Well…Hmph.

I tried to post todays post via my phone, but alas. Some entity ate it. Yes. It is gone. Poof. Evaporated into the ether. Ah well. I’ve only lost a post a few times but it SURE is aggravating. Then again, I was uber tired last night so maybe it wouldn’t have made any sense?

That’s my hope, anyway.

The original post would have been called “Naughty slut”. Remember that post the other day about perfectionism? Well, I managed to perfect “naughtiness” this weekend. Who knew, right?

Master was away. Busy, for some of the time. Driving away, driving back. HE wasn’t driving, and I didn’t want Him to be bored or anything like that. So I started “text poking” Him. I even wrote a song to the tune of “Row Row Row Your Boat” (You can youtube the tune if you are unfamiliar with it, it’s not letting me get links today–apparently technology thinks I should be doing something else….!)

I must’ve sent a bajillion texts. Some just a simple “poke”. Some were longer or with more pokes. The jibes flew hard and fast, with NO response from Him, until waaay late in the afternoon.

He got home last night, and I called Him on my way to fetch the teen from the City. We talked “vanilla-ish” for a while….and then.

“You know, slut, there is a price to be paid for today’s ‘envelope pushing’, right?”

I swallowed before I spoke, and despite the sweater I was wearing, I shivered. There He is, there’s that tone that strikes like a quick slap. And what is my response after a brief moment to catch my breath?

Yes. I giggled.

I’m sure it was nerves.

He went on to tell me that the cane will have a starring role in our next playtime, to remind me that there is always a price to be paid for being a naughty slut, and this next time, my tits and thighs will pay.

“Those back of your legs are quite sensitive, aren’t they, nilla?”

He draws out my name “nil-pause-la”. More shivers ensue.

I love drawing out His Beast, but it does make me nervous too. I’ll admit that I was pretty turned on — fear does that to me. And I’m pretty sure my legs are going to regret the price that was overdrawn by my texting fingers.  I am not a huge fan of the cane. That stingy hurt is…hard to manage? There is that initial *slap* (and He’ll do a quick series of snap snap snap so I can’t quite catch my breath or grab a rhythm) and then the pain just spreads out like an echo….it reverberates from skin to muscle and back out. Hard to describe. If you’ve not felt it, then you should try it. You know, for science’s sake. :D

I teased Him that “You’ll forget, Master.”

Quietly He reminded me that He keeps a mental file of this sort of thing– (He does, too. He never forgets when I owe Him for being a naughty slut. Ever.) –because payback always had to be paid. His way. With pain.

He says that last word almost lovingly, then repeats it.

“My pain, nilla.”

A wealth of meaning in those few words. His pain. His duration, and His intensity. Damn but now I’m turned on, and feeling more than a wee bit of trepidation.  He loves doing that to me, too, turning me on and making me….well “fearful” is too strong a word. “Nervous” is a bit too mild. But somewhere between the two, definitely!

It may be a while before we get to meet–and I’ll have to deal with this longing and trepidation until we do. Which puts me, (I think), exactly where He wants me.

 

 

 

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Missing Him

The truth is, we spend very little time together. It’s the nature of any LDR, I know. And the fact that we get to spend any time on a regular basis, together? That’s a bonus, isn’t it?

Yes.

But this weekend He is away, about 300 miles (482 kilometers) away, and there is zero chance of seeing Him other than if He remembers to send me the picture of Himself in a tux as I have begged Him for. Yes, I’m a greedy wench. :)

I mean really? He makes me all drooly when He’s wearing a sweatshirt. The few occasions I’ve seen Him in a suit, I’ve gone all gooey (yes, even that way!). In a tux? I’m sure I’ll be a melted puddle of slut. The Man turns me on, peeps.

But He’s away.

And though we are still in touch via texting…I am missing the holy fuck outta Him.

*sigh*

Until next weekend, I guess I will sit and stare at this picture of my Master, in His crisp shirt and tie…and drool a little bit.

080812133853

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Imperfectly Perfect

I don’t believe in perfection. I know, I’ve written that before. I saw a thing on Facebook this morning that got me thinking about this. About how we chase that fantasy, going all gung-ho and striving for the impossible dream of being “perfect”. Which got me to thinking (I know, always so dangerous, right?) even more about the myth of perfection (and how it pertains to my D/s world).

I don’t even believe that perfection is attainable–because what IS perfect? It is  a variable that it defies definition.  I used to say “I’m the best me there is and every day I get a little better at it” but I’ve come to understand even that isn’t true. Some days I wake up in fine fettle, ready to take on the world, write the best story ever, yada yada….and some days I wake up grumpier than shit, ready to bite the first person who crosses my path. And on still other days, I wake up feeling at peace, and wind up in a tussle with the kids, or a problem with the spouse, or a busted water heater and I feel just……. defeated. Who can be feeling that *this* is a “better” today than the previous day? These are things that are not in my control. And yes, I can and will work on my responses to them…but hello. Human. We ALL react to things in ways we don’t always like in retrospect.

So these days I’m just taking each day as it comes, reveling in the fact that this–these small details–ARE what life is about.

D/s is like that for me. I’m NOT always a perfect, moderate, good little girl. Some days I’m crabby, or snappy, or sassy. He doesn’t care about that, really. He’ll dig to find out why I’m in a mood if it persists, and help me work through it. But He doesn’t punish me when things aren’t going right, either. He understands that we’re both human, and it’s part of the ride that we’re on. I love that about Him,  that He can see (or dig) to the root of the issue, and I’m not in trouble for not being His perfect little slut. I don’t need punishment when things are not going right, I need His guidance to help make it better. If He went at me with a heavy hand (metaphorically rather than physically) He would damage me, and my faith in Him would waver, and fall apart. This flies in the face of most D/s relationships, I know.

We’re not together 24/7, I’m not His live-in whore, He’s not my Daddy, nor my husband. Most times I *do* treat Him with respect, but I’ve been known to throw an occasional rare “fuck you Master” into the mix. This has happened less and less as we settle into our 5th year as a D/s couple. As a side note, He *loves* it when, during playtime, I growl “fuck YOU, Master”  after He’s hit me exceptionally hard. In fact, He laughs. What can I say? We’re a perverse bunch, right? :)

I read of  couples younger than Master and I, who want to “get it right”. I want to jump up and down and shout “you know…there isn’t One True Way”…but I think everyone has to discover that for themselves.  What works for one won’t work for another. I suspect that, even if Master and I did live together, vanilla would be 90% of our day-to-day, with 10% of D/s as spice. Even now when we hang out together it hovers around that ratio. I’m good with it. He’s good with it. Because over and around everything else?

I know He is the Boss.

There is not one iota of doubt of that, when I’ve occasionally crossed too far over the line with Him–it only takes that one raised brow for me to drop my eyes and fall into submissive mode and utter a quick apology. It’s a thread that braids into our relationship.

So, I’m not perfect.

Neither is He.

I’m not preachin’ here–you can go off and strive to be that “perfect slave”, or the “perfect submissive”. You can live your Gorian fantasy and be perfectly happy doing so. He is okay with me being imperfectly perfect for Him…and that makes my imperfectly submissive heart go all pitty patter.

Here’s the illustration that got me going on this tangent today:

perfection

 

*grins*

Yes, you don’t have to give 100% to everything. You can give it your best today. Which might be less than yesterday, and could be more than tomorrow–and guess what?

You’ll still be okay.

And if you don’t believe me, maybe you’ll believe Pink. 

 

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HNT- Painterly

More fun with the phone. Who knew they could be so entertaining? You’ll be treated (tormented?) with lots of pix in the future as I work my way through the various settings…this one is a “Paint” type overlay, with high color contrast and the texture of “canvas”…Happy HNT!

 
painterly

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Still Here– Really!

Not much sexy stuff happening, tho there was a wee bit of pinchy pinchy with Master on Sunday evening…

And my vanilla world has once more expanded to take over all parts of my life…

And it’s Spring in New England and there are sprouts and sunny blue skies and almost all snow piles melted…and it’s alllll good.

And I hope to not be a stranger on my own blog for much longer…

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The Predicament

She arched, inner muscles clenching around the dildo vibrating in the deep places of her cunt. The sudden curving of her spine pressed her clit hard against the vibrator that had been barely touching a moment ago, adding a layer of intensity to the paroxysms of her pussy.

“Quite a quandary you have there, little whore.”

His voice was amused and pleased. She could hear him moving around her, though her eyes were closed.  He did admire his own handiwork, she thought with a frown. Her clit screamed, the motions of the big vibe now too intense as orgasm approached.

Her arms were tied tightly over her head, stretching her. Her legs were spread, cuffed to a spreader bar that didn’t allow for any shifting movement. A swatch of thick duct tape passed from thigh to thigh holding a thick dildo inside her dripping pussy. In front of her a breath away from her breasts was a thin  metal bar, held by the stand that also supported the heavy-duty vibrator that barely touched her slit, and her swollen, protuberant clit. From the ends of the bar were cables, attached to a car battery. Her nipples were wet with the gel that would conduct the jolt of electrical current, should she arch sufficiently to make contact.  And behind her, another dildo, speared on a long pole, was buried in her ass. A thick rubber footing was affixed to the end of the pole, pressing it against the floor.

“a non-skid ass plug” He’d said, laughing at his double entendre as he’d speared her butt,  propping the stick behind her. It was a strong incentive to not fall over, not that she would go far, hung by her wrists as she was.  In its own strange way, it stabilized her.

“Ohhhnooooo!” she yelped, her back straightening. This motion pressed the wide rumbly part of the dildo just below her g-spot as the bulbous head ground against her cervix. It hurt and felt o-so-pleasurable at the same damn time. The thickness in her ass sent quivers to all those nerve endings, adding to the pleasure mix.

The orgasm tore through her, controlling her body, raising her breasts as her entire body arced. Tight as a drawn bow, the convulsions of her climax tugged the last reins of control from her.

Sweat beaded her brow, her chest. Her nipples rose as her body shuddered through the sensation tsunami and pressed against the electrified metal plate which had been placed just so precisely. The quick hit of pain on her nipples intensified the orgasm, pressed her pussy hard upon the outer vibe. She screamed as sensation overwhelmed.

His hand pressed against her forehead, pushing hair from her cheeks.

“such a mess you are,” his voice crooned. “don’t block daddy’s view. He wants to see it all, all the suffering. Pain wrapped with passion, my whore. And we both know how much you enjoy your passions, don’t we, you greedy little bitch?”

Panting, she fell back as the tension released. The big vibe inside buzzed on, her nipples crinkled in response. She could feel the intensity building again, faster this time. Moans, which were really whimpers, escaped her lips, though she’d vowed to not make a sound as she served his punishment. He’d merely smiled at her show of bravado. He’d known she couldn’t stop the sounds of sex as the pleasure and the torment wracked her body.

Damn him for being right again.

And damn her for thinking she could trick him. She would never steal an orgasm from Him again.

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HNT–Full-faced nilla

Master has this picture of me that He enjoys looking at…and He has graciously allowed me to post it for HNT.

Of course, there has to be tits, you know, because Master is a tit guy and it is His rule that Thursday is Tit Day…

in fact, looking at that acronym up there, HNT, which used to stand for Half-Nekkid Thursday, I feel it has now morphed into my own personal acronym….. Happy Nilla Tit day!

I’ve been having a ton of fun at night playing with the camera options on my phone. I am *supposed* to be sleeping but sometimes I have trouble getting there, so I whip out my phone, text Master, take tit-selfies, and then play with effects. This is one of those pictures that I took when I was trying to find the perfect shot for Master (admit it — when you take selfies, you take a bunch of shots, and only post the best one to your blog or facebook, right?!) and it turned out to NOT be one that I wanted to send to Him. It did, however, present a challenge to make it better to see if I could make it a HNT picture that Master would enjoy here.

 

moodyHe has yet to weigh in as I type this — and of course I’m late posting this since I’ve been actually parking my carcass in bed earlier each night..which has cut into my writing and posting time….

Sometimes I think I have entirely too much fun playing with that phone. Learning to manage a new electronic device takes me some time…and now that I have the apps I enjoy and this newly discovered camera effects to play with, it’s amazing I close my eyes at all. (Just kidding, Master.)

Okay, so you’ve hung in here like the good reader you are…time for the big reveal…

 

are you ready?

 

One…

 

Two….

 

Three….

 

 

…and it’s…..Full Faced Nilla

 

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Dare

“You wouldn’t. You….couldn’t…” her voice trailed off into a squeak as he launched himself across the room and onto her.

Not only would he, but he did. It took only seconds for her taunting gibe to be silenced as he flipped her onto her belly, trapping one hand under her, the other behind her back. Trying to open her fingers and pinch him was for naught–he pressed against her firmly.  His hands dug under her skirt, hooking her panties in his fingers.

“Seth…I was jok–”

With a rough tug, her panties were torn from her bottom. With a quick twist, he secured her hands together. His belt was tugged from his pants, looped through the panty-tie on her wrist and quickly looped through the headboard.

“Seth…”

Her words were garbled as he shoved his tie into her mouth. The bed shifted as he moved away.  From the other room she could faintly hear his voice, then the chirp of the phone. More words, another chirp.

She looked over her shoulder as the door flung open. He stood, framed from behind with the light pouring into the living room window. He looked…daunting. He strode to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt, tugging down his pants, revealing a hard-swollen cock.

“Told your boss you were a bit tied up at the moment, and not feeling good. He said he hopes you feel better soon. My boss was understanding that I had to stay here and take care of you, since you’re feeling so poorly.”

She looked at him. He lied? He never lied.

“Oh, don’t worry little girl–you will be feeling verrrry poorly by the end of today. You’ll be sore just about everywhere.” There was a sparkle in his eyes, the one he got when the sadist was walking in his skin.

His hand stroked down her thigh, but she kicked out at him. Her heart pounded–excitement and a bit of fear. She loved him like this, truly, but he was also very daunting in this mood.

“okay, little girl, you want to play rough eh?”

He tugged her skirt up over her hips, baring her bottom fully. She’d only had her skirt and panties on when she had begun taunting him about being too work-oriented. About leaving her, hot and horny, to go hang with his old, shriveled boss whose cock was likely hadn’t seen pussy since the great depression. He turned and went to the cabinet where they kept their toys. She struggled in earnest when he took out the cane. She hated that whippy thing with a passion. Whimpering and struggling to get free, the quick lick of fire on her thigh made her stiffen, then shriek behind the gag. Before she could recover there was another blow, and a third.

“I see I have your attention now, little girl.”

She kept her back to him, refusing to look at him. Always a mistake, didn’t she realize that by now? The cane sang its way up her body, over the curve of hip, lurching at the sway of waist. She was cringing now, holding back the moans of pain at the bites of the wooden tool  upon shoulder-blade and arm. His weight shifted the bed, and she half-rolled. Her tits felt the sharp assault next, her nipples rising as they tightened in response to the torment.

No soft caress followed the sound of the cane clattering onto the nightstand, just the sharp crack of his hand upon her ass as she lay curled on her side. Fuck! Ow!

Fingers pried between her folds, rubbed wetness, spreading it.

“Wet little dirty girl.”

His fingers scooped the slickness, slid into her anus, her pussy, two by two. A sadistic and sensual move, pain and pleasure dancing arm in arm. She was not a fan of anal.

She was so fucking aroused.

At her asshole, the press of his thick head. She shook hers, no, but his fingers tugged her head back and growled ‘yesssss’ as he pressed deep. Whimpers, hers; moans, his, the sounds of pain and pleasure mingling with the slip and slide of wet flesh. Fingers found her clit, rubbing hard, moving up to pinch her nipples.

Driving hard, deeply, filling her belly from behind, she felt the tightening against her bottom, presaging his orgasm. Whimpers were left her in her throat.  She couldn’t speak around the tie gagging her mouth. She was close…so close…

He came with a rumbling groan, hot juice ssssquirting into her bumhole. She felt the quivers in her belly, the longing for her own orgasm, even as his cock began to shrink. He pulled out, falling back, away from her. She grumbled loudly around the gag, tossing her head to show her displeasure.

He lifted his head, chuckled at the glare she threw his way.

“awww, poor little girl didn’t get hers? Too bad.”

He fell back again, but she could see the smile on his face. Smirking bastard. She wanted to kick him, but didn’t quite dare. Look where that had gotten her, here, filled with his cum, and unable to get her own release.

He rose up, flipping her onto her back, his mouth working at her breast. Biting and sucking he played with her. Close, instantly she was that close again.

He rolled away.

“All good things come to those who wait. And to those who dare taunt their Master.”

He rose, stretching.

“I’m off for coffee.”

He tugged the gag from her mouth before he trotted downstairs, and enjoyed his cup all the more for the yelling that filtered down to the kitchen. It was going to be a fine fucking day.

 

 thanks for the idea, Kayla!

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A Clever Title Escapes Me

I feel like, lately, every time I arrive here, I start by writing “i’ve been sick”. Maybe because  when I got sick in February, and took my meds, and kinda felt better after–but didn’t go back to see the Doctor for FIVE weeks (because I’m just that stupidly stubborn?) I took a sudden turn for the worse and got sick harder, deeper.

Another round of antibiotics, and almost feeling better, but not quite.

Only waited a week before I called again. I’m slow, but I’m learning. And okay, Master might have nudged me into it a bit.

A third round of antibiotics…and a sudden worsening of symptoms, mostly, you know, breathing. Or as I should say, a distinct lack of breathing.

I don’t know about you, but I kind of like breathing.

And coughing. Much coughing. Wake the neighbors, fall out of bed, scare the dog into barking at 2 a.m. kind of coughing.

Catching on quickly, I called the Doctor after 2 days and was seen immediately. Thankfully, after an hour there and another at the X-Ray place, I was told I don’t have pneumonia, but a very serious bronchial infection.

I’ve got a ton of medicine allergies, so finding one that would kill the germies and not kill me was a challenge, but he did it. After only a few doses I can sit up and breathe and have an attention span longer than 3 seconds. And I’m not coughing up my lungs every 5 minutes, either. And my voice, which I’d coughed away several nights ago, is slowly returning.

And oh gosh.

I slept last night.

*insert sound of angelic choral sounds here*

There truly is nothing like a full night of sleep, something I’ve not felt in weeks.

So…

What does all this shit have to do with a sex blog?

Well, it’s one reason why this hasn’t been much of a sex blog these last few weeks. But I think there’s been a big turn around. I’m feeling better. Spring is finally, finally showing herself in New England; we’re expecting a ton of rain this weekend and no more of the white stuff thank you very much. So keep reading because I have proof that this really *is* a sex blog, after all, and not a whiney “o i don’t feel good” blog, which will be a big relief to all of you who have read this far!

So, Master has been taking good care of His slut. From afar, but really, He’s been very good to me. Kind. Firm. Bossy. (“go to bed now nilla”  “no, NOW, slut”)…I’m notoriously bad about bedtimes.  I’d hoped for an early play time but that is not to be, until I get my full strength back, which will take a few weeks, sadly. And then there was nilla’s totally stupid “let’s play” plans that went awry…

why, you ask?

I’d planned our next play day–for some stupid reason–on Easter Sunday. Now, you all know I’m not a Christian, but the kids still do the egg hunt, and we tend to go to church (well, my kids do, anyway), and He goes and does things with His adult kids…so no, there is not a playday in the immediate offing. Maybe at the end of April. He’s traveling, and I’m super-duper busy with work (including work that I had to postpone this week on Doctor’s Orders). Finding time to have playdates in the spring is always a challenge for us.

That doesn’t stop Him from being a sadist, nor from being my Dom. He has this way of reminding me who is in charge when I’m down and gloomy and feeling sorry for myself. He has the “Dom cure for dour sluts”. He is calling this two-month illness a “viral slut disease”.

He knows the perfect cure for it too. (so He says)

He’d threatened me with a half-o– “oh you’d be surprised at the healing power of the half-o, nilla”–but later told me that He wants me fully healed. “So that you can fully enjoy the pain I plan to inflict on you”.

Damn if that didn’t stick in my brain.

I woke up this morning feeling better, though a bit wobbly. And as I sat on the edge of my bed getting my feet under me, I suddenly remembered that I’d had some wild-assed Master dream.

He’d tied my hands over my head, as He’d done on our last playtime. I lay, stretched out, unable to do more than wiggle my fingers. In my dream, He took each ankle and pulled the wide apart–but then hooked a rope around them to keep them wide.

His eyes sparkled, the way they do when He is deeply enjoying Himself…and He lifts a cane into my line of sight. I know then, instantly, that He isn’t going after my tits, despite them being (as things happen in dreams) suddenly bare. He’s looking at my cunt now. Just standing there and looking. I blush, closing my eyes as the flush of embarrassment runs through me. (yes, even now that kind of exposure embarrasses me) And then He slaps the cane down on my left pussy lip. I remember bucking and arching and gasping. Shocked at the sudden brutality, the sharp and intense bite of pain. In my dream I can hear the rush of air, that whoosh that is particular to a cane slicing towards ones flesh a nano-moment before it hits my cunt again. How long it goes on, I have no idea, for I waken suddenly.

And forget.

Until sitting there on the edge of my bed, wobbly legged, I remember.

I am a sexual being. I do have sexual needs, wants, and perverted desires. And for the first time in 10 days, I’m feeling horny. Wanton. Needy. Wet.

Damn, I must be better for real!

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HNT Fun Camera Effects part 2

I’m not a photographer…words are my ‘medium’…but I’ve really been having fun playing with some of the options on my phone’s camera. To a “basic tit shot” picture, I added some “grain”, pulled out the color, and ~voila~

black n white…..a gritty black and white photo. This reminds me of a newspaper picture from the ’40′s doesn’t it? (not that I was around in the 40′s mind you!)

Or maybe a titty mug shot?

LOL!

Happy HNT.

 
I think I’m the very last HNT person on the naughty web…many are doing Boobday on Friday. . . however, any day is a good day for titty flashing, right? :D

 

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