If you had shown me this image a year ago, it wouldn’t have done much for me.
Now, I stare a little longer at pictures like these. I appreciate them.
And sometimes I even crack a grin.
pain play
Like a Brisket, Part Three
When we got to Penthouse’s place, we played a game of show and tell.
Craftsmate went first and produced from his bag a series of floggers he had made, including something Penthouse had essentially commissioned him to make. When he took out the flogger he had hit me with, I had to chuckle. That thing and I had a history.
Penthouse showed us this giant leather glove he had been using to essentially flog people with that didn’t hurt very much but made one hell of a noise when it made contact with anything and his new riding crop. However, the highlight of his show and tell had to be this absurd wooden toy sword he had found and bought because he figured it would be good for paddling people with.
Leave it to kinky people, right?
Craftsmate let me try out hitting him with it and Penthouse made some room in his kitchen to allow me a good swing. To play fair, and out of pure curiosity, I turned and allowed Craftsmate to hit me back.
I shrieked when it made contact with the fabric of my sundress and my rear. It was probably one of the hardest hits I’ve received on the ass from anything. My experience with paddling is fairly slim, so I was walking around the kitchen, holding my ass, and whining for a few minutes after the hit. It stung like crazy.
“Turn around,” I said, “I want to look at my butt.”
I looked over my shoulder and just saw red. With a huff, I told them to turn around. “You’ve seen my butt already anyway,” I cracked before turning and lifting the bottom of my dress once more, “take a look at this.”
Penthouse chuckled, “there’s a line on your butt. That’s kind of awesome.” He looked over the toy sword and smirked.
“Sorry, Ivy,” Craftsmate said, “but, yeah, line on your butt.”
Growing a Pair, Part Three
StandardThe first time he hit me with the flogger, he did it on the front of my thigh and I totally freaked out. Not only had I not expected the thing to hurt that much, but I now had these random reddish lines on my thigh.
“How am I supposed to walk around like this?” I asked.
He shrugged, “it’s fine. It just looks like you scratched yourself.”
Because of how short I am, I had to stand on top of his desk so he could get the right angle going. Being the stubborn girl I can be, I kept wimping out and then pressing him to keep going. At first I would make him stop after two or three swats and I was proud when I got myself up to fifteen in a row with minimal complaint. He was courteous and stopped whenever I asked.
I enjoyed how it felt, but I felt awkward actually enjoying it when it was supposed to be an academic endeavor.
But, my gosh, for all the times I’ve sort of been cocky about flogging when it’s been suggested, I redact it. I probably couldn’t take it to my pussy or my breasts because holy shit ouch.
However, the whole experience was pretty fun, even if I got some awkward looks on the train later that evening. And I’d definitely do it again, but I definitely know I can’t talk as big a game about it as I used to. Hurray for realism.
Growing a Pair, Part One
StandardSo, I paid a visit over to Ivy University the other day. I have been talking to the guy from my school who found my tumblr and he informed me that he would be in town. We’ve discovered we have a bunch of mutual friends so I figured I may as well get to know him.
This turned into possibly one of the most uncomfortably fun afternoons I can think of.
And, yeah, whatever. I got flogged. But it was purely academic. I swear. Just let me explain.