I don’t know how you other ladies do it, I am having so much trouble fitting into this binder.
me
It’s starting to get a little chilly, Craftsmate.
Bundling up is an absolute necessity.
A hat helps keep the head and ears warm.
Just a thought.
Allow me to reintroduce myself.
My name is boobs.
B-double o-b’s.
I used to move snowflakes by the o-z.
Like a Brisket, Part Ten
After Penthouse introduced The Prodigy to his homemade spreader bar, he demonstrated another sort of hogtie on me while all of them cooed over the rope-work. I admit, I was sort of upset that I didn’t have eyes in the back of my head to see it, so Craftsmate was nice enough to take a few pictures for me. And so I felt generous enough to share this one with you guys.
I might be blushing tons sharing this with you all right now, so bear with me.
That’s Penthouse’s belt and the whole arrangement was actually pretty comfortable. I could roll onto my side, I could push my legs up, and I could have someone else pull me up by it so I mostly left the ground without feeling much strain on my shoulders. So, I got kind of cozy on the rug and just watched the other three mess around with the rope.
Eventually, The Prodigy picked up a length of it and turned to Penthouse, making the statement that reduced us to so much laughter that we were almost in tears:
“Could you help me with Craftsmate? I want to tie him up like a brisket.”
Like a Brisket, Part Six
We arrived back to the apartment, let Craftsmate out and sat down with a few drinks to get to know each other. It was a little awkward at first, but eventually we settled into a groove of telling each other how we’d figured out we were kinky.
I was about halfway through my story when Penthouse got up from the couch and walked over to the table. He picked up one of the crocheted lengths of rope and started unwinding it without introduction.
I cocked a brow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m tying you up,” he replied nonchalantly, moving back to the couch with the rope.
I laughed, “oh. Okay.” I set my drink down. “Good to know.”
I continued trying to tell my story as Penthouse was tying me up, but by the time we got to The Prodigy, all hope of normal conversation had sort of vanished. Instead, Penthouse was just talking through the harness he was putting me in that, unlike the knot he had tied before, was basically impossible to get out of. And, by pulling on this somewhat awkwardly applied rope between my breasts, Penthouse could essentially drag me around the room with ease. It was a pretty interesting introduction to being tied up with rope, but I had to admit the harness was sort of pretty and I was impressed that no amount of wriggling could get this thing loose.
He tied the excess rope off to the leg of the couch, limiting my range of motion to about two feet in any direction. While I tried to persuade Craftsmate to itch the tip of my nose, Penthouse offered to show The Prodigy a different kind of harness.
So, I got flogged for the first time yesterday.
Right on my thighs.
Here’s a fuzzy webcam pic as evidence.
(Mind the photoshopping in the bottom left corner. Can’t have all of you seeing my bedroom furniture.)
I’m not nearly as fragile as I’m allowed to be. I’m given permission to collapse, to surrender, to let the cracks deepen until the secrets and fears and insecurities come oozing out. But, I’m nowhere close to being that breakable. I’m sensitive, but I’m not inconsolable. I’m submissive, but I’m not codependent. I’m pliant, but I’m not weak. To no one in particular, but perhaps to a good crowd: real domination is not grabbing someone by their insecurity, it’s grabbing them by their strength. It’s not about using or patching up vulnerability, it’s about allowing something unyielding and independent the opportunity to surrender. And there is the prize: controlling something that can very well control itself.
thinkivykink (via hiscleverpet)
So, apparently a quote of mine has been making the rounds around tumblr. I’m flattered. <3, Ivy
Tuesday Boobsday.
Thanks to my friend rolledtrousers for not wtfing too hard when I asked him to put a fancypants photoshop text tag on my boobs for me.
Confession: Sometimes, when I misbehave the night before, I overcompensate the next day by dressing cute and sweet.
(Pardon the chickenscratch name scribble.)