rope

This morning, Sir and I were talking dirty and the subject of him having another girl came up. I’m especially proud of myself because I was the one to bring it up.

We’ve discussed the idea before and it was the first time I was genuinely comfortable with the thought. Basically, as I have expressed on here with various degrees of feeling insufficient or worrying about being replaced, Sir and I do have very different styles. He’s more of a sadist, I’m more of a submissive. And while he comes close to a lot of the ideals I hold for a dominant, I don’t quite align with some of the stuff he likes in terms of degradation and masochism.

But, we love each other and it’s not a deciding thing. However, he wants a girl one day that he can call “Cunt,” just like I have someone I call “Daddy.” And this morning, I indulged him with talking about her.

While some of the pangs still came up, a lot of them didn’t. For once, I even got turned on.

Sometimes, I want to feel a little more overtly useful.

mystery-bazaar:

Occasional Table

Sir and I agreed we’d each carry out one of the other’s dirtiest fantasies when he came to see me in a week.

Both are pretty blushy in different ways.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Being a Brave Girl, Part Three

Sir returned and pulled me up to my feet, bringing me over to the bed. He kissed me and had me lie down while he took out a neatly coiled length of rope. "I thought all the rope was at my place,“ I pouted when he pushed my legs back, essentially folding me up. He pulled my arms around my legs and tied my hands together, forcing me to hold the position.

"Well, I saved some,” he chuckled and kissed me softly.

Taking me by the hair, he turned my head and buried my face in his cock. I accepted it eagerly, sucking him until he was hard enough to fuck me.

It’s kind of crazy how much you can miss someone’s cock. In your mouth, inside of you. But I’d been masturbating for the past month and literally missing the way it felt.

We fucked hungrily. I kept kissing him. I wanted so badly to touch his face and I needed so desperately to get him closer. And, yeah, all the denial had made me pretty needy.

When I had to cum, I started begging.

“Oh yeah?” He teased, “you need to cum?”

“Uh huh,” I exclaimed, “please?”

Without any warning, he pulled out and stepped back from me, smirking. I practically shrieked, squirming in my bonds and kicking my feet. Of course he wasn’t going to make this easy.

He became Sir really naturally.

I don’t remember the first time I called him that or whose idea it was. But, he was Sir and that was that.

I’ve struggled finding a name for myself to match it. Something he can call me in the dynamic that isn’t my name.

“Sweetheart” is more for a certain kind of mood, when I’m all little and he’s being bad and mean and rough. And the name he calls me when I’m a kitty is basically limited to me being a kitty. (It’s a cute name, though. Trust.)

In the past, I’ve gone by bitch (but I never, ever will again.) And slut (also a no.) And pet (which I don’t know if I want to anymore.)

He’s called me girl. But we agree that it’s hard to start a sentence with girl without it sounding like “GURL.” He tried “little one” this morning and it made me smile but I don’t know if it’s something that’s as natural as “Sir.” And then there’s “kitten.” I don’t know. The syllables sound the best, but I don’t know.

I guess I just don’t feel like I can figure out a name that fits me as well as Sir fits him.

Sigh. Nomenclature.

I like it when it’s casual.

When the ropes don’t match.

Or half of it is found objects: scarves, belts, whatever’s within reach.

There’s something really intimate about that, about how we can make do and still happen it happen.

fetchitgirl:

Photo by Alli Jiang, 2011

daggerandplume:

Furniture

No, furniture has function.

She’s not furniture. She’s decoration.

nankingdecade:

I know a kitty who will lap this right up.

Pretty please? Pretty please?

I want it nowww.

I love you in these moments. The way you concentrate, the careful little knots you tie, the fact that I know this does much more for me than for you. I know you’d rather just slap a pair of cuffs on and fuck me until I cry. But, I appreciate this. And I miss it so much right now.

A little bit of nerves is a healthy thing, really.

Ivy

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