I have a tendency to curl my hands into fists when I’m anxious or upset. It’s never really a violent thing, it’s more of a tension and control thing. I regulate the tension in my hands. I feel the squeeze. It’s controlled chaos.
And submitting is like someone taking that fist and pulling it open. It’s a release. It’s a loss of control, but it comes with such an overwhelming freedom. It says, let me play with the tension, let me control your chaos.
To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely thrilled with my butt.
In the words of one of my best friends, I’ve got a “donk”. My butt does not make complete sense with the rest of my body. I’m a petite girl and it just sort of comes out of nowhere.
The body-con dresses I love to wear squeeze the bottom of it. Jeans that would normally fit are hindered by its presence. My butt is completely incongruous with the rest of my body.
My friends insist it is enviable, but after spending middle school and high school friendly with a bunch of very tall, skinny girls, it is sometimes hard to appreciate “what my mama gave me”.
Best. Present. Ever.
“O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you;
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.”
– Walt Whitman
I hate the expression “we were goofing around and then we started hooking up”. I think it’s stupid. I don’t get how it works. I can’t imagine that you just sort of fall on someone and start making out with them.
But, um, that’s exactly what happened last night.
I was over at her room. I know, I know, I know. I said I wasn’t going to do anything with her. (Forgive me, tumblr, for I have sinned.) But she had clearly defined the lines of non-monogamy with her guy and they had both explored some other stuff with no negative repercussions. This changed the climate immensely.
Anyway, we were kind of goofing around on her bed. I know this was baiting it, but I was lying there and thrusting and faking sex noises when she told me that she was concerned about her neighbors being able to hear her through the wall. She climbed on top of me to shut me up. I rolled over back on top of her. We kind of started making out. You know how it works.
We keep this up for a while. Kissing, touching, giggling. It’s light and sweet and fun.
So how did this wind up in probably one of the most intense spankings I’ve gotten in a while?
I’ll get to that, I promise.
“Do you hear them all talking about you, Piglet?”
Yes, Daddy.
“Do you like it?”
No, Daddy.
“Really? That’s not what your wet little panties say.”
Tumblr threatens to wring my wallet dry sometimes, especially when it shows me corsets this pretty.
Whether this corset will hold up under tension remains to be seen.
The feeling of having an article of clothing ripped off is just sublime. It’s so carnal, so raw.
This. Now. Please and thank you.
So, my boobs shrank. I know, this is such sexy conversation.
I noticed this when all of my bras just started to feel oversized while on my trip and there were little pockets of space in the cup that would be otherwise good for storing keys, money, change, makeup, a change of shoes, a small animal, etc. At first, I assumed I’d stretched them out somehow in the wash. So, I proceeded to get myself measured and it was confirmed: I’d dropped from a 36C to a 36B. Super.
Looking at them in the mirror at the store, I could see it. They still looked nearly the same, but they weren’t as full. I guess I’d never noticed while away because, while there, my mirror was only large enough to look at my face.
But, seriously, body, what are you trying to pull here? Of all the things you could’ve made smaller. Nice job.
I’ve been planning to get myself a garter belt, something like this aesthetically. Does anyone know anywhere besides Victoria’s Secret (a girl’s gotta have options) to find one?