I love when kinky porn doesn’t take itself too seriously. I’m so tired of overdramatic power dynamics and ridiculous outfits. Sometimes I just like to get tied up and then giggle about it.
rope
The socks are more than a little endearing.
“How long is forever? Sometimes, just one second.”
– Lewis Carroll.
“You’re not serious, you’re fussy. You’re a silly little thing and you know it.”
It’s been a while since I’ve been tied up face-down on a certain someone’s rug.
So, I decided to finally share something that’s kind of super blushy but I’ve been holding out on talking about.
I went over to Craftsmate’s one day after he said he wanted to show me something. When we reached his bedroom, he pulled out this mess of straps and told me to open my mouth. I was shocked and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I complied.
He pushed the ring behind my teeth, lining it up so my mouth was forced open. I had never worn a ring gag before and I simultaneously enjoyed and dreaded how receptive it made me feel. With a smile, Craftsmate set to tightening the straps around my head, under my chin, alongside my nose, shifting and undoing them every so often to make the fit tighter.
When he had finished, he grinned and pressed his thumbs to the straps along the side of my nose, holding my face still. “You look so pretty like this,” he said, before shoving two fingers into my mouth and probing around. I could do just about nothing to prevent him from doing so aside from attempting to shove him away.
After he had withdrawn his fingers, his hand settled on my chin and he tilted my head slightly. I groaned, feeling drool start to form around the sides of the gag. Without warning, Craftsmate spat into my open mouth and, without any other options, I accepted it.
And Sweetheart promised it would be the last fib she’d ever tell.
Which was a fib itself.
See, I’d want to be something like this for you.
But I’d need the reassurance that you would stroke my hair every so often after you put your drink down.
I don’t want to just be a table. I want to be your table. The best fucking table you could have. Even if and when I mess up.
“Honey, look what turned up when I was looking for Noboru Wataya.”
Ugh the damn cat.
That book gave me so much grief because I was like oh God but what about the cat these sideplots are overwhelming because I am already worried about this damn cat.
Seriously, his wife was not worth finding. Just find your freaking cat, go home and make some more pasta, Toru. And don’t answer the damn phone. There’s only uncomfortable phone sex on the other end of that thing.
And then that little crazy locked him in the well. And I was like oh come on puberty’s hard but we all handled it so get over yourself and let the poor guy out.
And there’s that awful thing with the skin God no stop it’s such a good book but ugh.
I can’t. I just can’t. The book is fabulous, but it’s just all anxiety for me.