(Source: secret-nerdycurves-ahead, via lusciousemma)
(Source: make-me-beg)
The role of submissive isn’t balanced equally with the Dominant. It’s not difficult to come home and take off your suit jacket, just to have your submissive crawl across the floor towards you. Perhaps it seems difficult to those who aren’t Dominant, but it feels oh so natural. Just the way things are meant to be. It’s part of the allure, I’m sure.
But even if it does feel natural for the submissive to do the crawling, to dress up for her Dominant, do all the little protocols and chores that he sets out for her, even if all that is second nature to her, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a jarring shift between the time when she’s at home, when she’s allowed to indulge her D/s leanings, and those of when she steps out into the wider world and tucks that part of herself away. When she walks on two feet, head held high, rather than dipped to the ground with her arse in the air.
I can leave the house and be the man I am inside it, albeit mildly muted. I can wear the same things, walk the same way, and people will react as if I didn’t enjoy spanking a girl thoroughly. It’s a conscious act of will that’s required on the part of the submissive, which is what makes it so delightful and precious to bear witness.
Especially delightful, and especially precious, if it’s done for me.
(Source: photosight.ru)
My relationship with lingerie amuses me. If I had my way, it would be all you wore, something that would become conditioned in you so entirely as to be second nature. But lingerie is simultaneously over and under dressing. It’s rarely appropriate outside of the bedroom, and yet the lace, the frills, the materials, all of them scream style and taste, a measured perception, and a considered ensemble.
And so when I’m dressed, you’re underdressed, all cleavage and just enough exposed leg to lead the eye all the way up to… there. It makes you look like a purely sexual being, which is entirely the point. But when I’ve undressed, well, that’s entirely the opposite.
You’re still that sexual thing that I want you to be, but suddenly the lingerie seems to be an unnecessary flare, something for you to show yourself off with, to emphasise rather than conceal. It’s an elaborate of your sexuality, rather than mere clothes. If anything, my lack of clothes makes yours seem all the more perverse.
A tasty little twist, I must admit.
(Source: 2drool4)
(Source: spaceghostdepressed, via just-thingys-i-like)
(Source: amyzing512, via just-thingys-i-like)
Oh, you sweet little thing.
Oh, you sweet little perverted, depraved, deviant thing.
You need that twin pressure, don’t you? There’s something missing if you dedicate yourself to one or the other, something that is just a mental block that stops you truly enjoying yourself. It’s not enough, with just the one. You need both, because you’re only satisfied with everything, rather than any one thing.
Insatiable is a word that’s far too bandied about. It gets thrown out there without consideration, or thought, and so its worth is slowly diminished, each utterance another wave crashing against its cliff face, until it’s worn away. But it fits, here. It’s considered, thought about, and deployed with the force of a megatonne.
To be truly insatiable you have to only be satisfied by it all, by being entirely filled.
Inside and out. Mentally and physically. Overwhelmed, and overflowing.
(Source: lovelywhore)
[Flash 10 is required to watch video]
oh god, that drop of precum, why why WHY doesn’t she lick it, I can’t handle it, I want to jump through the screen and lick across the tip of his cock and then go back to the balls, duh :D
(Source: amazon.com, via upwardthrust)
