humiliation

I’m usually pretty awful at routines, confessedly. But, Craftsmate’s developed one lately that’s managed to somehow fix my horrible sleep patterns and drive me completely insane. Essentially, since Sunday, he’s been having me come over to his place at night, strip down to my panties and a t-shirt, and lie on his bed with my face down and my ass in the air.

I have to pull my panties down and wait while Craftsmate takes his sweet time applying lubricant to my asshole and his fingers. First with one finger, then two, he gently starts probing and thrusting into my asshole. Sometimes, he will rub my clit, but he’ll never let me cum. He does this with a rubber glove on, knowing that it only adds to the humiliation of the entire ordeal for me. Because, yes, I find the whole anal inspection thing to be completely humiliating.

When he has finished, he blindfolds me and has me pull my panties back up. Then, he puts me into the crotchrope arrangment he did on Sunday – with my wrists tied at my sides and the tiniest bit of slack to helplessly flutter my hands on either side of my pussy in an attempt to relieve myself. He teases me for a little while before tucking me in and leaving me there to go do work or watch television.

By the time he comes to bed, I’ve fallen asleep that way: bound, blindfolded, teased, always vaguely aware of the push of the knot in the crotchrope against my clit. In the morning, he teases me a bit more, unties me and only removes the blindfold after he has inspected how wet I had gotten during the night.

I don’t know how long this routine is going to last and I kind of like how much I simultaneously despise and enjoy it. Every morning I ask him if that was the last time and try to convince him that I’ve learned my lesson, but part of me is almost relieved when he tells me no and informs me of what time he expects me that night.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go blush for about six years after sharing this.

whyexactly:

Sometimes rope pulls

tighter on your mind

than it does on your skin.

Yes, it’s past my bedtime.

Yes, I’d probably blush and cry if this happened.

And, yeah, I sort of kind of want it.

whyexactly:

Imagine finding this, quite by surprise, midday

after a night capped by one too many

glasses of wine…

stay-alittle:

I want a butterfly butt!

I can’t tell if this is the solution to her whining problem or just another source of it.

dominantteacher:

I’d love a version of that device that has a tiny bit more give, e.g. hardened leather with thin metal strips reinforcing.

I’d like my girl to be able to be in it for a while with chafing or getting too achey….except for where I like making them ache.

Sweetheart, they’re not laughing at you. They’re laughing with you.

So, Craftsmate, that guy from my frat and I decided to spend yesterday afternoon doing arts and crafts.

Except, it was the sort of arts and crafts that Craftsmate earned his nickname for in the first place.

Essentially, that guy from my frat has been asking him to teach him how to make a flogger. And, with the snow, we figured it would be a fun thing to do inside after what I still consider to be a pretty unfair snowball fight.

While they worked on floggers, I set to finishing a blindfold Craftsmate had started on but had not gotten around to finishing. It looked like the one pictured, with individual padded circles and a strap running through them and around the wearer’s head.

After we had finished, that guy from my frat went to return his floggers to his dorm and said he would text us in an hour about potentially grabbing some dinner.

One he had left, I held the blindfold out to Craftsmate and told him that I wanted to try it on. With it buckled to the tightest rung, I couldn’t see a thing. Most blindfolds allowed some trickle of light to come in by the nose, but this one literally left me in darkness by virtue of its design.

Rendered blind, I suddenly felt indescribably helpless as Craftsmate reached out to stroke my cheek and push me down onto my knees in front of him.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

I nodded, “yeah. I feel kind of helpless.”

“You do?” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I can’t see a thing,” I answered before gingerly adding, “would you cuff my hands? Just for a minute?”

The cuffs went on fairly quickly and he looped his finger into the chain, jerking me forward and launching into an inspection right there. I nearly died when he pried my mouth open and started checking my teeth, moving his thumbs over my molars methodically.

He stopped when he heard my phone buzz. “You should text [that guy from my frat] back.”

What had felt like two minutes under the blindfold had somehow been an hour. I guess time moves a little differently in complete darkness. Go figure.

It’s when he asks for those certain things that she blushes, bites her lip, tells him to keep his voice down. And she worries everyone around has abandoned their own preoccupations to hear what he had just whispered.

“I can’t possibly do that right here.”

It’s funny how fickle the concept of “can’t possibly” can be.

listenmorning:

midsummer daydreamer by Seatory on Flickr.

So, I decided to finally share something that’s kind of super blushy but I’ve been holding out on talking about.

I went over to Craftsmate’s one day after he said he wanted to show me something. When we reached his bedroom, he pulled out this mess of straps and told me to open my mouth. I was shocked and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I complied.

He pushed the ring behind my teeth, lining it up so my mouth was forced open. I had never worn a ring gag before and I simultaneously enjoyed and dreaded how receptive it made me feel. With a smile, Craftsmate set to tightening the straps around my head, under my chin, alongside my nose, shifting and undoing them every so often to make the fit tighter.

When he had finished, he grinned and pressed his thumbs to the straps along the side of my nose, holding my face still. “You look so pretty like this,” he said, before shoving two fingers into my mouth and probing around. I could do just about nothing to prevent him from doing so aside from attempting to shove him away.

After he had withdrawn his fingers, his hand settled on my chin and he tilted my head slightly. I groaned, feeling drool start to form around the sides of the gag. Without warning, Craftsmate spat into my open mouth and, without any other options, I accepted it.

See, I’d want to be something like this for you.

But I’d need the reassurance that you would stroke my hair every so often after you put your drink down.

I don’t want to just be a table. I want to be your table. The best fucking table you could have. Even if and when I mess up.

Craftsmate had made me dinner and, after serving himself, put my plate on the floor. I got down onto my knees and went to start eating when he interrupted me.

“Not yet,” he said, picking up the roll of duct tape and taping my hands into little fists.

I huffed, pawing my napkin closer before gingerly lowering my face down to pick up a piece of broccoli.

Craftsmate watched for a few minutes with a smirk on his face as I carefully avoided getting food on my face as best as I could. All of a sudden, he reached forward and grabbed my hair.

“That’s not how kitties eat,” he insisted before shoving my face deep into the plate, covering it in food and sauce. “Kitties are messier, like this.” He pushed down a bit longer, shaking my head against the plate before pulling me up.

I stifled a whimper and cursed at him. Getting this vulnerable still scares me sometimes. I’m frightened when things start to get messy, especially when it comes to how much I enjoy it.

My head processes this sort of stuff in a way that figures that if I express outrage my partner will do it again without me having to ask. But this time, I had to.

“Do that again?” I choked out. I hated having to admit I liked it. I was ashamed to admit I wanted it. But, he complied, reaching up and shoving my face into the food once more.

“Good kitty,” he murmured as he practically wiped the dish with my face.

Without another word, I swallowed my pride and started eating.

Ivy

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