Craftsmate tied me up like this once and I soaked right through my panties.
Just thought I’d share, okay?
legs
People who know me tend to equate me with strength. Which I definitely appreciate, as it’s something I pride myself in being.
But, I think I’ve developed such a thick skin that it is hard for the people around me to realize how I can hurt. Because I do believe that underneath the resilience, the self-reliance, the nose to the grindstone sort of attitude I have, the flippancy and all of that is a lot of sensitivity and a lot of sweetness that maybe gets overlooked. My therapist says I have trouble being really, honestly vulnerable with people, especially when feelings are at stake. I agree. I also simply do not allow myself to be anything less than strong. I’ve got this headspace where I can’t show people my actual vulnerabilities because to do so would be unacceptable.
Part of submission that appeals, then, is that ability to be vulnerable. To be sweet and gentle and devoted and sensitive and not have that mistaken for weakness. Maybe it’s partially a coping mechanism – a safe frame within which I can actually be vulnerable rather than in a normal life situation. But, I don’t know. It helps me express a lot of what I keep buried under the surface.
I’ll kick your butt, Daddy. No lies. I’m hard candy.
Humbled, Part 6
After he had dried me off, Switch brought me over to the end of his bed and threw my lingerie back at me. “Put this back on,” he said as he walked over to the chair and picked up the belts that had held my legs to the legs of the chair. I didn’t protest, pulling it back on and knotting it in the back.
Switch used the belts to tie my hands to the end of the bed, forcing me to bend over slightly. He put some pressure on my lower back, making me get up on my toes to tilt my ass into the air for him. He reached for the belt he had been wearing that day, draped across the bed with his clothes. Grabbing it over the bed, he folded it double and started to beat my ass with it mercilessly. I cried out, yanking hard on the belts around my wrists despite how much I was enjoying it.
When he could tell I was getting overwhelmed, he set the belt down and stepped up closer behind me, pushing himself against me. His hand settled on my chin and he squeezed hard before pulling my head back against his chest. He was impossibly hard. “You going to be a good girl for me, baby? You gonna give me whatever I want?” As I nodded, he reached between my legs and chuckled, “maybe if you’re a really good girl I’ll let you get off tomorrow morning.” I whined and he gave my cunt a little pat.
With that, he picked the belt back up and kept going.
Humbled, Part 1
I had been messing around with something I enjoyed from the submission end: denial. Switch said he liked the idea of it. I guess he didn’t realize how mean I could be.
One morning, I tied him to the chair in front of his desk. One benefit of having been tied up so much is I know what works and what’s challenging. “If you can get out by the time I’ve finished my hair, I’ll think about letting you cum,” I said. He looked cocky. I’m sure he figured he was strong enough to just break right out. Unfortunately, he underestimated the power of well-tied knots and cinching.
When we messed around, I didn’t let him finish. To his credit, he didn’t complain. I’m usually a massive whiner. Apparently, he was actually really enjoying this. So, I got confident and started pushing how mean I could get. I wasn’t awful. I just spent a day or two getting him close and not getting him off whenever we hooked up. And then I would tease him about it.
So, the day I got what was coming to me, I decided to be extra cruel. And that’s probably why I got what was coming to me.
“Admit that I’m your favorite,” I told the Southern Gentleman last night, teasingly.
He smirked, “shut up and give me your cunt."
I sat back and moved my panties aside, starting to rub my clit. "Nah, I think I’m just going to take care of myself.”
“You,” he said, “and your tight little cunt and your hot little mouth are my favorite.”
“Oh, now you’re just saying that,” I pouted.
“Ivy.”
“I don’t know, the last time I wanted you I didn’t get what I wanted,” I slid a finger in slowly and dipped my head back, “so I think I may just spend some alone time with your favorite little cunt. You can watch.”
“Darling, if I fucked you every time one of us was aroused, we’d never get anything done,” he replied, “and that’s why you’re my favorite.”
Last night was so wonderful and such a nice way to relax before finals. We drank, we laughed, we had a ball. I do not yet have the chutzpah to post a picture of myself in my dress to my sex blog so I can possibly be identified, but I was told I looked lovely.
Especially by this friend of mine. The one who wants to paint me. In an encounter that could’ve turned into something naughty had her date not walked in. (Pshhh boys stink).
There’s another event tonight. That guy from my frat will probably be going and despite the fact that a friend said the real reason he dipped out was finances, I loudly and drunkenly announced at the table that I wouldn’t touch him unless he promised me three hours of cunnilingus. So I guess I have to make good on that now…whoops.
So, I hit a really major milestone work-wise in school. While it’s totally knocked the energy out of me, I’m very proud of myself.
As a reward, I’m spending tonight in and getting some well-deserved rest and relaxation.
Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing.
I think, I explore great tracts of my life before you.
You’re a fabulous idea.
It’s funny how you can grow before me, grow on me. I have not suffered entirely getting to know you, I think. Maybe I’ve blushed a few times. Maybe I’ve felt a bit disoriented by some of those long, deliberate silences. Maybe I’ve stumbled over a few words when I’m not nearly as careful as I could be.
But you’re harmless as just an idea. You’re nice to think about. You grow in a different way when I simply think about you. Not nearly as dynamically, but in a way that I can tend. Until there’s you and there’s the idea of you. And you’re a wonderful idea. But you’re much better when you’re not.
Because perhaps the only thing stronger than an idea is when that idea takes shape, however sufferable. As the pieces fall together, I like you better than the idea of you. It becomes harder to remember you as you were before you existed, because I seem to enjoy more the fact that you exist.
Too pissed off to post sexy tonight.
Seriously, how the fuck is somebody like Rick Santorum doing so well? I am literally in awe that we’re just letting him, gosh, I don’t know, exist.
Sorry I have so many feelings. Ugh.