yes-darling

[yes-darling]

Hi. I was trying to be decent, I really was, but you’re here now and my knees already feel traitorous. Shoes off, please. Or don’t. Honestly, I don’t care, just come closer and say something awful. I missed the way you ruin me with small talk.

[yes-darling]

You always lick the spoon clean. I have ideas for your mouth that are less culinary.

[yes-darling]

I refilled the ice trays and pressed one between my thighs. For science. For you.

[yes-darling]

You left the lights on in the bedroom. You wanted to be seen. Lucky me.

[yes-darling]

You leave bite marks on my chest and call it affection.

So I return the favor, but lower.

Below the hips. Inner thigh. Teeth, tongue, tongue again—until you’re twitching and embarrassed and calling me names through gritted teeth.

And I say, “you’re welcome.”

Because I’m polite.

[yes-darling]

Our fingers grip hard enough to bruise, hips colliding like its a fight more than a fuck. Both of us keep count of the marks we leave. Later, we’ll compare in the bathroom mirror, smug over which ones will last longest.

[yes-darling]

what's that called? when a dom just can't help but be vocal about how badly they want you. when they just keep grunting in your ear, when they talk to you, telling you how hard and wet you're making them, when they describe how you're making them feel. doms who forgive so easily when you misbehave, because you're just their lovely thing. doms who make you look at yourselves in the mirror, whispering all the filthiest details of what they want to do to you. doms who keep fucking you after you came, or hell, after they came, because you feel too good and they just can't stop.

needy doms. yeah that one. i want that one.

[yes-darling]

I want you to touch me while discussing dinner plans.

I’ll keep my voice steady. I’ll say roast chicken.

You’ll say yes, good, and then fuck me on the kitchen counter.

[yes-darling]

Indulge me while I repeat myself: ageless blogs, do not interact. I assure you, my block button works beautifully—and I do so love to use it.

I say this gently and I mean it entirely—

Ageless blogs will be blocked.

If your blog does not clearly state that you are over 18, I must ask—do not interact.

Not because I doubt you, per se, but because I refuse to guess. I do not entertain ambiguity, especially not here.

This space is curated. Intentionally so. And while I take great pleasure in indulgence, I take even greater pleasure in boundaries that hold.

If you belong here, you’ll know to say so.

[yes-darling]

I’m not saying I got hard while vacuuming the rug you came on last week, but I am saying I paused. Thought about it. Leaned on the handle and whispered your name like it was something fragile. You always leave a bit of yourself behind, don’t you? On the mug, on my collarbone, in the way I stir my sugar in now with two fingers instead of a spoon.

[yes-darling]

Guys im thinking about boot humping again. I wanna hump a boot so bad. I want my partner to play with my hair while they coo about how cute I am. Im not allowed to cum or touch myself but i can hump their leather boot with my boxers on and i just...stay there. While they work from home. While they game or watch TV. I sit on their boot, hug their leg, and hump their boot till my boxers are soaked and they are laughing at my desperation.

[yes-darling]

You thanked me for doing the dishes.

I told you it was nothing.

It won’t be, when I put you on the counter and repay myself in full.

[yes-darling]

A list of things I undo slowly, just because he watches.

The knot of his tie. Because I like dragging it loose inch by inch. Because his throat is too lovely to be covered. Because the sound of his swallow is better than the tie itself.

The buttons on my shirt. Because he pretends not to notice the pace. Because I like him holding his breath by the second button. Because the pause before the last one is where I always catch his eyes in the mirror.

The drawstring of his sweats. Because it’s such a ridiculous thing to do with ceremony. Because he laughs softly, then stops when he realizes I’m not joking. Because I like the way his stomach tightens under my hand.

The zipper of my own jeans. Because I like him watching my fingers work at myself first. Because it makes him shift where he sits. Because I know he wants to help and I never let him.

The blanket covering his hips. Because I like peeling it back as if unveiling something sacred. He always shivers, though he isn’t cold. Because I want him on display, mine to admire, slow and unhurried.

[yes-darling]

You said “Come to bed.”

So sweet.

I will.

But you’re not sleeping until I’ve made a mess of your good intentions.

[yes-darling]

A list of things I do because I can.

• Take the towel off his hips, even when he's not facing me. Because I prefer him bare in the kitchen, thank you.

• Reach under his shirt while he's cooking, just to rest my hand low on his stomach, thumb brushing the waistband, so he forgets what he was saying mid-sentence. I like the way he stirs things slower after.

• Pull his legs over mine on the couch. Not for warmth. Just because I can. Because I like the weight. Because I like the way his socks never match, and I like slipping my hand between his thighs while the movie keeps playing.

• Kiss the back of his neck while he's brushing his teeth. Because I enjoy watching him brace one hand on the sink while trying to stay composed. Because he always spits and swears softly after. Because the mirror shows me everything I want.

[yes-darling]

You asked what I wanted for dinner. I said “you.” You laughed. You served both. We eat well.

[yes-darling]

You button your shirt all the way up. I like taking it apart one pearl at a time with my teeth. Quiet work. Good manners.