Devil in the details.
red
I always think I am getting spanked hard enough for it to leave marks and have it hurt for days. So, I start to get excited about the idea of having to cover up the marks on my thighs when I go to the gym or having to try to hold in a wince when I sit down to dinner with my friends. And it sounds all blushy when the deliverer of the spanking says I’ll think of them whenever I feel the sting throughout the week.
But I’m honestly just a wuss and I never let it get that harsh. It’s all gone in an hour, usually. If not less.
Good lord, but this offends my sense of symmetry. Which, of course, as punishments go, makes it perfect.A Bad Girl, photographed by Me.
My toppy side came out and paid a visit while I was staying with Penthouse.
He had expressed an interest in trying it out and it was interesting to explore that sort of dynamic again.
I’d have to say my favorite part was when I was reading a certain something while straddling him and essentially ignoring him while he begged.
I’m not sure how I got quite so mean, but I’m pretty pleased with that fact.
I get into this terrible habit of slut-shaming myself when things don’t go exactly my way with guys.
Which is super healthy, right?
That guy from my frat says this weekend is super busy for him. And instead of taking this at face value and being like, “totally, okay, cool, he’s just got a lot on his plate for finals next week” I jump right to, “he doesn’t want to go with me because he thinks I’m trash.”
I don’t know why I go there, but it’s a really strange insecurity of mine. My knee-jerk reaction for a while now has literally just become, “[person in question] thinks I’m a whore and has lost interest”. In my defense, it’s been drilled into my head since like age eight by the patriarchy that if I get around too much I don’t deserve affection. (And you’re not fucking helping either, Taylor Swift, you backwards man-stealing puritan, seriously just because someone’s less pure and nerdysexy and blonde than you are doesn’t mean they deserve a boyfriend).
Sexually open women deserve this stuff just as much as women who make the choice to abstain. I’ve just got to silence the stupid critics in my head.
“I looked at his eyes. I was thinking: they are bluer than the sea.
But then the sea is not blue at all, is it?” – Judy Budnitz, If I Told You Once.
I want hard spankings. I like hard spankings. I love the way my ass feels afterwards, I love the dynamic during. But when it comes to actually getting them, I’m a big baby. A few hits in and I’m whining for the person delivering them to stop.
However, if they acquiesce to my pleas, I automatically want them to just keep spanking me. It’s not that I don’t know what I want. I know what I want. I want someone to unflinchingly give me a long, hard spanking while I lie over their knee and squirm and beg for them to stop. Except, they don’t stop.
This is one of the things I appreciate about safewords. It marks a difference between an in-scene “stop” to enhance the dynamics (and account for the natural impulse to tell someone to stop hitting you) and a legitimate, serious word that establishes that limits are being pushed and ends the scene. So, I can get away with being spanked longer, even when I protest and whine, and still have some way of actually ending things when the “stop"s I yell become a little more real.
I just want to push her hair back from her face and bite those lips.
Please don’t try to reason with me.
I make absolutely outlandish requests. I know that. Sometimes I’ll ask you to do things that are totally and completely not okay. I’ll make demands of you that I know I don’t actually want of things that I can’t actually handle. When you take me to certain places i my head, I know I blurt out things I don’t entirely mean, I call myself words I don’t particularly associate with myself, I make offers that I’d hope you’d never actually take.
I understand how fragile it can make me. I don’t envy your position. I know I create little paradoxes for you, challenges, catch-22s that overcomplicate what began as such a simple little game. And I know I throw wrenches into perfectly functioning machines just to watch the gears stop and quiver and break because I am strange and impulsive and unrelenting.
And I’m not asking you to do it right all the time or to know all the answers. Consider this a warning, albeit a little late in the game. But, please, don’t try to reason with me. Because you of all people know that I am completely and utterly unreasonable.
remind me don’t assume I know
I’m out for the night with some pretty awesome plans. Hopefully, it will be considerably better than the teensy fiasco earlier this week.
Bright red stockings. If only there was a use for you besides wearing nothing else and eyefucking someone from a couch.
Seriously, I love the color. But what would I wear it with?