humiliation

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Impulse, Part Three

The instructions on the card that I picked read that I was to walk around the circle and ask everyone to slap my ass. Pretty please.

I feinted towards starting with Pup, who was sitting to my right, before turning and heading to the left. I turned and lifted my skirt, asking each participant to spank me. Even though I was at a sex party, I get into my head in this silly way where I think that if I show too much enthusiasm, people will think I’m strange. Yes, at a sex party. So I was keeping it kind of playful and reluctant, not wanting to show my hand.

When I reached the host of the party, I didn’t get the slap I expected. Instead, he folded his arms and smirked. “I don’t think you want it bad enough.” 

I felt a blush burn over my cheeks. I’d been friends with the host of this party since I got into the local kink scene. We met at the very first play party I went to, and he’s a profoundly sweet and kind person. Pup and I were at his wedding. He’s also 90% a sub. But he’s got this teensy, tiny little toppy streak that certain subs seem to have when they manage to channel all the cruelty and humiliation they crave and are used to receiving onto someone else.

He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me a bit closer. Even though he was sitting on the couch, I still felt small next to him. “Try again,” he said.

“Would you please slap my ass?” I scoffed and asked again. “Pretty please?” He nodded for me to keep going and I groaned. A few people in the circle were laughing. “Please, I really, really want you to spank me. I’d be so glad if you did.”

He delivered a sharp smack and sent me off around the circle. By the time I reached Pup, my rear was stinging. Azure had given me something on the gentler side, though I doubt that was the sole reason why Pup had doubled his efforts and hit me so hard that I visibly winced when I finally got to sit back down.

“Poor baby,” Pup teased. “But good thing I went last. Or people would’ve seen how hard they could have hit you.”

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Whipping Post, Part Five

Pup had me hold onto the post and face the girls. He slipped the condom on and entered me roughly, holding onto my hips. He fucked me hard and I knew I was being loud, knew that the girls were aware of me.

I tried my hardest to avoid looking at them, I was pretty shy about the whole thing. But every so often Pup would tug my hair and I would be made to look, or he would grab onto my throat for a little bit and my head would be forced up. 

It wasn’t that seeing them wasn’t hot. I’m not much of a voyeur, but the issue was more that I would be caught staring while I was in a fairly compromised position.

Regardless, I came looking at them.

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Whipping Post, Part Four

I kept my head down while I walked past people to grab a condom, slipping back over to the play area and attempting to avoid conversation. I didn’t exactly want to have to say, “sorry, I have to go get fucked” to somebody who was trying to talk to me.

The section across from us had been behind me while I was being whipped, and aside from brief glimpses into the mirror to see some people walk by or pause to watch, I hadn’t really been paying attention to what was going on there. But when I returned to hand the condom to Pup, I got a look at the people inside. There were two girls: one sitting up on a stool, the other eating her out.

Pup pushed me down to my knees and put the condom in his back pocket. “Come on, get me ready,” he said. But, when I went to unzip his pants, he pushed me away. “Beg for it.”

I rolled my eyes. I have never, ever understood the whole begging to do a thing the person has clearly just asked you to do. Sure, yeah, it’s for the purpose of humiliation, but it seems so redundant sometimes. But, I begged regardless until he let me unzip his pants and take his cock out.

Once I’d sucked him off for a little while, he hauled me up to my feet by my hair. “Hold onto the post,” he said. “I’m going to fuck you.”

I went to get into my old position, but he stopped me. “Nope, this side this time.” I felt myself blushing. He wanted me to face the girls.

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Whipping Post, Part Two

He didn’t have a whip, so he used his belt.

I’ve mentioned time and again on here that I’m not a masochist, and people usually find that kind of funny. But I am genuinely not. I don’t enjoy pain. It takes a lot of work (and only recently has this actually come to fruition, but more on that another day) to get the right endorphin rush or zen head going from getting beaten. It’s happened, but it flat-out doesn’t. 

Pup’s a sadist. And he, like Sir, seem to enjoy pain play with me specifically because I am not a masochist. I consent to being hurt because I like giving someone the right to do that, I enjoy what that implies. Not because I like getting hurt. Neither of them are the kind of sadists who want someone egging them on to hurt them more. They want someone who, although they are consenting and enjoying the encounter, are not specifically liking what is going on because of the pain. And, yeah, I hate pain.

He mostly concentrated on my back and my butt, as well as the backs of my thighs. He stopped when I needed him to, but I found that as soon as the threshold widened to a point that I would start to adapt to the pain, he’d switch to someplace else. There is a point where I can kind of sink into pain and it becomes so constant that it almost feels comfortable. He never let me reach that point.

As awful as it felt, I liked that. I liked that he beat me on my upper arms, right in the sensitive place between the triceps and the biceps, forcing me to twist my bound wrists and hold my arms out to give him a good point to hit. I liked that he was paying enough attention to figure out when I was sinking into the pain, and then switch it up so quickly I barely had time to react. 

But I didn’t realize how turned on I was getting until he pushed himself up against me again and grabbed my throat. His other hand moved between my legs and he started laughing. “Want it already?”

I looked up at myself in the mirror and realized I was grinding against him. I’d been ready to tell him off, but instead I just blushed and whined, “will you please? I want to get fucked.”

He stepped away from me and managed to hit me between the legs with the belt. I cried out and rested my forehead against the post, feeling my eyes well up with tears. 

“Please?” I choked out.

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thinkivykink:

nankingdecade:

You’re fucking disgusting and everyone knows it.

Something super super brave and blushy happened last night and I need to double my efforts to catch you up on everything from September to now because holy crap.

Leftovers, Part Five

I didn’t think I would be able to do it, knowing everyone was watching like that. But, I did. I probably would not have been able to without the blindfold on, being a little shy, but I ended up cumming in front of a room that was mostly strangers. Sir kept murmuring in my ear how I was the only one like this, how I was a slut for needing this in the middle of a nice little get-together.

I slumped against him when I had finished and someone gave off another “aww.” Sir had me say thank you to the first guy, and I did so with a little bashfulness, grateful the blindfold was still on. He clicked the vibrator back on, but I pouted that I was sensitive, and he turned it off.

Sir held me for a little bit, someone commenting that it was so sweet that I was still blindfolded. Eventually, he took the blindfold off and he had me go remove the bullet. I made a quick walk to the bathroom, trying to avoid eye contact with just about everyone while doing so.

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The thing is that I really, really hate bondage/situations that make me look or feel gross. I just get all self-conscious about it. But something about how invasive this is, its totality, really gets to me.

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Leftovers, Part Three

Sitting down on the couch proved all the more difficult. The crotch rope pulled harder and my head was yanked back even further. I felt incredibly silly, and the only saving grace of the whole thing was the fact that it kept me from making eye contact with most of the people there. 

Sir and Star were flanking me on the couch, which felt somehow a little bit protective and yet a little bit condescending with the way they were talking over me. Every so often, one of them would reach over to smooth my hair or check in with me. Sometimes, Sir would give the rope running down my back a little tug. I was too nervous to really participate in much of anything conversation-wise.

Eventually, Sir let me out so that I could use the bathroom, but sent me off there with one of his new purchases. It was a remote-control vibrator, and because it was a brand-new toy, Sir was obsessed with it like a kid in the days after Christmas. He kept making me wear it around his place, and figured that this party was an even better opportunity to give it a go.

Despite how humiliating it was, I consented and ducked into the bathroom to slip the bullet inside of myself.

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Sir’s been giving me tasks lately, and every so often he likes me to write about them here. I’ve been enjoying them, and it’s helped me to feel like I’m still submitting to him even with the timezones and the distance and all the other absurd hurdles we’re handling right now.

You’ll remember we had a tally system of me misbehaving over the summer. It was going to culminate in me drinking a cup of my own piss (guh) after eight tallies (one tally per ounce.) It never went anywhere because I’ve been a good girl (heh.) Also, after I drank his piss, it put drinking my own in perspective. Because, meh. 

But still, a cup is a lot of urine. 

The other day, I surprised him by taking some initiative and suggesting I might be okay with taking just a sip of it. Like, a little sip. 

I’ve got this sippy cup my friend gave me as a gag gift. She doesn’t know about the Daddy/little stuff, it was more a joke on my 21st birthday for me to put booze in there and walk around holding it. Every so often, I put a drink in there when I’m hosting a party because I can dance around with it and it won’t spill (don’t judge me.) So Sir suggested I pee into the sippy cup and, in his words, “take a sippy.”

Lately, I’ve been on this humiliation kick and he’s been doing Daddy stuff and it all felt kind of right. I drank enough water that I was pissing clear. I got up the courage and sucked through the straw, but totally misjudged how hard I’d have to suck because I was so nervous and wound up getting quite a bit of it and legitimately gagging on it. 

I thought I’d be more anxious about writing about this, and I’m not sure if this is a sign of growth or not. But, yeah. I peed into a sippy cup (and then sanitized the crap out of that thing) and drank it. I choked on my own urine. I survived.

For the record: I’m a healthy girl and it tastes just fine. Still, yuck. 

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Leftovers, Part Two

Star set to showing Sir how to put me in a harness that would, in her words, make my boobs look awesome. She wasn’t lying.

While a lot of the harnesses I’ve seen and experienced tend to press the breasts down or contort them into weird shapes, this one almost imitated a bra. My arms were folded behind my back palm to elbow, which made me stick my chest out. The rope over my chest was pulled up into little triangles, and as a result my breasts were tugged up and out as if they were in a push-up bra.

“I should let some people at the party tonight slap them, shouldn’t I?” Sir asked. I nodded bashfully as Star brought the rope around my front.

“So,” she said. “We’ve got a bunch leftover. If you want, we can give her a crotchrope with it.” I pouted a little, but wasn’t totally upset when Star put a really convenient knot in the remaining rope and threaded it up between my legs, pulling it tight.

Up until then, Sir had mostly been watching intently, trying to learn the harness so that he could put me back in it later at the other party. But, he suddenly gave Star a conspiratorial look over my shoulder, and helped to dip my head back while Star knotted the rope carefully into my hair, showing Sir how to do it safely.

As a result, when I tried to lower or straighten my head, the crotchrope was pulled taut and the knot rubbed against my clit. My head was forced back so far that I couldn’t keep my mouth closed, and I felt silly and exposed and could barely look at the other people in the room.

“Let’s sit you down, hm?” Sir asked and took hold of my arm, guiding me over to the couch. “Why don’t you make some friends?“