And she’d better not dream of hopping up on that bed.
Even if it is disheveled,
rules only survive if they are consistent.
panties
The socks are more than a little endearing.
Twenty-two and in need of a spanking.
Which makes my birthday different from every other day in this past year solely on the basis that I’m now twenty-two.
That other part’s pretty constant.
A little red bum and some flushed cheeks would definitely match the ensemble.
Just saying.
Merry Christmas, followers.
I hope you all get exactly what you want.
For the flirtastic, babealicious Southern Belle in my inbox:
You’re doing fabulous work at redeeming your side of the Mason-Dixon.
<3, Ivy
“July Flame
Ashes of a secret heart
Falling in my lemonade
Unslakable thirsting in the backyard.”
It was brought to my attention that these panties, which I had previously declared impractical, are indeed practical for one thing.
It’s the little pink bow that I really like about these panties.
It just gets me.
To write about the inspection Penthouse performed on me the morning before I left is entirely too blushy. I’ve tried. I can’t.
But the blushiest part was probably when he was about to put his finger in my asshole and went to put a rubber glove on.
“Daddy?” I asked, “what’s the glove for?”
He let some lube coolly drip over my ass. “The other boys don’t use it when they play with your little asshole?” I shook my head no and he chuckled. “Well, that’s just silly, sweetheart.”
Holy condescension, Batman.