I want to wrench open the boundaries and let out the raw.
I have an entire drawer of sexy panties. I have panties bought for nasty things. I have the most wonderful, little, white panties that when I held them up to really look at them, I could imagine Daddy rolling them down my ass. I have some that are the perfect material that a little girl would want to feel her Daddy’s fingers through. I have thongs that are cute to wear during play in a dungeon. I have panties that frame out the sweet spots on my ass. Those seem to help the aim of newer spankers. I have some that are purple because those were a past Dom’s favorite color. The same with blue, but I couldn’t ever find many that were blue. Mostly black, and some pink. I like a little frill. I like red, too. Just not too much.
I’m not crazy about panties that have words on them. I’ve only got a few pairs of those. My favorite says “badass” across the ass. I guess I love that pair. I think they’re funny. I’m sure that a D-type, flipping up my skirt to find them, wouldn’t. I’d wear some with my favorite football team on them! I should look for a pair or five of those and put them on my wishlist.
I have panties that are worthless when it comes to teasing. They’re too thin to sop up any of my juices. I have panties that came back to me in shreds. I had panties that never came back. I have panties that I’m going to fit into any day now. I have some that I’m not ready to get rid of yet, like an old t-shirt from college. Most of them were bought to match a bra, which is why that drawer will barely shut, too.
Most of the time, these panties are only worn during certain, or special occasions, which is sad to me. But Monday I decided that I was going to wear them every day. I can wear a tight tank-top or t-shirt, but it has to show my panties. I can change panties throughout the day, if I want to, depending on my mood.
Monday was day one. I wore a pair of my favorites, a black, 50’s inspired, sheer front with frilly sides. They also showed a nice bit of ass cheek.
Tuesday I started with some pink cheeky shorts that dip low in the front, decorated with tiny, white stripes. Then I changed into my “badass” panties once TH and I started talking football. Yeah, I’m going to get some Alabama Football panties.
Wednesday was a black pair that says “Love Me” across the ass. They were cotton. And I stayed within my color regimen on those, going black, pink, and white. I paired them with a tight, pink t-shirt and a whole lot of sass.
I had fun just writing about this. Changing panties and looking at myself in the mirror brought about a sexier side of my day-to-day life. I was a little more excited about reaching up on tip-toes to dust, and bending over to get the laundry out of the dryer.
I don’t know how many new pages I opened. I’m not sure of how many established pieces I have worked on since the “Tease” prompt went up. Thinking about what to write for this prompt has teased the fuck out of me.
I thought about writing possibilities and found myself knuckle-deep in my pussy. I imagined scenarios, and before I could finish them I’m rumbling away to G-spot heaven. I looked at my older work and even pictures for some guidance and have ridden cock to the point of not caring.
How hard was it for me to get down a well written piece that pushed me, one that wasn’t a cop out or fallback? I couldn’t. The entire thing was a big tease.
1. Tell us something kinky that you refused to do with a partner (ex or present) but secretly wish you had done. Learning better deepthroating techniques.
2. Pick your top three lovers and explain why you picked them! Brian, Thomas, and TH
3. Where on your body would you get your ex’s name inked on your body if you had to? Probably on my side.
4. Would you rather have sex on a Ferris Wheel or the bumper cars? Ferris Wheel
5. Men: Have you ever tracked a friend’s or partner’s periods for the purpose of treating them different during that time? No Women: How would you feel if a partner did this? I had a guy friend do that when I was about 14. He said he wanted to know when I was on the rag. Yeah, it sounds odd to me now, too.
Would you rather eat a white crayon or go down on Betty White? White crayon. Two of them.
Happy TMI Tuesday!
I have a confession to make. There are sand dunes in my submission brain. I’m craving for a shot of D-type. I believe I’m going through some kind of submission withdrawals. I’ve not even let myself mentally release the last few times that I’ve played.
I’m topping in my local group, due to a serious lack of education. That’s not what I want to do. I’m a sadist. I’m not a D-type. It’s got my filter all off kilter. My writing has become darker. It’s less about logical BDSM relationships and more about the scarier side of life in general. You haven’t seen what sits, waiting to be worked on, and their levels of boundary-crossing afflictions.
I wonder if this is what happens when a submissive starts to dry up.
I know I’m a little late getting this up, but Rori over at Between My Sheets is doing her annual Top Bloggers of 2013. So, if you love some of the nasty, sick, perverted stuff that I write, feel free to follow the link and nominate me.
You have to have your nominations in by September 30.
Your blog has to be at least a year old. Mine is about three and a half.
You DON’T have to have a blog to nominate one.
You have to have the correct blog link to nominate it. – http://thesindoll.com/
The picture has nothing to do with nominations, but I’ve been dying to use it.
He’d stopped the car in the middle of the winding road, and her in mid-sentence. It was dark, and the forest loomed over them on either side. His headlights, alone, chased the shadows away. He told her to run. Her face read shock as he slowly unlocked the doors. She slowly exited the car, silent, and with a head full of trepidation. Having never taken his eyes off the road, he didn’t start now, “If I catch you, I’m going to hurt you. Run fast, little girl.” That last part he had used a little sing-song voice, which was only a bit terrifying.
She wasn’t sure if it was the “woosh” of the car speeding away, or if the door shut by her own hand. She was still in spin mode. The high trees of the forest promised him to be a liar, but in an instant, her own fear took over. Her boots hit the few feet of pavement that she had left. She bolted. He grinned as he watched her from the rear view mirror.
He could smell her, even as he left her standing there. With the open door, he could smell the moisture in the air, and feel the coolness of the evening. She had on a thick sweater, jeans, and boots, but glancing in the backseat sunk his entire face into a frown. He wouldn’t be able to let her run as far as he wanted. He parked, straightened his jacked, and headed right for the deep woods.
She tore through the woods like a pixie/linebacker hybrid. Never had she been so light on her feet, yet taken such big, tumbling hits as this. She was going for distance. He had figured. She wasn’t the hiding type. He listened to her coming for almost thirty seconds before he broke into a full force run in her direction. The noise that he was making was overridden by hers. He wrapped her up when he hit her, full force, from the side. The impact sent them both tumbling.
After the two of them had stopped moving, he stood up and moved over her. She was making a sad attempt at crab-crawling backwards and mumbling with that fat lip she had scored. Her only weapons were the dead leaves she’d kicked up while trying to stand. He wasn’t smiling. He was grinning. He circled around her, closely.
Her mumbling became louder and it developed into a begging sob, lowering back down to her knees, as if to say that he’d physically beaten her. Her nose was pink and running. She tried to scream, but her throat was raw, from the huffing and puffing of running and falling.
She smelled so perfect for him. He just couldn’t understand what this one lacked. What to do?! What to do?! His fingers tightened into tight fists and he slammed one against his head. He took a deep breath, and then he remembered…
I don’t like it when they don’t run.
I don’t like it when they don’t play.
Pack it away for another day.
With a few deep breaths and a good straightening to his coat, he became much more controlled. Every move became more calculated. Every step seemed pre-planned. She wondered if she’d ever even had a chance.
His hands wrapped around layers of denim and boot leather, pulling her a bit at a time across the forest’s floor. Her head bobbled up and down with each little bump or lump. He chucked to no one about how agreeable and less opinionated she had suddenly become; but chloroform will do that to a girl.
Click below and see who else is being wicked this Wednesday.
Today’s TMI Tuesday is all about your ride–your car, your moto, your bike–your regular mode of transport, and of course sex
Watch video: Pebbles – mercedes boy
1. What type of vehicle do you use regularly? Truck, car, bike, etc
I drive a 2013 Challenger
2. Do you use public transportation–bus, train, metro/subway, cab? How often?
No and no. I’ve been in a cab a few times in Vegas and New York. I don’t wish that on anyone. Vegas cab drivers drive like they’re hopped up on goofballs and yellow-bombers.
3. Have you ever had sex in/on public transportation? Tell us about it? Yes, cars, trucks. Pick one.
4. I know most of you have had sex in a car or truck but how many times have you had sex in your present vehicle? None, actually. It’s brand new and I don’t want to ruin the upholstery.
5. When was the last time you had sex in car or truck type vehicle? Was it with a known person or a stranger? Well, it wasn’t sex, but mutual masturbation, and that was a few months ago.
6. Have you ever had sex on a bicycle or motorcycle? Seriously? A bicycle? I wouldn’t even know how to incorporate that laying down.
7. Stick shift or manual? Why? Either. I grew up on a stick. I have racing paddles on my car now.
8. Ever had sex on the hood of a car? (Hood = The part of a car that covers the engine and that can be raised. The British word is bonnet.) No. I’m rough. I’m sure I’d dent that shit.
Bonus: You are walking down the street. A very sexy and nude person (gender of your choice) pulls up next to you in their shiny new Mercedes Benz, they lower the window and say, “Do you want to ride in my Mercedes?” What do you do? Tell us what you want to do on that ride? I’d say no, but I’ll race you.
Bonus, bonus: What is the sexiest thing you have ever done in a vehicle? TH and I fucked in a bank parking lot, in front of the cameras. I was late for work that night.
He was in the backyard doing yard work, cutting the grass, edging, blowing everything off, and clipping everything what needed it. He was going from the garage, through the kitchen, and out the sliding doors, exchanging one piece of equipment for another.
She walked over to the doors and put her back to them, stripped down to her panties and a shirt that she wore around the house when no one else was around.
Move for yourself, even if he’s not watching, yet.
She rolled her hips, slowly. She leaned over, setting her elbow on the kitchen table and let her fingers go inside her panties.
Don’t do this for him. Do it for you. It doesn’t matter if he’s watching.
Is that caramelized sugar on the table? Oatmeal.
Find your clit. Just rub your cunt with your fingers. Feel yourself.
There’s a piece of plastic on the floor. I’ve got to vacuum. Don’t pick it up. Keep going.
Reach in just a little more and find your G-spot. Rub it.
She was ripping her mind away from her daily activities and focusing it on her cunt. She was trying, on her own, but the thought of him bursting through the door and pinning her to the table made it more exciting. Just knowing that he’d pull her panties down, fuck her, and then go back to what he was doing was bringing her whore out. She knew that he’d just use her hole.
She was standing there, working her cunt when he came in with the edger. He never really looked at her, just tried to maneuver the piece of equipment through the kitchen, and as if an afterthought, spoke backwards to her, “hey, I’m almost done. I’ve just got to blow off the back.”
He didn’t notice.
He hadn’t even noticed at all. She removed her hand from her panties and went to the sink to wash them. She wished soapy water washed away embarrassment. She went back to pick up the little piece of plastic on the floor, and then wiped the oatmeal off the table.