The waiting is always the worst of it.
waiting
The waiting is always the worst of it.
She’d been horrible. Incorrigible, careless, bratty.
The easy thing to do would just be to punish her, to smack that stockinged ass until she wailed and apologized. But the effects of that sort of correction were fast becoming short-lived. ‘Sorry’ didn’t seem to extend beyond the moment of forgiveness. She made the same comments, the same coy quips, the same little acts of insubordination intentionally designed to provoke.
And so the best thing to do is to leave her that way. To make her wait, to forbid her from easing the angles of her back and knees, to let her cry and learn to become patient when suddenly things are no longer about her. A surefire way to reform a brat is to deny her attention to the point that contact becomes so rare and cherished that she will not do anything to provoke further action. Waiting has a profound and sobering effect on perspective.
There’s been silence for some time now. How I love anticipation, but how I just hate waiting.
Dear Followers,
I seem to have picked up quite a few of you lately. Welcome aboard. I haven’t gotten around to saying hello to all of you because I’m still working abroad, but this lack of communication could be broken.
I’m currently lounging around, waiting for the call to go get drinks with my coworkers. I’d like to get to know you in the meantime. Drop me an ask and say hi. Tell me something about yourself. Tell me something about your day. Tell me something.
So, followers old and new, keep me amused. (No, it doesn’t need to be under the sex or violence category. The whatever works well enough for me). Don’t be shy.
<3, Ivy
There’s something kind of sweet about that extended, waiting tongue. And how both of their eyes are closed. And how he’s holding her head. Judging by the source, the scene’s probably rougher when set into motion. But, in my mind, it’s just plain tender.
Most of it is waiting on those kinds of days. Hearing them walk through the house, hearing their conversations, hearing the water run, the doors open and close, the dishes slide into the washer. Hearing their phones ring, hearing their keys clack against the table, hearing chairs being pulled out, pushed in. And waiting.
Crawling in the nude to the door while my fully clothed lover comes home is one of my strongest, sweetest fantasies. He’s been off all day, working and doing his thing, and I’ve been waiting (im)patiently at home for him to come back and be with me. Hopefully I get some of this soon.
Greeting Daddy after His long day at work…