Today was sunny and gorgeous. It was only a week since the last time we saw each other, but we embraced as if much more time had passed.

When we walked to lunch, he held my hand and responded to my giddiness with something that was vaguely Daddylike. He mussed my hair and moved his arm around my shoulder to guide me on turns. I could see an effort to meet me halfway on this, which was only confirmed when he told me that I could sometimes call him Daddy. Which is exactly how I’d want it, just sometimes and not all the time.

Later on, we fucked in my childhood bedroom. He must have appreciated the post I made the other day because he wound up hogtying me and taking me from behind. He was clever and tied the legs separately, so it was only a semi-hogtie and he could maneuver my legs to get deeper. We took a couple of photos of the encounter and maaaaybe if you’re nice I’ll share one or two.

I got massively subspaced and he took great care of me. We had some lovely pillow talk afterwards, some centering on a post he made recently over the fact that we miss being able to go to bed together and cook meals together.

Overall, it was a lovely day, but it makes me a little sad and anxious for the upcoming year and the fact that we will be embarking on a much longer long-distance relationship.

Even hard candy melts.

Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Eight

By the time he had finished with me, it was nearly midnight, I had been wearing the plug for about eight hours and I was unbelievably subspaced. Craftsmate sat me up in bed and helped me to drink some water.

My head slumped down against his chest and he stroked my hair. I was at this point where the lights had stopped being harsh on my eyes and everything looked a little glassy. He tucked me into his bed and sat down at his desk beside the bed to get some work done.

At one point, he reached out and held my hand. After a few moments, I drew my hand back and tugged on one of his fingers playfully. “Chinese finger trap,” I joked as he tried to pull his finger back.

He yanked his finger out of my hand and shook his head. “Your vagina’s a Chinese finger trap.”

Playdate with Popcorn, Part Eight

Penthouse held me open as he let Popcorn flog my cunt. For the most part, I stayed still of my own volition, trying to affirm that I was the good girl she said I was. Amidst the gasping and bucking, I tried to keep my eyes on her. This left me so incredibly subspaced that I wound up slumping back over once Penthouse let me go.

“Can we use the zipper on your pussy?” Penthouse asked and I nodded, moaning softly.

They pushed me up onto my knees, with my head still resting on the bed and my ass and cunt exposed. Popcorn applied the clothespins over my labia and clit. I was a mess of moans and whimpers as they took turns trying to flog the clothespins off of my cunt.

“She’s such a good girl,” Popcorn echoed, “I can’t get over how well-behaved she is.”

Penthouse chuckled, “it’s only because you’re here. Usually it’s all ‘Daddy this’ and ‘Daddy that’." I felt myself blush.

By the time we had finished up, it was about four in the morning. Popcorn gave me a kiss and thanked me for allowing to play with her. After she left, Penthouse brought me some water and helped me into bed, curling up beside me. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, satisfied, and fell asleep to the sound of him telling me how proud he was.

Continued from here.

I cannot begin to stress the importance of aftercare.

After being hogtied on Penthouse’s bed, tied up in a lot of rope and having that crotchrope pushing the knot against my clit, I’d gotten pretty subspaced. I was speaking a lot of nonsense, I had trouble keeping my eyes open and I could barely sit up straight.

Penthouse untied me gently, held me close, was patient when I struggled to coherently express myself. He brushed out my hair and tucked me in. He checked in to make sure I was all right.

For as hot as the whole thing was, the aftercare really sealed the deal for me on the experience. Anybody can set up a situation like that, but to be able to care for a very subspaced girl is real dedication.

darkangelsbride:

“No escape”

Photo by Jerome G.

Craftsmate just informed me that the correct term for what I was experiencing is being “rope happy”, not subspaced.

What. Ever.

(via art-or-porn)

Like a Brisket, Part Twelve

While I was hogtied on the floor and the Prodigy was tying up Craftsmate, I got really subspaced. I attribute to this to a few factors:

I was pretty stringently hogtied and feeling tied up and helpless like that gets me pretty fast.
Craftsmate was feeding me grapes from the farmer’s market out of his hand which sort of emphasized the feeling of helplessness for me.
At one point, Penthouse asked to duct-tape my mouth and I consented. It stayed like that for a fairly short period of time, but that only added to it.
Penthouse knelt down next to me and was asking me if I was subspaced in this vaguely condescending tone that I like which pretty much cemented it.
The group was discussing hemp and Craftsmate was like, “wait, you can’t buy that here?” And I started subspacedly mumbling about the FDA banning it. Penthouse reached down and petted my head while I was talking which, uh, yeah. Cement sealed.

Of course, the whole time I’m yelling at myself in my head not to get subspaced. I thought it would make everything awkward and I even apologized for it once I came out of it. I guess I just, even around the people I should be most comfortable enjoying it around, was unsure if it would be weird to actually enjoy myself beyond the academic “ah this is very fascinating” sense of enjoyment.

But, subspaced Ivy knows her US History. So, there’s that.

Growing a Pair, Part Four

Somewhere near the end of being flogged, I got really awkwardly subspaced. I say awkwardly because this wasn’t performed with any sort of D/s mindset or frame. It really was me just checking out what the flogger was like.

So, suddenly I’m all quiet and sort of drawn within myself. I shiver a bit when he runs his fingers over the marks to make sure they aren’t raised. Silently, I inspect them myself, mulling over in my head how to get myself out of this space before things get super uncomfortable.

I think, at one point, I was biting onto the knuckle of my index finger. Super. Leave it to me to get really awkwardly subspaced while standing on top of a desk.

“You would, Ivy,” I kept saying in my head. “You of all people would.”

So, I guess I sort of learned there’s no such thing as a casual flogging for me.