trust – Page 3

What if she just gave you everything? If she allowed you inside of her in a way in which the metaphor is even stronger than the physical manifestation. If she just showed you every point of fragility, every joint worn weak, every bone turned brittle.

It’s often hard to be bare, even though we’re born it. We deviate from so many of our initial notions in an attempt at maturity, such as demanding care with such unabashed fervor that it seems to be nurtured is an essential part of being human. Yet, vulnerability will be difficult for her. To become oneself seemed to mean to build up walls not solely to keep invasion out but to deter those sincerest, most intimate forms of care as well, all for the sake of some structure to lean upon.

But, what if she could break down some of those walls? And she followed your lead, arms out, palms wide, fingers trembling with an almost rudimentary trepidation.

Ugh, nail on the head.

I love being choked in a sexual way. But then when I really think about what’s going on I’m stuck thinking to myself, “I probably shouldn’t be doing this.” Because facts stand that someone could really screw up. And I always go back to the actual violence of the gesture and what it is normally used for, like when I mull over some other fetishes like (consensual, in my case) non-consent. There’s a moment where you stop and think that for a lot of people, this isn’t sexy. In another context, this would be horribly wrong.

But I still can’t deny how it makes me feel.

littlegirlyone:

i know there’s huge ethical/legal/moral controversy about choking as a sexual practice. i understand the risks. sometimes i even freak out about them in a panicky, ‘i’m not gonna do that anymore’ kinda way. but when we’re fucking, there is no more controversy. there’s only our bodies. our trust. our hands. our throats. and in that context, the risk is worth the reward.

I want to trust you like this. I’d like to imagine that as I heard your car pull away and smelled the exhaust that I wouldn’t panic. Because that’s the way I love someone and it’s the reason why I don’t give very many people a lot of myself, I go hard, for a lack of a better expression.

It makes everything somewhat fragile, I’ll admit, but it’s incredibly rewarding. It’s in the knives, the choking, the crazy acts of exhibitionism. I want to trust hard and I want that trust to be pushed far before being validated. Sometimes it’s frightening and sometimes it isn’t terribly safe, but that’s why I don’t do it with everyone. I wouldn’t let just anyone leave me on that road.

Fear is an incredibly powerful aphrodisiac.

That means you don’t have to approach every encounter with genuine excitement and assuredness. Sometimes it’s good to be reticent, afraid. So long as you’ve consented and you trust anyone involved, being frightened of what is to come can be just fine. In fact, you might even enjoy it.

With a lot of the female libido being dependent on anticipation, build-up, words, foreplay, preludes to the main event than the actual finalized actions, naturally fear is a great tool when wielded correctly. It’s just another suspension of time, another little subplot on the way to the climax.

Jack and Jitters, Part 2

(Note: What is to follow here depicts some consensual nonconsent. In no way was I ever actually not consenting to what was going on this evening, nor was I coerced into these acts by physical force. While certain acts depicted can be completely considered to be illegal and wrong in a very different context, SG and I are two consenting adults with a mutual understanding about the dynamic of our relationship and the fact that I could have terminated these actions anytime I wanted. While alcohol was involved, I was coherent and completely aware of the situation, not to mention I had the equivalent of what you’d rub around a baby’s mouth when it has a toothache. Seriously. Sober, safe, sane. Consensual.)

I was feeling a little bit bratty by the time I pulled the nightgown over my head. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with the fact that he’d made me go through the formality, so I decided I wasn’t going to make anything too easy for him either.

I took the glass out of his hand and took a sip. Then another. I set it back down on my bedside table. He reached for my hand, I took a step back and cocked a brow, lowered my head, raised my eyes. He reached out again, this time grabbing my arm, and swung me over to the bed.

SG has a sort of favorite way he likes to hold me where I’m bent over backwards on the side of the bed. The bed is on risers that put the mattress about a yard off the ground, so really just my shoulder-blades and up touch it. This time, he pushed me hard and I pushed back. He tried to pin my arms down, I struggled against his grasp. The second he reached down to pull the nightgown up, I used my free hand to try to shove his away. He gathered both hands above my head under one of his and proceeded to try to use a sheet to tie my wrists. Obviously, that’s just way too much fabric.

“My stockings are in the second drawer from the top,” I said, briefly breaking character. He smiled through his, reached in and grabbed a pair of black stockings. He secured my wrists together impossibly. Freaking Eagle Scouts.

He held onto the ends of the stockings with one hand, yanking my arms up further across the mattress to the point that I was forced onto my toes. He reached down between my legs and his fingers brushed over my lips and I closed my legs. “No,” I breathed. (Once again, dear readers: safe, sane, consensual, sober.)

“What did you just say?” He shoved my legs apart, holding one open and trapping the other between his.

“No,” I groaned again and tried to close my legs. He reached down and smacked my cunt. Hard, sharply. I cried out.

It’s strange. I wanted him and because I wanted him I wanted to refuse him. I know it doesn’t entirely make sense. But it’s like every time I said “no” and every time I refused him, I was bringing more of him out and into this. And the more of that part of him came out, the more of that part of me came out. It’s carnal. It’s completely and totally animalistic.

And it was also a demonstration. It was a trust fall. And as he pulled the stockings harder, pulling my body taut and arching my back more dramatically, I knew he’d catch me.

“The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.” – Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters.

The First Time Ivy Tried Knifeplay, Part 1

It was with a girlfriend. Initially, I was terrified of the concept and I dwelled on the idea that she would slip and I would wind up maimed and in the emergency room and my medical report would say I was in some kind of freaky sex accident and I really just couldn’t handle something like that. But, I had agreed earlier that day that I was opening to at least giving it a try. If I got too nervous, I had a safeword to fall back on.

That evening, as she finished getting ready for bed, I wandered around her bedroom in this old t-shirt from an event I went to and a pair of plain white cotton panties. She turned and looked me over for a moment before saying, “lie down.”

I laid down on top of the sheets, looking up at her expectantly. She smiled in this smug little cat-that-caught-the-canary way that she usually did when we were about to get into something sexy. She opened her drawer, pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and bent over me to slide them through a bar on the headboard before cuffing me to it. “Close your eyes."

The chuckle I let out was mostly nervous. There’s something absolutely torturous of having to close your eyes instead of being blindfolded. The option is right there and totally available for you to see what’s going on, but you want to keep your eyes closed, but the suspense is killing you, but…oh God.

I felt something cold drag across the exposed skin of my forearm. Somehow, in my panicking over keeping my eyes closed, she’d managed to sneak downstairs to the kitchen and get what I presumed to be a knife. It felt far too wide to be a butterknife, but I couldn’t really judge its size or much else about it.

I sucked in a breath as she went over my arms, my legs, teasing my body with the terribly cold blade. The harder I tried at holding myself still, the more I trembled. She moved her free hand over my t-shirt, gathering up some of it before I heard her sawing away at the fabric in various spots.

When she released the shirt, I judged by the rushes of cold air that she’d sliced over my breasts and my stomach. As she reached down and tore the cut over one of my breasts to be larger, I struggled with the enormous task of simply keeping my eyes closed. I had to see it. I couldn’t just keep them shut. I knew it was right there and I just had to know what she was working with.

And, so, I opened my eyes…

The trust here is so tangible. She trusts him to know her limits. She also trusts he’ll push them.