I’m a picky girl and this is literally one of the few Public Disgrace movies I like.
Probably because it’s mostly women and Lorelei Lee is being just the meanest the whole time.
humiliation
Entree
Standard“So how do you feel?”
She squirmed. For a second, she listened to the din of the restaurant around them, considering whether nearby tables could overhear. He raised one eyebrow.
“I feel… full.”
“Is that all?”
She opened her mouth to answer, and got as far as “No, I…” when she heard:
“Can I get you two some drinks?”
She jumped. She hadn’t seen the waitress behind her. Her heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat, and she blushed. He waited a beat, picked up the menu, smiled, and turned to the waitress.
“Yes, I’ll have a sazerac. And for her… an old fashioned.”
“No problem, I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Waitress gone, he turned back to her and smiled. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”
“I said I feel full.”
“And what else?”
“I ache. I’m very wet. And I’m embarrassed.”
– – –
She arrived at his apartment an hour before dressed as he had requested: black top, skirt, and stockings, her hair up in a loose bun, and a small pendant tied around her neck with a choker (his subtle replacement for a collar).
A little erotica for your Thanksgiving morning. Unf.
She wasn’t permitted to talk that evening, he told his guests, but was allowed to answer their questions with a card that read “Yes” on one side and “No” on the other.
Forced to keep her legs open, she could feel the room fill up with the smell of her dampening cunt spread on display as they stared at her and asked about the blushiest things.
Hi can you please get more kinky friends soon.
For reasons.
The first time I ever cried for Sir in a D/s context was when he pushed my face into a plate and wiped food all over my face while I was being a kitty for him. We were dating, right on the cusp of becoming some kind of an official couple, and I react rather strongly to degradation. So, I cursed at him and whimpered and started crying. And then I asked him to do it again.
He says he wants to make me cry like that, but push me harder. Humiliation and degradation aren’t really my favorite things, but mostly because I’ve had some pretty rotten experiences with other people. I want to trust that he will handle the aftercare properly and he won’t trigger anything weird, but I’m scared. He knows it, too, and has been really patient and open and loving about negotiating it.
So I want to be brave when I see him in December and let him push me really hard. In his words, I’ve been “braver and braver” lately and I want to be able to trust him.
He says he has this fantasy of whoring me out. I’ll admit that maybe, just maybe, I’ve got a little bit of a fantasy about it, too.
“How much would it cost?” I asked.
He smiled, “two hundred dollars.”
“Two hundred dollars?” I exclaimed. “That’s so inexpensive.”
The thing is that making it ridiculously cheap turns him on. He likes the degradation of it. On the other hand, I prefer to feel special and expensive and precious.
“Fine, how much do you think it’s worth?” he asked.
I huffed. “Four million.”
“Nobody pays a four million dollars for that, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “He’ll probably only take ten minutes once he gets his hands on you, anyway."
"And what if he wants an hour?” I pouted.
He smirked. “Nah. Still two hundred.”
Being a Brave Girl, Part One
When we got back to his place, Sir made me lunch and served it to me on the floor of his bedroom. He took a seat nearby and ate his, watching me with a warm grin that made me almost feel proud to eat it like an animal. Still, I was cautious about getting my face dirty, as I always am.
So, I asked him to push me. He smiled and knelt down beside me, setting his plate aside.
“Go on, eat.” He said. I leaned down and, as I was easing some food into my mouth, he shoved my face into the plate. I’ve mentioned that he’s done this for me before. And that it’s hard for me to let go. But one day I’m hoping I’ll be able to be brave and not worried about getting my face messy and what that all implies.
When I finished, he wiped my face clean and held me close. “Now go get into position, girl. Present for me.”
He says he likes the idea of a glass buttplug.
And a little flashlight.
I tell him nuh uh and nonono and you caaaaan’t.
Because people weren’t meant to be looked at so deeply.
“What’s that, love? Want to keep pretending you don’t like being the center of attention?”
And you used to tell me you didn’t like [thing that is literally so blushy I can’t write it out.] Uh huh. I’m gonna give you one.
Sir.