even.
I’m just the teensiest bit orally fixated. And I love the feeling of being used and owned that accompanies having fingers shoved into my mouth. It shows this very blatant disregard for boundaries that kind of emphases the position of subordination I am being placed into.
I know I shouldn’t like this, but I do.
Oops.
I really enjoy being naked. It feels nice. Not even for sexy things, just for lounging around.
Cold weather = less naked time.
Sigh.
by Daria
Quiet-time.
“There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic." —Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale.
I have received what you’ve offered in the silence you’ve imposed. I haven’t sought to fight it, but presumption is not nearly as flattering as the flush at her neck. It’s hard to feel abandoned when I know you’re there. And to simply hold something doesn’t mean to own it, if your hands could reach so far.
Don’t imagine for a moment that I haven’t enjoyed it. But I’m playful and I’m young and I don’t buckle under the first pair of hands to come out of the darkness and grasp. You’re not reaching blindly, but you haven’t quite tugged me to my knees. I’m sure you can feel yourself grazing something, but what was that story about the blind men groping at the basket, the mortar, the pillar? (You know, the allegorical elephant in the room.)
I know, I know, more wordplay. But it’s all the play you’re going to get. And who doesn’t like a fair game?
Oh my good gracious, it’s snowing and my heater is working. Who would’ve thunk it?
This afternoon is all about drinking tea, doing laundry, and reading. In my ushanka, which looks exactly like the one pictured here, down to the pattern of the fabric. Here’s to good taste.
I am shocked at how easy it was to find a picture of a cute naked girl in a cute ushanka on tumblr. No, wait. I’m not shocked at all.