possessiveness

In which the patriarchy probably influences my sexuality quite a bit, maybe.

Standard

I kink on possessiveness. Sir and I identify within the owner/owned paradigm. And, otherwise, I like the idea of someone feeling protective over me not just because they want to keep me safe, but because they feel like they have some sort of authority over me. 

We were out last night – some people from my kink community (YES I AM TELLING MY LIFE OUT OF ORDER WHATEVER I HAVE AUTHORITY OVER THIS NARRATIVE I AM THE GOD OF THIS BLOG) and Pup and I – at karaoke. I had just sang and was feeling kind of silly so I went to the bar for another drink. 

As I was waiting to order, this guy came up next to me and we engaged in the following:

Guy: Nice bag.

Me: Oh, thanks.

Guy: I’ve got the same one.

Me: Did you forget it at home?

Guy: You were very cute up there.

Me: Well, thanks.

Pup came over and stood beside me. He leaned against the bar and started playing with my hair. The guy kind of muttered an apology and walked away from the bar.

“Way to cockblock me,” I joked when we walked back towards our friends.

“Well, yeah, I’ve got you tonight,” he said. “Go find him and give him your number.”

I blushed and shook my head. “It’s okay,” I replied. “I kind of like it when you get a little jealous and possessive.”

Which was totally hot until this morning, when we talked about it again, and he started smacking my stomach with his flaccid penis and going, “dibs, dibs, dibs.”

Gallery

This reminds me of the notion that you’ve got to lick something to let everybody know it’s yours.

Gallery

I went out last night to a bar with some people in my graduate cohort. On the way home, I texted Sir to let him know I was headed to bed.

“Did any guys try to hit on you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered, “three.”

I was a bit surprised when he texted me back with, “mmmm so hot.”

“That’s hot to you?” I asked, “how is that hot to you?”

“Yeah, guys drooling over my girl,” he replied.

We both kind of get turned on by possessiveness and infidelity. Naturally, it’s not really one of those fantasies you can really do to the hilt, but we talk about it a lot.

I smirked and texted, “one called me sweetie. Like, ‘hey there, sweetie.’”

“Mmm, what an asshole.”

“You love that.”

He called me a pervert. I insisted he was more of one. And so he called me a filthy little girl and a floozy.

“I am not,” I answered as I walked in the door and set my bag down, “I didn’t flirt back.”

“I know. You’re a good girl.”

“Oh yeah?” I teased, “So assured I wouldn’t cheat?”

I’m sincerely glad I’ve found someone just about as fucked up as I am, who isn’t judgmental about some really absurdly messed up fantasies I have.