Spaced

from our phone call tonight….

“you know, nilla, I could tell it’s been a long while since we played…you went out of your head really fast.” (this after I told Him that I didn’t remember something that He made mention of)

“I know, Master. I hit the zone when You started hitting me. It was ….so good.”

“Nothing like a good old-fashioned OTK spanking…especially with a dildo up your ass, eh?”

*blush*

 

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“Beg Me”

first snapshot of our day…

“You know that saying…the one from that old movie? The one that says … please may i? Say it. Say it now.”

He’s holding me by the hair, pinching my tit with the other. In a flash his hand lashes up and out, slapping me soundly on the cheek.

I stutter. The shock of it takes my breath away really, and I’m feeling intense arousal. His words, the action, trying to think…I’m whirling away in my head. His hand tightens. Shaking my head with that hair-wrapped fist, he growls…

“Beg me. Beg me….”

“P-pl-please Sir…may I have another?”

SMACK!

Another growl…..”again…”

“Please Sir, may I have another?”

SMACK! This one harder than its predecessor.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until I’m dizzy with it.

His hand reaches up under my skirt, and he laughs that sadists laugh…

“My god you’re fucking soaked. You little pain slut!”

and so our time together began…

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In a minute…

…He will be here.

I’m on tenterhooks.

Nervous. Feeling a bit shy. And did I mention…nervous.

He’s promised pain. A lot of pain. My tits ache in anticipation, my pussy swells and wets, just by typing that.

I’m such a ball of nerves just now (and who else would I share that with but my peeps –you all get this. Get this feeling. The butterflies roiling in my belly, the shivers, the joy warring with fear (not fear-fear, but anticipation of pain fear)…

I keep looking out the window, hopeful.

My hands shake as my fingers dance over the keyboard.

Anticipation is building.

He’ll be here any minute….

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Was it His promise of pussy slapping?

or the one about fucking me until I was pleading for Him to stop (then slapping the pussy until she was wet again, then continuing)?

Whichever~I went to bed a wet, horny mess…and woke up throbbing and wet and so fucking turned on.

Oh yeah…the slutty cunt shuts off if it hasn’t been used in a while. It sure as shootin’ does.

But it goes RIGHT BACK ON when He snaps His fingers and paints word pictures of what this day will hold for me (and my cunt)…

That is all…please go about your day as normal (ha. Tell that to my soaked pussy.)

nilla

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A Wet Wanton Mess

He had a dream, he told me. He rarely dreams, even more rarely remembers them. But this one was special.

He was playing pool. But when he reached for the pool cue, it was, instead, a wooden tubular rod. “What the fuck” he says in his dream. “how the fuck can I play pool with this…” And he wakes up, thinking he is holding this “rod” in his hands.

“It was a sign. Your thighs, nilla, your sweet little calves, nilla. And your tits. Most certainly your tits will feel the kiss of the wooden cane, nilla, for that was the meaning of that dream.”

We’ve spoken of this and other things.

“Did I show you…no. I couldn’t have. It’s still in the box.”

He pauses and of course I jump into the breach…

“show me what, Master?”

“I didn’t show you the little vibe for your ass? It has 4 speeds.”

There’s a long silence from my end of the phone, before I say carefully, “no, M, you…did not show me that.”

“Oh, I thought I did.”

He’s silent, but I can *feel* the gleeful laughter under the silence. Got me again!

There are other little things like this that he throws into the conversation, so that by the end of it, I’m all twisted and turned on and wet and wanton.

“Good thing I’m wearing panties, Master, or my thighs would be sticking together by now.”

“You can just peel them off your pussy,” he says.

He speaks of mundane things for a awhile, then tells me how hard he’s going to spank my ass, making me squirm again. And how he’ll attack my pussy–when he knows how much it hurts that I’m raw with cumming and a bit dry…and then he’ll spank my cunt and voila! Just like that I’ll be wet again.

Because you’re a greedy wanton slut, nil-la, he says, in that way he does that just makes me hummmm.

Tomorrow. It just can’t come soon enough.

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HNT-Mammory Memories

How I hope to revisit this particular vision when we meet this weekend…

(Master, will you cane my tits? I’ve been fantasizing about it endlessly…?)

(*sound of deep, dark laughter* Oh nilla, you silly little slut. I’d be happy to make your fantasy a reality. VERY happy.)

And He was.

And I was.

And even now just writing about it makes me wet all over again..

 

Leftie

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Face Time

Time is NOT my friend. Like many of you, I imagine, we’re juggling our fall routine here, shaking down all of the “he’s gotta be here, then, and she needs to be there later…and and and…”

But it is working. (I need that kind of organization, so I can go to one place (hard copy–I’ve got a duplicate on my phone but what happens if that dies on me? Chaos, I say, a chaos too frightening to contemplate, ergo a master (ha…even in vanilla life there is a master…!) calendar.) Shake-down week is over, this week is our first full week and damn…it’s working. There had been juggling, to be sure, to make sure everyone is where they need to be. It’s complicated by the fact that I work multiple jobs, some for others and some for my own little business.

Some of that juggling this past weekend involved making time to see Him. It’s been a month plus since we had any face time. A fucking *month* people. We’ve NEVER gone that long, since we’ve been playing together.  He graciously came halfway to me as I was juggling meeting him between contracts. We had ice cream under these enormous pine tree’s (not at that place, sofia) off the beaten path (see what I did there? huh? Beaten* path…(now that’s longing… lol!). There was a series of kisses. There was a lot of pinching. And damn, but He’s adept at doing this discreetly!  Which means I have to use a ton of self-control to avoid squealing in public. I try to step away from him, but it’s pretty fucking hard when he’s got his friggin pinchy fingers holding on to the skin under my arm! Rip off flesh or stand there and take it like the pain slut I am? Decisions, decisions.

At the end, a hug so hard, so firm, that I wanted to just stay there forever. He’ll never say “I miss you nilla” but as my mom said years ago when I was a kid…actions speak louder than words.

Damn, she was right (again!).

He initiated this meeting. Because of His need, and because He knew of my need? My need matched his, I’m sure (and okay, maybe exceeded it a little). (plus he knows how cranky I get when I haven’t seen him in a while. Plus,  He came over halfway, as it turned out, to see me. And … it was thrilling. I can’t lie and be blasé about something that meant so much to me. I was trembling, happy, close to tears several times, and just so fucking glad to see him. To touch him. To be with him even for such a short time.

And this weekend we play.

:D

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The Taunting of Pain (or How to Entice a Painslut)

We talked about how long it’s been.

It’s been a long long time.

And He is very sure that He’s going to be ramping up Master’s Pain Delivery System…”Toy’s you haven’t seen in a long while, slut.”

I don’t answer. My mind flashes to all these overlapping images of His naughty black toy bag (I should start calling Him Doctor Pain, really–it’s one of those kinds of bags.). It sits on the bed at our meets. Sometimes I am bid to sit or lie on the bed, already semi-blotto from pain/orgasm overload/tickling. Sometimes I’m on the Wall and can only hear the various sounds of the toys as He removes them, one by one, and lays them all out on the spare bed. A clink. A rattle. A soft hissing sound. The purr of a vibe. The cracking swish of thin wood kissing the air.

It’s enticing.

Until.

“Time for that Special Bag to reappear, nilla. It’s been a long, long time…”

I don’t answer right away. My head turns over His inventory, yet I’m not remembering any special bag.

“uhm….what “special bag” are you referring to Master?” I ask, hesitant and nervous. This is about the time I feel the teeth of the trap grab me up and hold me tight…

“You know the one!” His voice is filled with sadistic glee.

“Uhm….to be sure, M, I don’t.”

“The special bag.”

“Master….” I start, but He walks over my protestation.

“From your friend.”

Uh oh. I DO know this bag. He must be joking. I hate that bag. I do I do I do (then why are you so wet, girl, says the other side of my brain, the painslut who is giggling with glee)

“Oh uhm…Master, that’s not my favorite ….”

Once more he cuts me off.

“The whips and floggers need some time, nilla. They’ve been in that bag a long time and need to taste your flesh.”

I hear the hunger in His voice, the joy and glee.

I feel the hunger for that pain inside, (that nasty little cunt is all but rubbing herself in glee)…but there’s that fear factor too…what if I can’t…

(of COURSE you can, says the painslut. You want it, crave it, need it. Life has been dull and gray without it, and suddenly look! Colors! Blue and green and joybliss…HE gives us that, with those slick promises…)

And she’s right.

I need it, crave it, want it.

But I’m still a wee nervous too. (those toys hurt like fuck-all!)

(yes, I know it’s supposed to hurt.)

I like the bliss…it’s just the getting there that has me a feeling a wee bit of trepidation.

(and danged if that doesn’t make me even wetter!)

IMG_0962

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Threats? Promises? Enticements? The Dom Awakens…

I confessed to bringing back 4 pounds from vacation…(why don’t people who camp eat camp food anymore? We ate out every single night….not that I’m complaining, but sheesh.)

“That’s okay, I’ll get more money when I sell you–since I’m selling you by the pound.”

“wait wait wait a second Master. I’ve already lost 1.5 of that weight AND…where is *my* cut of that, hmmm?

“That’s okay, nilla, I’ll beat the rest of it off you. When you regain consciousness, we can discuss your terms then.”

 

*blink blink*

It’s crude.

Rude.

Totally Master.

And it totally turned me on (I had damp panties all day)

(yes, I re-read the text about 144 times!)

 

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HNT– Painterly Tits…

this a selfie portrait,

courtesy of that fun phone app….

(with apologies to Van Gogh…I still have my ear…!)

:Dpainterly boobage

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