FAVE
Tell me what it’s like,
to forget someone you’ve loved.
Every time I try,
I just remember better.
As if forgetting is
another way to undress you,
another way to lay you down
and lose myself in you.
There are two kinds of love…in the safe kind you look for someone who’s exactly like you. It’s what most folks settle for. But then there’s the other kind of love. Everyone’s born with a ragged edge, and some folks crave that piece that’s a perfect fit. You’ll search for it forever, if you have to. And if you’re lucky enough to find it, it looks so right, you start to tear at your own seams, thinking, maybe I could look just as perfect. But then, of course, when you try to get close to their other half, you don’t fit anymore. That kind of love…you come out of it a different person than you were when you started.
Jodi Picoult, Vanishing Acts
(via wordsnquotes)
“When can I move?”
“When?” He sounded surprised; she didn’t buy it for a second. “Whenever you want, go ahead.”
“That’s not helpful.” Her thighs were already trembling with the effort of holding her current position, but shifting an inch in any direction—forwards or backwards, left or right—either had the hook tugging at her ass or the rope at her hair. Sometimes, it was both.
“Poor baby,” he said.
She’d never heard him sound so patronising before, but just as she was about to whine at him, his hand cracked down onto her ass. Her breath caught as she jumped and the hook pulled. “Sir…” she said. It was all she could say; she knew begging wouldn’t work. He’d just stick his fingers into her pussy and say, This isn’t complaining.
She could hear his smile when he said, “Try not to tense up.”
She managed, barely, when he smacked her again. “Am I allowed to know when you’ll untie me?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. He landed two slaps on the backs of her thighs. “When I get bored.”
A second later, she heard the buzzing of a Hitachi. She tried to drop her head forward; her hair pulled.
She knew it would be a long time until he got bored.
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- Pretty love
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- The fury of love
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- Romantic Circles
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- d04
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- La sensualite
REDシリーズの新しい作品ができました。
是非ご覧ください。Model七菜乃
Rope Kinoko Hajime
Photo Kinoko Hajime※胸と股間のボカシは、web投稿のためあえてボカシています。
一鬼のこWEB
http://shibari.jp
Her first tour of the premises was one she would never
forget; the first taste of the torments that awaited within the University of Erotic
Artistry.The classrooms within had been what she expected, with plenty
of seminars under way exploring erotic poetry, live nude model painting classes
and lectures examining the role of sexuality within the media. What she was met
with at a room labelled ‘discipline room’
however truly made her realise the extent to which sexuality embodied everything
within the premises, both the curriculum itself as well as the punishments for
those who disobey the rules or fall behind on coursework and assignments.A lady was sat at a table, lightly adding the last details
to a beautiful, intricate painting of female genitalia. Wondering how doing
this painting was a punishment, the woman then turned to her and spoke.“She has been denied for over a week.”
It was then that she realised that this woman holding the
paintbrush was not the one being punished. Upon closer inspection, with a gasp
of astonishment, it became clear that this was no painting at all; a girl was
beneath the table, her genitals being painted with a flower design while she
remained as still as possible, most certainly in complete sexual agony. Having
been denied for a week, it was clear from the contractions of her pussy and the
twitches of her clitoris that those slow, teasing brush strokes were teasingly
and tormentingly pleasurable. The woman with the paintbrush seemed to take much
delight in making the girl’s swollen clitoris ache with need for more, using
her tongue and fingers to add to the cruel torture that the fine tipped
paintbrush was mercilessly invoking.Once it was over, the girl’s pussy was left alone to
convulse with the need for more. It would be another few hours of teasing
before the student would be allowed to climax. While she was shocked at the
type of punishment she was witnessing, she couldn’t help but gaze at the beauty
of the sight, unaware that it wouldn’t be long until the staff found reason to
put her through the very same scenario; the staff greatly enjoyed all the
opportunities to perfect their techniques in the most erotic of body painting.Content created by: PleasureTorture
Image source: Zazel
I miss it
StandardAbout a year ago I used to get so frustrated about not being able to cum. Today though… I’ve accepted it? Sometimes embrace it. I have even considered not cumming at all, ever. Tonight as I felt those tantalizing vibrations on my clit I realized something. I don’t crave to have an orgasm as I used to. I don’t get pissed off by the fact that I’m nowhere close to it. I’m no longer pursuing an orgasm, at least not in the same way as a year ago. With the same eagerness. Full of hope; the unrealistic kind. Which means I don’t get to feel all that infuriating frustration anymore. Well guess what. I miss it. And I want it back. I want to go back to square one just so I can get that feeling. The one I hated so. The one that tormented me for years.
@female-orgasm-denial had suggested that people reach out to you to taunt you about how they can come but you can’t. And I felt a little bit sad that I couldn’t join in that fun, because I not only can’t come, I’m not allowed to touch except under very particular circumstances.
But this, this I can tease you about. I have all that frustration that you miss. It all belongs to me. I’ve become the quean of gushing out hot tears of desperate longing, of knowing that I’d give ANYTHING to be thrown down and hatefucked into a squalling, mindwiping, eyerolling cum. Or, you know, even just allowed to have a little oopsy-that-edge-went-too-far disappointing ruined orgasm. But I know that I’m not allowed to come. My body and mind are very obedient to the man who holds that permission out of my reach, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not permitted to indulge in desperate extremes of frustration.
It is torment, and it is SO good.
At this point, I’d be distraught if I were allowed to come, because it would deprive me of this excruciating craving. It has only been a few weeks, and I’m awestruck by the probability that this frustration will not only not abate, but continue to intensify. I can’t even imagine how it could get worse… but I said that yesterday. And the day before. And the day before.
If someone had told me I was going to be jealous of you because of this particular situation over a year ago, I would’ve thought they were insane. Don’t get me wrong, I still believe this is insane. How can I crave what you’ve got? It’s something I’ve been fighting for quite a while now, yet I’d love to go back to the start. Touching myself over and over again, every single moment I could just to have my hips buck in frustration as I felt my chance to have an orgasm slipping right between my fingers. Day after day.
Fuck you are lucky!