messy – Ivy

Overwhelmed, Part Five

“How’s she doing?” Sir asked.

“Well, I see a marked improvement,” the Southern Gentleman joked. I was on my knees, wrists cuffed behind my back, nipples clamped, gag off. Sir was sitting by the couch, having a drink and watching as I sucked SG’s cock.

After hearing that comment, I pulled back and pouted. “Hey, you ass,” I huffed and laughed. Sir got up and grabbed my hair, holding my hair still while SG slapped me.

“Something funny?” he taunted, slapping me again. “Is something funny to you? Your job’s to suck cock, I’d better not see your face off of me unless you’re licking my balls.”

Sir shoved my face back down on SG’s cock and moved back over to his seat. SG smirked and sat back, rolling his hand through my hair while I sucked. Trying to be a good girl, I kept taking him deeper, to the point that tears were welling down my face and drool was pooling onto my chest and I was becoming a mess.

I pulled back and gasped for breath, only to have SG grab roughly onto my hair. “What did I just say?” he slapped me across the face.

“My face is messy,” I protested. “I want a tissue.”

Sir chuckled, “I know, we like that. It’s cute.”

I pouted, “but I want a tissue.” Sir conceded and wiped my face while SG still held me by the hair. Once my face was relatively tidied, SG pulled my face back down onto his cock.

“I feel selfish,” SG said to Sir, taking a sip of his drink and mussing my hair.

Sir laughed, “don’t. I like the view.”

SG reached down and looped his finger between my cuffs, simultaneously bending me forward and yanking me up to my feet. “Do you want some of this?” I stumbled, nearly falling into his lap, and he laughed. “Let’s take her over to the futon.”

Overwhelmed, Part Three

Sir and SG returned to the living room. I didn’t look up, staying in the position they’d left me in until Sir grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up until I was holding onto the back of the couch. He pushed down on the small of my back until I dipped my ass out, biting my lip in anticipation of the pain that I knew was about to come.

“She was mocking me the other day that I didn’t get to give her any birthday spanks,” Sir explained and smacked me across the ass with the tawse. I yelped and jumped up a bit before he eased me back into position. “But now that we’re somewhere nice and private, I thought you might like to help."

I looked over my shoulder as Sir grabbed onto the loop between my cuffs to hold my hands out of the way. SG had picked up the riding crop and swung it hard against my ass, as if to gauge my reaction to it. He’s not the sort of guy to use anything besides his hands, but he was clearly enjoying himself. "That sounds like a good idea,” he replied to Sir.

“So we’ll alternate, then,” Sir said, taunting me by tapping the tawse against the top of my ass. Suddenly, as if something had occurred to him, Sir set the tawse down and tugged me back by the cuffs on my wrists. He slipped down beside me and slid a pair of nipple clamps into place. I pouted and he put me back into position. “Are you ready, dear?”

“Uh huh,” I replied around the bit gag, already starting to feel drool gather at the corners of my mouth, drawn out by the way my head hung.

The two began to alternate hits, counting as each made contact. Sir mostly stayed on my right buttcheek with the tawse and SG with crop, but a few hits wandered more towards the center. I cried out with each hit – they were getting progressively harder – and I felt my eyes well up with tears, felt drool puddle onto the top of my breasts.

By the twentieth hit, Sir rubbed my shoulder. “Are you ready, baby? Three more.”

“I can’t,” I whined behind the gag. “I can’t, it hurts so much."

I should preface this moment by saying that I have a safeword, and it’s not "I can’t.” Sometimes, I want a push, I want to be reassured that I can continue to take this sort of pain. I want to build that tolerance and get into the endorphins and feel proud of what I’ve taken. And because I’ve been in a relationship with Sir for a year – and been playing with him longer than that – I trust him to know when to push and to draw the line where I just can’t take any more.

“You can,” he reassured, mussing my hair. “Are you ready to keep going?"

I nodded and the two resumed, delivering the final three hits. I collapsed against the couch, whining in the pain glowing across my rear and the dull throb of my clamped nipples. Sir pulled me upright and kissed my temple. I could tell that he was very proud. And I felt so incredibly strong and resilient that I was thrilled with myself.

But Sir was right, he called it. It only got messier:

nankingdecade:

You said you wanted to be pretty. You said you wanted all the attention. Be careful what you ask for, sweetheart, it may be messier than you expected.

Being a Brave Girl, Part One

When we got back to his place, Sir made me lunch and served it to me on the floor of his bedroom. He took a seat nearby and ate his, watching me with a warm grin that made me almost feel proud to eat it like an animal. Still, I was cautious about getting my face dirty, as I always am.

So, I asked him to push me. He smiled and knelt down beside me, setting his plate aside.

“Go on, eat.” He said. I leaned down and, as I was easing some food into my mouth, he shoved my face into the plate. I’ve mentioned that he’s done this for me before. And that it’s hard for me to let go. But one day I’m hoping I’ll be able to be brave and not worried about getting my face messy and what that all implies.

When I finished, he wiped my face clean and held me close. “Now go get into position, girl. Present for me.”