panties – Page 10

“She makes me feel like a dirty old pervert and a romantic, both at the same time.”

I don’t know, just something about that grabs me tonight. It’s just sort of how it’s done. And it emphasizes all those dichotomies present in this lifestyle.

whichsideareyouon:

I made her wear the same knickers all day. I made her keep them on while I played with her or talked dirty, and she got more and more wet. The knickers were black. I knew by the end of the day that they would be well soiled, showing the evidence of what a little slut she is, how she can’t stop being wet all day long. She said by night-time that they were ‘disgusting’. Good, I said. That’s just what I want.

She’s sealing them tight in a plastic bag and sending them to me. I can’t wait for them to arrive. I’ll put them to my nose and inhale the scent of her. I’ll keep them wrapped up tight, hoping it will last for ever, though I know it won’t.

She makes me feel like a dirty old pervert and a romantic, both at the same time. It’s a very good feeling. I think she’s wonderful.

He doesn’t even need to do much.

She’ll just grind his hand and then thank him like a sweet girl should.

Because he’s taught her to be grateful.

It’s difficult when you’ve grown so used to submitting to someone and then, suddenly, you’re not. A balance is thrown.

Specifically to that person, there’s still a sort of deference you afford them. There’s something very much “there” that is sometimes difficult to just let lie. Because these things become forces of habit and suddenly your signals are completely crossed.

Generally, it’s just difficult not to have that dynamic. I don’t want to say I’m just hardwired to submit to people, but there is something about it that makes me very happy and feel very secure. Beyond the sexual aspect of it, the psychological level is incredibly powerful. And it’s hard to sit there sometimes and think you’d like to be serving someone but it’s just not happening for you right now.

I’ve noticed quite a few of you lamenting on here recently over a bdsm relationship that just ended and I send my condolences and best wishes. Because I know how it feels. I’m there right now and everything’s just a little off-balance.

This is the story of the thief and the girl he took home to his partner-in-crime.

Who they were very good to, albeit a little strict.

And who he kept for a time and then returned, because being a villain is rarely as black and white as the pictures.

But who he kept a little piece of. Which is just fine, since she took a little piece of him, too.

Because when you really boil things down, we all are, in our own ways, thieves. Some of us are just better dressed for the part.

There’s a certain way you do your makeup when you’re aware that you are simply applying it to have it disarrayed. There’s a deliberateness to the lipstick that will later crest the curve of your cheek, the mascara that will later run lines down your face. You realize that things must first be built in order for them to be destroyed.

When he comes in and sees her bent over the dresser that way, he’ll shake his head and call her eager. He’ll ask her if she’s forgotten how to properly great someone.

But, he recognizes there’s a culture you start to develop with someone when you come to know them this way, an etiquette. Rules and standards emerge from the precedence of where clothing was flung and the soft, trembling things that were muttered when the lights go out. Customs come about through repetition, repetition comes about from initial success after some trial and error. And from it all comes an unwritten code, a mental list of manners in the spaces where typical constraints are left in the doorway with restraint, decency and your socks.

Of course, that won’t stop him from teasing her about it.

The weather has been insanely warm here for the past few days. It doesn’t feel like a February at all. It feels like spring. I hope it stays this way, I would love an extended spring. I’m not terribly sure of the ecological implications, but idealistically it would be glorious.

I would love more time of gentle heat and still air. There’s something very basic in me during the spring that comes out when the layers come off and the sun stays out. It feels the way peoples’ skin starts to glow, the newfound levity of situations, the easiness of longer days.

There’s something so quiet and restrained about winter and something so hurried and passionate about summer. Spring is steady. Spring is sweetly sexual, naturally erotic in a vaguely pagan ritual sort of way. It makes me want to cover a girl in daisy chains and kiss every inch of newly warmed flesh with smiling lips.

This weather needs to stay.

To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely thrilled with my butt.

In the words of one of my best friends, I’ve got a “donk”. My butt does not make complete sense with the rest of my body. I’m a petite girl and it just sort of comes out of nowhere.

The body-con dresses I love to wear squeeze the bottom of it. Jeans that would normally fit are hindered by its presence. My butt is completely incongruous with the rest of my body.

My friends insist it is enviable, but after spending middle school and high school friendly with a bunch of very tall, skinny girls, it is sometimes hard to appreciate “what my mama gave me”.

“Buy the ticket, take the ride." – Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Hello Random and Crazy Influx of New Followers,

Where did you come from? In the past few days I’ve gotten a huge amount of people on board here.

As a thank you, here’s a picture of a girl in a really cute bra and panty set blowing bubbles.

Please feel free to hit up my ask and introduce yourselves.

<3, Ivy