Part II
The old Impala is chewing up the asphalt. D’s fingers move from my thighs to become gently more insistent, tracing slow circles against my panties and pressing in softly. He lifts my knee just a bit, shifting my foot on the dashboard to part my legs a touch more, making sure he has perfect access to what he wants. But I can tell he’s still trying to leave me sleeping. I feel that sweet, familiar ache begin to build. There’s something about having a man touch you when he thinks you’re asleep that’s so tantalizing. It’s taboo. Even if you’re his woman, he doesn’t necessarily have your permission to take advantage of you while you’re unconscious. It makes it easy to believe that he’s simply taking what he wants… touching you for his own pleasure rather than yours, regardless of whether it violates you.
As much as the thought of it makes my heart race, I all but force myself to ignore the heat building between my legs and keep dozing. I drift in and out of that perfect, dreamy, aroused state, all the while knowing that he has to be pleased with the wetness he is creating. As I doze off again, I think I feel him softly tugging my panties to the side, slipping his fingers lower to check his work more closely.
The sun is a bit closer to the horizon when I wake again. Our journey has already found a place that is warmer and softer—swampy, but scented with a magnolia-bourbon sweetness. The road twists a bit more than when we started out. The air has the hint of a chill and tall trees tower over us. The car is stopped along the side of a mossy, still creek. The sound of the first crickets and frogs of the evening drift up from the water.
These are not the things that wake me. D’s head buried under my skirt, his soft tongue lapping between my legs, my body now somehow splayed across the wide backseat… this is what wakes me. The disorientation is beautiful. I open my eyes to an expanse of bright pre-dusk blue sky, and lose myself in orgasm moments later.
“If you wanted me to drive, you could have just asked.” I tease after I catch my breath.
“Not yet, Babe.” He gets out of the car and stretches, and I see the outline of his hard cock through his shorts. “We’ve got to get going, but I’ll be driving while you return the favor.”
“Mmm. Yes, Sir.” I lean over the hood and light a cigarette, already wet again at the thought. “But we’d better put the top up once we get back out onto the main road.”
“Nope.” He slides a hand up the back of my thigh and presses himself against me.
I let out a tiny gasp. I imagine truckers peering down at us, throwing D a lewd honk and a thumbs up as they admire my ass in the air, my skirt blowing around me in the wind, and my mouth around his throbbing cock. I picture D leaned back, one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of my head, returning their attention with a knowing nod and a smile. My face flushes bright red. I start to protest but he slaps me on the ass before I can get the words out.
“Wipe that innocent look off your face and get in the car.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Gravel scurries around in the dust behind us, and my blush deepens as I notice that he’s tied my soaked panties to the antenna like a badge of honor.
Note: You can find Part I here.
(via pornandchicken)
Big, big day tomorrow friends. I’m busy reminding myself that I’m good enough, smart enough, and so damn hot I could make out with myself in a mirror. Sadly, tomorrow is a test of wits, and any potential hotness benefit is further mitigated by the fact that it’s taking place over the phone.
On the plus side, they’ll never know if I’m not wearing panties. Wish me luck, Tumblr.
(via bryanson)
Here’s what I’ve learned this week.
Writing fiction is fun and I’d like to do more of it.
You guys liked the fiction too.
So did he, and it inspired a homemade breakfast… no-name diner style.
The real world is still better.
Physical restraints aren’t necessary.
Tumblr, let me tell you something. I always liked the idea of being tied down, because I could never picture myself as a girl who would just lay there and take it. You want to give me a spanking? You’ll have to work for it. You think you’re going to whip my pussy? I’d like to see you try - these thighs are a steel trap. Want to get inside my mind? Good. Fucking. Luck.
That was hubris, my friends. Pure ego.
I have found someone with the physical and mental strength to actually dish out what’s been coming to me. I am small, and am far weaker than he is. He can hold me down, spread me open, and tell me to look at how exposed my pussy is before giving it a good smack, and there’s nothing I can do about it. And he can get me to a mental place where I promise to be still and quiet, offer my bottom up willingly for more punishment, and let him have his way with me, if only he’ll let me breathe for a moment. A place where I call him Sir naturally, because he’s earned it. And Monday night, he did all of that and more. His hand still stung the next day, as did most of my body. And I never saw it coming.
Thank you, Sir.
(via ginkitten)
I am nothing if not a fan of star-crossed love stories. How adorable is this?
Hello. For the past four months I have been regretting my decision to not talk to you on the ferry and now I’ve decided to do something about it. It was August 8th when we first saw each other on the express bus out of Vancouver to horseshoe bay. We both took the ferry to Departure bay. Halfway through the trip the boat stopped for a safety drill and we saw each other on the upper deck. You were taking pictures and then leaned on the rail beside me. As much as I wanted to, I never said anything, and I’ve never regretted anything more than that. I think you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and I would very much like to meet you.
If you are her, Email me at: ferrygirlsearch@gmail.com
Reblog this to help me find her. Please.
My friends, things are going well. I’m presently putting in many more hours on this full time student gig than I think I ever did as an employee, and that’s saying something. But—-with the exception of the small nagging worry that I’ll never work again and we’ll starve under a bridge while trying to live off of our love, dumpster scraps, and the generosity of strangers—-I am loving it. I am happy.
And yet, this picture. Wow. I saw it and was transported instantly into a detailed vision that most shrinks would call an escape fantasy:
We have somehow acquired, borrowed, or rented a convertible—a big old one I think. Early ’60s Impala, something like that. Red. We have thrown our middle fingers up to the world, blown off our obligations, haphazardly packed a bag of essentials, and set out just before dawn for someplace warm and dry - Texas or southern California perhaps? Mexico? It’s hard to tell, but I know it’s west of here. I drive the first stretch, with D asleep by my side, his unconscious hand lingering on my knee. I want him to rest well. I leave the radio off. The silence and the smell of fog lifting clear my mind; the accelerator rumbles under my bare foot; the gypsy blood in my heart tells me to press down harder. I map out a route in my head—it’s not the straight shot that it could be, but we’re not on a schedule and I’m bored with seeing the interstate. Besides, I’d rather cut south right away… we’re both tired of being cold.
After awhile, we stop for black coffee at a no-name greasy spoon along the road. As we open the door, the smell encourages us to grab a seat and add some hash-browns and bacon to our coffee order. The food is good and warm and the stools at the counter are filled with old men telling worn out stories, who are only too happy for a fresh audience. Their wives are gathered at a booth in the corner; they eye my cleavage disapprovingly and whisper to one another. The waitress shakes her head. Smiles. Keeps the coffee coming. We order seconds of bacon just to have a reason to sit and listen a little longer.
Once our bellies are full, we head back to the car and D takes the wheel. I climb in beside him, prop my feet up on the dash, crank up the radio, let the wind style my hair, and chain smoke like only someone who is driving west in a convertible on a whim can chain smoke. Eventually, the road noise encourages me to doze just a little. It’s restful, but I’m still aware of the sun on my face, the scratchy sounds of the radio, the smell of asphalt and warm grass blowing in, D’s fingers intertwined with my own, and the miles disappearing behind us. I feel his hand loosen from mine and gently slip up my thigh. My legs part slightly, slowly, as though they’re trying not to stir me from my sleep. I feel the breeze tickle against the growing dampness in my panties…
All of this first thing in the morning from just a picture. Maybe we do need to get away… that cancelled trip from earlier this fall must be weighing on me. As such, Part II of this story may be forthcoming in a few days if I make enough progress as a good little student.
Update: You can find Part II here.
(via gentlekama)
Movember is almost over, and my man grew an admirable stache. ‘Tis a pity though, I never thought to grow one of my own.
Ms Lemon?
Some men will do anything to cheat for Movember when they can’t grow their own ‘tache.
(via fuck-yeah-sex)
Dear Tumblr. I’ve worked myself to death over the last week, and still have a lot to get done tonight. But I’m tired and need to procrastinate for just a little while. I’m in a sappy mood, and there’s a story I’ve been meaning to tell you for over a month now. It’s just a little thing, I swear, and was so effortless that he may not even remember it happened. But it’s reminded me that this man has brought out a girly, feminine side of me that I’d fought off for years. And that’s a good thing.
We were at a hotel. Nothing romantic, just a cheap, dingy place—the tiny kind with the sink and vanity and everything in one room, bright 80s decor, a touch musty. Just a place to hang our hats for the night so we could attend an event early the next day. It had been a long day and we’d just come back from an awesome dinner followed by a great time in a smokey dive bar, so I grabbed a quick shower before bed. I got out, we chatted about something inconsequential, he went back to watching basic cable on the tiny TV, and I went to the sink to dry my hair.
After awhile, I looked up to see if he’d fallen asleep, and our eyes met. “What are you doing?” I asked. His reply? “Watching you dry your hair. I never get to see you do it at home, you always shut the door.”
I was completely tongue-tied. I have a lot of hair, so God knows how long he’d been watching. This is the kind of stuff they put in romantic comedy date movies for girls. I couldn’t have been any more blown away if he’d walked in with a dozen roses. I think I replied with something brilliant like “Oh. Yeah. I shut the door at home because it’s loud.” Or I might have made a silly joke about how he was “busted,” because he busts me all the time when I’m staring at him. But inside? Inside, I was thinking “I didn’t know they made men like this. I moved nearly a year ago and he still likes me well enough to watch me dry my hair? I am one lucky girl.”
Happy Thanksgiving my friends. Dinner is served.
i served dinner to my whole family today. i’ll be serving something different tonight.
happy thanksgiving!
You’re my serving slut, aren’t you?
A poignent submission from my dear friend, Vinked. I couldn’t agree more.
______
Definition of the Orgasm…through a Picture
While playing with the colour in Photoshop, I stumbled upon this, and in my opinion, it works perfectly. For just that split second, the world shifts into the view on the right. At the height of release, everything looks that much more vivid, so much more…alive. You can almost feel your surroundings pulsate with you. That is the definition of an orgasm.
Baby… wanna play Night Game?
Here’s the problem. This picture. Unf. And the caption makes it even hotter. But I’m terrible at being a brat… well, at least in the bedroom.
Dont make Me force you sweetheart, stop being a brat and do what your good at
(via 26hundredmiles-pics)
Dear Tumblr. I promised not to prattle on about the new blog too much over here. But here’s a confession that may interest you. I’ve realized that I’m posting things over there that are… perhaps out of character for what you’ve come to expect from me. I’m freer there. I can post the darker, dirtier, sometimes scarier side of 2600. The things I couldn’t put here because I’m still too shy to muster any words to go along with them. Words like “yes, do this…please” or “holy shit this is terrifying and hot” or “wow that looks like it hurts, can we try it?” or most often, “Dear me, that looks perfectly humiliating…” I always knew I had a darker side than what you’ve seen so far. I’ve tried very hard to not censor myself if an image really does stir something in me. But looking through what’s still in the queue over there, I think I’ve surprised even myself.
“Yes Daddy! Fuck this little slut’s throat! Shove your big cock all the way down her throat! You like that bitch? You like my Daddy’s big hard cock fucking your throat like that? Ooooo Daddy I can feel your cock going down her throat! It so big Daddy! I’m gonna hold this little slut by the neck to make it tighter for you, okay Daddy? Oh gawd it feels so good sliding down her neck! I want it down my throat next, okay Daddy?”
Happy Animated Weekend Everyone!
Dear Tumblr. A couple of months ago, I told you about the real world taking a turn for the worse. Our trip to get inked, as well as much, much more, was ruined, and a tremendous roller-coaster ensued. Well, I figure I owe you an update. I am embarking on the second craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life. For the next few months, 2600 will be a full-time student/nerd. There’s an almost-finished Ph.D. that’s been hanging over my head for several years, and the time has come to shoo that monkey off of my back for good. The rest of life has conspired to make this, if not the perfect time, than at least the closest thing to it that I’m likely to find. Wish me luck, and try not to distract me too much with your filthy pictures, OK?
And Baby… thank you. From the bottom of my heart. You know how long this has hung over my head, and what it means to me. We always talk about what I did or didn’t “sign up for” when I came out here. Well, you didn’t sign up for the drama that led up to this, the risk that goes along with it, or the level of support and reassurance and confidence it may require to go forward from here. But you’ve weathered the drama, accepted the risk, and shown me more support and confidence than I ever could have asked for—more than I’ve ever had from anyone, and much more than I expected. It’s blown my mind. We are a team, Baby, and I love you for it. xoxoxo
(via iloveyourtaste)
I’ve never dated a military man before now, and everyone in my family who served had passed on before I was born. So the rush of having someone by my side who not only signed up, but actually served overseas, is new to me. But I’ll tell you this. It effects my head, my heart, and certain other unmentionable parts of me equally. I think of his willingness to sacrifice and it blows my mind. My heart swells with pride at his bravery and selflessness. And when my eyes fixate on his tattoo, or his broad shoulders, or the way that even years beyond active duty, he can still pick me up (or hold me down) with one arm… well, my panties tell that tale. Today isn’t that different than any other day in which I’m inspired to tell the world how lucky I am… it’s just that I have an extra excuse to do it. Happy Veteran’s Day, everyone. If you happen to live in a country where you can view and/or post dirty pictures all day without getting stoned to death, you know who to thank.
“All gave some; some gave all.” Show appreciation for our veterans today!
Happy Veteran’s Day, Baby. This picture is a little silly, but serving your country is no laughing matter. I’m so, so proud of you. xoxo
Your Kitten wears Army Boots.