One of my favorite rules.  It is so natural for a girl to want to cross her legs.  Especia

One of my favorite rules.  It is so natural for a girl to want to cross her legs.  Especially, wearing a dress or skirt (and another rule, is nothing to cover my girls sweet little pussy without explicit approval).  

I want her to keep her legs open always, to show me that she is always open to me.  That the sweet little pussy is mine whenever I want it.

alliradaye:

One of the more difficult rules I have is that I’m not allowed to cross my legs. This one is deceptively tricky. In a way, it might even be my most difficult rule.

He added this rule casually while we were out for drinks. So casually in fact that I didn’t know that it was a new rule at first. (So casually that I genuinely wonder if he even remembers I have this rule.) He had been fingering my cunt on and off under the table, so really, I should have known better than to cross my legs in the first place. He asked why my legs were crossed, I uncrossed them so he could reach my cunt again, and I thought that was the end of it. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.

With his fingers toying with my cunt, he told me I was never to cross my legs. He clarified that it’s not just that I’m not allowed to cross my legs when I’m with him. I’m not allowed to ever. Nor can I cross my ankles. Ever. And so, a new rule was added. A rule that drives me crazy.

It’s impossible to be mindful all the time, but I have to be in order to follow this rule. I’d never noticed before, but it turns out I used to cross my legs or ankles all. the. time. So this rule trips me up despite my best efforts. In the beginning, I used to catch myself with my legs crossed without even knowing how they’d gotten that way. A month in, I’m getting better at noticing just as I’m about to cross my legs and stopping myself. I’m hoping that eventually I will have learned not to do it entirely.

In the meantime, the rule is subtly mentally exhausting. It requires constant vigilance and mindfulness, and over such a small detail at that. I liken it to wearing a turtleneck: it’s like being strangled by a really weak guy all day, thank you Mitch for that imagery. Whether I’m consciously aware of it or not, I feel the low-level pressure of this rule all the time.

It drives me crazy, and sometimes I want to rip the turtleneck off. But there’s also comfort in the oppression. I hate this rule because I have to keep it in mind constantly; I appreciate it for exactly the same reason. It further blurs the divide I stubbornly try to maintain between the “normal me” and the “submissive me.” And that’s a good thing, I think.