nude

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Jack and Jitters, Part 4

He rubbed for a while longer as I ground myself against the bed, squirming and gasping with how sensitive I had become. As I got close, he yanked the stockings that bound my wrists and pulled me down to my knees. His other hand gathered up a chunk of my hair and held it roughly, pushing my face into the crotch of his pants. 

I reached up with my bound hands to try to undo his belt and he let go of my hair, grabbing onto the knot in the stockings. “You have way too much freedom.” He tightened the knot, making the removal of his belt, pants, and boxers a tad more difficult.

He reached down and pulled my nightgown up, knotting it above my breasts as to expose my body without removing it. He combed his hand through my hair, pulling it a bit as his hands left my scalp to dip my hair back and open my mouth. “Look at me while you suck it,” he said as I took him into my mouth.

I don’t want to fully admit that I started grinning when he sighed, “I love the way you suck my cock.” I really don’t want to own up to the fact that a phrase as simple or lewd as that could make me feel awesome. Because, well, I’d like to think I’ve got other stuff going for me and other important skills. But, gosh, I don’t know. There’s something about making a man sigh.

I didn’t break eye contact until he hauled me to my feet somewhere in the middle of it by the stockings around my wrists. He removed the stockings and yanked the nightgown over my head and off of my body. My hands wandered to his shirt and I pulled it off. We were both naked. For a few moments we were – as it seemed – even.

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Jack and Jitters, Part 3

The Southern Gentleman reached down, found my clit, and started to rub it. He tugged again on the stockings, pulling my body taut. He was standing up almost completely straight, staring down at me with almost the hint of a smile in his eyes, but otherwise about as casually as one would look flipping a pancake.

“You know, you’re sopping wet,” he said. He ran his fingers down my slit before wiping them on my face. He slapped his hand back down to my cunt and kept going, rubbing my clit hard. Occasionally, I fought. He would just smack my cunt and keep going, staring down at me with a look that was somewhere between severe and completely nonchalant. 

He briefly let go of the stockings around my wrists to pull the nightgown over my breasts. He grabbed my wrists once more, pulled them up, and leaned his face down into my chest. The combined attention he was giving my breasts and clit was bringing me close already.

“No,” I tried to close my legs once more.

He smacked my cunt roughly. I cried out. “What did you say?”

“No." 

He smacked it again. "What was that?" I huffed and ground myself against his hand. He smacked it once more. "What did you say?” By now, he was standing up completely straight. I was close. My body was trembling. 

“Whatever you want,” I moaned out.

“Whatever you want…?" 

"Whatever you want, Sir,” I managed to gasp out. 

He chuckled, “good answer.” He looked me over and leaned down a bit closer to me, “you’re going to cum, aren’t you?” I nodded. “Do you think you deserve it?” He asks me this question a lot, just about every time I’m about to experience an orgasm. It’s hard. It’s like self-grading. You don’t want to over-inflate yourself and miss out because of your lack of modesty. You don’t want to undersell yourself and miss out.

“I don’t know,” I moaned.

He pulled harder on the stockings that held my wrists and chuckled, “I think you should. Go on. You don’t even have to ask." 

I came hard. I would have probably crumpled to the floor if he wasn’t holding me up. It was the sort that involved my entire body, the kind that left me absolutely spent afterwards. I get incredibly tender after I’ve cum and he knows it, so I was a little shocked to feel him still rubbing my clit with the same intensity.

"I’m done,” I gasped out, “come on, I’m done. It…I’m tender. I’m done.”

With this, he smirked and leaned down a bit closer to me. He was grinning wide, almost as if he were about to tell a joke. His accent came out. “Well, I didn’t say I was, baby.”

sexisnottheenemy: Nick & Meredith by Kevin Loreaux

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Jack and Jitters, Part 2

(Note: What is to follow here depicts some consensual nonconsent. In no way was I ever actually not consenting to what was going on this evening, nor was I coerced into these acts by physical force. While certain acts depicted can be completely considered to be illegal and wrong in a very different context, SG and I are two consenting adults with a mutual understanding about the dynamic of our relationship and the fact that I could have terminated these actions anytime I wanted. While alcohol was involved, I was coherent and completely aware of the situation, not to mention I had the equivalent of what you’d rub around a baby’s mouth when it has a toothache. Seriously. Sober, safe, sane. Consensual.) 

I was feeling a little bit bratty by the time I pulled the nightgown over my head. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with the fact that he’d made me go through the formality, so I decided I wasn’t going to make anything too easy for him either.

I took the glass out of his hand and took a sip. Then another. I set it back down on my bedside table. He reached for my hand, I took a step back and cocked a brow, lowered my head, raised my eyes. He reached out again, this time grabbing my arm, and swung me over to the bed.

SG has a sort of favorite way he likes to hold me where I’m bent over backwards on the side of the bed. The bed is on risers that put the mattress about a yard off the ground, so really just my shoulder-blades and up touch it. This time, he pushed me hard and I pushed back. He tried to pin my arms down, I struggled against his grasp. The second he reached down to pull the nightgown up, I used my free hand to try to shove his away. He gathered both hands above my head under one of his and proceeded to try to use a sheet to tie my wrists. Obviously, that’s just way too much fabric.

“My stockings are in the second drawer from the top,” I said, briefly breaking character. He smiled through his, reached in and grabbed a pair of black stockings. He secured my wrists together impossibly. Freaking Eagle Scouts.

He held onto the ends of the stockings with one hand, yanking my arms up further across the mattress to the point that I was forced onto my toes. He reached down between my legs and his fingers brushed over my lips and I closed my legs. “No,” I breathed. (Once again, dear readers: safe, sane, consensual, sober.)

“What did you just say?” He shoved my legs apart, holding one open and trapping the other between his. 

“No,” I groaned again and tried to close my legs. He reached down and smacked my cunt. Hard, sharply. I cried out.

It’s strange. I wanted him and because I wanted him I wanted to refuse him. I know it doesn’t entirely make sense. But it’s like every time I said “no” and every time I refused him, I was bringing more of him out and into this. And the more of that part of him came out, the more of that part of me came out. It’s carnal. It’s completely and totally animalistic. 

And it was also a demonstration. It was a trust fall. And as he pulled the stockings harder, pulling my body taut and arching my back more dramatically, I knew he’d catch me.

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“So, have I mentioned you’re really good at choking me?” I asked the Southern Gentleman on Thursday morning while we were still in bed. He was curled into me, I was laying on my back. I like this position, I feel like I’m simultaneously cradling someone and being cradled. Spooning sometimes feels a little alienating and disproportionate to me. 

The Southern Gentleman chuckled. I shrugged, “because, like, you’re really good at choking me.” His hand settled over my throat. I shook my head. “Come on, stop it. Number one, it is too early for choking. Number two, it is too early for choking. Number three, you’re going to get me worked up. Number four, it is too early for choking.”

He moved his hand from my neck and started kissing it. Soon, he’s rolled over on top of me, hands yanking up my t-shirt. He leans down and bites the skin right below my navel. I huff. “You’re going to get me worked up. Stop it.” There was that winning grin as his hand snaked down my sweatpants.

I reached down and pulled his hand out before attempting to push him off, “seriously, too early.”

He pulled my shirt over my head and started playing with my nipples. I tried to push his hands away, but I was starting to really enjoy it. His mouth joined in. I was moaning, I was grinding against his leg. He was smiling like a jackal against my breast, looking up at me as he did.

“Too early,” I sighed once more as his hand moved back up to my throat. You can’t say I didn’t try.

He chuckled and his hand moved back down over the waistband of my sweatpants, “then tell me you’re not getting wet.”

“That’s not the point I was making,” I huffed, “of course I’m wet. It’s just too…” He applied pressure. I gasped. My fingers dug into my sheets. His other hand snaked down to my cunt.

I’ve probably mentioned he’s really good at choking me.

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I skyped with Blue and Byron this evening. They suggested we should have another sleepover when we get back to campus. It sounds like a lot of fun, partially because it’s mostly just a lot of hanging around, cuddling, being silly and not a lot of perviness (though I wouldn’t say it’s completely devoid of it). I can’t wait.

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I love when people just play around with my body like that. Pinching nipples, playing with hair, all of that. I guess because I kind of feel like a toy. There’s a harsh way of being used, but then there’s a casual way. And it can be just as effective.

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Hairenvy to the greatest degree.

A girl can dream.

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I definitely get this way. When someone topping me tries to prove a point by denying me in some way, I just can’t handle it. I’m far from subtle when trying to communicate how I really think the dynamic should be working.

I believe some people call it “topping from the bottom”.

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Perfection.

Sometimes, I get completely absorbed in it. I set ridiculous standards for myself academically, personally, physically. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. 

To some degree, it’s really helped me along with my life thus far. It’s put me ahead, it’s kept me up to a certain standard in a variety of aspects of my life. But, sometimes, I just get way too fixated with it.

Lately, I’ve been trying to be more lenient with myself. We’ll see.