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.
suit
I definitely get this way. When someone topping me tries to prove a point by denying me in some way, I just can’t handle it. I’m far from subtle when trying to communicate how I really think the dynamic should be working.
I believe some people call it “topping from the bottom”.
SG has a go-to phrase for when I’m stressed out.
“Would you please calm down? Everything’s going to be fine. We’re the beautiful people.”
I’m not entirely sure how that solves anything, but it’s certainly nice to remember.
So, according to some modern lingo, a girl’s a noodle if she’s straight until wet. Take, for instance, the woman in the lace collar. (Look at that smile.)
Fresh and I caught up over tea tonight. I wish I could say that the conversation was sophisticated, but we wound up talking about noodles. Our experiences with them, our opinion of them. And not the kind that come in a little styrofoam microwave cup.
Fresh calls this phenomenon a “spaghetti girl”.
Try and tell me “noodle” isn’t better.
I know, I know, I know, tumblr. I leave the teaser for a crazysexy evening and then I just sort of dipped out on you.
This week has been a little hectic. But, I promise that I will be posting it up soon, even if that requires some dom in a suit bending me over the desk, pushing my laptop in front of me, and not letting me leave until I’ve written it up.
Yes, okay, it’s a stretch. But, I have to tie this picture in somehow, don’t I?
She’s smiling because she’s gotten exactly what she wants.
Double-dating, my way.
Choosing can be hard.
Good thing they’re there to do it for her.
This is a test.
They’ve tried things like this before. It was much more contrived. There was fur on the handcuffs. There was an unwritten agreement not to push anything too far. It was, in its plainness, simple and safe, just a few twee forays into something vaguely perverse. Something they could laugh over later.
Now, no laughter. Just stares, expectation, a hope for some sort of common understanding in the shifting against the chair and the tightening of his fist in his pocket. Someone could say something, but it wouldn’t do any good in air this electric and unstable. It’s somewhere between vulnerability and a sort of bravado that had been, since today, unparalleled.
There could have been conversations, they both knew that. There could have been things hinted at when rolling over between bouts of sleep. But there was something gorgeous about this sort of spontaneity and the way she was, in this terribly available and humbling position, boring into him with such a gaze as to suggest that she would devour him were it not for how she were restrained. If he were not to partake of this, it seemed, there was a chance he could be swallowed whole.
This is a test. And the light on in the bedroom, the ringing telephone, that look on her face are all just factors. The answer’s somewhere else entirely.
This photo is unrealistic. Not for the lady specifically, but because no airplane has seats that comfortable. Let’s be real here.