tie – Ivy

I can’t get into shibari. It’s fascinating and sometimes really beautiful, but I just don’t even think I have the patience for it.

I need it rough and sudden and urgent. The time it takes to get the ropework just right really detracts from that. I prefer function over form. Hands to hold me down, rope or whatever is around to replace the hands, then hands and pressure to subdue me when I try to fight.

And I want the other person to not even be able to wait to have everything tied off so perfectly before tearing me apart. After the takedown, sure, things can be adjusted. But, during that first struggle, I want to feel the urgency. And shibari is too paced, too patient for that.

The struggling is all for show, really. She wants it, she asked for it by name. But when she gets what she wants, she simply can’t hold still.

She’s been told before that these things are wrong, perverse. To accept them in practice would be to accept them in principle. And she couldn’t do that. She’s a woman of principles.

And so she squirms. And she gasps. And she begs please don’t. Usually, she’s given it anyway. But, sometimes, the action stops. And she has to beg for it. Admit it. Claim it.

She has to give it a name again. And by naming it, she makes it hers.

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.

The Winter Formal, Part 2

We were all having a blast before we knew it. Wine was poured out, laughter bounced around the room, and the impending threat of finals was – for the night – left back at our dorm rooms. It was a nice change to see everyone dressed up and amidst the formality of the event, there was definitely a pervading sense of ease.

“I would like to propose a toast…”

I raised my glass and started roasting my friends. It was in good spirit, maybe a bit acerbic, but never hurtful. We laughed, we clinked glasses, we cracked jokes. It was nice to just relax, to just enjoy each other. The evening was off to a great start.

theropeview:

Top Hat and Tush

http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theropeview

She’s smiling because she’s gotten exactly what she wants.

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.

Texts with the Southern Gentleman:

Me: I have that George Michael song stuck in my head and I can’t get it out for the life for me.

SG: Which one?

Me: Um. The one that goes do da do do, do da do do, do da do do do, do do do do do do do doooo.

SG: It’s really sad that I know exactly what you’re talking about.

transformher:

Sure, she looks ravishing, but why would you ruin her with such poor Scotch?

(via wonderlandcode831)