Two things:
- I drool like crazy when these get put on my tongue.
- Surprisingly, the most painful place to take these is not my clitoris, but between my fingers and toes. (Yes, a certain someone is evil enough to put them there.)
painplay
Easing out the Kinks, Part Four
In the staircase of his apartment, a place that Penthouse promised was seldom used, he had me unzip my coat and lift up my sweater.
Carefully, he removed the clamps from my nipples one by one. When the first one came off, I barely stifled a scream. I don’t usually wear clamps for an extended time and though there was a somewhat pleasurable aspect of the feeling of the blood rushing back into them, I’m not as much of a masochist as I am a submissive.
He placed them into his pocket and sat down on the stairs. Pulling me into his lap, he stroked my hair and told me that he was proud of me. Once I had my composure back, he pulled me up to my feet and made me perform the endlessly humiliating task of grinding on his knee.
I knew I was wet, but I wasn’t aware of just how aroused I was until I was doing that, hoping nobody decided to forego the elevator and use the stairs. My cheeks were flushed when he asked me if I wanted him to use my pussy. I nodded a little too eagerly.
“Hm,” Penthouse looked me over and smirked. His hands lowered to my hips and he bucked me a bit harder against his thigh. “I think you’re too little for that, sweetheart.”
I pouted and tried to turn away from his grin, attempted to keep my head off of how badly I wanted him, and focused on the sound of the opened belt of my coat, clanging against the stone steps of the emergency stairwell.
Easing out the Kinks, Part Three
Penthouse was grinning that cat that ate the canary smile when we left his apartment. Underneath my coat and sweater, my nipples were clamped and connected by a short chain that was tucked into my bra. I felt it whenever I moved and even when I was still: a nagging sting that made it impossible to focus on anything else.
“You know what little girls do?” He teased, “they skip. Why don’t you just skip to the pizzeria?”
I shot him a glare, but he just laughed.
When he had sat down to lunch, he looked me over and said, “you must be warm. Why don’t you take off your coat?” Under my coat, I was wearing a thin sweater and unlined bra. Literally nothing would be left to the imagination if I were to do that, so I kept it on and huffed while he laughed every time I hesitated before gingerly moving to take another bite of pizza.
Throughout the course of the meal, Penthouse would teasingly tell me to adjust my posture and I would try to hold in a wince as I straightened my back, applying more strain on my nipples. He made excuses to get me to look behind me, causing my sore nipples to rub against the fabric of my clothing.
For as quietly humiliating and excruciating the experience was, I could feel myself growing wet. And though I whined softly on the way back to his apartment about wanting them off, it was impossible to deny that I was enjoying myself despite everything. This detail was perhaps the most humiliating aspect of the entire ordeal.
I always think I am getting spanked hard enough for it to leave marks and have it hurt for days. So, I start to get excited about the idea of having to cover up the marks on my thighs when I go to the gym or having to try to hold in a wince when I sit down to dinner with my friends. And it sounds all blushy when the deliverer of the spanking says I’ll think of them whenever I feel the sting throughout the week.
But I’m honestly just a wuss and I never let it get that harsh. It’s all gone in an hour, usually. If not less.
Good lord, but this offends my sense of symmetry. Which, of course, as punishments go, makes it perfect.A Bad Girl, photographed by Me.
Growing a Pair, Part Four
StandardSomewhere near the end of being flogged, I got really awkwardly subspaced. I say awkwardly because this wasn’t performed with any sort of D/s mindset or frame. It really was me just checking out what the flogger was like.
So, suddenly I’m all quiet and sort of drawn within myself. I shiver a bit when he runs his fingers over the marks to make sure they aren’t raised. Silently, I inspect them myself, mulling over in my head how to get myself out of this space before things get super uncomfortable.
I think, at one point, I was biting onto the knuckle of my index finger. Super. Leave it to me to get really awkwardly subspaced while standing on top of a desk.
“You would, Ivy,” I kept saying in my head. “You of all people would.”
So, I guess I sort of learned there’s no such thing as a casual flogging for me.