Lu, do you see a theme here? -RF
It’s easy to be a little overwhelmed at first.
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“I will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers. I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air, alive, with closed eyes.”
– ee cummings.
You know that crying out won’t help.
It won’t deter him, won’t even give him reason to pause. You have a word to make him stop, a word he’ll respect and honor, but he won’t honor any kind of frantic cry he elicits.
Besides, he’s always encouraged you to scream.
Sometimes, sweetness is control. There’s a condescension to it at times. Others, it just stresses the levels of authority. There’s a right and a power that comes with being in the position to treat someone sweetly in such a way. It’s to say that you can clear away the clouds with the same power with which you can bring the storm.
Being undressed by someone else can be an incredibly sobering experience. Especially when they go excruciatingly slow, in which case you’re forced to adjust to their pace and accept the fact that you cannot simply raise your hands and throw your shirt off. The ball’s in their court, so to speak, the game’s in their hands.
I like and am simultaneously completely intimidated by the prospect of being shared between two men. I know it’s super silly to be like “damn that’s a lot of penis”. But, really, damn. That’s a lot of penis.
I guess it’s totally the same as a man and a woman in terms of having two people to pay attention to. But I guess I am just vaguely overwhelmed at the prospect of how much penis that is.
This 2 am penis anxiety brought to you by the people at thinkivykink.
It was super awkward, confessedly, when the Southern Gentleman first arrived at my place. There was – and hopefully I am not putting words in his mouth – a general pervasive feeling of wanting to jump each others’ bones.
But, there’s things like formalities. And so we greeted each other with a hug, we spent a little time discussing our holidays, we shot the breeze.
Eventually, I moved over to the corner of my room to fetch something. He followed me. I’ve noticed that men tend to do this thing when they want to start something but words wouldn’t be smooth enough. They just start encroaching on you. It sort of helped that I was in the corner.
I turned and said something to him, something completely vague and a little snarky but not having to do with the fact that he had been gradually closing in on me. He just reached down, took my chin, tilted my head up, and started kissing me. Our hands roamed, settled into comfortable permutations on each others’ bodies, his eased up my shirt then back around my back then up into my hair and around again. He shoved me against the wall and my rear hit the windowsill. He pulled my head back by my hair and started biting my neck. Somewhere in the middle of pulling my shirt off, I suppose he realized that we were right in front of an open window and pushed me over to the bed.
I don’t know why, but somehow his clothes seem to manage to stay on much longer than mine. But, I kind of like the contrast.
What was I saying about formalities?
I have received what you’ve offered in the silence you’ve imposed. I haven’t sought to fight it, but presumption is not nearly as flattering as the flush at her neck. It’s hard to feel abandoned when I know you’re there. And to simply hold something doesn’t mean to own it, if your hands could reach so far.
Don’t imagine for a moment that I haven’t enjoyed it. But I’m playful and I’m young and I don’t buckle under the first pair of hands to come out of the darkness and grasp. You’re not reaching blindly, but you haven’t quite tugged me to my knees. I’m sure you can feel yourself grazing something, but what was that story about the blind men groping at the basket, the mortar, the pillar? (You know, the allegorical elephant in the room.)
I know, I know, more wordplay. But it’s all the play you’re going to get. And who doesn’t like a fair game?
He tells her that all the staff gets spanked like this when they haven’t met standards.
They don’t.
But she’s not too bright, so she doesn’t complain very much.
The anticipation…
The little girl play I engage in is so beyond just the “taboo"ness of it, like most of the other practices I enjoy. (What’s the point of shock value in the privacy of your own room, even with the thin walls?)
It’s the feeling of being nurtured that accompanies it that draws me in. For a masochist/submissive, I tend to freak out if I am not able to hold the reigns on my life and completely know what’s going on and what the outcomes of things will be. The unknown doesn’t scare me so much as the surrender of control of things which I realize are so completely out of my control.
While I certainly experience this release of control while submitting generally, there is something about being a "little girl” that gives an even greater release. I feel little. I feel dependent. I feel this overwhelming surrender to the powers that be and an amazing sense of letting go without incurring the sort of consequences that I am afraid of coming across were I to become less disciplined and control-oriented in other areas of my life.
In the role of the “little girl”, I’m forced to let go in a different, maybe even deeper way, than when I simply submit. I’m cared for, I lose my control, I no longer have responsibilities. It’s an incredibly relaxing experience.