The spotlight just makes it all the more blushy.
panties
I love that feeling when that very last piece of clothing is cut from your body and it flutters to the ground. There’s such brutal finality to it, it’s almost poetic. It’s the point of no return, the crossing of the Rubicon, a thousand different clichés of that nature rolled into one experience.
Because, of course, the only reason a cliché is a cliché is for the harsh obviousness of its truth.
“Daddy, I think you’re lying. I don’t see your friend’s earring anywhere.”
“Keep looking, sweetheart. We’ll just be waiting right over here.”
I woke up before anyone at my friend’s apartment and remembered the text I had sent the night before. Wincing, I checked my phone. SG had responded asking me to explain what was bothering me about it and I realized that we probably needed to talk. I stepped outside, took a seat and sucked in a deep breath.
I told him how I had felt betrayed, that it had seemed that the two of them had gone behind my back, that I had wanted not to care as much as I did. I expressed that I had always feared being used and that I worried I meant nothing to him.
I felt pathetic and childish and far too vulnerable. It was why I had not gotten into it with him previously beyond our initial argument over it when I first found out.
However, he heard me out and then apologized. A lot. For being careless about how I might feel, for assuming I had known and wouldn’t mind, for snapping at me when I had confronted him, and for making me feel the way I did. He explained he wasn’t aware at the time of how rude Elle had been to me lately and how she had done this behind my back and he felt horribly for having put me through what I described to him on the phone.
I was shocked. I don’t know why, but sometimes I just don’t have enough faith in people. So, I was pleasantly surprised.
“I care about you a lot,” he reassured me near the end, “you mean a lot to me. And I’m really sorry.”
While it’s not enough to get me to jump back into bed with him right away, it was an extremely satisfying resolution. And it feels nice to not have to just sit around quietly resenting him and not expressing how I felt, something I know I need to work on in the future.
So, in total, Drunk Ivy initiated a pretty major success.
It was because he claimed bows brought out her innocence. Which he swore, promised, was buried beneath her incessant brattiness.
“What do these bring out, Daddy?” she asked.
He looked over her shoulder, shook his head at the holes, and reached down. “My cock. Now open your mouth.”
“Daddy, I’m not fighting you. I’m just high-fiving you.”
Humbled, Part 6
After he had dried me off, Switch brought me over to the end of his bed and threw my lingerie back at me. “Put this back on,” he said as he walked over to the chair and picked up the belts that had held my legs to the legs of the chair. I didn’t protest, pulling it back on and knotting it in the back.
Switch used the belts to tie my hands to the end of the bed, forcing me to bend over slightly. He put some pressure on my lower back, making me get up on my toes to tilt my ass into the air for him. He reached for the belt he had been wearing that day, draped across the bed with his clothes. Grabbing it over the bed, he folded it double and started to beat my ass with it mercilessly. I cried out, yanking hard on the belts around my wrists despite how much I was enjoying it.
When he could tell I was getting overwhelmed, he set the belt down and stepped up closer behind me, pushing himself against me. His hand settled on my chin and he squeezed hard before pulling my head back against his chest. He was impossibly hard. “You going to be a good girl for me, baby? You gonna give me whatever I want?” As I nodded, he reached between my legs and chuckled, “maybe if you’re a really good girl I’ll let you get off tomorrow morning.” I whined and he gave my cunt a little pat.
With that, he picked the belt back up and kept going.
While by no measure mute, Switch isn’t usually a very outspoken person in public situations. By this I mean he’s usually not one to speak his mind, to get too blunt. He’s fairly polite.
So, it’s even sexier when he does stuff like shoving me up against the wall of his place once we’re alone after being out with other people, grabs me through my clothes as if he’s going to tear right through them and murmurs in my ear, “I love when I finally get my hands on you”.
Because contrasts are hot.
“I think Pretty wants her pussy eaten now.”
The difficult part about punishing Switch is that he’s usually really into whatever the punishment is. The boy is crazy about eating pussy, so it’s not really that much of a disciplinary tactic. It’s the same problem I have. Punishments are easily just mean rewards.
He tugged my shorts down and went for my panties next. When his fingers looped under the waist, I had a thought and slapped his hands away. “No, I don’t think you’ve earned that.” I spread my legs over his shoulders, “over the panties. Bad boys don’t get Pretty’s pussy.”
Resigned, he licked through the lace with this terribly earnest expression on his face. He wanted to be good for me. And, usually being a submissive myself, I could understand completely what he was going through and appreciate it.
“Okay, fine, you win,” I muttered after a few minutes and pulled my panties aside.
I guess I’m just a little bit of a pushover.
It’s moments like these that make being an incorrigible brat actually kind of awesome, even when things get humiliating.
Okay. Especially when things get humiliating. And the other party totally knows how to dole it out.
This is a fabulous example.
“I’m just worried that my oxygen supply might be cut off as your ego creates a vacuum in the room. That’s all.” She was smirking, and she was watching him. Hoping for a reaction.
He sat there for a moment, letting it settle in the air like a bad smell, before he held out his hand, as casual as anything. An eyebrow arched expectantly, and she narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion over confusion.
“What?” She folded her arms, still staring.
“Your underwear.” His voice was casual, utterly assured, and a touch too nonchalant. She felt herself twitch as they fell upon her, as if it was the words themselves forcing her to throb. She resisted biting her lip.
“Why do you want it?” He shook his head, and snapped his fingers. The sound made her jump.
“Put them in my hand. Say another word and I’ll make sure you’ll think of me every time you sit for a week.” The threat was clear, and the method was implied. It was enough for her to bite down her response, as acerbic as it had been.
Still, she hesitated, if only for another second or two. Then the moment passed, and her hands slid down her sides, catching underneath the waistband of her panties, before she pulled them down over her legs. They were heavier than she’d like to admit, the dampness giving them weight. Delicately, she placed them in his hand.
Suddenly he was up, moving around her before his free hand went to her face, finger and thumb digging into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. She resisted for a moment, but the pressure was painful, and she didn’t want to see what he would do if she struggled. Her lips fell open, and the panties, balled and damp, went in. Stuffed, gagged, held. He forced them against the roof of her mouth with one thick finger. She squirmed.
And then he let go, moving back to his seat, and picking up his book. Her brow was furrowed, and she could feel the cotton and lace expanding to fill the space of its new home. She could taste herself. One hand started to quest upwards, to touch them, maybe remove…
“No. They stay there until I say so. Once I think you’ve earned your voice back.”
She moaned. He smiled, and picked up where he’d left his bookmark.