Notes from Daddy's Desk

rolledtrousers:

At some point, the sleeves are always rolled back. The second act of the evening, once everything is in place, once the flirting and the fore-foreplay is over, and you’re tied and naked, anticipation quivering through you, is usually a good time.

They’re a signal, right there. That things are about to turn, in the best way, the way that you’ve been wanting and fantasising about for so long. It’s a signal that the wining and dining, the brushing your hair back from your face, the soft words, all of that is going to diminish in your rear view. 

They’re a signal that you’re done, really. Choice is a luxury that you’ve laid at the end of the bed, and now you’ve entirely surrendered yourself over. You squirm, of course you do, but you’re not going anywhere. And once my sleeves are rolled up my cuffs aren’t about to get in the way, they won’t brush against you or snag against clamps or cuffs, gags or blindfolds. 

They’re a signal that playtime is over, and that playtime is about to begin.

(Source: cunnybunny, via closeted-bisexual)