#i could just add a hem in a critical place but then the pieces don't align as neatly

[wildwood-faun]

sewing and going slowly insane because of rectangles

[20dollarlolita]

Hi, circle skirt anon here. Thanks for the explanation, I think I got (most) of that. I agree that curved seams and hems are very annoying and I get the thing with circles stretching in some places and not others. I just think ruffles are even more annoying. Don't fret with how long you took to answer - it was at most two weeks and you're not required to answer me at all. I mean, I'm not, like, your boss or anything. I hope your dog cuddled your sorrows away and you feel better :)

This is a follow-up to this ask.

I thought about a better way to explain this, because I couldn't get it out properly last time.

Ruffles are critical to petticoats.

Picture an empty pillowcase. You have a Sunday copy of the New York Times and you need to fill the pillowcase as full as possible using just the newspaper.

There is no way to more effectively fill that pillowcase than to take that newspaper, page by page, crumple each page into a loose ball, and throw it in the pillowcase. You can cut the paper, fold it, build origami cows out of it, but nothing will get is as full in as few pages as loose paper balls. Even if you tape it end to end or cut it into a million little strips, loosely crumpled paper balls will win. The random and unorganized shape that happens when a big piece of paper is wadded into a ball actually gives it the strength to stand up to itself. This is the same thing that happens when you take a long strip of fabric and gather it as tight as it can go.

Now, a petticoat is more complex than a pillowcase full of garbage, because the petticoat has to 1) be attached to itself and attached to your waist and 2) has to support the weight of itself and the skirt, but the philosophy is the same.

Anon isn't going to come back with "but you used a tutu as an example in the last one and some tutus are pleated", but they could. So, here's my response.

First of all, pleated ballet tutus are pleated in a really specific way. I did a tutorial on it, actually. This pleating system CRAMS a TON of tulle into each inch. It's actually about 10" of flat tulle in every 1" of pleated tulle. They're pleated because, in this style of tutu, the flatness of the ruffle is actually a lot more important than the bulk the ruffle creates. A pleated tutu is 10-18 layers of tulle on top of each other, and then tied together. All of that has to attach the the tutu panty* in a space that's at most 3" tall. When you're doing a pleated tutu, you pleat it because the need for flatness of each layer is as important as your need to stick a ton of tulle to itself.

That Madoka petticoat I linked to in the last ask can use circle skirts for the same reason: the waistband needs to be flat because there were seven layers of individual petticoat that were all capped off with ruffles.

And also, a lot of tutus actually are gathered. This is true even in professional context. Here's a good example. Sometimes the top layer is double-flat-pleated to make it look extra pretty and lay flat for the heavily decorated plate that goes on top. Sometimes it's still just gathered.

Quick note to people making tutus, though: even if you're not putting a hoop in it right now, add a casing in your 4th-ish layer. Even if it's not a good casing, and you just slapped a 2" wide strip of tulle on it just to make me happy, do add that casing. Sincerely, someone who has had to go back and un-tack and awkwardly sew a casing into a completed tutu just way too many times to not beg people to do that. You're making a tutu last minute for fun right now, but somehow it WILL end up in my theater and I will have to stick a casing in it because it's now 19 years old and the tulle has gone soft and this is fucking THEATRE, BABY, and your garment is permitted to die when I say it will and not a flat fucking second earlier, thank you very much.

_____ *when they're sexy, they're "panties" in the plural, and when it's functional, it's "panty" singular. I do not know why this is, or how regional this is. This might be like how people in USA say "this is a pair of scissors" and people in Australia say "these are a pair of scissors". However, I know that absolutely no one in the ballet costumes business called it "the tutu panties"

[kickingitwithkirk]

She’s My Whip

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2250

Warnings: oral (m & f giving/receiving) sex, squirting, cursing, pornish language and other adulting things that make it 18+only

A/N:  A-Z Kink Challenge: Younger/Older  Written for @covered-byroses #cbrkinkchallange  Thank you Ms.Kelly for letting me participate in my first writing challenge

A/N: this is my first work (outside a drabble) I’ve ever let anyone read. I quit writing over a decade ago so I’m rusty as hell but working on getting my mojo back. Creative criticism welcome

A/N II: 3/21/21 I did some rewriting on this piece I love so much, fixing the things that’s nagged at me since original release.

* no beta , all mistakes are mine

*GIF not mine

“...So that’s when I knew I had closed the deal.��� The guy next to me at the bar Greg, or Gary, who'd been droning on about this deal for the last twenty minutes looked at me waiting for a response.

“That’s fantastic, congratulations on closing the deal.” You responded enthusiastically, faking it like an orgasm during bad sex. 

Sipping on the glass of wine he ordered, trying not to grimace at the taste and wondering for the umpteenth time what is it with men your age? Why did they feel entitled to decide what to order you without asking?

Now in your early forties you prefer men like your alcohol, on the younger side with an adventurous edge.

Tuning out ummm, David as he continues to prattle on about his whatever. He seems like a nice guy, kinda reminds you of that character from Pleseantville, the husband who kept saying where’s my dinner.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I need to speak to Ms. Y/L/N.” You both turn to see who is addressing you.

 Fuck me, he’s here.

He and his partner, Agent Dean Smith, showed up your workplace this morning about the weird event in HR department. They had every red blooded woman, and a few of the guys, drooling in their lattes. 

After your interview with Agent Smith, who’d been flirting with everyone female with a pulse during their interviews, he asked you for drinks and whatever.

It had been extremely tempting, he was ridiculously good looking with those succulent full lips, green eyes, bowed just enough for you to fit perfectly between legs and cinnamon freckles that made you wonder if he’s covered everywhere in them.

You hated to admit it’s been to damn long since any man has giving you such a through fucking, you know, the type that makes your legs shake uncontrollably when you cum and walk funny for days.

You had reluctantly..very reluctantly.. turned him down. The reason being the man standing behind you.

“And who might you be?” Ralph maybe, asks rudely.

 Agent Samuel Wesson flashes his FBI credentials at possibly John before turning to addresses you. He’s delicious, literally walking sex with those long, long legs.

“Ms. Y/L/N, could we go somewhere more private? I have some questions that need clarification.”  Unable to answer because your brain has migrated to your pussy that’s dripping wet from the sound of his deep, whiskey-honey voice alone.

Crossing your legs you clenched your thighs together trying to cover your down south problem but he tracks your movement with those indelible, fox slanted eyes and smirks.

Shit.

“Look, I don't care if your President...” Steve, IDK, says standing up to get in his face but falls short, literally, by several inches.

Biting on the inside of your cheek to stop bursting out in laughter you take a sip of the horrid wine to compose yourself because there is absolutely no way in hell your going to pass up on the opportunity to make time with this gorgeous mountain of a man who’s literally made you cum without even touching you. 

Standing up you insert yourself between them and play with Donny’s tie. “I’m so sorry, we were having such a good time, and I was thinking of asking you back to mine, but I’d feel awful if I know something and didn't help, please don't be mad at me.” You pout a bit, pretending to actually sound sorry, all the while internally cringing at the fucking drivel spewing out of your mouth to mollify whatchamacallit.

If anyone had asked you how you thought this night would have ended, never in a million would you have said that you’d be reclining on the hood of a ‘67 Impala in an empty field splitting a bottle of Knob Creek Whiskey with Samual Wesson, IE Sam Winchester, discussing everything from politics to debating if GOT’s ending was screwed up while stargazing.

Sam takes a long pull off the bottle before handing it back, “Why did you turn Dean down?” He inquires.

“I’ve been around long enough to know a player when I see one,” you take a long pull from the bottle, “and I’ve reached an age where I don’t and won’t be played.” You answer honestly handing the bottle to Sam.

He’s taking a drink when you cheekily add, “Besides, he’s too old for me.”

Coughing from the whiskey going down the wrong way Sam finally croaks out, “To old? He’s three years younger than you.” You raise an eyebrow at that.

“You know how old I am?” 

Sam starts peeling off the bottles label, “Yeah, I do. I checked out everyone who had any connection to the victim. I didn’t think you’d be interested, Dean’s well...Dean. Women are always attracted to him but then he said you turned him down and....”

“...you followed me to that bar hoping to get lucky?” It’s hard to see under the moonlight but you know he’s blushing, “I’ll admit it was sorely tempting but I turned Dean down because you're more my type.” Sam looked up in surprise. 

You shift towards him reaching for the bottle, “Look, I like younger men, it's my thing and I find I have more in common with them. Nobody thinks twice about some old fart fucking a twenty something, but if an older woman is sexually adventurous, oh my god everyone goes spar! Lots of younger men today prefer being with someone who’s life doesn’t revolve around kids, can hold an intellectual conversation and isn’t looking to put a ring on it.

I came across this British blogger in her fifties dating men in their twenties and they were the ones doing the chasing. She came up with this new term for women like us, W.H.I.P-Women who are Hot, Intelligent and in their Prime. Fucking better than that old, tired, cliche Cougar.” 

Sam ruminants over what you said, “So sexually adventurous...ever do it on an Impala?” He asks with a lascivious grin.

”Nuh-uh,“ you answer running your tongue teasingly around the bottles lip before taking a drink. 

Sam's eyes dilate as he pulls the bottle away, brushing his lips against yours to taste the whiskey lingering on them.

Opening your mouth you catch his bottom lip, sucking on it as he tangles his hands into your hair, deepening the kiss as you work at opening the buttons of his shirt. Pushing against Sam's chest he sits back a bit so you can remove it before shifting him fully onto his back, allowing you to straddle his narrow hips and making your skirt ride up revealing your cheekster panties

Sam slips his hand between your obscenely spread thighs, roughly palming your clit through the material making you hiss, reaching to pull his hand away before your cumming to fast. He takes hold your ass in both of his big hands grips tightly pulling and pushing, making you roughly glide over his rapidly filling cloth covered cock. He’s keeping you right on edge but not allowing you to cum, the friction from the grinding eliciting moans from both of you. He sits both of you upright suddenly, gripping your shirts hem lifting it off revealing your bare breasts to him.

Sam bends forward taking your left nipple between his lips sucking on it then bits down hard enough you cry out from the pain/pleasure of it. Tangling both your hands in his hair you tug until he switches breasts to give the same treatment to your other nipple. Dragging him off your chest you resume kissing him hard, both of you start fighting for dominance.

Reaching down you unzip his pants, dipping your hand in to caress him. Sam's head drops back with a groan, exposing his neck. Your lips travel down his throat, stopping, sucking a bruise just above his collarbone.

Sliding backwards off the cars hood you finish stripping him until he's lying completely naked, legs wantonly spread out across the hood. You watch him grip his cock stroking himself as you discard the last of your own clothes before climbing back on the car.

“You’re stunning,” Sam breathily says stroking himself harder.

Keeping eye contact you place your hand over his, guiding him down to firmly grip the base of his twitching cock to steady it as you move your hands around on the hood to balance yourself, bending over to flick your tongue along the underside of his shaft up to that specific sensitive area, your tongue teasing the nerves there, making Sam shiver and noisily start panting before slowly sliding up to the slit, lapping at the precum leaking from the tip before wrapping your lips around his cock and start steadily bobbing up and down, taking his ample cock as deep as you can without gagging.

“Oh fuck yesss..feels so good,” Sam moans out as his muscles jerk from the way your tongue is moving over his cock that’s suctioned tight in your mouth.

Pulling off you stroke your hand up and down his long, thick shaft, twisting towards the tip while watching Sam massage his balls.

Sam's head thunks against the windshield as his breaths coming out harsh and broken, hips bucking wildly around from the combined stimulation.

“Fuckingfuck... fuuuu...gonna…’ was all the warning he gives before spilling hot liquid over your fingers and spurting onto the Impalas hood, painting it with white splatters as you continue stroking lightly with your cum covered fingers, easing him through the aftershocks till Sam reaches down pulling you off, to sensitive for anymore touching.

Sitting up Sam cups your cheeks in his big hands staring intently at you with lust blown chameleon eyes. “How the fuck did you do that, I haven’t cum that fast since puberty.”

Instead of saying anything, you insert your cum covered fingers one by one into you mouth, sucking and licking till your hands clean of his spending. He wraps his big hand around your wrist pulling your hand away and deeply kisses you, tasting himself in your mouth. 

“Backseat now.” He growls getting off the hood and still holding your wrist gathers the discarded clothes with his other hand before dragging you with him around the car.

Opening the door he urges you to slide across the bench seat until you lying back against the other door legs spread wide to accommodate him as he’s climbing between them, somehow fitting his immense frame in the car.

Sam runs his long, slender fingers along the inside of your thighs, over your hips and stomach, studying every tremble and shiver to his touch moving to lightly stroke between your folds, inserting two fingers into your soaked channel searching for that spot. “Hmmm..” You moan out as Sam finds it.

Somehow he amazingly folds himself up and spreading his fingers to stretch your opening to delve his tongue into your core wanting a taste while continuing to stroke your thighs and hips with his other hand to keep you stimulated.

“Fuuuccckk,” the only warning you can give as you climax.

Sam adjusts the movements of his hand to keep working your swollen g spot, pushing you towards another orgasm.

The car fills with the wet squelching sounds with his fingers moving in and out of your drooling cunt as nonsensical noises come out of your mouth at the same time. 

“Uhhh...to much….can’t…”  your barley able to pant out pushing on the seat back trying to get some leverage to move away from him.

“Yes you can, cum for me again, I want to see you squirt, ruin the seat.” Sam growls out pinning both of your hands in his left one against the doors window.

You can feel it starting deep inside, begging for release, but your massively overstimulated and your body keeps fighting it.

 “Just let go, I know you can,” Sam says in a calm, level voice, stark contrast to his animalistic actions, “let it happen…let go!” Your bodies shaking violently, hips thrusting up off the seat as your orgasm hits so hard you silently scream, your inner muscles spasming your release, flooding over his wrist and hand onto the leather seat below.

He briefly continues the steady movement of his fingers then gently pulls them out as your walls continue clenching around nothing.

Releasing your hands he picks up your discarded skirt wiping your overused pussy tenderly, cleaning you up as much as possible before lifting your hips and placing the old army blanket on the seat and lying down behind you spoons your quivering body till it’s calmed.

 “You ok?” He asks softly stroking your arm, soothing you. “Yeah, better than ok,” you drowsily murmur, “what possessed you to recreate the night we meet?”

“Wanted to do something special for our fourth anniversary.” He lovingly replies nuzzling your neck.

 “And your birthday,” you feel Sam make a face at being reminded he is now thirty-six. “Why is this one bothering you, they never have before.”

 “Its stupid,” he sighs, making you turn your head enough to look at him. “Dean noticed that grey hair and..”

“..gave you shit about it. You could ignore him.”

“Mission impossible, it’s Dean” Sam says, sighing again.

“Hmm, well then there's only one option...Winchester him.” You say looking serious.

Sam smiles at your suggestion. It had been to damn long since he had pranked Dean and payback was way overdue. 

“See, with age comes wisdom, grasshopper”