Of all the stuff that really gets me here, I think the blushiest part of this is the towel under her bum.
Also, just like, just leave me like that for an afternoon. Please.
nipple clamps
Mummified and helpless with all of the right parts controlled
Omg don’t mind me just feelin stuff over here.
A lot of the time, it’s ambition that keeps me going. I don’t particularly like the pain, but I love bragging that I endured it.
“We are kept keen on the grindstone of pain and necessity.” – H.G. Wells, The Time Machine.
Flint likes to treat me like an animal.
He’s had me drink water out of bowls during scenes. He’s made me sit on a towel in his car so I “won’t make a mess.” And while rubbing my pussy as he drove, he’s had me look out the window and try to make eye contact with other drivers so they’ll know what kind of animal I am.
We were at my place and he was sitting in my armchair, making me straddle his leg and essentially hump it. I kept failing at finding the right angle, so I ended up grinding on his ankle and shoe more than anything else.
“Isn’t it funny?” He said, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “For a girl who hates the word ‘bitch,’ you really spend a lot of time acting like a little bitch in heat.”
Halfway There, Part Eleven
I had gotten into a pretty good rhythm of beating Macy’s ass and I discovered that she was an absolute trooper. I’ve been hit with it before on my ass and a few minutes in, I was crying. She was just lying there, taking it, even asking for more each time I checked in.
“Can I go to the bathroom?” I heard Lida ask Flint.
“Ask her,” Flint replied.
I felt a lump rise in my throat when she asked. I didn’t know what to say and I was still super nervous. But, the second I opened my mouth, I couldn’t stop. I asked her where she wanted to go, and she said, “I don’t know.” Back when Flint wouldn’t let me go earlier in the evening, he’d threatened to make me pee into a bowl in the kitchen. So, I threatened that. Along with outside on the porch. Along with in the bathtub. When she started whining, I shot at her, “funny you don’t come to my defense when I’m embarrassed, but I’m supposed to make you feel comfortable? You’d better make up your mind and give me a damn good reason why I should let you have any kind of dignity doing this.”
I’m fairly sure surprise registered on both of our faces over what was coming out of my mouth, but I continued. “So, what is it? Where are you going to the bathroom?”
“I…I don’t know,” she whined.
“You don’t know?” I stopped hitting Macy’s ass for a moment, “you ever do any kind of debate? Mock trial?”
“N…no.”
“I’m not fucking surprised.” I resumed beating Macy. “You have no idea how to make an argument. So, you’ve got pathos, which is appealing to my pity for you. Which, after you posed for a fucking Christmas card photo with me on the toilet, I’ve got none of. Ethos, or my sense of ethics. And I have no moral qualms about making you piss on the fucking porch. And logos, an appeal to logic. But I think having you piss into a bowl in the kitchen makes pretty good sense to me, all things considered."
I was stern, I was intimidating, I was kind of a potty mouth. Flint was grinning like a moron. Lida was squirming.
"Come on,” I said, setting the rute stick onto the arm of the couch. “Get in the kitchen. You took too long. You’re pissing into a bowl.”
Amanda Sugar & Palesaint by -vk photography-
Flickr: http://flic.kr/p/h75SV9
Sometimes I just need you to have the gall to tell me you don’t care whether or not I’m comfortable.
This is what it would look like if Sir and I made porn.
This is a little harsher than what I usually post up, but consider it an ambitious start to Topless Tuesday and a way to show a certain inquisitive follower the ballgag Sir made me.
How fortunate for certain squirmy girls that house-calls aren’t simply for general practitioners anymore.