Seedlings (4)

She wriggled on the stool in Mr. Wu’s back storeroom. She was so freaking horny! The room was warm, the lighting dim. So soothing. She rose and took off her coat, her scarf, her gloves.  It was even too warm in here for her sweatshirt. She pulled it over her head, and tossed it on the edge of the counter with her outerwear. Sitting in her exercise bra and sweatpants, she felt better.

Besides, this way Mr. Wu would be able to see her spots, and recommend a natural antihistamine to relieve them…although, come to think of it, they were not itchy.

She heard the soft whoosh of the curtain closing behind him. She loved the sound of the silk fabric, the shimmer and shine of it. She knew Mr. Wu’s long-dead wife had embroidered the dragon on it. She smiled at the man as he came into the small room. His cheerful face never failed to make her happy.

He showed her the packet of herbs.

“For tea. It will soothe your belly. I will brew the first pot, you watch me.”

She rose and stood beside him as he carefully scooped a rounded demitasse spoon of herbs, and slipped them into a tiny, fine-meshed bag. He drew the string tight, then wrapped the excess cording around the neck of the little bag.

“This will prevent the herbs from going into your tea; they taste bitter. Best to avoid that for now.”

As she watched him work, the teapot, which he had set upon the single hot plate, came to a boil.

He placed the bag into a fine china cup, and slowly poured the water over it. Pungent scents rose immediately. The tisane was a soft green-gold color.

“This will steep for 5 minute,” He held out his palm, all five fingers extended. She nodded.

“Then we remove bag without squeezing. Squeezing will  push out bitterness.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. 8:05.

“Mr. Wu, am i keeping you here too late?”

“You are my student. Teacher should make time for his most excellent pupil, yes?” She smiled at his response. He was always so sweet!

While waiting for the tea to brew, she spoke to him about her rash.

“I forgot and used Alex’s soap in the shower, i think. I hate the smell of it usually, but i was so tired that i just grabbed what was at hand. Now look at me!”

He traced a gnarled finger from her shoulder to her elbow. It made her shiver, that light touch, but also sent a sharp stab  straight to her clit. What the hell was wrong with her, that this kindly old man would rouse such…lust…between her throbbing pussy lips? She could feel the slow and steady ooze of juice leaking from her cunt.

She hoped he couldn’t smell her.

He looked at her face, into her mouth, and traced another finger down her spine, with the same results. It was as if his finger was drawing sex need out of the sky and painting her body with it through the tip of that one gnarled digit.

“You are cold?” he asked as she shivered again. Behind her back, he smiled a knowing smile. He understood that cold was the least of her issues just now.

“No, no actually i am very warm. Your touch just…tickled me a bit.”

“Aah.”

He returned to touching her, or barely touching her. Under his loose-fitting pants, he felt an ancient stirring. The smile turned inward, as he came to face her.

“Tea will help.” He said, looking down at her. Moving to the counter, he deftly scooped the bag from her cup, sprinkled in a dash of powdered honey, and handed her the saucer.

She took a sip. It was hot and burned her tongue a bit but the taste was …amazing.

“mmmmmm…Oh, Mr. Wu, your tea’s are always so different. Interesting and flavorful…and good for me, too.”

Nodding, he turned away, and took the dripping bag to the sink. He rinsed it carefully, inside and out, and hung it over a peg to dry. As he set about tidying his area, he watched her surreptitiously  as she drank his concoction.

“Drink all,” he admonished, when she would have set it aside.

“Hot, it’s so…” Her voice was dreamy, vacant. She was deeply relaxed now, and her belly rumbled loudly. She giggled at the sound.

“I sound like a washing machine on “spin” cycle,” she said with a vapid giggle.

“You are feeling…hot? Where are you hot, my student?”

“Um,” and she twisted coyly on the stool. “Kinda in naughty girl places.”

He smiled knowingly.

“It is to be expected. I believe you are feeling very tired. Come, let us go upstairs to my apartment and you may sleep there tonight. It is too cold for you to be out and walking, and there is no one home to miss you.”

“Mmmmhhmm,” she cooed. “Boyz are still away. Won’t be home until tomorrow night.”

“Perfect.”

Mr. Wu took her arm and helped her make her way on wobbly weak legs to the small steps that twisted upwards to his small flat. Her tummy rumbled and she giggled. His arm came around her to support her, his hand resting just below her belly button.

At long last, the prophecy would be fulfilled, and he would finish his life-long task.

She was the beginning.

 

HNT The Wall

Mid-afternoon, after being tickle-tortured, and spanked in equal measure…after being nearly drunk on pain and lust…after all of that, came the Wall.

Blindfolded, hands cuffed behind my back, i was helpless to stop the inexorable slip of the clamps from the edge of my nipple.

i’m still not certain whether He planned for this to happen, but,  as He’s told me before…He does nothing with me “by accident”.

And there was a clue in the somewhat insincere voice He used each time the clamp came off.

“oh, nilla, did that come off again? Gee, that must’ve hurt, huh?”

There  i was, dancing with the pain of both nipples…one from the incredible pinch as the clamp   s  l  i   d   off the teeny nubbin of flesh it was gripping…the other from suddenly bearing the full weight of both clamps and the weights.

Yes Master. It   fucking damn well hurt!!!

It was painful, oh so incredibly pinpointed, this pain….and yet….

It made me feel so….submissive, so very owned, so very His to play with as He chose.

And it was incredibly  erotic.

After a few “pop-offs”  He came up with an “idea” to help the clamps stay on….and stay they did…

Devious Sadist.

Seedlings (3)

She slept, as the first tendrils slipped up between her sheets, seeking. She slept, as those first tendrils, and then, more, began lacing around her ankles, twining up her legs.

She twitched as she felt a tickle along her calf. Still mostly asleep, she attempted to rub her right foot against her left leg. Something was tickling, perhaps a fold in her blankets.

Her foot did not move. Nor did her arm as she moved, attempted to move, the blankets from around her. She blinked, coming awake.  It was deeply dark in her room, and the air was humid and warm. She wondered if she had forgotten to turn down the thermostat.  Likely she had, she’d been so tired when she went to bed.

Which meant that she was probably sweating under all her blankets.

Again she tried to move her feet, her hands.

Nothing moved. Maybe she was still asleep, and dreaming. She did that sometimes. Usually she dreamt of animals…beavers that spat at her and tried to attack, mice that attacked beavers, bees that she rode upon. She felt something move up around her knee. It had to be one of those dreams…

“HEY!” she yelped. There was definitely something there. She remembered last summer when she’d had that ant invasion, and had ants in her bed. That had freaked her the fuck out. Maybe she had some sort of insect in bed with her.

Gross.

She wiggled but to no avail.

There were little pinches against her skin. “OUCH” she yelped. It felt like a…a thorn. It was digging into her, hard. There was a burning ache where it was pressing into her skin, and then just a feeling of heat.

Feelings surged through her. She had flashes of sex…bodies tangled, cum-and-sweat slicked skin sliding together.  The feelings came as fast as memories.

A fist in her hair.

Of being tied down that time with Tony, and being fucked hard.

Of being licked on her pussy, until she came in a froth of sex-juice.

She felt a tickle along her pussy, and more burning pricks along her legs. And then a probing.

Whatever it was, it was pressing against her lower lips, feeling like a coil slicking through the sudden burst of moisture all those memories had flushed from her.

Her clit was throbbing like crazy, and she had the urgent need to fuck.

This was crazy! She was having an awake sex dream, about bondage, and she couldn’t wake up enough to get her dildo and fuck herself.

The probing between her thighs grew more insistent. Shaking her head she opened her eyes. There was a distinct green glow across the room where her compost box was, and a long slither of glow along her floor and up the side of her bed.

What the fuck was going on here?

She shook her head, and pulled frantically with arms and legs. Her left wrist snapped free, and she flung back the blankets. There was a coil of green around her wrist and she looked closer at it.

A stem?

Looking down her body she saw a multitude of glowing green stems wrapped around her legs, pulling them apart. She felt and saw the slithering vines wrapping around her waist, growing faster than her eyes could see, tendrils separating and growing, encasing her.

Even now it was reaching for her tits, while she felt continued probing at her pussy.

No.

She was dreaming. Another sharp pinch made her yelp. The thing was…adhering to her.

“Help!”

She yelled into the room but knew there was no one there. Tossing her head she struggled to free her lower body. She reached to pull the plant, for that was surely what it was, from her belly, but more tendrils flipped around her wrist, pinning her arm to her body.

She watched as a tendril raised up between her spread thighs, as a wicked looking thorn grew out the side. Slowly it dropped to the top of her pubis, and she yelped as the ‘needle’ pierced her skin. There was a moment of intense vertigo, and then a wave of lust so intense she almost came then and there.

The fucking plant was drugging her!

A fat, green stalk emerged from a furled leaf, looking very much like an oversized piece of   asparagus.   

It bent towards her exposed cunt, and she realized its intent. The thing was growing fatter, and drops of a dewy substance was leaking from the overlapping scales all along the top of the stalk.

Two more stalks were growing, rising and writhing, almost snake-like. Like the main stalk, these two also wept liquid from under their scales. She watched, able to see each one growing thicker, longer.

Thin vines had begun wrapping around her tits, tightening around them until those fleshy globes became engorged. Tiny  tendrils grabbed and wrapped around her large nipples, pulling them tight.

She arched, moaning, at the sudden pressure on her tits. As if this was an invitation, she saw the first stalk dip back down, and felt it press against her lower lips once again.

This time it was bigger. She felt the tip of the spear parting her, pressing upward. It was wet, slick with its dew, and rubbery. It pressed upward, upward. She shook her head no, but her body responded. Whatever the plant had injected into her, left her in a haze of sexual need.

She felt a second probing along her pussy. And the third. It was impossible to think that all three would attempt to fit inside of her vagina. She arched and wiggled and tried to close her legs, but the three stalks pressed inexorably upwards, stretching and filling her.

It seemed impossible, but she swore she felt them twining around each other, twisting and spiraling inside of her. There was a painful press against her cervix, then the incredible rush of sex need that always hit her when a partner fucked her that deeply. As if her womb was inviting them to pour seed into it, the pain and pleasure was so incredibly intense.

There was pressure against her clit and she knew that a tendril was wrapping around that tender nub of flesh. She was alive with sensation. Her skin felt slick, sensitive. Her tits throbbed, and her over-filled cunt ached.

The pinch inside of her caught her by surprise. The fucking thing had sprouted a thorn inside her! She panicked, imagining it ripping her apart. Her heart raced, her body shuddered as fear threaded through her. An icy sweat popped out.

Immediately there was a soft rush of feeling. The plant cradled her but did not crush her. She was stroked and squeezed.

It felt like…she was being comforted.

Her pussy screamed as the tangled stalks continued to auger up inside of her. They were still growing, as fat together now as a man’s fist.

The thorn scratched along inside of her, making her scream at the sudden pain.

For a moment the world stopped. She was in her cunt, the hot throbbing mess of it. Plant goo and blood intermixed.

The orgasm slammed her back into the bed, locking her in a rigor so intense she thought her bones would crack. She felt the spray of fluid from her pussy squirting out to wet her thighs, her cum soaking the bedsheets, and the vines wrapped around her lower limbs.

The plant went wild. Tendrils whipped and waved around her, wrapping around her throat, her face. Touches against her nose, her lips, her ears, as the vines exploded in growth.

The braided thickness pulled out from her, rubbing along her soaked slit, absorbing her juices, before thrusting back up inside of her. Her groan allowed a tendril to slip between her lips and coil around inside of her mouth, forcing her jaws open.

Her breath was ragged now, fear and lust dancing through her body. She had no idea how long she had been held this way.

A second orgasm hit her hard. Her screams rang out as the scene repeated, as the plant absorbed her liquid, then drove back up towards her womb.

The fullness inside of her throbbed. Or she throbbed from the fullness. But suddenly she was wet, as if she’d been sprayed from a hose. She felt it in her belly, the sudden sloppy wetness passing from the plants thickness, to slick down her asscrack and pool around her lower back.

She felt that thick wetness filling her belly. She felt heavy and languid with the juice of the plant oozing in to all the little thorn cuts, and with her own powerful orgasms.

She’d never had a dream like this before, was her last thought before she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

*******************************

Mr. Wu paused, smiling,  as he puttered around the back of his shop. He was certain that Leeza’s curiosity would have caused her to plant all the seeds he had given her. One plant per pot would yield a lovely large pumpkin. Two together would engender something all together different. Only time would tell. He lifted his feather duster and went back to his task.

************

She woke slowly.  Blinking back the bleary morning, she stared at the face of her clock.

12:03

The little dot that illuminated at the “p.m.” time of day was lit. She’d slept the morning away? Geeze.  She’d had some sort of weird fucking dream, too. She sat up, blinking, feet dangling over the edge of the bed.

Naked, she went to the bathroom and peed. Absently she rubbed at a a scratch on her arm. Must’ve done that during all her planting yesterday. But it itched. She finished, and washed her hands. She had small dots on her arms, her tits, her belly.

Shit.

She must’ve used Alex’s soap yesterday by accident. She was allergic to it, dammit. She sniffed at her skin. Hard to say, as she remembered sweating in the night. The cold snap must’ve broken.

She went into her room and turned on her grow light. No signs of sprouts yet, of course. Finding an old tee shirt, and some sweats, she padded barefoot into the kitchen. She was hungry!

She whipped up scrambled eggs, a pair of toast slices, spread thickly with butter and drizzled with honey. The teapot whistled as she finished her food, and she poured a cuppa, then walked to the window to look outside.

Fresh powder coated the view. Trees were painted with thick tufts of snow, and the sky was blue as Texas cornflowers. Fat clouds dotted the far horizon, and a cardinal zipped across the alley and into the pine tree that stood sentinel between the two neighboring properties.

Her tummy gurgled, and she rubbed it absently. She likely needed some ginger-root. She headed for the kitchen, only to sigh in dismay when she found the vegetable drawer empty.

Fucking Alex! Some snow bunny was gonna have one hella sore asshole before this weekend was out. Oh well, she didn’t mind walking in the snow. After her tea, she’d stump out and go visit Mr. Wu.

*********************

Somehow, after her big breakfast, she found herself headed back to bed. She fell instantly into a deep and dreamless sleep. She woke with her tummy gurgling.

Remembering her promise to herself to go for more ginger root, she reluctantly pulled on her sweats and top, although she didn’t remember taking them off prior to her nap.

On the walk to Mr. Wu’s a feeling grew between her thighs that she recognized as being totally horny.  Hopefully the walk to the Herb Shop would help quell that suddenly raging inferno down there. Outside, it was cool but not terribly cold. The sun, falling low in the sky in the late winter afternoon, set the snow to gleaming in shades of dusky purple, soft blue and even a twist of pink. The sky, it’s puffy clouds stretched along the horizon line, mirrored the candy colors of the snow below. She was pleased that she’d gotten out to see this ethereal beauty. The colors wouldn’t last more than a few minutes more; soon the sun would drop below the buildings to the west and darkness would pull itself up, covering this side of the world.

She hoped the boys were having a good time on the slopes. She was very much enjoying her time alone, although she did like their company. Likely one or both of them were shacked up after a few runs in the fresh powder, with Alex making full use of her purloined root. She smiled and shook her head wryly.

The lights began winking on as she walked down to the center of town. She enjoyed being one of a handful of sojourners out and about. The bell over the door jingled in welcome as Leeza stepped into the fragrant warmth of Mr. Wu’s shop.

He stepped out from behind the curtains before she could call to him.

“Leeza, back so soon, child?”

“I…need more gingerroot. My tummy is a bit funny, and the boys took the fresh root when then went skiing. I …think they were going to make homemade ginger ale.” She finished lamely.

“I see.” For indeed he did.

“So, you are unwell? Come into the back and let me examine you.”

“it’s…okay.” She acquiesced. Whenever she had a malady, he always had a therapy that seemed to work for her.  Why, he’d even knocked the flu down to 7 days instead of the usual 14-20, last winter.

Mr. Wu smiled his timeless smile. Under his robe, he felt a twitch. He went out through the curtain, and flipped the sign over the door to “Closed”,  locked the door, and turned off the store lights….he had more important work to attend to now.

Scooping a packet of herbs he’d prepared earlier, he passed back through the curtain.

Seedlings (2)

Alex and Max headed out, with much thumping, bumping, jangling of skis and each other. The silence almost throbbed through the apartment once they were gone.

She looked around, amazed at the calm. They had been pumped to finally head out for their first ski-trek of the season. Winter had come late to the northeast this year, and they had postponed this mini-vacation twice due to poor snow coverage.

It had been sweet of them to try to cajole her into coming along, but really, she knew she’d enjoy the peace and tranquility here. A long weekend with nothing but planting and books was just what she needed. For today, she likely wouldn’t even turn on the radio, just let the silence envelop her, only to be broken by the whistle of the tea kettle, or the whisper of a turning page.

She decided to brew a cup of tea, just her regular morning blend, black with a dash of milk to soften it. Taking the steaming mug into the bedroom, she set about dumping the used soil out of her pots, and into the green recycle bin that the guys would take outside for her when they returned Monday. The fresh soil sat in a blue bin. This she had dug out of the pile of soil that was still partly unfrozen in the back corner of their little yard. It was communal space, but the other residents of the building didn’t mind her little “dirt project”.

She even had a compost bin set up for everyone to contribute to, which reduced the trash load from the building and enriched her soil pile.  Glad that she had two strong men to heft the containers for her, she’d taken advantage of the mild weather a few weeks ago, and had Alex bring up a fresh bin of soil, just for this purpose.

As the soil heated slowly to room temperature, it gave off a delightfully  soft, loamy smell.  As far as she was concerned, they were living an enriching, symbiotic relationship, she and her mini garden. The plants took in her breath, and gave off pure clean air in exchange.  The bright greens, almost glowing under the grow lights, never failed to cheer her up  in these colorless winter months.

And not having to pay top dollar at the grocery store for winter-grown greens  didn’t hurt, either!

The hours blended together and passed her by as she scrubbed her pots, added peat moss to her composted earth, and re-filled the pots with the fresh mix. Swiping her dirty hand across a sweaty brow, she decided to take a break. It was full-dark now, but she needed a breath of outside air. Quickly, she rinsed off, and grabbing her coat, headed down the freight elevator.

Outside the air was snappy with cold. Each breath seemed to pierce her lungs with it, yet the stars gleaming overhead were incredibly bright and twinkling. Each exhalation let a cloud of breath stream from her and out to the cosmos. How wonderful that on such a wickedly cold night, she would be planting seeds for a far-distant warmth.

Turning her collar up against the chill, she shoved her hands deep into her pockets. She felt something in her left pocket, and pulled out the small square of paper.

OH! Mr. Wu’s “magic” seeds! She’d forgotten all about them! Keeping them in the palm of her hand, she turned to return to the warmth inside.

*********************

“There, that outta do it,” she murmured to herself. Nestled in the dark, warm soil were three varieties of tomatoes, hot peppers, marigolds, and sweet peppers. A pair of large peat pots at the end of her growing tray contained the mysterious seeds that Mr. Wu had sent. She tossed her remaining seed packs onto the top of her compost bin, not noticing that Mr. Wu’s hastily made packet opened, spilling the remaining 6 seeds into the bin.

She stretched, yawning hugely. She’d had a wonderful day. First in the prep work, then a lovely quiet lunch reading in the chair that got the mid-day light, curled up like a cat in the streaming sunshine. After a brief nap in that same chair, she’d gotten all her seeds started.

It would only be a matter of days before the first of the sprouts would pierce the soil, and begin their journey from seed to sprout to plant, eventually bearing fruits that would feed her, and her roomies, throughout the summer.

With any luck, her yield this year would allow her enough extra tomatoes to put up a few batches of salsa.

With that last happy thought in her head, she took a long hot shower, thankful that there were no guys around so she could just strip her grimy clothing in her bedroom and pad naked from her room to the shower, and back.

Towelling off her hair, she noted the seeds still splayed on the top of her “plantable” compost bin. Ah well, she would get them picked up in the morning. Slipping between her flannel sheets, she read  until the words began to blur on the page. Eyelids fluttering closed, and yawning widely, she stuffed a bookmark between the pages. Slipping further into her warm nest of blankets, she popped her light off, and fell quickly to sleep.

*****************************

In the dark of the room, inside the bin of rich loamy soil, something stirred to life. Six seeds began corkscrewing roots into the nutrient-rich loam, while thin slivers of green stem began driving upwards.

She slept on, unaware.

The Seedling

She tamped the soil over the seedlings, then watered them copiously. Her roommates always made fun of her for starting her plants early, but they never seemed to laugh so much when her little bedroom garden yielded tasty greens in mid-winter, or the first tomato’s of the season…in June.

She’d set up the grow-system on the only open wall, near her bed, beside her dresser. The dresser top was clear now, ready to hold her watering can, the fertilizer that helped them grow strong, twine, spare light bulbs, and all the other paraphernalia she needed to make her little garden grow.

It was almost time to harvest the last batch of greens. Just enough for one last winter salad, she mused, smiling over her little pots. And just in time to start her tomatoes.

Nevermind that it was still Mid-Winter,  in just a few short days it would be Imbolc, February 2nd, St. Brigid’s Day. In pagan mythology, today marked the beginning of the spring season, when the lambs began lactating; when  winter was forced to begin turning away from the land. Snow storms would still lash the people, but the back of the Winter would be broken.

She always started her tomato’s this day, although it would be months before she could set them outside in her garden. Yet the very act of setting seeds to soil was a sacred act of faith.  The moon was waxing, beginning it’s journey towards wholeness-the perfect conjunction of pagan signs for planting.

*****************

She threaded her way through the marketplace. So many little shops she kept meaning to explore some day. Today was not the day, however. Winter was breathing a frigid breath across the City, and it was freezing. She was headed to the Herbalist shop to get some loose green tea, and some ginger root. She would make a lovely tisane from it, to chase away the chill of the day. Plus the ginger smelled divine simmering on the stove top.

She stepped into the dimly lit shop. Tea and bright light were not a good combination, she knew. And it was always so soothing to step in here and smell the scents that perfumed the air. Peppermint and spearmint and cardamom wafted to her as she walked towards the back of the shop.

Mr. Wu stepped from behind the curtain at her approach. He was a wizened man who looked to be somewhere between 100 and 1,000 years old. His face was a roadmap of life-experiences. He was funny, and charming, wise in the ways of the healing arts, and a Master of Kung Fu.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wu.” She couldn’t stop herself from bobbing in a short bow. She hoped it didn’t insult him, but showed him the deep respect she felt for him.

“Good afternoon, Leeza.” His voice was rich like dark honey, and dark like mahogany. His words were accented but crisply spoken. She melted a little inside when he spoke. “How my I be of assistance to you today, little one?”

She smiled at him. Truly he was one of her favorite people. She told him of the tisane she wanted to concoct. He suggested adding lemon grass to sweeten the drink, and a generous dollop of honey.

“For the pot,” he cautioned, one gnarled finger pointing at her admonishingly. “Not for the cup.”

She grinned. She nodded.

“Has your gardening begun yet?” He asked her as he wrapped up the ginger root in thick butchers paper.

“Not yet. Soon, and I can hardly wait. The last of my lettuces will be done this week.”

He nodded. She was a good student, though he doubted she understood fully that he had been training her subtly all these years. She understood much. Not enough, but time was the most effective cure for that.

“Wait.”

She watched him head behind the silk curtain. She watched the dragon woven into the fabric writhe as if it were alive as the fabric settled into place. In a moment he was back with a small white packet in his hand.

“Seeds.” He said, pressing the packet into her palm. “They have much magic in them. Plant just one or two of them, for you may not enjoy what you will harvest from them.”

He would not tell her what kind of seeds they were, just reiterated for her to only plant one or two. She nodded, and tucked the seeds into her coat pocket. She paid for her tea and ginger, and reluctantly headed off into the cold afternoon.

**********************************

Her roommates had enjoyed the last Winter Salad, and sat sipping the lemon-ginger tea she had brewed.

“Great stuff, seriously. It’s been kinda cool that we didn’t have t buy lettuce all winter. $5 bucks a head for lettuce? Not when we have the “urban gardener” living with us!” Max burped loudly.

“scuse YOU!” Alex punched Max on the shoulder as the two men play-tussled. She ignored them. Typical meal time with the brat brothers! Still, she glowed with their praise, beaming inside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us Leeza?”

Tussling done, she looked up at Alex.

“No, thanks. I’d rather stay here and read. You can go enjoy your ski weekend and not feel guilty. Not that you will, the second that you find some little lonely ski bunny!”

“Which reminds me,” and she aimed a pointed look at Max. “I want the rest of my ginger root pu back in the fridge, you pervert!”

Max grinned, unrepentant.

“You’ve never lived until you’ve had a peeled ginger-root shoved up your hiney,” he said with a laugh.

“Actually, I’ve lived just fine without that. So, thanks, but I’ll pass. I’ll save those little perversions for you, you sick bastard,” and she laughed. She had no problem with Max being a Dom, nor for any of his ‘toys’…though it was far and away from how she enjoyed having sex.

Though she wasn’t opposed to a bit of soft bondage now and again. And not that she’d ever share that with Max, coz he’d never let her live it down.

No, they worked well as roommates, had since co-ed college days. They had never hooked up and that was fine with them all. Alex winked at her.

“I think we should gang up on him, and let him get a taste of his own medicine,” he suggested.

“Yeah, go ahead, try that.”

Leeza laughed, and headed back to the kitchen. “Great offer, but once again, I’ll pass.”

“Yeah, and good on you for being so smart.” Alex whisked the dishes out of her hand. “You cooked, we clean up. Go, play with your plants. I know you’re dying to start planting. “

He gave her a nudge with one shoulder, while scowling at his brother. “C’mon dickhead, let’s get this show on the road. Clean up, pack up, head out to ski country!”

Laughing at their antics, and with a silent prayer that they not break any of her dishes, she headed off to her bedroom.

 

Sunday with nilla

i have a confession.

At 6 a.m. Saturday, when i woke up, the very first thing i did was turn on my computer.

Even before my morning pee.

Before i was dressed.

Before i had my glasses on.

Booted my little lap top up and tapped my foot with impatience. Okay, and coz i needed to pee really, really badly.

Finally it’s done doing its start-up shit, and quickly i type in my blog addy.

249,997

There is my confession.

Me, who rarely cares about shit like this…could hardly wait to see if i’d “rolled over” during the night.

i read a few replies to several of my older stories, and dashed off to the bathroom.

First thing i did when i got back to my room? Put on my socks. *laughs*

It’s friggin’ cold in my room, yanno. No heat in there and it was snowing.

Wait.

No. It wasn’t snowing  in my room.

i forget what they call those dangling misnomer sentences…other than funny! Likely Donna knows, right?

Anyway, in the short time i was away….

249,997

*SIGH*

i got dressed and headed downstairs. Saturday a.m. and i was the only person up at 6 frikking a.m. So i made muffins, and my tea, and came in to sit at my computer and read a bit.

Came back here and whaddaya know…

250,010.

i wish i could do fancy graphics etcetera, but i cannot.  i can drop this in here: …some currency from the country of Georgia. Not the state of Georgia. That pretty much sums up my technology. Go ahead and close your eyes at the end of this sentence and imagine fireworks going off behind those numbers.

oooh.

aaaah.

purty purty…..

*laughing* Don’tcha just LOVE fireworks? And with the pretend ones, you get to see your favorite colors and everything!

Okay, so enough bragging. And i am bragging. After all, a person doesn’t hit a quarter of a million blog hits everyday. But now, it’s time for bragging to be done, and get back to why you all come here in the first place, right?!!

So.

No story today, but a few things to share.

Saturday at work, Master and i were talking as i was doing stuff. We were talking about

The. Big. Game.

Patriots.

vs

Ravens.

Championship on the line, and these are the steps that lead to the Big Dance. The Superbowl. And i’m all kinds of pumped since i’ll get to see almost all of the game. As will He.

Last week, you may remember that i got Him to agree to grant me 10% of the Pat’s total scoring points as orgasms.

You should know He’s been ragging on me all week. Ya’ll know i suck at math. Or if you didn’t before, you do now. He kept saying i should have asked for more and let Him push me down to a lower level. But i…as i said last week….lowballed it because i *knew* it was going to be a high-point game, and i also knew there was NO. Fucking. WAY. that my Master would have given me 50% or even 25% of the points as orgasms.

At least…i think i know that.

He keeps pointing out that i didn’t ask Him, so i can’t really know for sure, and too fucking bad. So mean!!

This week, before i could even ask about converting points to orgasms, He says…

nilla, you best hope the Pat’s win. Your entire orgasms for the week will be decided by that outcome. They lose…you lose.

EEEP!! So unfair! It’s not like i can go out there and scream at Brady…

throw that FUCKING ball, man, my ORGASMS are at stake here!!

But it is the Dom’s way…and who knows…when we win…and make no mistake that i believe whole-heartedly that this will be a huge, hard-fought, and eventually won game by my beloved Patriots….perhaps the Big Mean Dom will give me a giant amount of orgasms in His jubilant state.

Hey, a slut can dream, people!

Speaking of dreams.

Friday night Master and nilla had phone sex. Yeah, yeah, ya’ll know that FNF is a staple in our staying connected to each other when we cannot be together.

This night was a bit different.

He was going to tell me “a little tale.”

I imagined a fantasy. He’s done it before. One i don’t think i have shared here about toll-takers. And a few others.

Surprise, Surprise.

The Master is talking about His week; last week was busy and He was traveling. He drove south, and attended to business.

“And what else do you think I was doing?” He asks me.

i think to myself…geeze…..how the fuck do i know? By now, i am masturbating, lost in the sensations floating through me, as i listen to His honey-rich voice carrying me off into the throes of intense pleasure.

“Well?”

“hmmmmm…” i stall for time.

“nilla.” His voice firms and i really try to come up with something.

“You went to your favorite restaurant?”

“Wrong state, nilla.” Then He laughs. “Only you could lose an entire state, nilla.”

Hey, i’m usually great with geography. But i was masturbating, yanno?

“went to the casino?”

“no, no, no, nothing like that.”

He won’t give me a clue. i’m rolling over possibilities.

“Master,” i say at last, having abandoned my pussy for the nonce, “i’m afraid i have no clue.”

“I was interviewing a Dom.”

:O

my lips are moving but no sound goes out them. i’m guessing i resembled a carp pulled onto land. Trying to suck in air and nothing is happening.

“oh nilla” He says.

i’m stuttering and making zero sense. i am pretty sure He was thrilled to have stunned me.

He sat with a Dom friend and a slut, and watched the Dom pull a scene with her. Watched him facefuck and slap her around. Watched them fucking. Watched him spank her, beat her tits.

He wasn’t terribly impressed.

He said (and this still makes me laugh) that he told the guy he (Master) hits his teddy bear harder.

and He certainly hits His slut (that would be me!) harder.

He and i are exploring the depths of pain that i can tolerate. That i crave. That feed my kink and His. And this Dom didn’t quite measure up.

We’ve spoken honestly and deeply about what happens with U/us  if this happens. And i learned a few things.

That it will feed His kink. That it will be something that will serve both of us well, and not be something that would bother Him later. i worry about that because i know He is a jealous Master. Apparently, if and when it happens…it will be okay for Him.

If and when it ever happens…it will be okay…for us both.

This is, to me, the BEST part of being kinky. That we could talk about it, work through potential hazards, and deal with them before we ever cross a line that should not have been crossed.

By the time Master was done telling me all of this, i was having a screaming orgasm. Okay, i wasn’t screaming but i was whimpering, and cumming so hard….

The fantasy of being used by another is very strong in me, as i honestly believe it is in most, if not all subs.

The reality of it is that…i have no idea what the reality of this will be like.

i want to make Him happy. i want to feed my Master’s kink for control. i want to be the best submissive slut i can be for him. But as long as i know that Master and i are good, that i am serving HIM when and if i serve another Dom….then i’m okay with it.

Actually.

i’m better than okay with it.

It is what i am all about…making Him happy.

He says i do make Him happy…

…and there are times when He pushes past my comfort zone…

and we move into His full-on Domination.

When that happens, i am intoxicated with the submission of serving Him.

Whether it is spanking me through that comfort zone, or taking my ass when i’m uncertain, or getting facefucked by a “Guest Dom”…

No matter what He chooses to push the envelope with…feeds me. There is nothing i love more than Him being my Dom, my Master, and making me submit to Him. Not just the submission that i offer to Him…but the submission that He takes from me.

He walks that line beautifully. Balanced, caring, careful and sadistic.

Perfection.

 

Glory, Glory.

this is what Felicitations originally started as in my head. Ya’ll know it turned out differently when it went from head to fingers. I promise i’ll get back to there, soon. But for now, a little “nilla quickie” for you…the “original” story.

She hated shopping. Much preferring internet or catalog browsing to actually setting foot in a store was the way to go. The mall was deadly. So many people, too many choices and too fucking much money.

Yet she wanted something special for the club next week. She’d texted Michael and he not only agreed, but he insisted that she go out and pick something out. He was her boss, her lover, her Dom, and although she didn’t feel the least bit submissive about shopping as a direct order, she obeyed.

She didn’t even bother heading to the mall, the strips of shops, or any of the usual places. She decided to check out the tiny stores on the side of town that “good” girls didn’t go to.

Rife with tattoo parlors, piercing shops, and the like, it was a place destined to make those “good” girls wet their panties in fear. She’d seen a little sex shop that she’d not been to before the last time she and Sir had come down here. That had been the time He’d decided to tat her with his mark. She’d been too nervous, facing the needle, to note her surroundings on the way in. But going home she’d been riding the endorphin high; between the privelege of being marked as His property, and the needle, she’d been ebullient.

That’s when she’d seen the sex shop. She had noted that they had clothing in one window. Perhaps here she’d find something sexy and different for the Winter Smash, the D/s “ball” that was held each February.

Parking in front of the store, she slid out of the car, and headed inside. Not for her the vapid simpering when she saw the rack of dildo’s when she stepped inside. It was warm and cozy here.

“Help you?” This from the thin man behind the counter.

“Looking for something…special. Different. Sexy. Risque. Naughty. And not some cheap outfit from Taiwan, either.”

He smirked at her, then looked her up and down.

“This way…” and he led her off behind a purple curtain that was covered with gold and silver stars. He flicked a switch. The room was very small, with just 3 racks. But the clothing was stunning.

“They’re pricey, but nice. Dressing room is through there,” and he waved his hand to the opposite side of the room. “Through the curtain and to the left a bit. The light comes on when you close the door. “

“Thanks” she said absently, already looking at the offerings. A deep midnight blue dress that was dashed with silver beads caught her eye, but no fucking way was she going to pay two grand for a gown.

“That one was owned by Lana Turner, you know the screen goddess?”

She looked up at him as if to say ‘you’re still here?’ and went back to looking, murmuring a vague ‘mmmhhmm” to him.

He took the hint and left her alone.

There were three gowns that passed muster. She fumbled with the stupid green curtain, turning to the right. She was blinded by the sudden gloom after the brightness of the other room, and staggered along, hand against the wall, until she came to a door. As she opened it, a green light above the door flashed on.

She stepped inside, took a step forward, then stumbled to her knees. “What the fuck?” she grumbled. She tried to push herself up, by pushing on the opposite wall, but something closed around her wrists.

“Hey!” she yelped. The door behind her opened. “Get me out of here.”

“oh, I don’t think so” said a strange voice. “After all, you came into the Glory Hole of your own free will…”

The hand on the back of her head  pushed forward, pulling  a strap tightly around her neck to hold her down.. A second strap went around her head, and fingers quickly pried open her mouth, slipping a ring gag inside behind her teeth.

She heard a metallic clicking, and felt something under her moving. She was pulled forward until she was kneeling, ass up in the air. Feeling a brush of air against her mouth, she suddenly understood. She was almost laying on her belly, chest on the top step of the device, mouth facing a glory hole.

In seconds, the head of a cock pushed through the hole. She heard music playing in the background, as her mouth was filled with the strange dick. Rhythmically, she heard his hips bang on the wall between them as his cock pressed into her mouth, then retreated.

She heard the groan seconds before she felt the hot semen spurt onto her tongue. She couldn’t not swallow it, gagged as she was. She couldn’t move, couldnt’ protest. Just take. She felt hands on her hips, fingers working the button and zipper of her jeans, and the caress of cool air against her ass. Any protest she may have attempted to utter,  was shoved back into her mouth by another cock pressing through the glory hole and punching deeply into her throat. She gagged, even as she felt a different cock press against the slit between her thighs.

In moments she was filled, front and back. Grunts were soon accompanied by slaps, as the man fucking her from behind pumped furiously into her. Her hips and ass throbbed under the blows, and she whimpered around the cock lodged between her lips.  The pumping and slapping grew more intense, followed soon by loud male groans as he filled her with his jism.

The one cock left her pussy;  only seconds passed before another was pressing against her, then into her.

“She’s nice n wet.”

The cock in her throat exploded, then pulled away. And her mouth was filled again. She lost track of how many times a cock had pierced the hole in the wall, sliding into her wedged-open mouth and deposited a load of cum into her belly.

She felt sick with it.

She had cum spatter on her face, and on her back and legs. Her pussy oozed a constant drip of expended seed.

“Had enough, slut?”

“she’s been a fun little thing, Master Michael. Thanks for sharing her.”

“Well, a slut is always happiest being used, I say.”

She trembled as hands unfastened her from the glory box. She staggered when He pulled her to her feet, but He refused her upturned lips.

“You look like you spent the day in a porn shop, slut.” He laughed, and took her home.

******************

“You have the most gorgeous dress of all,” ooohed one of her friends at the Ball.

“Yeah, I thought you weren’t going to spend a ton of money on a gown,” said another.

“She didn’t,” said her Master, coming up behind her and taking her arm.

“No, my little slut didn’t pay any money at all. You could say…she earned it …..Glory, glory hallelujah, eh, slut?…”

His laugh accompanied them to the dance floor.

Felicitations (2)

“You’re hiding again, ma petite salope…and I will find you…”

She jolted, looking at herself in the full-length mirror. She peered through the curtain that covered the dressing room at Felicitations. No one was there.

Yet she swore she’d heard a man’s voice. She shook her head. Lost in fanciful dreams again, she supposed. Yet in her head was a picture of a man, tall with jet-black hair and snapping eyes. Likely someone she’d seen at the club when she was there with William. But she hadn’t been to the club since the break up.

Actually, he kind of looked like the guy who was modeling those new jeans, now that she thought about it. She’d oogled that page in the magazine when she was getting her monthly pedicure. He was smokin’ hot, whoever he was.

Once more she brought her attention back to the mirror. She could hardly believe it was her standing there. Her dark red hair spilled over pale shoulders that were framed with gossamer strands of black silk cording. The bodice clung to her breasts like a lovers hand. The panels of lace and silk teased with enticing glimpses of pale flesh. She’d always had a good body but in this, she was stunning.

She turned and looked at her butt over her shoulder. OH, and didn’t she just look the coquette? She swore it looked as though she had crimson lipstick on her lips. Her hair waved like she’d spent hours working on it,  and there was blush on her cheeks.

She blinked, and once more she saw her ass, cupped and presented charmingly in the mirror. She glanced at her face peering over her shoulder once more, but all she saw was her own smoke-gray eyes, her own coral lips.

One hella illusion this lighting gave, she thought.

“You always looked fetching in that, ma petite putain.”

She whipped around, but as before there was no one there. She stepped out into the shop.

“Anthony? Excuse me?”

A rustle and bustle from the back curtain caught her attention.

“Oh darling, don’t you look divine in that? Why, it looks like it was just made for you!”

She knew flattery sold more products at the end of the day, but she felt that he was being sincere. And she felt divine in it.

“It’s gorgeous. I…I’m afraid to know how much it is. But I don’t think I want to leave here without it.”

He smiled that winning smile.

“I’m certain I have a bit of leeway. You know, there is no fun in owning a place like this if one doesn’t allow for a bit of creative cost juggling, sweetie!”

She smiled. He really was a dear little man.

He circled around her slowly, taking in every inch.

“I swear, if I wasn’t totally committed to Francois, I’d be drooling over you myself! And speaking as a gay man, let me just say…I still have a soft spot for titties, and yours, in that? A knockout. Yes,” he said, almost to himself, as he crossed over to the counter, lifted a bejeweled pen and began writing furiously. He muttered under his breath about costs and overhead, delivery, and other manner of incomprehensible things, before triumphantly ripping the page from the pad and whirling back to her.

“For the exclusive price of $50, it will be yours.”

She couldn’t believe it. Fifty dollars for this? That was so much less than the cost for an outfit at that trendy store in the mall…and nothing in the mall could compare to this. It really did fit like it was made for her.

For a moment, she thought she felt hands touching, stroking down her arms. She felt the heat of them, the brush of skin on hers, the scratch, even, from a fingernail across the back of her hand.

But there was no one there, and once more she was left standing in  a duskily lit room with a little gay man looking at her expectantly.

“You felt it, didn’t you. OH, don’t deny it. That is what the prior owner of the garment said. That the one the gown was made for would feel …something. It’s all over your face. For a moment it was like you were…”

She blushed. She did not want this little fantasy going any further.

“No, really, I was just thinking if I could take this from you for so little money. It…it seems unfair.”

He nodded, but wisely let her demur pass.

“My store, my rules. Besides, another customer will come in at some point, and I’m certain she’ll more than make up for my slim profit on this one item.”

Slim profit, her ass. The guy had to be losing his shirt on this one. But. She wasn’t going to say no.

“I’ll take it.”

With a final twirl, she headed back to the dressing room to change back into her own clothing. If she imagined she felt hands caressing her ass and between her thighs, it was only her overactive horny imagination at work.

She needed to get out of here, and she needed to get laid.

Soon.

871/Felicitations

That sounds like some kind of obscure greeting doesn’t it? Actually the eight hundred-seventy-one reflects how many more hits my blog needs (as i write this Wednesday night) before i turn over to a new, magic number.

A quarter of a million.

*sucks in air*

Whoa.

A quarter of a million hits in just under 2 1/2 years?? Holey Moley guys ‘n dolls!!

And…a very large, deeply sincere….. Thank you.

It was never what i set out to do here. This was a refuge, a place to come to, to help heal my heart, and find a new path through the strange and exciting world of erotic stories.

And explore who *i* am, or was…as an uncertain submissive.

Well, haven’t there just been a ton of changes since August 30, 2009?

And another staggering thought hits me….if my hits keep up this way, i could be looking at half a million by year 4.

This *staggers* me.

So thank you. While i know i don’t get as many hits as other popular blogs…for me to have gone from a readership of 3, to this? Well, this is nothing short of amazing. You have helped me grow and stretch as a writer, and as a submissive. We’ve shared parallel journeys and laughs and sorrow and sexy tales together, haven’t we?

So, for the next 48 hours, i’ll be watching my stat counter with bated breath…and turning inner cartwheels!

As to the “Felicitations“?

Ah, now there is a tale to be told…..(surely you didn’t think it was merely a greeting did you? *grinning*)

She’d been down to this end of town before.  She’d been drunk and her girlfriends had challenged her to finally get that tattoo she’d always said she wanted.  Kee-rist, she was 25 and not tied up with anyone, and why the hell not, right? Too old for parental disapproval to matter much, not that dear old Mom and Dad would see this tattoo.

She remembered lifting her shirt and proclaiming that she wanted a titty tattoo, and the verrrry professional artist who did nothing more than hone down the location and style she wanted, before setting to work, despite her attempts to entice him.

Later, when she was pain-sobered, he said that she had nice tits, but he preferred a bit more class in his sluts.

She’d gotten pretty huffy about it, but he’d just laughed and taken her money. She said she’d never come back, but five years later, here she was, trying to find the fucking place, so she could get a matching tat on her other tit.

And this time she was stone cold sober.

She parked in front of where she thought she remembered the parlor being. A small sign proclaimed this to be

FELICITATIONS

specialty wear for special girls

She wondered if the tat place had moved. Seeing a light on inside, she opened the door. Overhead a brass bell jingled.

There were beautiful outfits here. Some were “glam” dresses, much like Bob Maki used to design for all those Hollywood girls.  Others were more slutty. Classy, but with cutouts in strategic places. Or hemlines up to unmentionable places. Or the one dress that when she looked at the “skirt” saw that it was nothing more than quarter-inch strips of fabric…talk about “easy access!”

She touched a robe that was sheer but for a thick trim of maribou that ran around the entire outer hem.  It was black, and immodest, and screamed sex.

“That would look divine on you, with your coloring.”

She whirled and looked at the effeminate man. He plucked the hanger from the rack and held it under her chin.

“The black makes your gorgeous red hair just glow. And with that pearly skin? Fabulous.”

“I didn’t come in here to shop,” she began.

“Oh sweetie, so few do. They come looking for an old tattoo parlor that used to be here, and instead they find me!” He leaned back and offered a little giggle.

His smile was sweet. His laugh was infectious. She found herself smiling back. He waved his hand around the shop floor. While it wasn’t overly large, it was intimate, and well planned to showcase some lovely clothing.

“Please, look around. There is plenty to try on, and with your body, I have just the thing for you to be a total bomb in. Be right back. Browse, browse!”

Fluttering his hand toward the racks, he hurried off to the back room.

Well. She hadn’t come to shop. But there were some interesting pieces over against the far wall that had a vintage look. She started going through the rack, and found a gorgeous cream silk organza blouse, and a  long velvet skirt the color of chocolate that would be a lovely combination for a formal occasion.

She heard him bustling back, and turned with her finds in her hand. Yet what he carried captured her full attention.

It was stunning. A long, flowing confection of black lace and black silk. Stitched in alternating panels, she knew that the lace would reveal teasing views of skin, that would be quickly hidden by the silk panel that bordered it. Floor length with a tulip hem, a princess neckline and pencil-thin straps over the shoulders and crisscrossing the back, she could hardly wait to try it on.

“May I?” She asked, breathless.

“Of course you may! This dress is rumored to have been made for a special woman. She was a slave, but her Master was charmed by her. He never did set her free, but they remained a couple for their entire lives.  It’s come down through  several generations, lovingly cared for until *I* found it at an estate auction. There is supposed to be a spell on the dress.”

“A …spell.” She spoke dryly.

“At least, that’s what the paper said when I bought it at auction. The dress was commissioned in France in the late 1800′s. “

She blinked at him.

“That would make this dress hundreds of years old, and the fabric looks as new as if it were made on 7th Avenue last week.”

“True, and perhaps that is the real magic of the garment, hmmm?”

She smiled. No fucking way was she buying into that superstitious crappola, but the dress was certainly gorgeous. She’d never seen lace that gorgeous, silk that thick.  She wouldn’t even ask how much it cost. She would just try it on.

It might look terrible on her, for crying out loud.

Though, she doubted it. It seemed like the gown would cling in all the right places. More than any other garment here, this dress called to her, made her yearn to try it on.

“Where is your dressing room?” she asked.

He pointed the way, and she hurried through the store, eager to find out if the dress looked as magical as it was purported to be.

The Captain (3)

She stood, naked but for her boots.

She was glowing now, filled with the conviction that she had been right to come; judging by the look of shock on His face, he was glad she had, too.

He loved her chest, she knew. She took a surreptitious breath, pulling in her round belly and lifting them higher. She tried to not be too obvious about leaning just a bit from the waist, presenting him with an eyeful of tit.

She smiled.

He stared in amazement. If she was throwing her tits out to him in an attempt to avoid punishment, it wouldn’t work. He didn’t mind the vision of her tits, hanging like ripe fruit ready to be plucked. But they too would see their fair share of the beating her wayward ass was promised.

“I believe I told you to turn around and put your face on the bed. Present your unbelievably stupid ass to me, slut.”

Her mouth opened in a shocked O. She’d been so certain that it was pleasure on his face.

“Oh, make no mistake, I’ll have my share of fun with those,” and he flicked a finger against the nearest nipple. “But not now. Not until you receive your punishment. That was …” He stopped. He hated repeating himself.

He still shuddered inside with the potential for disaster that had been avoided here tonight. He walked across his cabin and opened the door to his wardrobe.  On the inside, against the back wall were special hooks that held two long poles. One was a fishing pole. The other was a whippy rod that she absolutely loathed. To the casual eye it looked like an unfitted fishing rod. But it wasn’t.  It was the primary tool he used as a punishment rod;  it offered a stinging whap that left a lovely welt and a thin strip of bruise that lingered for days. He kept one on board, and one at home.

He placed the rod beside her on the bed. She closed her eyes and let a soft nooooo escape her lips. He went to the dresser. Every drawer was fitted with an anti-slide device, which he toggled to open.

The top drawer contained His toiletries, each with its own place to prevent rolling when they were out on the Lake. Nothing worse than coming back to the cabin at the end of a long shift and discovering that your aftershave had fallen over, glass broken, and your room reeking of it. He’d had this cabinet specially fitted to avoid that. Reaching inside, he retrieved her second most hated object, the hairbrush.

A wave of lust tingled through him, although he didn’t confuse punishment with sexplay. Still, her round, pale bottom waited for His touch, and to deny that excitement would also be false.  He’d waited until He calmed a bit. Hitting your wife/slut in anger didn’t teach a thing.

Calmer, he crossed to her. Lifting her head by her hair, he twirled the brush in his palm.

“I wonder,” he mused aloud, “which side of the brush should be used tonight.”

She whimpered. A satisfactory response.
“You could have been killed out there, Jenna. I can’t have you putting yourself in such dire circumstances because you missed me. I’d miss you a hell of a lot more if my boat turned you into goo.”

She had the grace to blanch, then flush.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

Progress, at least. She knew enough to apologize without making any more reasons for her choice.

He spun the brush, and sitting fully upright,  applied a solid smack to the center of her ass. She hated when he hit her along the crack, she always bruised wonderfully deeply here. His hand held her neck to the bed, His leg went over hers to lock her in place, as he set to work tenderizing her bottom.

She was doing more than whimpering when he was through. The last 5 strokes, he reversed the brush and smacked, spines side down, on her glowing posterior.

She shrieked.

“Cheer up, slut. The punishment is more than half-over now.”

She half raised, then slumped down.

“Please Master…”

He lifted the rod to her face.

“Kiss it.”

Oh, no, she would not. She turned her head away. “I hate it” she mumbled through sealed lips.

“KISS IT” he growled at her. Again she refused, and before she knew it, He’d flipped her onto her back and slapped her tits with it.

“I’m gonna hit the girls until you kiss it, and tell it that you’re sorry.”

Each blow hit both tits nearly simultaneously. She writhed. She moaned. When he hit both nipples, she shrieked again.

“OKAY YOU WIN…!! “

Another scream came as he hit the same spot again. She knew she’d best do her part or he’d hit that spot again. And three whaps with the whip on her nipples was more than she thought she could bear. They burned and throbbed as if they’d been bitten.

“I”M SORRRRYYY AND I WANT TO KISS IT.”

He hit her nipples again, and she cried out, almost retching with the pain in her tits. She was afraid to look down, certain that she’d see her nipples bleeding.

He lifted the rod to her lips and she kissed.

“Again, I think.”

Her eyes rose to his, water-y blue lakes of misery. Yet she kissed it again. Looking down she could see criss-crosses, like cross-stitches, along her tits. Her nipples were erect and painfully red, but there was no blood. He knew how to hit, that was the truth.

In seconds she was on her belly, her abused tits rubbing against the wool of his bunkcover.  She heard the sound of it in the air and yet was unprepared for the pain of the blows as they fell across her already red and painful ass.

Her tears wet the blanket as she succumbed to his punishment.

She would never make this mistake again.

******************************

He heard her sniffling snuffles, but it didn’t soften him. The chastisement was necessary. She had to understand that he would not tolerate her harming herself, and not be so fucking impetuous!

Yet his hand smoothed over the hot skin of her bottom. Rather than the smooth canvas it had started as, it was welted now, ridged and swollen from his spanking.

It was red as sunset after a storm, and there were lines of bruises already forming.

He pinched her along her crack with his fingernails, making her arch up.

“See? You still have feeling back here,” He said to her.

“Bastard” she said, her voice muffled by his mattress.

“I am a Bastard. But I’m your Bastard, you lucky slut. Now, roll over here. I’m wanting to fuck my slut since she went to so much effort to bring her cunt to me.”

She shivered at the changed timbre of his voice.

Perhaps it was worth the brutal punishment after all.