My Love. I stepped outside just now. One final smoke before bed, hoping to clear my mind, fingers crossed wondering if you’re having a quiet night at work.
I opened the door, and the smell of the outdoors hit me in the face and immediately threw me back three years. Early summer, the smell of wet green growing woods from the shady deck of your old apartment. It smelled just now so much like my first trip here that I wondered for a moment if a day had even passed, or if perhaps I had only imagined these past three years, forecasting my potential future while leaning against your sliding door one morning on that first visit.
I can still see you there, leaning on the pillar in the corner. “Things are simple here, Babe” you told me—a warning or an invitation, I was never sure. I saw the nervous excitement in your eyes at what might be growing between us, and how I might be judging your home, your family, your town…your life, as I experienced it all for the first time. My own mind reeled and spun, not sure how or when to tell you how much it all felt like home. How much it all felt familiar, like a life that had been carved out for me and set aside until I was ready to find it and make it mine.
Before I moved, I filled my nose every time I was here - yes with you, Your Smell that I love so, so much, my nose buried in your chest as we slept, lingering for one last fix in the crook of your neck at the airport. But you might never have noticed that I also breathed in this place every chance I got. That sweet, warm, green smell… lingering now outside my very own front door. I’m sleeping with the windows open tonight.
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)
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)
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)
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.”
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)
Dear Friends,
I realize that many of you may not have ever clicked through to the actual blog, following through your dashboard only. But for those who have, and especially for those who have been following since the early days, you know that since the day we finally confirmed that my Baby would be coming to snatch me up and bring me home, I had a countdown in my sidebar. And once we were reunited, I modified it to count up our days together, rather than counting down to the finale of our separation.
Well guess what. Take a gander at that counter now. Sweetie, it’s been a year of ups and downs—between us, and in life in general. We’ve been to funerals, fought with family and each other, lost friends, lost confidence, and run ourselves ragged in general. But it doesn’t feel like that. Looking back, it feels like a year of pure, uninterrupted bliss. And that’s because I’ve done it all with you by my side.
D, I hope you’ve realized by now that there is nowhere else on earth I’d rather be. Thank you for coming to get me, my Love. Week 3 came and went. Welcome to week 52 and beyond.
Dear Tumblr. A year ago today, I sent my Love a special email. See, through our whole relationship (even before I had a Tumblr account), I’d been sending him Dear Old Love links, because sadly, love letters to former loves made me somehow think of our star-crossed situation. I had a habit of sending them along with long and rambly emails when I was traveling for work, tipsy and alone in hotel bars. But this particular link…. well, as soon as I read it, I knew I had to save it for a special day.
And that I did. I embedded it in an email I’d had drafted for literally months (I started it in January 2010, and sent it in October 2010). I kept re-reading and editing, trying to make sure that as soon as I was able to make it true, it would be perfect enough to send. And then… I made it true, and it was perfect enough, and with a lump in my throat, I pressed that send button a year ago.
So here it is my friends. This is (most of) the email I wrote to let my Baby know that everything was finally in place, a date was set, and a one-way ticket was purchased to come and get me and drag me back across the country and home to him. Sorry that I’ve had to modify or delete a bit of too-close-to-home info… hopefully the sappiness shines through all the same.
My Sweet Baby,
Over the last year, I’ve loved you from 2600 miles away. I’ve loved you from the turnpike in Jersey, the cobblestone streets of Boston, the airport lounge in Denver, and the seedy bars of Dallas. I’ve loved you from the scary prop-planes out of your hometown, the painful layovers in Cincinnati, my old bed at Mom’s, and my lonely hotel room in Atlanta. I’ve loved you, over and over again, through my memories of the city where we met — both trips now…..
Every day for the last year, you’ve been my first thought waking up, the comforting feeling in the back of my mind all day, and the last image in my head as I fall asleep at night. You’ve been with me the whole way.
This link was one of the very first posts I saw on this site, and I’ve been saving it all this time, just for this day:
http://dearoldlove.tumblr.com/post/134747206
D, I am ready to love you from right beside of you. Come and snatch me up. I do not want to live without you —anywhere— anymore.
Love,
C
Space Needle - Seattle
As I said, after I came the first time, I thought I was done. It was one of those full-body experiences - one of those fantastic orgasms that just finishes you for the night. I was wrong.
And I’ll tell you what made the difference, and honestly, one of the things that made me fall for this man from the very beginning, and I mean the very first moments before he’d even touched me… it’s the way he talks to me. It’s something I’d always dreamed of having and never thought I’d find.
And it’s not just his voice, which I talked about the other day. It’s more than that. Sometimes filthy, sometimes sweet and protective, but it’s always had something about it that’s just… I don’t know. Manly? It makes me tongue-tied just trying to describe it. It’s just got this way of making me feel like when we’re in bed, even those times when I think I’m taking what I want, he’s in control and knows what’s best for me.
Sometimes that may mean telling me that I’m just his little fuckhole, or commanding me to get on my knees. Some of those, in fact, helped me through months of our separation. There were moments I’d replay over and over, and they always had to do with remembering his words… “That’s my girl, fucking choke on it” was a masturbatory favorite.
Other times though—like last night—it means he’s holding me tight and urging me on, whispering in my ear “Come on baby… make it big. Come big for me.” Unnnff, it’s made me wet all day just remembering it.
There are all kinds of dirty names; I’ve been called by most of them and even begged for it at times. But there are some times when the most beautiful thing that can roll off your tongue and spill from your lips is MY name. It reminds me that you want all of me.
I said I’d tell you more later about what makes it so good. Here’s part of it. I am finally, sometimes, able to let myself slow down. This is different than us not being rushed for time… this is me getting over a long-term hangup.
I spent many years in relationships with men who had little to no interest in having sex with me, and one in particular who made me feel guilty for wanting to take my time when I finally did get him in the sack. I had some fleeting idea that building up to orgasm slowly could make them better, but after one particularly scarring incident where I tried, I gave up on that idea. So the combination of getting laid once in a blue moon and feeling like someone was doing me a favor when it actually happened meant that I tried to get off as quickly as possible. I’d chase that orgasm down like a freaking unicorn - “Oh God there it is GRAB IT QUICK!!”
It’s been a hard habit to get over - both physically and psychologically. Being with someone who actually likes to make me come has taken some time to accept, and my body has trained itself to come in a hurry regardless of what my mind says anyway.
But I’m getting there, and last night is a good example. I could have come almost immediately. He knows exactly how to touch me. But I stopped him when I was on the edge and gave myself some time. For a minute, I thought I had lost it. You know that feeling, when you almost come, and then don’t, and then can’t… but he’s patient. He built me back up, and Tumblrs, let me tell you. I thought I was going to black out. And when I came back to earth, I thought I was done for the night. I was wrong. I’ll tell you about that next.
Here’s the deal, my friends. Before I moved, I used to get kind of sweetly sad thinking about how even though it was going to be fantastic to get laid on a regular basis once we were finally together, nothing would probably compare to those first moments after we’d spent months apart. And it’s true that once in a while, I miss that all-consuming desperation—the tearing at each others’ clothes as soon as we shut the door. But here’s the deal. I didn’t bank on how much better it could be once we became more familiar with each other. Once we didn’t have the clock ticking over our shoulder… four days left together, get over here and fuck me again… two days till I leave, let’s stay in bed all day… I fly out in the morning and my pussy and throat aren’t numb yet, let’s stay up all night… that was fun in its own way, but I didn’t realize we were missing out on a different side of things.
Long story short (too late), I had mind-blowing orgasms last night, Tumblr. There are a couple of other reasons why, but I’ll write about those later. For now, just know that familiarity and easy access don’t have to breed mediocre, vanilla sex. I honestly didn’t think sex could get this much better over time—and I really didn’t think it could get any better at all, given how high a bar we set from the beginning. I am, for once, more than happy to admit that I was wrong.
(via dociledarling)
I’ve always been an optimist. I can find a silver lining under a turd if you ask me to. So on nights like this, when I sleep alone because you’re out saving the world, I think of the time not so long ago when I would worry about you from across the country and you would come home in the morning to an empty bed. I think of the texts I got from you a year ago, that said simply “God I need you.” I remember the times when you were run so ragged that we often got only two or three minutes on the phone every few days. This is better, Love. Way better.
It makes me think of you too, Tumblr. Many of you, I know, are still fighting the distance we endured. Some are wrestling with what to do—trying to bend fate to your will; others are resigned to be star-crossed lovers separated by circumstance until your next life. I understand; I know you have reasons, as we did, for enduring your separation. But to all of you, I give a piece of sappy advice I passed out to an individual a couple of days ago: chasing happiness is never the wrong decision.
***
Via seeksthenight
This story makes me squirm so, so much. I have ruined my panties and it’s not even noon.
This post is part of Theme Day: Make me a Woman
He’d said not to wear panties. He’d said not to close my legs at the restaurant. Even under the table, where no one could really see, I still felt shy, embarrassed. Twice He had to reach over and give my thigh a pinch, once in front of the waiter..who looked at me when I yelped out loud.
I fidgeted all through dinner, desperately trying to be good. Trying to forget how exposed I was. Trying to forget that anyone across the restaurant could see if they looked just right. He had even dropped His napkin twice to draw any wondering eyes lower. I thought I would die.
He wasn’t happy with me when we got home and told me to go straight to the bedroom. He’d be in soon. Ashamed of my behavior, I went to the bedroom and got undressed, the whole time my heart pounding like a drum, pulse racing. I knew He would not let this indescretion slide.
I sat on the end of the bed, twisting my fists in my lap. When I heard His footsteps, my head snapped up and I nervously blurted out
“I’m sorry Sir. I promise I’ll do better next time.”
He lifted His hand to silence me, the other hand holding something I had never seen before. He approached the bed, His dark eyes studying me. His look was stern, but there was no real anger behind His gaze and that eased my nerves some what.
“Lay back on the bed, knees up and don’t move.”
I did as I was told, pulse racing once again and watched as He strapped first one thigh then the other, the little locks clicked shut and my thighs were spread wide. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, to stop the persistent trembling that coursed through my body. But it did no good as He took a pair of handcuffs from His pocket and carefully cuffed me to the headboard.
“Tonight my little pet, you will learn that when I tell you to do something…you will do it. I know it isn’t easy, but I have complete faith in you and know it will only take one lesson”
He leaned down and brushed a kiss across my lips, fingers pinching the hard budded nipple. I whimpered and arched to the touch, but He pulled away and turned towards the door. He looked over His shoulder at my helpless state and smiled before turning off the light“Sleep sweet pet. I’ll see you in the morning”
I groaned, but didn’t say a word. It would be a very long night.
But are so good for lifting the hips for a perfect angle. D
spreader bars at your thighs are evil ;) -DD
Too much writing lately. I’ve been looking for the just-right pic to get this back in shape as a porn blog not a diary. This will do just fine. It’s fucking hot, plus I suppose it serves as a nice metaphor for what happens to girls who talk too much.
here’s the thing…
In my real life, I would not be able to do this
yet…I know more than a few people in the virtual world who would let me.
And a few of those who crave it.