“No,” Rose says, simply. Sweetly. “I won’t.” She bends: presses a soft kiss to the worst-abused swell of Pearl’s ass. (Her skin is glowing-warm.)The gesture is a tender one, notched between crisp cruelty. “I won’t touch you for the rest of the night.” (And a lie, too.)
She lets the verdict dredge a milky, distressed whimper before going on. The mattress snickers as Rose’s weight shifts -- leaning closer to her head, now. The change spills Rose’s hair from her back and it feathers lightly over odd parts and pieces of Pearl. A sensory 180 from spanking.
“What I will do,” another kiss: this one at the lean sliver of shoulderblade, “is toy with you.”
An important distinction. Toying is for Rose’s satisfaction. The touching is done for Rose’s enjoyment -- so goes the pretense. It can constitute any number of verbal and digital and oral and dramaturgical acts directed upon Pearl, driven by Rose, and very obviously constructed around capitalizing on Pearl’s submissive tastes. But it’s critical that any pleasure Pearl feels is treated in-game as incidental and beside the point. This kind of play relies on that illusion: that Rose is above, and Pearl is below. That’s how this particular game goes.
But there can’t be any game if Pearl isn’t enjoying. And she enjoys more when she’s a little nervous.
“I’ll play with you,” another pop on the ass: more gentle, this time, “if you can be good. It’s hard, I know -- you have no discipline to speak of --”
One last grope: a handful of flesh near her upper thigh. Quick press of a massage, right over the tiny moon-shaped nailmarks.
“-- but you can be very, very good when you try.”
It’s time to get her off of her neck. A little rearrangement. Rose leans, reaching: snags a puffed pillow from the top of the bed and lays it flat to the right of Pearl’s head. Another goes next to her shivering hips. The towel is on the dresser still, so Rose slinks from the mattress to grab that, too; fabric sighs as she drapes it over the pillow. Too little too late, maybe, but there’s no reason not to.
A quick bundle of kisses stipple the dip of Pearl’s back as Rose carefully shepherds her into turning over. It takes pressure off of her bound arms, instead letting her rest on her shoulders. And her worn-out backside, too: it’ll be a nice reminder of her fresh spanking for the rest of the scene.
All the while Rose feeds her a lulling, plaited monologue about how embarrassing it must be for Pearl, to have so little self-control -- between the showerhead, and now the bed, Rose was beginning to worry about the rest of her apartment (“You can’t help but try to get off on who or whatever stands still long enough, can you?”). How sad for such a clever, pretty, sweet girl to be so shameless, so slavishly ready to let her base wants override her. What a waste.
“But don’t worry. I’ll play nice.” Rose finishes the last adjustments to their new position. Pearl: laid flat, weight bridged between shoulders and propped hips. Propped up this way, she should be comfortable. Most of her field of vision can only reveal Rose’s expression -- none of Rose’s movements. And Rose: nestled at the foot of the bed, one leg tucked comfortably underneath the other as she guides soaked thighs to butterfly wide. “As long as you don’t break any rules.”
Her tongue clucks: tsk. Coaching her face into something pitying and tender isn’t hard. She lets her eyes linger on the full, neglected sex one moment more before reaching over for the wand. “There’s just two. Don’t kick.” Unseen by Pearl, the wand pets along her soaked lips. Just warming against her. Then it nestles low: well clear of her clit, but a bit too firm to count as a ‘tease.’ “And don’t come.”
what f i literally only use this icon for the rest of forever
“No,” Rose says, simply. Sweetly. “I won’t.” She bends: presses a soft kiss to the worst-abused swell of Pearl’s ass. (Her skin is glowing-warm.)The gesture is a tender one, notched between crisp cruelty. “I won’t touch you for the rest of the night.” (And a lie, too.)
She lets the verdict dredge a milky, distressed whimper before going on. The mattress snickers as Rose’s weight shifts -- leaning closer to her head, now. The change spills Rose’s hair from her back and it feathers lightly over odd parts and pieces of Pearl. A sensory 180 from spanking.
“What I will do,” another kiss: this one at the lean sliver of shoulderblade, “is toy with you.”
An important distinction. Toying is for Rose’s satisfaction. The touching is done for Rose’s enjoyment -- so goes the pretense. It can constitute any number of verbal and digital and oral and dramaturgical acts directed upon Pearl, driven by Rose, and very obviously constructed around capitalizing on Pearl’s submissive tastes. But it’s critical that any pleasure Pearl feels is treated in-game as incidental and beside the point. This kind of play relies on that illusion: that Rose is above, and Pearl is below. That’s how this particular game goes.
But there can’t be any game if Pearl isn’t enjoying. And she enjoys more when she’s a little nervous.
“I’ll play with you,” another pop on the ass: more gentle, this time, “if you can be good. It’s hard, I know -- you have no discipline to speak of --”
One last grope: a handful of flesh near her upper thigh. Quick press of a massage, right over the tiny moon-shaped nailmarks.
“-- but you can be very, very good when you try.”
It’s time to get her off of her neck. A little rearrangement. Rose leans, reaching: snags a puffed pillow from the top of the bed and lays it flat to the right of Pearl’s head. Another goes next to her shivering hips. The towel is on the dresser still, so Rose slinks from the mattress to grab that, too; fabric sighs as she drapes it over the pillow. Too little too late, maybe, but there’s no reason not to.
A quick bundle of kisses stipple the dip of Pearl’s back as Rose carefully shepherds her into turning over. It takes pressure off of her bound arms, instead letting her rest on her shoulders. And her worn-out backside, too: it’ll be a nice reminder of her fresh spanking for the rest of the scene.
All the while Rose feeds her a lulling, plaited monologue about how embarrassing it must be for Pearl, to have so little self-control -- between the showerhead, and now the bed, Rose was beginning to worry about the rest of her apartment (“You can’t help but try to get off on who or whatever stands still long enough, can you?”). How sad for such a clever, pretty, sweet girl to be so shameless, so slavishly ready to let her base wants override her. What a waste.
“But don’t worry. I’ll play nice.” Rose finishes the last adjustments to their new position. Pearl: laid flat, weight bridged between shoulders and propped hips. Propped up this way, she should be comfortable. Most of her field of vision can only reveal Rose’s expression -- none of Rose’s movements. And Rose: nestled at the foot of the bed, one leg tucked comfortably underneath the other as she guides soaked thighs to butterfly wide. “As long as you don’t break any rules.”
Her tongue clucks: tsk. Coaching her face into something pitying and tender isn’t hard. She lets her eyes linger on the full, neglected sex one moment more before reaching over for the wand. “There’s just two. Don’t kick.” Unseen by Pearl, the wand pets along her soaked lips. Just warming against her. Then it nestles low: well clear of her clit, but a bit too firm to count as a ‘tease.’ “And don’t come.”
And then clicks on with a whirrrr --