mouth

I can be worshipful. I can put you up on an altar. I can make it about you, just you, just what you are to me and what you do to me and what you want from me.

Because you worship me, too. Not in a servile way. But when you make me yours, it’s worship. The way you touch me is worship. The second you hold my cheek after you’ve smacked it, the way your fingers find their way into my mouth from there, it’s praise for what I’ve allowed you to do. It’s due to the awe within you that I’ve inspired from enjoying it.

Let’s offer ourselves to each other. Let’s reduce ourselves to supplication. I want you to make me feel holy.

You all are a bunch of pervs for mostly suggesting I go naked. As for the legitimate clothing suggestions, thank you.

My friend took pity last night and came over. She dug out some tall wedges, a high-waisted skirt, and this little tank top. I insisted that it was a little over the top, but she replied that it was just fine. Aside from formals and other sorts of events, I typically stick to skinny jeans and a top or a casual cute dress when going out. The difference would be perceptible and I didn’t want him to think I was like some kind of seventh grader smearing glitter all over myself for my first date to the movies where our parents would be watching from a few rows behind.

Well. He noticed.

In a just staring when he thought I wasn’t looking way. In a very eagerly offering to rub my back when I told him it was a bit sore way. In a desperate attempt to keep his hands to himself while I was sitting on his lap and he was rubbing my back way.

We still had our banter, but it seemed to be riddled with knowing smiles and little chuckles. Sometime during the night, I was told by this random gay guy that my legs were “pure sex”. I blushed and sort of leaned back against him as I thanked the guy who had said it. From the look I was getting over my shoulder, I think he agreed.

We had a great time, but the evening was cut short due to some stuff not really related to either of us. Maybe I could’ve gone home with him, but I didn’t. I sort of want to leave a little bit to mystery,

lychees:

(via traveling with the ghost (旧館 Old): Олег Михеев (Oleg Mikheev) × Алена Водонаева (Alena Vodonaeva))

montecervesa:

I’m told red wine is good for you. So open up and take your medicine.

I’m not sure if the fact that the above commentary makes me hot is indicative of the tone being incredibly sexy and commanding and hot-mental-scenario-inducing or that I’m just an enthusiastic drinker.

I’ll be going with the first, for many reasons.

Have I told you all that I get unreasonably, um, eager when I have a little red wine? It’s an affliction.

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.” – Mary Oliver, Wild Geese.

michaelrecycles:

vaginabubbles:/inside of out by soheir

Availability.

Psst. Dacry. Come play.

I just want to push her hair back from her face and bite those lips.

Please don’t try to reason with me.

I make absolutely outlandish requests. I know that. Sometimes I’ll ask you to do things that are totally and completely not okay. I’ll make demands of you that I know I don’t actually want of things that I can’t actually handle. When you take me to certain places i my head, I know I blurt out things I don’t entirely mean, I call myself words I don’t particularly associate with myself, I make offers that I’d hope you’d never actually take.

I understand how fragile it can make me. I don’t envy your position. I know I create little paradoxes for you, challenges, catch-22s that overcomplicate what began as such a simple little game. And I know I throw wrenches into perfectly functioning machines just to watch the gears stop and quiver and break because I am strange and impulsive and unrelenting.

And I’m not asking you to do it right all the time or to know all the answers. Consider this a warning, albeit a little late in the game. But, please, don’t try to reason with me. Because you of all people know that I am completely and utterly unreasonable.

kevinharling1:

remind me don’t assume I know

I have a very large, pronounced lower lip that I’ve gotten into the pattern of biting. It’s a bad habit of mine, but other people don’t seem to mind.

I’m just the teensiest bit orally fixated. And I love the feeling of being used and owned that accompanies having fingers shoved into my mouth. It shows this very blatant disregard for boundaries that kind of emphases the position of subordination I am being placed into.

Ivy

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