I literally felt like I did not have a choice.
Honestly scrolled past it, then went back and reblogged it. You can’t deny robin williams.
^ I did exactly that.
robin williams demands it.
robin williams wants me to.
Well ..what Could I do, Is Robin Williams…
I really tried just scrolling past this, I just couldn’t…
I debated for 2 minutes… I just HAVE to reblog it. Omg.
I was like “Fuck Robin Williams.” And then I saw it again as I scrolled up, and reblogged it.
Basically all of this^^ This picture has so much power.
Omg I had too -.- :P
Who da fuqq is robbin williams? omg i’m so lost :(
Robin Williams, y u so persuading?
Robin Williams tells you to reblog. So you reblog.
Can’t. Resist. Robin. Williams.I’ve been wanting to have a Robin Williams’ movie marathon. Bring your RB movies, and Gatorade over!
I couldn’t say no.. It’s his facial expressions/features.. His eyes just.. Idk..
fuck. yep. those glasses. okay.
jesus fuck why
my rights have been taken away
I had to
Robin Williams demanded….
okay i must
When he told her to bend over the desk, she’d done it like a lady might, legs held together, face a mixture of naivety and mild confusion. She’d even shaken a little, the trembles out of trepidation and anxiety rather than any true fear. That she’d left at the door, along with her autonomy, and a few of her choice possessions. Her skirt was a crumpled heap on the floor, a forgotten thought, lost in the chain that got her from there to here.
Bend over, he’d said, and so she had. But not how he’d wanted, not like he wanted her to be. He didn’t want a lady, not now, not here. The lady was with the skirt, the lady was the one he took outside these walls, showed off at coffee shops and gala dinners. The lady wasn’t the one about to get spanked and fucked, the lady wasn’t that kind of girl.
He took a step forward, and bent himself, his hand going to her ankles and starting to pull them apart. She whimpered, and he savoured that sound, one hand sliding against her calf, fingers against skin, feeling the flesh pimple underneath his fingertips. She shivered again, as she felt that, and he couldn’t help but smile.
There was a tension in her legs, the muscles in her calves standing out in sharp relief. She wanted to resist, to push her legs back closed, and he could see that desire painted across those shapely limbs. But he didn’t let them, gripping the ankles with strong holds, always pulling, always pushing, making sure they spread and spread and spread, until her arse started to depress into the table, her body forced to hang from it.
He stood back up, and stepped back. She hung there, positioned like a mannequin for him, except for that pensive look on her face, the animated lip quivering with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. Another thing he couldn’t help but savour, and just as she bit her lip he licked his.
“That’s how I want you.” He murmured. It was almost a mumble, a whittering to himself, but she heard the words as if they’d been whispered into her ear. It made her moan again, the sound devolving into a whimper before it even left her lips.
“You spread, because you’re not a lady. You spread because right now, you’re a slut, and a slut makes sure everything is on display.” He smirked, lips curling in a mimicry of devilry.
“You want to display yourself for me, don’t you?”
She winced, knowing that the question wasn’t rhetorical, even though they both know the answer. She tried to nod, even though she knew it wasn’t going to be good enough. She tried to express her assent, in any way but verbal, even though he’d make her say it anyway.
He stepped forward, casually, and brought his hand down hard against her rear, the sound an audible slap to the face as much as it was a physical slap to her arse. Her eyes squeezed shut, and he leaned down close.
“You want to display yourself for me, don’t you?” He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, before: “Slut.” Slammed down on her like a Judge’s Gavel.
She took a breath and hesitated. “Yes, Sir, I do.” Her voice was croaked, but it was enough. For now.
It’s never the sex I miss the most.
The sex fills a void, and brings life into sharp relief. It creates those transcendental, world shattering moments where you literally stop thinking for the first time in your fucking life, and are finally able to think clearly, to actually know what clarity means. It’s the time of our lives, truly, and it can get as kinky as all hell. The sex is good. The sex is great.
But it’s never what I miss the most. It’s amazing, it really is, but it’s not what I feel most keenly when you’re gone, or when you’re not here yet. It’s not about me wanting to fill you with me, to be in you, and to enjoy that feeling more than anything I’ve hitherto experienced. It’s about all the other moments, the bits in between, the filler before the killer.
It’s about cuddling in front of the television, and watching something god awful but laughing along to it anyway. It’s about cooking food together, or even alone, so long as we do the eating across from one another at the table. It’s about the time that we get lost in Covent Garden looking for that one Sushi place that you absolutely must watch me try. It’s those moments, the in betweeners, that matter the most. They’re the ones I miss most keenly, the ones I pine for.
Because they’re the ones that form the relationship. That’s life, in the little things. Our sex is there too, but it’s too primal to properly give us the opportunity to breathe, and to breathe one another in. You fuck, and then you live. The sex is a pause on life, while the rest of the time you live it.
I wish I could write this well..
Kiss, bite, suck, lick.. I’m not picky, if your mouth is on my neck we will more than likely be fucking in the near future.
Sometimes she couldn’t quite explain it to herself. She didn’t fully understand why it made her so wet to be handled roughly. Why twenty minutes of kissing did next to nothing but two minutes of spanking left her throbbing, gasping, and wanting more… The only thing she knew was that it thilled them both when He grabbed her neck, called her His little slut, and tied her up. She knew she loved it all and most of the time, that was enough.
The submissive held out her hand and whispered, “Please Sir?” Her Master looked at the offered leash and then back into her eyes. “Please what, little one? Speak up.”
“Please Sir, will you play with me?”
“If you insist.”
The girl had been standing there helpless since He had left. It could have been twenty minutes or two hours, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was He had teased her almost to the point of no return and then stopped without warning, leaving her tied to a post, binldfolded, shaking, and dripping. She hadn’t heard a thing since the door had closed but strained to hear the slightest noise that would mean the return of the pleasure and more importantly, the return of Him.