“If they’re really bothering you, sweetheart, I can take the clamps off now,” Penthouse suggested while we were in the pizzeria.
I looked up from my food, “you mean in the bathroom?”
“No, silly,” he laughed. “I’m not going to take you into the bathroom right in front of everyone. That would just be embarrassing, wouldn’t it?"
I huffed and stared down at my hands while he continued to chuckle.
Via vicious-rumors
Easing out the Kinks, Part Eight
After I kissed Craftsmate’s cheek, the two pushed me down onto the floor.
“I don’t think you’re allowed on the furniture,” Penthouse explained, “I didn’t hear either of us say you could sit up here.”
“Kneel,” Craftsmate said, moving me back down to the floor when I tried to get back up.
“Sit up straight,” Penthouse added, “legs further apart.”
I can only imagine how much I was blushing. But it wasn’t as much as when we were leaving and Penthouse told Craftsmate to “make sure Ivy is housebroken” the next time we came to visit so I didn’t keep climbing up on the furniture.
As we left, the two agreed the day turned out much better than they had thought. I huffed and went to interject, but they were quick to reply that I had gotten exactly what I wanted.
Touché.
Easing out the Kinks, Part Four
In the staircase of his apartment, a place that Penthouse promised was seldom used, he had me unzip my coat and lift up my sweater.
Carefully, he removed the clamps from my nipples one by one. When the first one came off, I barely stifled a scream. I don’t usually wear clamps for an extended time and though there was a somewhat pleasurable aspect of the feeling of the blood rushing back into them, I’m not as much of a masochist as I am a submissive.
He placed them into his pocket and sat down on the stairs. Pulling me into his lap, he stroked my hair and told me that he was proud of me. Once I had my composure back, he pulled me up to my feet and made me perform the endlessly humiliating task of grinding on his knee.
I knew I was wet, but I wasn’t aware of just how aroused I was until I was doing that, hoping nobody decided to forego the elevator and use the stairs. My cheeks were flushed when he asked me if I wanted him to use my pussy. I nodded a little too eagerly.
“Hm,” Penthouse looked me over and smirked. His hands lowered to my hips and he bucked me a bit harder against his thigh. “I think you’re too little for that, sweetheart.”
I pouted and tried to turn away from his grin, attempted to keep my head off of how badly I wanted him, and focused on the sound of the opened belt of my coat, clanging against the stone steps of the emergency stairwell.
Easing out the Kinks, Part Three
Penthouse was grinning that cat that ate the canary smile when we left his apartment. Underneath my coat and sweater, my nipples were clamped and connected by a short chain that was tucked into my bra. I felt it whenever I moved and even when I was still: a nagging sting that made it impossible to focus on anything else.
“You know what little girls do?” He teased, “they skip. Why don’t you just skip to the pizzeria?”
I shot him a glare, but he just laughed.
When he had sat down to lunch, he looked me over and said, “you must be warm. Why don’t you take off your coat?” Under my coat, I was wearing a thin sweater and unlined bra. Literally nothing would be left to the imagination if I were to do that, so I kept it on and huffed while he laughed every time I hesitated before gingerly moving to take another bite of pizza.
Throughout the course of the meal, Penthouse would teasingly tell me to adjust my posture and I would try to hold in a wince as I straightened my back, applying more strain on my nipples. He made excuses to get me to look behind me, causing my sore nipples to rub against the fabric of my clothing.
For as quietly humiliating and excruciating the experience was, I could feel myself growing wet. And though I whined softly on the way back to his apartment about wanting them off, it was impossible to deny that I was enjoying myself despite everything. This detail was perhaps the most humiliating aspect of the entire ordeal.
So, my birthday is coming up. All of my friends and loved ones keep asking me what I want. And to be honest, I’ve been having trouble answering them. I’m not too big on technology. I have enough bath/shower supplies and perfumes to keep me through my twenties. I am fairly content with the amount of clothing I have (slash no one is able to size me properly because I have a disproportionally big butt and a small torso). Bottom line: I never know what to tell people when they ask me what I want.
With this in mind, I give you…
Item Number One on Ivy’s Birthday Wishlist.
Questions?
Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Six
Craftsmate tied me facedown on his bed and proceeded to get his flogger out. He beat me until I was crying out so much that he had to gag me and put music on to drown out all the noise.
Then, he sat down on me and started to tickle my ribs. I am absurdly ticklish and I absolutely hate being tickled. A few minutes in, I was panting for breath and drooling around the gag. He stopped, moved his duvet cover so I could see the small puddle of my salvia that had soaked into it, and proceeded to scold me for drooling all over his bed.
“Look at the mess you made,” he chided, pulling on my hair before pushing my face into it. I blushed six shades of red.
He rolled me over and tied me back down, picking the flogger back up and starting to beat my breasts.
Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Five
Craftsmate wiped my face clean and smiled down at me. “Why don’t you show me your tail, kitty?”
I blushed and turned, dipping my back and presenting my ass to him.
“Wag it a bit,” he said.
I shook my hips a bit and felt the tail wag back and forth between my legs. He reached forward and tugged a bit on the tail, eliciting a sharp gasp as I bucked back against the yank. He chuckled softly and got up to his feet, patting the bed.
“I think you owe me for my glass, don’t you?” He grinned. “Let’s see how you can pay me back.”
I’m not sure how I would handle being made to go to a party, looking totally normal, save for the bare feet and the cuffs on my ankles. I’m not entirely certain that I would be capable of maintaining eye contact or coherent speech.
Chained, Part Two
Penthouse attached the other end of the chain to my collar. It was heavy, but not impossibly, so I had the choice to either hold it in my hands or get down on my knees to avoid it pulling too much on the collar.
I held onto the chains and Penthouse walked over, stroking my hair. “How do you feel?” he asked. “You all right?”
I nodded, smiling nervously. “Yeah. I really like this.”
“Could I invite Popcorn over?” Penthouse asked, referencing the girl from the other night. (Yes, I’m going to call her Popcorn. DEAL. I’m terrible with names.)
My gaze fell down to my feet and I doubted she would want to. After all, it was awkward if she had met me before, wasn’t it? She wouldn’t want to do this with a girl she’d only met once at a party. But, I nodded. Secretly, I wanted it. But I doubted it would come together. And, if I wasn’t comfortable, he made it clear that I could end it anytime I wanted.
He took out his phone and texted her. Moments later, he smirked at me. “Oh, she’s on her way over. Maybe you should get on your knees.”
Shocked, I sank down to my knees and placed my hands on the floor, letting the chain go. I bit my lower lip, so excited I was shaking.
Fuck Baseball, Part Three
At one point, Craftsmate made me admit that I was a dirty little whore.
Of all the things I admitted, it probably made me blush most.
Mostly because of the shock he feigned when he finally got me to look him in the eyes and admit it.
It was also what made me the wettest.