hold

Last night, as a means of procrastinating, I opened up a tinychat to procrastinate work and try to answer questions live instead of in the cold, cruel inbox format.

What I thought would be a little thing quickly mushroomed into a very busy, very lively meeting of the minds – so to speak. Equal parts weird and fun, the tinychat added a dimension to some people who had, up until this time, been simply stories I read and enjoyed.

Things got a little nuts when Craftsmate came over, got out his computer, and joined in. And then when Penthouse hopped online, noticed the post, and joined in on the chat as well. I was blushing the entire time as worlds collided.

And thanks to you all, I went to bed with a red little bum.

Hmph.

See those two quick little breaths she sucks in right as he’s pulling her top down?

Yeah.

Those just about make this whole thing.

I’d like to imagine that if he weren’t holding her that way, I imagine she’d just fall right into the mirror he’s holding her in front of. And that would be no good at all, it would just get her off the hook from having to watch those little faces she makes until she can finally appreciate them.

Believe me when I tell you – no matter how hard I push – that I fight to lose.

Meet Switch, Part Ten

By the time we finished, the sun was rising. Switch removed his belt from my wrists, pulled me back against him and we fell asleep curled up with each other. There was something sort of sweet about the way he held me.

We slept only about three hours, we both had things to do or places to be in the morning. We wound up lingering in bed another hour before having to rush off.

I got a text later that day from him expressing that he’d like to see me again and asking what I was doing Friday night. It took some restraint to not just be cheesy and reply “you?”.

But, uh, yeah.

Meet Switch, Part Five

At one point, he had my face held firmly between his thumb and forefinger. My lips were forced to purse, my cheeks bulged slightly around his grip. His fingers were still inside of me, but he’d stopped moving them. I felt skewered.

I felt him looking over me when he murmured, “God, this fucking body. Especially that ass. You know you have a really sexy ass?”

“Yes, Sir,” I muttered through his grip.

He chuckled and started to move his fingers slowly. I moaned. “And you know guys look at it all the time?”

Were he not holding me the way he was, I may have laughed. But, there was something sobering about the way he was handling me. “Yes, Sir.”

“Especially when you wear skirts like that.”

I couldn’t resist. “I know. That’s why I wear skirts like that."

"You dirty little slut.” He yanked his fingers out of me so quickly I cried out. The fingers on my face left my cheeks and moved to the back of my head, shoving my face down into the bed as he started spanking me again, harder than before.

The way he’s holding her is absolute perfection.

“Good God, what a mess of draggle-tail impulses a man is—and a woman too, I guess.” – John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

Ivy

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