“Sweetheart, sometimes I think you just want to be found. You aren’t trying very hard at all.”
thigh highs
“Awww,” Craftsmate said when he saw whyexactly’s comment. “He thinks you’re already housebroken. But that’s just not true.”
Twenty-two and in need of a spanking.
Which makes my birthday different from every other day in this past year solely on the basis that I’m now twenty-two.
That other part’s pretty constant.
It happens when I’m in a store and I see a certain kind of dress or a pair of socks with bows on it. It’s this pause, this momentary catch in my throat.
It was this really lazy Sunday morning and Craftsmate had slept over my place after a party. We had fairly tamely shared the bed and besides some cuddling that degraded into groping, nothing had really happened.
We had started to mess around a little in the light that filtered through the slit of window not covered by blinds. I had worn a pair of my gym shorts to bed without any panties and Craftsmate had started to tease me through the material. Eventually, I was rolled over onto my stomach, my ass pushed up into the air, his fingers rubbing through the fabric, my body quaking gently against one of my pillows.
They were the kind of gym shorts that were a sort of mesh material so they could “breathe”. This translates to, eventually, my wetness literally leaking out of the shorts. Craftsmate leaned in and I could hear him chuckling as he looked at the growing wet spot on my shorts. He brought his hand away from my cunt and I whined.
“Look at that,” he said, dangling his fingers in front of my face. They were wet. “You’ve soaked right through.” He pushed them into my mouth and I licked them clean. His fingers returned to my gym shorts once more, but only long enough to coat his fingers again. He sniffed his fingers and commented that they smelled like something he likes to eat (yeah, we’re that far back in the timeline).
Eventually, he had gotten me pretty close to the edge and just flat-out stopped. As I squirmed and whined about him being an asshole, he climbed off the bed and replied, “I’m getting a glass of water. I’d change those shorts if I were you.”
My toppy side came out and paid a visit while I was staying with Penthouse.
He had expressed an interest in trying it out and it was interesting to explore that sort of dynamic again.
I’d have to say my favorite part was when I was reading a certain something while straddling him and essentially ignoring him while he begged.
I’m not sure how I got quite so mean, but I’m pretty pleased with that fact.
Confessedly, my trip to see Penthouse wasn’t all doing official, legit stuff in his area and taking time in another city to breathe.
After the whole mini-munch, he and I had talked a bunch and flirted a lot. So, I found that by combining my real-life obligations with some things I enjoy, I could have a little weekend away to have some fun with somebody I had some chemistry with and similar interests in the kinky department.
By the time I arrived, I was super exhausted, dehydrated and sore from sitting for an extended period of time. Penthouse was a very gracious host and (mostly) excused my tired comments and little jabs at his school (we’ve got a rivalry). There was a little initial awkwardness, but I was surprisingly comfortable with the idea of staying with him and mostly excited for the stuff, sexy and not-sexy, the weekend held.
So, yeah, that’s how I wound up in Penthouse Land.
Both Craftsmate and Penthouse had expressed to me that they were not particularly into knives or knifeplay when I first met them.
Today, both of them texted me on separate occasions to let me know that this is no longer the case. They’re in deep enough that Penthouse has kindled a book on it.
And apparently this is all my fault.
Sorry I’m not sorry?
I like to engage in acts of creative destruction. Never to truly hurt you but rather to startle you into feeling alive.
Photo (by {E}mma)
