rope

This is one of my favorite games.

I like to play a little game, when you can’t speak. It’s a mean little game, but I find it amusing. You find it infuriating. That’s quite possibly what amuses me so about it, but then I always was a sucker for your reactions.

I like to talk to you, hold long conversations when your only input is the most monosyllabic of moans, perhaps a ‘uh uh’ if you really try. So I do your half of the conversation for you, because I’m generous like that.

“You know, the way you’re looking at me, it’s almost like you like being tied up and gagged like this. Do you like it?” You fix me with a piercing, angry gaze, all furrowed brows and needles for eyes.

“You mean you do? Oh that’s wonderful news. We should keep you like this more often then! I’d hate to get in the way of you and your passions.”

And so forth. It’s just a little game, but it’s one I enjoy ever so much.

Won’t you indulge me?

This is the part where one half of you betrays the other. The part where the top’s reticence smells the bottom’s vehement and eager disagreement. The part where you realize that though your brain can will your arms to pull back ad your body to squirm, it can’t seem to will away the wet enthusiasm your cunt is expressing. This is, undoubtedly, their favorite part.

It’s difficult when you’ve grown so used to submitting to someone and then, suddenly, you’re not. A balance is thrown.

Specifically to that person, there’s still a sort of deference you afford them. There’s something very much “there” that is sometimes difficult to just let lie. Because these things become forces of habit and suddenly your signals are completely crossed.

Generally, it’s just difficult not to have that dynamic. I don’t want to say I’m just hardwired to submit to people, but there is something about it that makes me very happy and feel very secure. Beyond the sexual aspect of it, the psychological level is incredibly powerful. And it’s hard to sit there sometimes and think you’d like to be serving someone but it’s just not happening for you right now.

I’ve noticed quite a few of you lamenting on here recently over a bdsm relationship that just ended and I send my condolences and best wishes. Because I know how it feels. I’m there right now and everything’s just a little off-balance.

One of my big sexual fantasies back in high school involved a sexual encounter in the snow. It wasn’t really a kinky thing at all, it was more of this very vanilla sort of moment with someone who I cared very much about. It was never carried to fruition, but I get a sort of warm nostalgia whenever I see couples kissing in the snow. I don’t really know what for, but something feels incredibly nostalgic about the whole thing.

The entire fantasy was fairly simple. A lot of it was more about the quietness of the whole thing, the still silence of just being someone with that way in miles and miles of white. Usually, coats stayed on. It wasn’t hasty, strangely enough, I don’t precisely know why the coats stayed on but it was never a matter of being in a hurry.

I guess snow’s metaphorical somehow. White expanses, purity, I don’t know. Pick it apart how you want, I suppose.

I’m sorry, but that’s the blandest, worst-looking salad I’ve ever seen.

Seriously, creators of pornography. Take pride in your work.

Sheesh.

Availability.

Jack and Jitters, Part 4

He rubbed for a while longer as I ground myself against the bed, squirming and gasping with how sensitive I had become. As I got close, he yanked the stockings that bound my wrists and pulled me down to my knees. His other hand gathered up a chunk of my hair and held it roughly, pushing my face into the crotch of his pants.

I reached up with my bound hands to try to undo his belt and he let go of my hair, grabbing onto the knot in the stockings. “You have way too much freedom.” He tightened the knot, making the removal of his belt, pants, and boxers a tad more difficult.

He reached down and pulled my nightgown up, knotting it above my breasts as to expose my body without removing it. He combed his hand through my hair, pulling it a bit as his hands left my scalp to dip my hair back and open my mouth. “Look at me while you suck it,” he said as I took him into my mouth.

I don’t want to fully admit that I started grinning when he sighed, “I love the way you suck my cock.” I really don’t want to own up to the fact that a phrase as simple or lewd as that could make me feel awesome. Because, well, I’d like to think I’ve got other stuff going for me and other important skills. But, gosh, I don’t know. There’s something about making a man sigh.

I didn’t break eye contact until he hauled me to my feet somewhere in the middle of it by the stockings around my wrists. He removed the stockings and yanked the nightgown over my head and off of my body. My hands wandered to his shirt and I pulled it off. We were both naked. For a few moments we were – as it seemed – even.

I am so into this, but I would be super concerned about having my shoulder pulled out or something from some faulty rope-placement. I’d like to fancy myself the (very) amateur engineering type, so I’d probably micro-manage the shit out of anyone attempting to do this to me.

Confessedly, I used to do this to my Barbies, though nowhere nearly as ornately. I definitely used to enjoy placing them in the back seat of this little RV I had for them. Even then, I understood that a camping trip could easily be something nefarious with the addition of some rope skills and desire.

Ivy

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