“Silence may be as variously shaded as speech,“ – Edith Wharton.
lick
So, I saw a video on my dashboard. It was only thirty seconds long, but it kind of gave me chills.
There was this absolutely gorgeous man tied down with red rope, essentially being edged. At least, that’s what I gathered. Because I watched it with the volume off because I didn’t even think I could handle it with sound. I was blushing like crazy already with it mute.
At one point, the person edging him shoved his fingers in his mouth and I literally almost gasped. The expression on his face, the way his body twisted. I don’t know.
I’ve started to explore my dominant side a little, but I’m still consistently shocked when things actually really get to me. Usually, I figure that it’s hot for me because the act is pleasing to whoever the partner is in the situation or I imagine eventually I’ll be overtaken in a power struggle sort of arrangement. But, I was genuinely enjoying this little 30 second clip of this beautiful man suffering.
So, I may have underestimated Pretty a little bit. Just a little.
I have little addictive tendencies. I’ll get hooked onto the strangest things and just crave it endlessly afterwards. I’ll pine after it and hold out for the next time I get to try.
Ever since my recent first experience with rope and the gorgeousness that is a rope mark, I’ve been longing for that sensation again.
Hopefully, I won’t have to hold out for too painfully long.
Mean Sasha Grey is the patron saint of Pretty.
I would very much like the opportunity to be very, very mean to a boy again.
Please and thank you.
Meet Switch, Part Six
Eventually, he let me get off again and allowed me to go put a t-shirt on to get my composure back and use the bathroom. While washing my hands, I managed to get a look at myself in the mirror. The rain had soaked my hair and it had tried naturally, in these big, thick waves and curls. I normally straighten my hair or at least dry it straight. With my hair tousled this way, gosh, I don’t know, I felt like I was in rare form. I looked feral.
I decided I wanted to top him.
I walked back into his bedroom and he smiled and went to say something, but I cut him off. “Why the hell are you still wearing clothes?” I was nervous to do this. I’d never really done it before. He raised his hands to unbutton his shirt and I shook my head. “Did I say you could take them off? Lie down.” I pointed to the bed.
He got onto the bed and I climbed on after him. I had no idea what I was doing and I suppose he noticed, because he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me onto his face. It was the first time I’d ever sat on anyone’s face before, I’d always taken cunnilingus lying down. The position seemed to motivate me to keep at attempting to dom him.
I picked up tricks fast: breathplay through cutting off his mouth and nose with my body, teasing my lips over his mouth, pulling his hair to egg him on. I kept it up for a while, telling him he was a good boy and somehow getting used to the sound of myself saying that, even when it sounded incredibly foreign the first time it left my mouth. I slapped his hands away when he reached up to touch my breasts.
“Did I tell you that you could do that?” I reached down and buried his face in my cunt. I could barely recognize myself.
I don’t want to like this. I want to say it’s crude and that it is completely unsophisticated. But I am completely and utterly drawn to it.
I hate admitting how much I enjoy being humiliated. The fact that she’s forced to taste herself and God knows who or what else on that dildo is completely and utterly degrading. But something tells me I’d enjoy being in her position, though I’d fight the entire way along and never outright admit it.
The Winter Formal, Part 3
I started talking to a guy I didn’t recognize who approached me. He seemed nice enough and was certainly good-looking enough. His family was from where I had been abroad the previous summer and so we were speaking in the language, making jokes, and getting to know each other. He was impressed that I knew a thing or two about motorcycles, but I was starting to see something vaguely sketchy about him showing me tons of pictures on his phone and his increasing efforts to pull me away from my friends.
We were all dancing and I felt my phone vibrate in my clutch in my hand, but I ignored it as I felt him move against me. He was all right, but I felt him push my hair aside and then…
It was just this long tongue lapping up and down my neck and collar bone. It’s wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t enticing. It was slobbery and strange. I looked around and my friends were gone. I reached down to open my phone to text them and ask where they were, to find a message from my friend saying, “just warning you, he doesn’t go here and he’s really creepy. I hooked up with him once.”
Ugh. I made an excuse, saying my friend was having a meltdown and ran upstairs to find someone.
Does all better look like this, Dacry?
