See, I don’t think they call this a game. I think they call this supper.
fuck fuck this is hot.
I wonder where I can find a kitten to play this game with…
nude
They hold little conferences like this so he can discuss her behavior with her. He lets her know how much he appreciates her submission. But, he also tells her where she’s failed him, how she could serve him better, and exactly what about her bothers him. He picks her apart. She just has to listen and nod understandingly as she feels his eyes boring into her, his words reforming her, the chair beneath her growing wet.
I go back and forth in terms of inking myself up. I have a few ideas and, I’m fairly sure, the means to do it, but the idea of how permanent it is kind of freaks me out. Also, I don’t want to deal with the “why the hell’d you do that?” from my family. But, oh, so tempting.
such a sensual painting…
I want you to take me right after I’ve gotten out of the shower. I want you to tear the towel from my body, grab a fistful of my wet hair, and throw me onto the bed.
I’ll put up a fight. I’ll pout. I’ll try to explain that I just got clean. Yet I’ll just watch the puddles soak into the sheets from my dripping hair. I’ll moan and bite my lip as my protests become stifled by my growing desire. I’ll squirm and whimper and give myself over to it.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t get just as pouty when you tell me to clean myself back up afterwards.
“Tell me your secret
What you desire
I will still be there for you
And tell me you need it
Tell me something you’re not
I will still be there for you.”
Dear Dacry,
When you play these games with me, you remind me why I tumblr-love you.
<3, Ivy
PS: I clicked the tag with my name and had a giggle.
PPS: Regarding this brat, I would never wear black lipstick. Hmph.
Hold very still. Don’t let the knife drop. If that knife moves even an inch… Well, I think I’ll just cut an inch for every inch the knife falls. How does that sound?
I love this photograph for the mismatched pillows, the open laptop, the messy bedside table. It feels so authentic and incredibly natural.
Beards make me weak in the knees xxx
Most of it is waiting on those kinds of days. Hearing them walk through the house, hearing their conversations, hearing the water run, the doors open and close, the dishes slide into the washer. Hearing their phones ring, hearing their keys clack against the table, hearing chairs being pulled out, pushed in. And waiting.
Yesterday, I had a conversation with Heart about when she revealed her own little taboo experience and we got into how strangely freeing and comforting tumblr can be. The car story I’ve been writing about is probably only known by two other people than those involved and one part, specifically, no one has heard. I’ve been debating putting it up here.
But, either way, I suppose what I’m getting at here is that the catharsis that this site offers is simply marvelous (provided no one I know finds this and figures out it’s me).
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
— Anaïs Nin
The temptation to make a “burning the candle at both ends” joke is almost too great.