Alison Brie & Gillian Jacobs for GQ
Alison Brie, you funny little goddess.
lingerie
Confessedly, my trip to see Penthouse wasn’t all doing official, legit stuff in his area and taking time in another city to breathe.
After the whole mini-munch, he and I had talked a bunch and flirted a lot. So, I found that by combining my real-life obligations with some things I enjoy, I could have a little weekend away to have some fun with somebody I had some chemistry with and similar interests in the kinky department.
By the time I arrived, I was super exhausted, dehydrated and sore from sitting for an extended period of time. Penthouse was a very gracious host and (mostly) excused my tired comments and little jabs at his school (we’ve got a rivalry). There was a little initial awkwardness, but I was surprisingly comfortable with the idea of staying with him and mostly excited for the stuff, sexy and not-sexy, the weekend held.
So, yeah, that’s how I wound up in Penthouse Land.
Fuck Baseball, Part Two
“I want to hear what you like,” Craftsmate said after he had finished listing off what he wanted to do. I was aroused, I could feel myself blushing and I was having trouble thinking totally straight. Not to mention I find having to name the things I’m into totally humiliating.
“Why don’t you just read my tumblr?” I whined, “it’s all right there.”
He laughed and reached up, looping his fingers through my hair. “Because I want to hear it from you.” I attempted to turn my head away and he twisted his hand, pulling me back and forcing me to look up at him. “I want to hear it from you and I want you to look at me while you say it.”
I tried to turn my head once more, but he pulled it back roughly by the hair. Squeezing my eyes shut, I managed to stammer out, “I…ah…I like getting tied up and used.”
“Open your eyes and say it again.”
I huffed and shook my head. “I can’t.” He pulled my head back and I gasped, opening my eyes. “I like to be tied up and used.”
He grinned, “used how?”
“Roughly,” I choked out, thoroughly humiliated but glad the ordeal was over.
“Good,” he smirked and patted my head. “Now, what else?”
This camera angle’s just about right. It’s basically all he sees.
But very, very rarely gets to touch.
That girl down the street seriously throws some of the best slumber parties.
And if you think this is rough:
You can’t even imagine what you have to do to get invited.
Ellen Von Unwerth
(via bohemea)
Like a Brisket, Part Twelve
While I was hogtied on the floor and the Prodigy was tying up Craftsmate, I got really subspaced. I attribute to this to a few factors:
- I was pretty stringently hogtied and feeling tied up and helpless like that gets me pretty fast.
- Craftsmate was feeding me grapes from the farmer’s market out of his hand which sort of emphasized the feeling of helplessness for me.
- At one point, Penthouse asked to duct-tape my mouth and I consented. It stayed like that for a fairly short period of time, but that only added to it.
- Penthouse knelt down next to me and was asking me if I was subspaced in this vaguely condescending tone that I like which pretty much cemented it.
- The group was discussing hemp and Craftsmate was like, “wait, you can’t buy that here?” And I started subspacedly mumbling about the FDA banning it. Penthouse reached down and petted my head while I was talking which, uh, yeah. Cement sealed.
Of course, the whole time I’m yelling at myself in my head not to get subspaced. I thought it would make everything awkward and I even apologized for it once I came out of it. I guess I just, even around the people I should be most comfortable enjoying it around, was unsure if it would be weird to actually enjoy myself beyond the academic “ah this is very fascinating” sense of enjoyment.
But, subspaced Ivy knows her US History. So, there’s that.
You said it had a lot to do with where our blood was at the time. And where it wasn’t. And how we were thinking based on its distribution.
I can be the queen of terrible foresight. I’m the master of closing doors, of burning bridges, of taking exactly the worst opportunities. For someone who spends a lot of time thinking things over, I can be so thoughtless. I seem, sometimes, to be ruled by an ever-fluctuating logic of rules that continue to change when I never even knew the original doctrine.
And so I suppose a lot of it is just instinct. Everywhere else, I am thoughtful, careful, prepared. But, in this domain, I’m ruled by where the blood is, by the way the hair stands up on my skin, by the sort of electricity in my bones that you sometimes feel just after it has rained and, now, more often I tend to feel around people with stormy forecasts.
Humbled, Part 2
I was wearing something that I knew would get to him. Mostly lace, a little bit of ribbon, vaguely apron-inspired with nothing in the back but a pink bow to hold it to my body. When he noticed me in the doorway, he did a double-take and gave me a look that could really only be described as ravenous.
“I don’t know what you’re looking at, bitch, this isn’t for you,” I said and crossed by him. I guess you can say that maybe I was provoking him a bit. I don’t know. Part of me wanted to keep up the dominant act and part of me wanted to see if he would just overtake me.
I was still surprised when one of his arms shot around my waist and his other hand settled on my throat. I pulled against him, he pulled the arm around my waist tighter. “I don’t know what makes you think you can talk to me that way, but this is fucking overwith,” he pushed me down into the chair he was sitting in, the same I had tied him to earlier. “I think it’s time you remember where your place is.
“Ah! Do you have to be sensual to be human?”
“Certainly, Madame. Pity is in the guts, just as tenderness is on the skin.”
– Anatole France, The Red Lily.
Sometimes, things just feel a little more difficult. Feelings catch up with you. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not moving anywhere, if not just backwards. It just, I don’t know, stinks.
And it’s hard when most people in my life can’t relate or don’t understand. And I don’t want to have to sit there and say, “this feels bad because of this."
And it’s even harder when the people who do understand have some sort of stake in it. Or it’s just tempting to let other people fix the problem. Or overwrite the problem with other people.
Sigh. I don’t know, tumblr. I guess I just have a lot of feelings tonight.