I’m out for the night with some pretty awesome plans. Hopefully, it will be considerably better than the teensy fiasco earlier this week.
mirror
After I’m played with, I go right to a mirror. I like to hunt for bruises, for burst capillaries, for scratches. I think certain kinds bruises look gorgeous, the way the color manifests itself on the skin. I’ve always thought hickeys looked like fireworks. I like the feeling of being marked and being in some way possessed through this.
I carry myself differently when I’m bruised. I usually make a concerted effort to cover them, but I still recognize they’re there. They make me hyperaware of my body. They make me feel gorgeous and unique.
Jack and Jitters, Part 1
On the last evening SG and I were planning to spend off-the-radar, we attempted to go out somewhere. However, everywhere we went was either closed or just plain lame. And so we decided we’d “spend the night in”. It sounded vaguely domestic.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” I began as I picked up the bottle of Jack I had in my room. “I’ll put a nightgown on and we’ll have an evening like the Drapers.” I poured out a glass and took a sip.
The Southern Gentleman snorted, “and of course that starts with drinking.”
“Just like everything else in Mad Men,” I held out the glass to him and started to remove my clothing.
I was down to my sweater and bra when he set the glass down and came over, placing his hands on my hips. He kissed down my neck, pulled the sweater off for me, unhooked the bra. I reached for the buckle of his belt and he stepped back, smirking. “Go put your nightgown on.”
“Oh, come on,” I groaned.
“Beauty without expression is boring,“ – Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Now we see this as in a mirror dimly, then we shall see each other face to face.
I’ve been learning to say no.
I know this is the worst thing for someone with a sex tumblr to say. You guys probably don’t want to hear me saying no to stuff. Well, you don’t want to have to read about me turning away from potentially fun decisions.
I have a friend. A very good-looking friend. A very good-looking friend who I have, in the past, had some serious fun with. And we were planning to pick some stuff up and have a little fun. But, she’s in a relationship with someone and, despite the fact that they are trying to do polyamory, I’m not entirely sure they know exactly what they’re doing. I don’t want feelings to get hurt and I don’t want to ruin our friendship and drag down her relationship with it.
Because, above all, she’s one of my great friends. I would absolutely hate to lose her. And, while the fun we’ve had was pretty great, I need to get some priorities straight. I think I’ve made the right decision here. And, yeah, it stinks a little, but I have a feeling I’ll be glad I did this in the long-run.
The first time I got tied up in an intimate situation, we planned it ahead of time. I counted down until that day with bated breath, the crawl of X’s across my calendar becoming more nervous and hesitant as it drew nearer. I was tempted not to show up that day. I shook when I showered myself. I could barely clasp my bra or pull on the tights I picked out as to pull off a skirt in the crisp fall weather.
He led me up to his bedroom and closed the door. We laughed uncomfortably. Expectation hung in the air as I removed my boots and then my stockings so they wouldn’t get runs in them. I smiled awkwardly as I stumbled out of them and folded them, placing them on his nightstand. Next came the earrings, my class ring, the cardigan I was wearing. I ignored the chill that had set over my body as I sat beside him on the bed.
I playfully put up some attempt at a fight as he set to work. He had my arms pinned behind me rather quickly and used my stockings to bind them in a knot that paid homage to his Boy Scout years. I fought a bit harder when he tried to thread one of his thick winter scarves between my teeth, but he finally won. The fabric was overwhelming and the knot held harsh against the back of my neck.
I groaned, I squirmed, I explored. I twisted my wrists about and tried to push the scarf out of my mouth with my tongue. I couldn’t. I let out a frustrated huff when he found my own scarf in my purse and set to work on my ankles. I wasn’t sure what I wanted at that point, but I’m fairly sure it was contact aside from the act of binding my limbs.
But, when he had finished, he merely got up and left the room for a few minutes. It was then that I noticed he had me positioned in such a way that I was looking into the mirror on his wall. I’m not sure if it was intentional.
Either way, the effect was sobering. I saw myself. My eyes wide over the scarf, my chest pushed out slightly from the way my arms were bound, my legs lined up neatly, my body covered in goosebumps and shaking slightly with each breath. He returned and I set my attention over to him briefly before returning my attention to my reflection. I was transfixed. I looked just like myself and nothing at all like myself at the same time.
I don’t know if it makes any sense, but it was almost as if I were saying goodbye. Or maybe it’s better described as “hello”.
Primping for Playtime
Model: Isabella Belden
Copyright: LoveBondageLadies.com
Uh huh.
(I’m just gonna pretend that’s Annie Clark in the back there.)
Remember the last time we played in a bathroom? asks Jane
Lets not get caught this time says emily.
She came up behind me in the ladies toilet and slipped her hands inside
Ivy and I get up to all sorts of good stuff, don’t we baby?
It was so kind of you to take me under your wing and teach me all about the art of performance. I’ve been practicing in the mirror just like you told me to. I know you must be awfully busy, but I could always use another go at rehearsing some of the finer points of our technique.
<3, Ivy
Sometimes, he saves himself the trouble and has her call herself a whore for him. And, sometimes, she has a little trouble with it.