If the last post didn’t give a vague inkling already, my time with Penthouse gave me the opportunity to explore the Daddy-little dynamic to a degree that I have not in the past. I’ve been into the idea of it for a little while now, but societal condemnation of it had sort of kept me shoving it into the periphery.

While I can objectively say that it’s not about my father, nor do I think of him during this sort of stuff, it still made me uncomfortable. You know, because statutory rape and incest happen. They’re not something to be taken lightly.

So, I approached it with a lot of caution.

Therefore, a bunch of the posts to come are going to feature this dynamic. So, I thought I’d post a disclaimer. Or something. I don’t know.

For all the enjoyment I derived from it, I’m still a little hesitant to associate myself with the whole Daddy-little concept.

So bear with me here. This is as much an exercise in acceptance for me as it is an exercise for your right arm.

Snicker.

I had expressed to Penthouse before my trip that I was into being imposingly touched right before I went to sleep. It was more of a situation where I would be sent to bed and the other party would climb in behind me, wrap an arm around me and touch as if I wasn’t trying to sleep. It started here, when Switch had me tied up during the whole abduction thing and started groping me.

Penthouse and I went over safe words, a necessity if you’re playing around with concepts of feigned reluctance or consensual nonconsent, and tried the same thing.

Except, I wasn’t tied up. So, I could playfully try to swat him away and tease him by rubbing back up against him immediately after. And then whine and pout when he persisted anyway and rubbed my pussy through my panties, squeezed my breasts through my shirt, slipped his fingers into my mouth.

“I’m trying to sleep,” I huffed as he pulled my panties aside, “you’re being too handsy.”

He hushed me and murmured in my ear, “then sleep, I’ll just take what I want.” He dragged his thumb over my wet slit.

Naturally, I didn’t go to sleep.

The night I got there, Penthouse and I messed around. It was somewhere between tired and playful, with the vaguest implication of a dynamic.

When he was close, he asked if he could finish on my chest. I consented and he looked me over with a triumphant smirk. There’s something about a man who has been dominating me getting right close to cumming that makes me super bratty.

So, when he asked me what I was going to do with his cum, I presumed he probably expected me to blush.

Instead, I smiled and shrugged. “Oh, just taste it like this.” I wiped two fingers over my bare stomach as if to pantomime gathering some of his cum and brought them to my lips, bringing my head up and down on them. My eyes flashed up to meet his and I grinned around my fingers.

I probably shouldn’t be so smug about how he came right then.

herdirtylittleheart:

“You’ve been so spoiled baby. Are you sure you want more?”

-my sexy husband

Confessedly, my trip to see Penthouse wasn’t all doing official, legit stuff in his area and taking time in another city to breathe.

After the whole mini-munch, he and I had talked a bunch and flirted a lot. So, I found that by combining my real-life obligations with some things I enjoy, I could have a little weekend away to have some fun with somebody I had some chemistry with and similar interests in the kinky department.

By the time I arrived, I was super exhausted, dehydrated and sore from sitting for an extended period of time. Penthouse was a very gracious host and (mostly) excused my tired comments and little jabs at his school (we’ve got a rivalry). There was a little initial awkwardness, but I was surprisingly comfortable with the idea of staying with him and mostly excited for the stuff, sexy and not-sexy, the weekend held.

So, yeah, that’s how I wound up in Penthouse Land.

Hey guys,

I’m taking a trip away for the weekend and sojourning over to another Ivy that houses Penthouse.

Don’t worry, I’m also there on legit business.

But I figure I can also have fun, right?

I’ve got a queue stocked and I’ll catch you all on Monday.

Both Craftsmate and Penthouse had expressed to me that they were not particularly into knives or knifeplay when I first met them.

Today, both of them texted me on separate occasions to let me know that this is no longer the case. They’re in deep enough that Penthouse has kindled a book on it.

And apparently this is all my fault.

Sorry I’m not sorry?

quantumsatis:

I like to engage in acts of creative destruction. Never to truly hurt you but rather to startle you into feeling alive.

Photo (by {E}mma)

snarkysub:

390nm:

Ultraviolet Tells All, Except for the Things He Doesn’t

I started this blog because I am bad at kink. I am bad at accepting my desires. I am bad at articulating my desires. I am bad at listening and truly comprehending exactly what people are saying. I am also a naively trusting individual in a lot of ways, which has caused me a lot of problems. Basically, I’m pre-“self respect” Scott Pilgrim, but without the awesome video game fight sequences and Mary Elizabeth Winstead. I don’t even get Brie Larson as a consolation prize.

I wish I could press a button and have it make it so I’m cool with my identity, my desires, all that crap, but that button just doesn’t exist. And even on this mostly anonymous blog, I’m still self-censoring a lot of my kinks. Some of them I haven’t shared with any partner of mine, ever, and despite the fact that only one follower (I hope) even knows what state I’m in, and none of them know me IRL AFAIK, I haven’t said anything on here that past partners haven’t already known.

Goddamnit, Ivy, you make it look so easy.

Also same.

“Goddammit, Ivy, you make it look so easy.”

Except it’s not. I’m sorry to break it to you. It’s not easy. I guess I just fake it until it looks that way.

I was talking to Penthouse when this came across my dash and I told him about it. “You’re a hero,” he said.

“I’m a fumbling one,” I replied.

And so he clarified: “Not the hero Gotham dreams of. But the hero it needs. You’re the Batman, Poison Ivy. Not bad.”

In all seriousness, it’s not easy. I fumble all the time. I say the wrong thing or stuff gets awkward. There’s an example of it, a series of posts, chilling in my queue right now that will shed some light on that. Because I’m not some Kink Goddess. I’m figuring out stuff as I go along and I make a lot of mistakes. Sometimes I don’t articulate what I want and sometimes I don’t give myself the things I deserve.

I started this blog out of my own weakness and shame about the things I liked and the things I wanted. I never thought people would start asking me for advice or holding me up as some standard of kink-positivity. And while I am immensely flattered, I do need to clarify that I’m not always good at accepting my desires, I can be incredibly naive and trusting, and I’m not always 100% on self respect.

As I’m finishing up this post, Penthouse has texted me once more, adding that I should “go pose on top of a skyscraper at dusk. The city deserves to not see its hero in person.” So, uh, sorry for just getting super vulnerable there and doing exactly that.

But, I suppose I’d like to leave it at this: things are never going to be perfect, but there are going to be those moments where everything falls exactly where it should. And these are the moments to be treasured.

Rock on with your bad selves, kink like nobody’s business, and stay classy.

<3, Ivy

Both Craftsmate and Penthouse have accidentally either called me Ivy or almost called me Ivy out loud in person.

You know, rather than my actual name.

Which, uh, isn’t actually Ivy.

Craftsmate did it that first time I hung out with him, after he had flogged me, and we were sort of joking around. I forget what I had said to provoke him, but he was laughing and replied to me, “oh, come on, Ivy.” I gave this really goofy, over-dramatic jaw-drop and he started apologizing. I told him it was all right. Because it was.

Penthouse almost said it in front of The Prodigy and Craftsmate, while he was untying me from the harness he put me in. He had me turn around and said, “and now if you want to get Iv…” He stopped himself, said my name instead, and then continued, “…out of this, you just need to pull here and…”

I wonder, sometimes, if I’m still Ivy in their minds. Like, when they see me, if that is the name that registers before my real name. They both knew me as Ivy and knew my tumblr before they knew my name. And while they’ve been really respectful of my privacy, I just sometimes wonder if I’m still Ivy to them.

It doesn’t really bother me, honestly. I just find it kind of interesting.

straitlacedsecrets:

Mother’s Nature.

Like a Brisket, Part Thirteen

When everything was cleared away and everyone was untied, we all just sat around and talked and goofed off. It was strangely comfortable. I felt as if I had known these people for a while, even though I had only met two out of the three that day. It was so nice I didn’t want to leave.

As I was on my way to get my shoes, Craftsmate gave me a hug. “See?” He said, “sometimes things like this work out well.”

He was referencing my previous paranoia that doing munches and stuff like that would just end horribly. I admit, despite some moments of anxiety, I was incredibly pleasantly surprised. So, let it be known that Ivy’s first munch went well and the freak-outs were kept to a pretty fair minimum, all things considered.

Like a Brisket, Part Twelve

While I was hogtied on the floor and the Prodigy was tying up Craftsmate, I got really subspaced. I attribute to this to a few factors:

I was pretty stringently hogtied and feeling tied up and helpless like that gets me pretty fast.
Craftsmate was feeding me grapes from the farmer’s market out of his hand which sort of emphasized the feeling of helplessness for me.
At one point, Penthouse asked to duct-tape my mouth and I consented. It stayed like that for a fairly short period of time, but that only added to it.
Penthouse knelt down next to me and was asking me if I was subspaced in this vaguely condescending tone that I like which pretty much cemented it.
The group was discussing hemp and Craftsmate was like, “wait, you can’t buy that here?” And I started subspacedly mumbling about the FDA banning it. Penthouse reached down and petted my head while I was talking which, uh, yeah. Cement sealed.

Of course, the whole time I’m yelling at myself in my head not to get subspaced. I thought it would make everything awkward and I even apologized for it once I came out of it. I guess I just, even around the people I should be most comfortable enjoying it around, was unsure if it would be weird to actually enjoy myself beyond the academic “ah this is very fascinating” sense of enjoyment.

But, subspaced Ivy knows her US History. So, there’s that.

Ivy

Just another Adult Content site

penthouse

Like a Brisket, Part Thirteen