A picture, it is said, is worth a thousand words ~ and though that is the usual length of my posts here, I think one single word will suffice for this picture…




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Hiya peeps…

It’s going to be a crazy next few weeks…and my writing time this week is down to minutes. So this is all you will get from me for a few days. Next week should be quieter. (yay!) I am glad to be busy, but it does leave me precious little time for writing the rest of some of those stories that are dancing about in my head seeking escape!

I am going to do something very different in a few weeks.

I will be *totally* disconnected, unplugged, for just shy of a week. No internet. No facecrack. No D/s blogs. No emails. And worst of all? No contact with Master.

In our 5 years together, this is the first time, ever ever ever that we’ve gone more than a day without touching base with one another.

It gives me a sick-ish feeling in my belly, all nervous and worried. He’s my anchor and my rock. And I won’t be able to even send Him a text. I’ll be having fun, but those nights in my tent will be, simply put, torture.

Between then and now I have good things happening. I’m going to be having a time to hang out with Jz, which I’m looking forward to. I *had* been hoping to have time to hang out with her and meet greengirl, but unfortunately, my still wonky back was not up to the drive/train time and I had to cancel. (I know, how terribly disappointing, to come *that* close to meeting one of my favorite bloggers! Dang it!) I’m going to have some kind of time with Master this weekend. Not sure if it will be playtime or coffee (again that depends on my stoopid back–but I’m going to see the Doctor this week so hopefully we can get this worked out.)

Annnnd….on a side note to the above, I was whining to Master about how this makes it hard to claim that I’m a bona-fide masochist, since this is NOT sexy pain…and there is this ….pause. I frown at the phone as the silence extends.

“Yanno nilla,” His voice comes at last (and yes, He said “yanno”…always a prelude to something Domly/dastardly). And he pauses again.

“Yanno nilla…I’ve heard…..*pause*….that half-0′s are a good cure for that sort of angst.”

*insert sound of waterfalls, crickets, the whirr of a running fan here*

He laughs.

“I love the sound of silence from your end of the phone,” he chuckles.

“I-bda-abada…..” I stutter.

He laughs some more.

“Yes. That.” He is grinning, I can practically feel it, while my heart flutters worriedly in my chest.


In the end, I giggled too. He did manage to knock me right out of my funk with that little threat. (a threat that reappeared in our conversation on my way home last night…rut roe). And that is the magic of Master. Just a few short words and I’m snugged right back in my place, the “small s” as He reminded me firmly.

It’s a really comfortable place to be.


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Pussy Burglar (3)

She was naked, tied quite firmly to the bed. His bed. The bed that she’d had all but two seconds to get out of before he’d caught her again. The miserable fuck. Her clothing wasn’t strewn about on the floor. Oh no, not for this guy. He’d shredded it with that fucking Swiss Army knife, into chunks and ribbons until none of it would ever be wearable again. On the top of the pile the ace bandage with which she had bound her breasts lay in long strips, mocking her. It was that which had gotten her to this state.  Poking at the pile of debris with his toe and looking at her, he flashed her a smug look.

“Don’t worry about this, pussycat. You won’t need these anyway. I plan to keep you naked and right here for a long, long time.”

He’d smiled at her then. A smile that was feral, hungry, and just a bit mocking. As if he knew that this was terrifying.

And exciting.

How she hated to admit that to herself. But somewhere in the deepest darkest pit of her mind there was a tiny little spark that thrilled to being bested. Not in an “omg take me I’m yours” kind of way. This went deeper, into the animal part of her brain, where dark fantasies occasionally made their way to her dreams. Yet here she was, definitely not dreaming. His next words were hard reality, and chilling.

“Oh, by the way, pussycat–feel free to scream. The staff is away for a few days. They’re used to my occasional need for solitude. We’ll have plenty of that for the next few days. And as I’m sure you noticed while you were casing the joint, to speak in your vernacular, there are no neighbors.”

She stared at him, wanting to strike out at him, at the smartass bastard’s face. To poke him in the eyes, to bite and watch him struggle. To tie him to the bed and…and..she had no idea what. She glared at him as he stood there, smug asshole, staring down at her, looking at her body. Ogling her. Standing at the end of the bed holding a feather, for fuck sake, stripped down to plaid boxers.

“You look ridiculous. You look like an ass.”

All the epitaphs in the world and that was what came out of her mouth. She all but rolled her eyes at her lame response. He just smirked at her, holding the feather and examining it.

“It looks so silly, I know. A little feather like this, just fluttering in my fingers. But.”

He let the word hang there for a minute.

“In the right hands, pussycat, this will destroy your will. Remember what I promised you.”

Her eyes met his. Hell yes she remembered, but damned if she’d say as much to him. The fucking asshat. His eyebrow rose as they fought a silent, deadly war.

“I won’t beg you for anything, you jerk.”

“I guess we’ll see then, won’t we?”

He trailed the tip of the feather from her knee to her ankle along the inner curve of her calf. Her leg twitched at the barely-there touch. His eyes followed the gently curved tip of the pheasant feather. She was embarrassed and shocked to be here, bested by this….this…subhuman! And tied open, displayed. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you bastard,” she spat. “You need to let me go. NOW.”

There was no reaction other than a faint lift to the corner of his mouth. Her head rocked side to side, her wrists curled into fists, tugging on her restraints. She barely moved an inch, and wound up with a face full of hair for her struggles. She hoped he’d get mad, react to her, say something. Anything.

Yet his eyes only followed the path of the feather tickling over and around her calf and foot. It danced over her toes, making her hiss and try to wriggle away, but the tenacious thing followed her moves to evade, effortlessly.

“Stop!” The word came out as a giggle, but he didn’t even look at her.

“Please! Bastard!”

Over, around, teasing.

Wriggling. Writhing. Tugging. Laughing.

“Fuck! FUCK! omg…” This last as the feather caressed the bottom of her foot. Up and down the arch, under the toes, around the heel, then back up her calf.

This time it didn’t stop at her knee, but moved up her inner calf. Up, around, over the top, around towards the far side, then down, down to torment her other calf, her foot.

She laughed. Cried. Cried laughing. And laughing became begging as the tip caressed her belly. As it circled her belly button drawing ticklish figure eights around and around until she wanted to scream. And when she did, tears rolling down her cheeks, the tip of the feather flicked higher, teasing at the curve of ribs, the underside of one plump breast then the other.

She barely noticed when his finger entered her. Shuddered when his thumb began to rub her clit as the finger was joined with another, as it fluttered away inside her belly. It registered that the tickling on the outside resembled the tickling inside her but she was beyond caring.

Something inside her built to a furious frenzy. Her words were begging, panting things asking for who knew what; her nipples rose as if to join the pleas.

“I told you I would make you beg,” he said from a hundred miles away, as the orgasm crashed through her, sending her spinning into oblivion.


She hated him.

When she woke from the spin through space, she was sweat soaked. Sex soaked. Shaking, curled on her side with his arm around her. He was naked. She was naked.  His fingers caressed her tits, pinching and pulling and twisting her nipples until the need grew deep between her legs. Her pussy throbbed and she whimpered aloud as his fingers trailed down her body to stroke her clit.

She begged again, hating him for it, for building the need so intensely. She’d never had sex with anyone that came even close to this.

He’d fucked her from behind as his hands continued to stroke and tease and hurt her tits, until he’d pulled out, and pushed her to her belly.

“Knees down, ass up, pussycat,” he’d said, tugging her into position.

“Wider.” Hands slapped her inner thighs and she moved them apart, feeling humbled by the exposure. He kept doing that, just kept finding ways to make her feel like …like a slut.

“I’m not your whore,” she’d mumbled, but of course he’d heard.

“You’re whatever I want you to be.”

The words were spoken in a quiet, firm voice, and shocking to absorb. There was no time to retort as he’d thrust his cock into her, the position allowing him to fill her deeper, rub all the right places. She swore she could have traced the shape of his cock along her belly he was so deeply embedded in her. His hips swiveled, making her gasp. His balls rubbed against her pussy lips, the gentle movement bumping her excited clit.


Never had she been fucked like this. She was full of him, surrounded by him, undone cell-by-cell by him. The orgasm built like a wave, like a nuclear burst. Her head was going to explode, as the pressure grew, the need to release just growing stronger. Yet he was holding back, just enough to keep her on the edge.

“Please,” she sobbed, “I’m so close…”

“Pussycat needs to cum, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, gawd yes…please…”

“If you insist…” His voice sounded dubious.

She was on fire, the need rippling through her like the promise of rain on a hot summer day.

“Yes, please, please yes…so…oh gawd…please…” her breath hissed out as she was there, just there, hanging on the very edge….yet she hadn’t expected what had come next.

He’d popped his thumb into her asshole.

On the heels of her outraged gasp of shock, her cunt clamped down on his shaft, and she’d had the orgasm of her life. She could feel the juices squirting from her, feel the quick hard throb as her anus protested the intrusion, feel her pussy squirming and twitching along the hard rigid length of him.

She could also feel him laughing.

She hated him.

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OMG How Did I Forget That It’s Thursday?! HNT

Better late than never?

Things have been hectic in the nillaverse. Mostly hectic in my head since I’m still moving fairly gingerly. Thanks for all the well-wishes. As with any recovery, there are up days and down days, though overall I’m feeling much better now than I did over the weekend. Things on the floor are scary…if I move slow enough I can get them picked up…but I think, as Fury said in her comment, that there is some fear-factor. Will I hurt myself all over again if I try to get that sock? So I’m alternating between being “brave” and being a “wimp”.


It doesn’t help that my job is very physical, or maybe it does. It makes me more cautious about how I’m moving, to be sure. But this is all damned sure annoying as fuck.

So, here’s my belated HNT…a view as if Master were peering down my shirt….(and soon will come the tale of  nilla and Master being naughty in the coffee shop. :D


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Pussy Burglar (2)

Heart pounding, reaction set in. She shoved the phone onto the top of the linens, and scooted as far back as possible. Maybe he’d think his cleaning lady had left it behind. The door opened slowly. She kept her eyes mostly shut so no gleam would betray her, and all but held her breath. She saw his hand reach for the phone, saw him straighten.

“You may as well come out.”

She opened one eye, but stayed put. It could be a ploy.

“I know you’re in there. The heat sensor clearly shows you. Come on out now.”

Fuck! A heat sensor? Who the hell did that? A rich fucking bastard, that’s who. Dammit. Dammit, dammit.

“I’m coming out.”

She kept her voice low, hoping he’d mistake her for a teen. She was small enough to be mistaken as one.  Slowly she crawled out. A fist grabbed her ponytail, tugging her upward.

“A sneaky little pussy burglar, aren’t you?”

Her eyes welled with tears.

“I’m sorry mister. I was just…”

“Please.” He shook his head at her, his smile mocking. “Spare me the ‘I’m just a poor little teen runaway bit.”

She swallowed hard.

“I’d prefer your pleas to be more on the “I’d do anything if you don’t call the cops right now” side than trying to play me for a fool. I’m not, and you’re not, so let us call a spade a spade. You’ve been watching the house for three weeks now. Oh, yes, I knew.” He spoke to the look of shock that crossed her face.

“I was hoping to catch you in the act. And I have. We have two options here.”

His fingers tightened in her hair as her fists balled instinctively. He shook her hard.

“Don’t even try, pussycat.”

She was never good at following directions. Trying to ignore the pain in her head she lashed out, barely missing his nose. He twisted her around using the momentum of her swing, grabbing her wrist and twirling her about. His foot hooked around her ankle and she was on the floor with him sitting on her. Slowly he lowered himself fully on her, his hand still in her hair, his body capturing one arm, while his fingers held her wrist in a grip of steel.

He smiled, a grim smile.

“Somehow I thought that might be your answer, pussycat.”

“I’m not your pussycat, you bastard! Get off me.”

“I’m not done listing your options.”

She spat at him. He released her hand and slapped her cheek hard, then recaptured her wrist as her hand rose to cup her cheek.

“I see I need to teach you some manners, girl. You don’t strike or spit upon your Master.”

“You are not my …my master.”

“I’m the one on top, correct? Ergo I have indeed Mastered you.”

She writhed and wriggled and only made him smile and rub his crotch against hers.

“mmmm, that was nice pussycat. More?”

She froze. Somehow that hadn’t occurred to her.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” She growled. Her pulse knocked higher, faster than before. Clearly her facts had been wrong, and this job had gone south in a big bad way.

“Look. I didn’t take anything.” 

“Not for want of trying. Trespassing with intent to burgle. You took my cufflinks.”

“I did not take your crap cufflinks.”

“Nonetheless, they are missing and when the cops come, they will be in your pocket and not in my drawer where I clearly keep them.”

“You fucking bastard.”

His smile frosted her ass.

“Get up, pussycat.”

He rose, tugging her with him, and shoved her ahead of him to the bedroom. He led her towards the bed and pushed hard. She fell on the mattress, rolling fast for the side closest to the door. His hand caught her hair and tugged her back. Tears stung from that.

“Ow!” she yelled. “Stop! FUCK!”

His hands pulled and tugged. She was back on the bed, clothing being skillfully tugged away. She slapped and kicked to no avail, until finally he straddled her waist, and ripped open her shirt. He frowned at the thick ace bandage wrapped round and round her chest.

“This is no way to treat tits,” he muttered, and pulled a Swiss Army knife from his pocket. She froze in fear as he flicked a blade open. Fingers lifted the bottom edge of the wrapping from her skin; she barely drew breath as the sharp blade sliced through the fabric like a hot knife would pass through butter.

“Please, mister, please don’t do this you don’t understand i …jamaica…please…ohgod…”

Her breasts were laid bare, lines crisscrossing the full orbs.

“You could do irreparable harm with this sort of stupidity,” he said, scowling. “These should be left bare for hours to recover. Dumb pussycat. So stupid. What do I have that is of more value than your body? Trinkets? Paper? Nothing is more important than taking care of yourself. Obviously you need a caretaker.”

She was offended, amazed, taken aback and pissed by turns. Who the fuck was he, reading her the riot act? So what if she bound her breasts? It didn’t concern him at all. His hands rubbed over the flesh of her chest, massaging each breast and glaring at her.



“You can’t do this to me…”

He rolled his eyes and pinched her nipples. She gasped, struggled.

“See? Obviously I can do ‘this’ to you. This and so very much more. And you’ll want every moment of it.”

“No. No I won’t. I don’t. You can’t make me…just…I’ll apologize. I’ll leave town..I’ll….”

“you’ll beg me to fuck you. And you’re staying right here. Right where you wanted to be, after all.”

“not with YOU here. This was supposed to be my last job,” she wailed, suddenly broken.

“It is your last job. You go nowhere else now. Your past life is in the past. Now you are mine.”

Her eyes grew wide and a bit wild. What the fuck was happening here?



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Broken and Hurting

Hi ~ my name is nilla and I appear to have broken myself.


Somehow I’ve not done all the “right” things and hurt my back badly. So badly that it affects my walking, my ability to move about freely. It’s all muscle–or rather, one big painful pinched nerve. So I’m on pain meds to deal with it.

But it means that we can’t have our playdate.

You know, the one that I’ve been quietly anticipating for the last two months? I’m in too much pain to move, to twitch about the way He enjoys. I’m in too much pain for Him to have fun hurting me. And since I have a vanilla life where I must have mobility…we’ve had to cancel our time together. I told Him that I could show up in my oh-so-sexy heat wrap thing. Yeah. No. The mental image of that did make me giggle though.

So instead of a lovely fucking time (pun intended),  we’ll have coffee and tea and share a decadent dessert together tomorrow, in lieu of my getting my ass fucked, and beaten.

“You’re being sensible, nilla,” He says, when I express my deep disappointment to Him today. “I can’t do anything to you, so it makes sense to wait until you’re better before I beat the shit out of you.”

Only in D/s land would that make so much sense, yanno?


But it does, right?

This isn’t erotic pain. This isn’t something that makes my pussy hot and wet and excited. This is “how the fuck will I get upstairs to my bedroom” and “OMG I sat down for too long and can’t get out of my chair”. This is having to allow extra time to do anything…Including peeing~no last minute run to the bathroom because I had one more thing to do first, oh hell no!

It sucks. But I’m being a big girl about it all.

I just wish there was medicine to take for disappointment.

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Pussy Burgler (1)

She was careful. She was always careful. It was never a good thing to rush in her line of work. Casing the house had taken time; big -as in enormous- house on the lonely hillside overlooking no one. Why Marcus Brady had chosen to build his behemoth of a home in such utter isolation was a mystery, as was the man himself. Yet, middle-aged billionaires had to live somewhere, and god love their eccentricities. He had a small staff  of people who came from the valley town below, but no caretaker to invade his personal space. No butler to answer  the door, no maids to clean up at three in the morning. He came and went during the day, though his private helicopter made his commute to the city much easier than the poor slobs who slogged their way through downtown commuter traffic. Then again, he’d have had to spend almost as long in commuting time as in working, so in a convoluted, rich man’s way, the chopper made sense. She watched it land, night after night, as precise as could be, 6:45 p.m., on the helipad behind the house.

Hacking her way into the county database that held the floor plans had been easy. It was like the gods were smiling at her for this job. A big pay-off would mean a chance to lay low on some tropical island for the winter. It was hard to burgle in the winter, snow making things slippery, and those blasted footprints! No, this was her one big score of the season, and then she would be off. In her mind she pictured the bikini, bright green or maybe copper to compliment her red hair. The flame-red she kept hidden under a temporary wash of deepest brown. The color had been chosen with great care. Too-black would create as much second-glancing as her normally brash red did. People noticed the oddest things–but nondescript brunettes were not one of them.

Every other Saturday she watched the chopper take off just after 5 p.m. and never returning to home until the wee hours of the morning. Off at some fantastic club where all the rich dicks hung out, she supposed. ‘Must be nice,’ she mused–but it did give her the opportunity that she needed.

The helicopter rose up, banked over the immense house, then flitted off. As it slid behind the hill, she rose from her hiding spot in the woods, and jogged down the hill, across the open space of the side yard, and moved to the trellis. Up the sturdy wooden frame, avoiding the young rose-bush and it’s seeking tendrils, she slipped easily up and over the railing on the second floor. The doors here were glass, and with as simple a locking device as could be imagined. There was no record anywhere of an alarm system, which, while odd, certainly worked to her advantage.

According to the floor plan, this was his office space, unless he’d changed his mind once he had moved in. Yet the design clearly showed where the safe would be.

It wasn’t there.

Dammit! She spent fifteen precious minutes moving pictures gently away, sliding a bookcase, and feeling behind an ornate grandfather’s clock to no avail. Well didn’t that suck big goose eggs? With a sigh, she brought up the plans on her phone. It seemed logical then, that perhaps he’d have moved it to his bedroom, or even someplace downstairs. Rich geeks tended to have studies or dens. Perhaps she’d find the safe there. Moving swiftly through the upstairs, she entered several rooms before she found his sleep space. It was easy to figure out that this is a room he used a lot. A scent filled the air here, of man and something deeply musky. A bit of leather with a hint of…something that sent tingles right up her spine. Mmmmm, the smell of a man.

Once more she went through the routine of moving pictures carefully aside, feeling behind dressers. Entering the full closet she was staggered for a moment. It was, simply stated, heaven on earth.

“I’d kill for a closet half this size.” She murmured at the built-ins. Drawers for jewelry. Hangers for ties. Racks for shoes. The man had a lot of shoes. She could admire that about him, even thought it was kind of weird. Mostly the same style, in a dark rainbow of hues. Gray, smoke, black. A deep cherry-ish black. A chardonnay wine-red. Turning, there was a second rack that held sneakers in a myriad of styles and colors.

“Two thumbs up, buddy,” she murmured.

Despite the glory of the closet, it was time to get back to work. Yet there was no safe in here either, and the cufflinks, while having some street value, was not what she had come for.

She stepped out of the closet, tapping her lip.

“Must be downstairs, then,” she said, moving to the door. Opening it, she heard the unmistakable sound of the helicopter outside. The helipad was on the side of the house where she had made her quick entrance, so there would be no getting out that way. Her heart tripped up a beat as she heard the sound of a key in the lock downstairs. Quietly she closed the bedroom door, looking around for a place to hide. Perhaps he had forgotten something and would leave again in a minute.

She moved quickly around the bed. The closet had a few places where she could hide, but what if he was staying. No, she needed a place to hide in case he was planning to change his habit, and stay in tonight. Yet she could only hope that he’d returned for something and would be off again in a moment.

Not certain if she had seconds until discovery, she opened another door. The bathroom. Fuck. She was sure he wouldn’t need a shower straight away. But luck was  on her side once again. Here a deep closet held towels and sundries. A large space in the bottom would accommodate her tiny frame. Moving a stack of bedspreads out of the way, she bundled inside, tugging them into order, and using her fingers to glide the door almost shut.

The bedroom door opened, then shut. With the deep carpet, she wouldn’t hear him coming. Her heart raced, and she uttered a prayer to the gods of thievery that she not be discovered. The bathroom door opened and she could see legs walk past. In moments she heard the unmistakable sound of peeing, and had to bite her lip to not giggle. She wasn’t trying to spy, that wasn’t her gig at all. But it was still unnerving and funny and voyeuristic of her. The toilet flushed, and the sink water was turned on. Then the sound of the towel tugged on the bar.

The legs moved past her, out of the small line of sight that she had. She drew a soft breath of relief. She just might get through this little wrinkle unscathed. The bathroom door opened, the scrape of his shoes on the travertine tile floors fading away.

And then her phone chimed.


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“Are you sure you’re up for this, Sir?”

She kept her eyes downcast, mostly, as she stood naked before him. She saw the cane move with him as he came closer, one fragile step at a time. Why she’d answered the ad for “D/s companionship” was beyond her. He was old, his face worn by time. Yet his eyes had burned into hers as they met at the coffee shop last week. Agreeing to a trial run of play, she had assumed she’d be naked and trying to raise his aged cock to some semblance of erection.

Or maybe he’d just take that little blue pill.

The hand not holding the walking cane flashed out, unexpectedly quick, striking her on the cheek.

“Don’t be rude, girl” he admonished, as that same hand whipped into her ponytail, wrapping the long strands round his palm and fingers. With a quick hard jerk her head was bowed back.

“OW!” she yelped. She liked pain, she did, but…she admitted that she had let herself believe that this old guy wasn’t really a “true” Dom.

She heard the thunk of the cane as it fell to the floor beside her and felt his hand grasp her nipple. Twisting it hard to the right, she rose to her toes at the sudden sharp hurt.

“Still think I’m too old, little girl?” His voice was a soft croon in her ear.


The words burst from her lips in an excess of enthusiasm. He tugged her hair again, then let the long tail of hair fall freely. Now both her nipples were caught, twisted this way and that as she gasped and moaned. He pinched like a sonofabitch. Her eyes fluttered up to look at him, seeing the satisfaction on his face. His eyes glittered in pleasure, the cruel devil shining back at her.

He released her nipples, but rather than giving her a moment for breath, grabbed large handfuls of tit, squeezing and then mashing them together. Her head fell back at the pleasure of the pain, as her clit began a steady pulsing.

“Do I smell wet cunt?”

“yes Sir, most likely.” Her gasp interrupted her words. “I…ooooh….i….”

“yes girl?”

His fingers worked cruel magic on her breasts. Small whimpers slipped from her as her pussy continued heating.

i like that…oh..hurts…”

“You did mention that you are a painslut. It seems that you know yourself very well.”

His hands fell away.

Her eyes opened after a moment. He stood there, arms crossed, staring at her. She could feel the heat of bruises starting to form on her tits, and the need between her thighs was most…disconcerting. Not nearly as much as his eyes, boring into hers. A quick hard swallow, and lowering her eyes helped her find her equilibrium.

“Display yourself properly on the bed.”

He’d sent her an email earlier showing several positions that he favored. She turned and stepped to the bed, throwing an uncertain look over her shoulder. He watched her, not moving a muscle. The quick thought that maybe he was frozen in some sort of catatonic state briefly flitted through her head. Before the nervous titter could escape, she crawled up onto the mattress and knelt the way he liked.

“Ass higher.”

She drew her knees further under her belly, until they were right up under her breasts.

“Spread your feet.”

Ankles were flared, her back arched as she bared her most intimate places to his view for the first time. She waited for his hand to stroke over her, but there was nothing. Forehead pressed to the bed, she could see nothing, only wait.


The sharp crack of his hand on her thigh made her squeak with shock. Again he hit her thigh, closer to her pussy and again she made a wee noise.

“You do carry on so.”

She swore she heard the smile in his voice. Waiting for the next slap, she tensed. It didn’t fall. Something poked at her anus.

“OH!” she gasped.

“Relax your butthole, girl.”

She tried. She gave it her all, but every press made her whimper and tense up. Whatever it was, it was smooth with a rounded tip. And hard, more like wood than rubber. It pressed through her tense muscle, and slipped inside. Her pussy threatened to spurt.

“NO! No cumming yet, girl.”

The whimper this time was for the denial of pleasure. Having her ass penetrated always turned her on like a motherfucker. It was the darkest of her desires, the one she feared most, but reacted to intensely.

“please?” she begged, “Please Sir…i…I so do so need to cum…”

He didn’t reply and she was close, so close.

“My walking stick looks amusing sticking out of your ass like that.”

The quick hard bite of leather on her ass and hip made her shift position. He kept smacking her, all unaware.

“FUCK!” she yelped.

A hand pressed on the back of her head, pushing her face into the mattress.

“Stay, whore.”

“yes Sir.” The muffled words came from the sheets.

He took up whacking her ass, moving from one side to the other, until tears wet the bedding under her face and her ass throbbed with heat. Occasionally he would adjust the tool in her ass, pumping it in, pulling it out. She would wiggle and moan, which would earn yet another admonishment.

He tugged it free at last, her asshole throbbing like a second clit.

“Yes, well, we will have to clean that up later, won’t we?”

He spoke matter-of-factly as he placed the stick in the bathroom. She was mortified. It wasn’t like it was unexpected for there to be shit there. It was, after all, an ass’s primary function.

She said nothing, but felt her face glowing with the embarrassment.

“Down on your belly, legs to the floor.”

Slithering, she moved until her toes were touching. He moved between her thighs, until she felt the heat of her ass come into contact with his belly. His cock slipped between her pussy lips, cleaving them like the prow of a warship.

“Your cunt is soaked.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Your ass burns. Does it hurt?”

“Yes Sir,” she spoke again.

“Good,” he said, as he pulled back and away. He entered her slowly. His cock may not have been ginormous (for which she was grateful) but it certainly felt divine as he pushed deeper into her. She needed this!

His fingers pinched loose skin at the top of her hips, and she whimpered as he pressed himself all the way home. He fucked her, each stroke measured, each stroke buried deeply into her, while his fingers tormented  her ass, her back, her hips, leaving bruises in his wake.

The pain was like adding fuel the to fire.


She exploded, her pussy clamping down on his shaft like a hot velvet vice. His voice came to her from someplace in the ether as she felt herself come apart, then back together as he stroked, stroked, stroked, never changing tempo despite her paroxysms.


Fireworks. Lightning bugs. Sparks from a campfire. She was all of these and more. Shooting skyward as her cunt clamped and convulsed around the steadily fucking cock. She’d never been fucked so deeply, so thoroughly.


She flew through the stars. Blackness erupted into pinpricks of light, rivers of sensation. He may have cum, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that her body was flying outward, her consciousness flung far out to the universe.

She woke, coming back to a body that throbbed. She moved, every muscle loose and hot. She was liquid, poured back into her skin, trembling with the aftershocks.

He slapped her ass firmly.


His voice was amused.

“Still think I’m too old, girl?”

Turning, she smiled sleepily at him, shaking her head in dissent.

“I think you are perfect.”

“And so you should. Next week then, slut.”

Reaching down, he lifted her head and kissed her for the first time. It was as firm and strong as everything else he had done. Dropping her head back to the bed, he turned and hobbled out of the room with the cane that He must have washed  while she was out.

Catching her look, and the blush, he smiled a wicked smile.

“Next week, you will wash it.”

The door closed softly behind him.


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Happy 4th!!

Happy 4th of July American peeps!!

What? A hurricane dampen our enthusiasm for barbeque delights and company? Nah! We’re New Englanders and hardy. A little rain will NOT stop OUR celebrations!


(and stay tuned next week for an exciting development with Master and nilla and HNT’s)fireworks

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