Dancer- Evolution

remember that wee story that I started, and Will Crimson from Erotic Writers added a second piece too? You can find it here.  At the end of summer he *challenged* me to continue on with the tale (as did many of you readers!). He sent me this “starter bit”…rather like sourdough bread…you get the starter, make your bread with it, save the rest in the fridge, and there it grows, quietly in the back of your…fridge…until you’re ready to come back to it and create more. That’s what Will did to me…and between that and the two very erotic tales he’s posted recently, got me “kick-started” into writing once more. This first part is his…mine continues after the “*****” break… ~nilla~

After her cry, after the taking, exhausted on knees and cheek, the dark of sleep and more overcame her.

She awoke with a start. She had been carried to a desert tent. Her feet were tender. Her back was sore. Her legs were stiff. The place between her thighs was still wet and warmed by a man’s unction. She rose onto one elbow. She had been placed on a bed of rugs. A mellow morning light sifted through the flapping entry-cloth. The wind blew off and on, and the sound of the sand was the sound of the desert breathing.

Pillows had been placed under her head and under her knees. Her muscular legs had been left open – her breasts uncovered.

Her skin was silken with a sheen of oils. She had been massaged, her lips cleaned, and the cleft of her throat perfumed. Her hair had been braided with jade and onyx. Her nipples had been pierced and her clit also; but they had not dared to touch the fragrance deposited in her womb.

But there was something more.

She reached lower, between her legs, and felt a fullness in the entry to her bowels. She tenderly turned onto her hands and knees, reached behind her and groaning, withdrew a bone penis. The base had been carved into thick and rounded wings. Attached to the base of the carved penis was a jeweled chain and a small scroll bound by a golden chain and wax seal. Another jeweled chain fastened the bone penis to the piercing of her clit. She set the carved bone between her thighs.

She broke the wax seal and released the tiny scroll.

Allah be Praised. You belong to me now, treasure of treasures, gold of gold, gem of the desert and my oasis. I bring the moisture of my love, the silver of my nutmeg, to moisten your lips, your thighs and your cunt. Be ready for my return. I thirst for the nectar of your mouth, breasts and the mouth of your belly. Be ready, my graceful dancer, my gazelle, my cheetah. Part your muscular thighs. Let the pillows lift your knees. Be ready for your master. I hasten. My lips and loins are heavy with dew.

And then, because she could walk nowhere with the carved bone loosely attached to her clit, she closed her eyes, mouth opening, as she pushed.


It was done. She lay, gasping, at the return of fullness to her bottom. A strange warmth moved through her lower body. The throb of her pierced womanhood was echoed by the steady throb of her stretched anus. The chain that connected the bone shaft to her clit lay against her lower lips, a teasing whisper of touch.

She didn’t want to wait for him. She didn’t want to want him, this powerful desert man. Sheikh or no, he was a man, and she wanted to belong only to herself. The thick carved penis in her bottom reminded her that she had made a choice.

Laying on the carpets, pillows under her knees, she stretched. The best cure for aching limbs was work, her dance teacher had always said. Her toes curled, then arched. Her ankles rotated, her thighs and buttocks were eased this way and that. Her arms rose over her head, fingers stretching far, then clenching. For a moment she was in her studio at the barre, arching over her lifted leg. A single tear leaked from beneath her closed lid. Turning cautiously, she rose to hands and knees, arching her back. Catlike, she practiced the yoga moves that helped keep her back flexible, her hips open.

“Praise Allah!”

The deep voice behind her was filled with reverence.

“It is a wondrous sight to behold, my sweet concubine making herself ready for me!”

“I’m not.”

Her voice was dry. She couldn’t, wouldn’t be nice to him. She was from fucking New York city, and she had a reputation for dealing with overly enthusiastic fans quickly, rudely–

Rough palms slid over her oil-slicked skin, pressed the hilt of the sword that impaled her dark moon. A moan slid from her lips as his fingers followed the curved hollow to the deep rose entrance.

“The sunrise hues that guild your cleft are beauty beyond compare,” he murmured. The press of his hands moved to her hips, pressing her forward, down, until her head rested on the vivid rug below her. Her bottom rose higher, the soft curve at the base of her back an enticing and inviting curl.  Her body begged to be caressed, to be admired, to be taken.

He stepped away, his footfalls silent on the thick rugs of the tent. The wind flapped the lower edge of the tent; she watched the fabric balloon and ripple. In moments he was back, kneeling beside her. His fingers glided over her mouth, her lips parted, tasting herself there. He pressed another thick, carved phallus into her mouth, this one shorter, wider than the one between her bottom cheeks. Tapping her cheek, he rose. She took that to mean to not remove the item he’d placed there. Against all imaginings, she obeyed, wondering what would happen next. His finger slid from the nape of her neck, tracing the line of her body. Palms smoothed over the curves of her ass, the sides of her thighs, over the soles of her feet. It would seem that he was accepting the invitation implicit in her posture.


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HNT- The Slumbering Breast

The breast sleeps, but that recalcitrant nipple refuses to rest, relax, lie down, or sleep.

What a naughty nipple!

blurred lines

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Infinity (9)

She stared at him, her mouth somewhat agape.


“You heard me. And yes, I’m pressuring you a bit. However–you are a submissive, and I am a Dom. Neither of us currently has a partner, so I’m not poaching. And it is an interesting question, oui?”

If she could have spoken, she have mumbled “a bit? You’re pressuring me a bit?” But her lips were incapable of forming words, apparently.  She swallowed, found her mouth dry. Grabbing at her wine glass as a lifeline, she very nearly upset it, before getting control of herself and it. She chugged her wine; he winced.

“Please,” He murmured, his expression pained. “Sip the wine.”

She coughed  as the mouthful of wine went down the wrong way, making her eyes tear, and her cheeks flush with mortification. Could there be any more embarrassment here?

“I *cough* ….YOU *cough – cough*…” she gave up, grabbing her napkin to wipe at her watering eyes.

He shook his head, before grinning. “I did warn you to sip, little one.” He gestured to the glass. “Another small sip will help. Sip,” he admonished.

The waiter approached as she lifted her wineglass and sipped as ordered.

“Is Madam okay?” His voice was smooth, cultured.

“She’s fine.”

She nodded, clearing her throat, trying to stuff the cough away.

“Very well then. Are you ready to order or do you need a moment?”

“We’ll have the steak with potatoes, and the broasted breast of chicken with scalloped potatoes.”

He didn’t look at her, nor did she contradict him.  The waiter took the menus and left them.

“Now would be a fine time for you to go.”

Her eyes flashed up at him, the blue a quick slash of shock. He smiled gently.


She rose and slid quickly from the booth.


In the ladies room she frowned at the panties in her left hand. Had this been inevitable, then? To have such a handsome and okay, very sexy, Dom be so close to hand AND her landlord– had it been etched in the stars or something, that he would eventually try to Dom her?


She all but snorted as she sat on the toilet. There was no ‘try’ about this. Here she sat, panties in her hand, ready to go out there and …and what? Would he treat her like a character in one of her stories? Hang them over the wine bottle? Leave them on the table where the waiter would see them? Her thumb slid over the red silkiness as she rose. Time to go out there and face him, or else he’d be thinking that he made her nervous or something nonsensical like that.

Taking a deep breath, she rose, unlocking the door, and headed back to the dining room.


Her knees really were shaking as she walked back to the table. How many times had she written that line into a story and thought it was a neat little way to describe the indescribable? And here she was, a character in her own novel, legs all trembly, knees all but knocking as she slowly crossed to where he sat. He was looking at his cell, ignoring her, which made her brows knit together. You’d think that when a Dom did something that..ballsy…he’d at least be interested. He kept looking at his phone as she slid into her side of the booth, but his right hand rose, palm up.

Was it part of her “submissive” side to be so bratty? Okay, he wasn’t her dominant, but he was being domineering and she was letting it ride on. Would she let it go all the way to its inevitable conclusion? She didn’t know. But the brat in her wanted to tease him. She reached into the pocket where the panties were, and found a stick of gum. Trying to keep the giggles at bay, she slid it into his hand.

His attention never wavered, but his fingers engulfed hers with a quick flash of movement.

“Panties, girl.”

He squeezed, hard, then harder until she gasped. He released her a long moment beyond what she would have wanted, a subtle reinforcement about who was in what role. She reached into her pocket and found a dime. Biting her lip to hold in her glee, she slapped that onto his palm. His eyes left his phone, and bored into hers.

“Feeling playful?”

She nodded, giggling with a combination of nerves and naughtiness.  He rose from his side of the booth in one fluid movement, then took her hand in what looked like a gentle grip but felt like steel bands.


He tugged her from her seat, then pushed her into his side. As she sat his fingers tugged up the back of her skirt so that her bare bottom rested on the leather cushion.  There was a soft gasp as her cheeks touched the coolness.

He leaned closer.

“Panties. Now. And open your thighs.”

She took the red swatch of underwear from her pocket and handed it to him. He took them, pushing them with great care into the breast pocket of his jacket. Her blush nearly matched the red of her panties as they rose like a scarlet beacon from his suit coat.


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Winning Ticket (2)


If she could have, she’d have run from the room in embarrassment. He’d seen to it that she couldn’t…wouldn’t. Her breath hitched as she heard the giggles, the whispers, the low “mmmmmm’s” from somewhere in front and below her. Looking, she imagined, perhaps devouring her form with their eyes.

Because she was naked.

Naked, secured to some sort of arcane device holding her hands over her head, and her legs spread, and hanging there in front of a crowd of salivating strangers. Her pussy jolted awake at the thought of it. Yet it wasn’t some kind of titillating fantasy that she had crafted in her head, in her bed, working for a ginormous orgasm.

Hell no, it wasn’t fantasy at all, she knew,  feeling the very real cold caress of air across her nipples, and the responding rise of goose-flesh over her belly. Very real, very now, very– The word rose unbidden in her mind. Erotic. This  had to be the one–and perhaps THE only public one–most intensely erotic event of her life.

There was a pinch of warmth on her nipples and she moaned. His hands were warm, hot against her chilled skin. Yet the bite of cold metal soon replaced those fingers, making her whimper.

“Pretty.” Her attention focused to her left side as he spoke. Whether he spoke to her or to the crowd, she wasn’t entirely certain. But the cold weight of metal chain against her belly, coupled with the firm bite of the clamps on her nipples combined to re-ignite the furnace between her legs. Her pussy felt hot and wet, her clit erect and throbbing.

The  hum of a vibrator echoed even in the large room, and she jolted as it pressed hard against the open vee of her thighs.

“The first one comes quickly.”

His voice was away from her; she knew that he spoke so matter-of-factly, so drolly, to the crowd. “Pun intended.”

Even as the audience chuckled at his words, she shivered and convulsed. The wicked machine ripped the orgasm from her, leaving her gasping. It didn’t move away, something that she had never experienced before. The press against her sensitive clit sent her spiraling into another orgasm, harder than the first. A whirlwind of sensations blew through her. If she hadn’t been secured, she would have fallen. He pulled another, yet another from her throbbing body until she thought she would explode. Finally it moved away, the devil machine.

“Now comes the fun part,” He said, and she felt the sudden shocking sensation of movement. She was..spinning…

“OH MY GAWD —” Her voice was a gasp of shock. “WHAT??”

In a moment she was upside down.

“Open your mouth, slut,” his voice was firm, nearly harsh. She hadn’t expected this, not by a long shot. The taste of strawberry slid across her tongue, and she realized he’d donned a flavored condom. His thick hardness filled her mouth. She’d only sucked cock a few times in her life, had never yet “serviced” a Dom-type.

Oh my gosh she hoped she didn’t suck.

Or did suck but didn’t suck. 

Oh gods this was confusing. Her mind whirled as he pressed a bit deeper. The head of his cock popped into her mouth and out of her mouth.

“waa  arrr ooouu ooin”

She tried to speak around the cock that was pushing in, popping out of her lips.

“Shush slut,” he spoke quietly. “It is time, girl,” he spoke louder, head turned away, and she knew he was once more performing for the crowd as much as for her.

“Take it all slut,” was the only warning she got before that flaring hood hit the back of her throat. She gagged and he moaned, just a little.

There was a hummmmmmm and in seconds the fucking awful awesome vibe was pressed against her cunt. She tried to shake her head no, but he’d pinned her cheeks with his thighs, as his cock pumped in and out of her mouth, her throat. She gagged, she shivered, the chain on her tits banged his cock, pulled her nipples.

She was a welter of sensations.

Her orgasm wracked her body, as his shaft buried itself deeply in her throat. She felt the sudden stretching of the rubber, the ballooning as his semen filled it. Despite his cumming, he still held the vibe hard against her pussy. She thought guys always lost concentration, fell asleep after they came. Her last boyfriend always did (and always before she’d gotten her share of good stuff.) This was a very different world she had stepped into.

The cock in her mouth relaxed, then pulled out. She was gasping, drool running up her face, into her eyes. He tugged the jiggling chain that joined her tits, making her yelp.

“Hold this,” he said, stuffing the chain into her mouth.

“Don’t drop it…that won’t be good for you if you do…”

She could hear some of the voices in the audience chanting “drop it drop it drop it”…and when he spun her upright, the vibe holding steady against her quivering pussy, she nearly did drop it. Her tits fell into their natural position, the nipples now held firmly upright by the chain between her teeth.

The pull was incredible. Hot licks of fiery pain circled her throbbing nipples as he began sliding the vibe up, down, around her pussy. He pressed hard upward, making her almost scream at the sensory overload. She came, hard, her body wracked with long explosive shivers. The sound of liquid spattering on the floor from her cunt was audible. He must have put the mic near the floor. The room exploded in cheers and applause.


Serenity roused slowly. The room was dark, a thin sliver of light from under the door the only illumination.

“There you are.”

Someone was sitting beside her. A cup was held to her mouth.

“Sip this…slowly now…good girl. A little energy drink will help you over the hurdle now.”

She drank until the cup was drained, feeling the clenching ease in her belly. She sat up, blinking.

“What happened?”

“Sensory overload. Feels so good and so overwhelming that the body/brain can’t handle any more so you faint.”

“I never faint.”

“You can take it off your bucket list then. Because you sure did. And did it beautifully.”

His arms came around her, cradling her.

“Aftercare?” she murmured against his shoulder. She felt his smile against her head as his lips pressed there in a gentle kiss.

“Absolutely. It’s important–for both submissive and Dom.”

Something floated to the top of her memory.

“Wait…she…LeDomme…said that the public scene was just part of the grand prize. What’s the rest of it?”

He hugged her hard for a moment, then leaned away. A lamp clicked on. He lifted a card from the table and handed it to her.


A public playtime to experience orgasm control and overload.

Winner will also spend time in the company of Master Roarke, as he as kindly offered himself as the grand prize. Details to be discussed once the winner is chosen.

“You’re looking…for a ….” she looked up at him.

“Not anymore.” He smiled, and took the card from her. Clicking off the light, he murmured in her ear.

“There are adventures to be had little one, together, you and I. Let’s take a chance and start exploring them together, yes?”

She was breathless after he kissed her, but not speechless.


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Winning Ticket

“Ticket 363872,” called  Le Domme from the middle of the main stage. “C’mon folks, check your ticket stubs and don’t be shy!”

There was a commotion from down front and a cute puppy girl raised her paw.

“C’mon down, pup,” called Leda. To the amusement of the audience, the girl dropped to all fours and did indeed scamper down to the stage, then up the steps to claim her prize. Leda turned to the table and took the certificate to the girl, putting it in her mouth with an admonishment to take it to her master, pronto. She followed that with a quick swat of the crop on the girls rump.

“Puppy lisa and her owner have won a lovely meal at Mystique,” Leda announced, and the crowd applauded. “And next,” she gestured with her crop to her boy to bring the fishbowl forward again. Withdrawing another ticket the process was repeated several times. Prizes were awarded, and each time Serenity breathed a sigh of relief. She sat in jeans and a tee-shirt, looking by far the strangest in her street clothing than any of the others in their assorted “fringe elements” attire. She hadn’t known that her entry ticket to Tops ‘n bottoms would include a lottery ticket, which had been pressed into her hand by an insistent “nun” at the door. She wasn’t even sure why she still kept it, really. Or why she had come to the club in the first place.

Okay that was a lie. She knew why. She was just like these people. Just–you couldn’t tell by looking at her. Despite the feeling of “I kind of fit here” she also felt a bit weird, too. She had never done anything so overtly “open” before. Reading, masturbating, ad on those websites with a hopeful kind of feeling of “maybe”, sure. But go out? To a BDSM club? Well that kind of took balls, didn’t it?

“Number 363553…I KNOW you’re out there. Everyone got a ticket, so don’t be shy…”

With something akin to horror Serenity realized that the winning ticket was hers. Oh. Shit. She rose, though she wasn’t sure how as her legs wobbled terribly.

“There’s our winner!” announced Leda, and all eyes turned to her. Serenity wanted to melt into the floor, but instead found herself walking. She made it to the stage steps, then stood helplessly wondering how to lift her foot and take the next step.

“Need help?” a soft voice spoke just behind her. The honeyed tones sent a shiver up her spine. She shook her head, but already his hand was on her elbow. His voice whispered against her left lobe. “Step. That’s right. Good girl. Another…” and somehow she was up on the stage standing next to the imposing form of Le Domme. Her tits were amazing, almost spilling over the top of the pleather corset that was so shiny it looked liquid. Serenity didn’t mean to stare at them but there they were, right there in her face.

“Congratulations dear, you won the grand prize.”

“I-I did?”

“An evening with Master Roarke, you lucky slut you.” Lena turned to the man who held Serenity’s elbow still, gave a regal nod of her head to him. “I’m given to understand that part of the prize is a public demonstration of orgasm overload?”

He leaned forward to speak into the proffered mic.

“Yes indeed. We need some time to prepare, and we’ll see you all on Stage B in an  hour or so.”

The crowd went wild, cheering and clapping, even as Serenity’s mouth opened and closed. There had to be someone else who could claim this prize. She was a newbie. She wasn’t up for…

“Come along, little girl, we have much to do in an hour…”

His grasp on her elbow tightened as he led her backstage.



She’d argued. Cajoled. Whined a tad, which she wasn’t really proud of. Yet here she was, clad only in a slippery, thin miniskirt, and a sash of fabric across her breasts. All but naked, and soon to be so in a very public setting.

Yet, didn’t part of her simply thrill at this? That he had taken full control of the situation of her, had been a turn on of epic proportions. Fear, that slippery beast, had turned her pussy into a molten hotspot. Her nipples rose yet again as she tried to figure out what was going to happen when that curtain rose, and how she would react to it.

“There is no thinking, little one.”

The guy was a fucking mind reader. Another turn on, and yet so aggravating too!

“There is only feeling and going along for the ride. You have a safeword, though you won’t need it. This is new, exciting, yes?” At her nod he continued.

“I’m going to push you, push past where you think your boundaries are. For your first public scene (and didn’t she hate that he said “first” as if implying that there would be more?) I want to you cease to think and merely experience. Relax while you can.” He smiled at her, the quick grin making her belly tremble. She knew nothing about him. Was he a sadist? A sensualist? A combination? Would she hate this? What if she had one of those freeze-ups and couldn’t perform as he wanted her to?

There was no more time for worries. His gesture was impatient, and she roused herself from her tiny pity/fear party and moved over to where he stood. She saw the length of black silk in his hand and almost balked. Somehow, docility flowed through her as he affixed the blindfold over her eyes.

“Stealing your vision…but enhancing your experience,” he said. She relaxed as his hands moved over her hair, wrapping the long length around her eyes twice before tying it off.

“Let the fun begin,” he said taking her wrist and lifting it over her head. There was a snap, the chill of metal against her skin, as first one, then the other of her hands were contained. Her feet were kicked apart, secured, her back resting on a wooden frame of some sort. There was an odd scraping sound, a cough, and the sudden realization that the curtains had opened, that everyone there was looking at her.

And then he tugged on the fabric covering her tits, her skirt, and she was naked before the crowd.


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Thank you…

Thank you — you still come here to read though there hasn’t been much written in the last several weeks.

Thank you for coming to see my tits, and to see if there is *something* new written.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

Every time I think I’m adjusted to this new schedule, a monkey wrench flies in to bollux things up. It’s okay, but *this* side of me is the part that bears the brunt of the sudden loss of “free” time.

But there are things happening. My head, which for a while was “turned off” to D/s stuff, seems to have come out of its hiatus and is now ready to start seeing the sexy side of life again. I’ve had little snippets come into my head while working and that’s always a good sign.

So thanks. For coming and reading and hoping and the emails that I get that encourage me and inquire about how things are going, and sharing snippets of yourself with me. It’s almost time for “love our lurkers” day (if I remember correctly)…and I gotta tell you…I am so very grateful for you for coming and reading –lurker or comment leaver. I can’t just wait for a certain day to stop and say thanks.

And if you’re looking for some really good stories, go visit Will over at Erotic Writers blog. This post, Bora, is one of my especial favorites. He’s been up to some really good stuff lately. (And part of my inspiration, to be sure!)


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HNT- nipples, tormented (Playtime)

a weighty reminder

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HNT- Fucked Up

We (meaning “submissives”) usually go to playtime looking our best. Make up done perfectly, lovely outfits, hair just so. And then we are in the middle of playtime and He decides that I look SO good that He should take my picture (mind, I LOVE it, love how He musses me, love that He strips me down to the bare essentials…). You know, to show YOU all what a shameless slut I am. Marlborough-20130609-00030

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In That Way of Masters

Of course for the first time in ever, He came and read my blog. Sent me a text telling me that He had, and that I sounded…whiney.


Well the fuck ! I AM …not exactly…not really…okay maybe a wee bit…WHINEY???


I wasn’t *whining* per se. I was explaining that I’ve found a place of contentment in my head because I’m tired of driving myself crazy with wanting more than I can get.

Whiney, He says.

Well, and if HE says, it must be so, right? (Though I still vehemently deny I was whining……)

I read the post again before sitting to write *this* response to His texts (that He’ll likely never read, but whatever.) and the only part that made me cringe a wee bit was when I said that it wasn’t really exciting except for 2% of the time….

because it isn’t that I meant that having Him for a Master isn’t exciting, but that 98% of my life is vanilla-swamped, and that 2%  represented the wee small percentage of my time to be with Him…which is woefully too short and definitely NOT enough time.

So Master, if You ever read *this* post, I hope You understand this:

1. I wasn’t whining.

2. I wish I had more time with you. Two percent of my time is NOT enough time even for someone who is…(progress to number 3, please…)

3. a greedy little slut who wants You, wants to be with You, wants to suck your cock, and rub your man nips (sorry but You know I do!), and be beaten resoundingly.  Except we could lose the fucking pink brush and I’d be a very happy submissive.

4. I wasn’t whining.



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D/s and Real Life

I’m at that point where I can’t quite find the time, nor the energy for writing. I DO have tales to spin, and yet…it’s a dreary day here in the northeast and I find all I really want to do is curl up and read. And not naughty stuff, though I can have an O today (should I be inspired enough to want one. I know…I’m really that sleepy just now!)

What’s new to tell you of?




Which I know, is the epitome of boring…aka…—

yeah. Snooze-ville.

He was away this weekend past so no face time. My bruises have faded. (Pout) We *might* get some time this weekend upcoming but that’s forever away. And I’m tired. Did I mention that? It’s not subdrop, for I’m not depressed, not at all. I’m quietly happy. There just isn’t a ‘zing’ to energize me. Master is not a Dominant given to tasking me (or not often, anyway).   He mostly gets off on being in the same room and reaping the Dom-benefits of hands on work. He did give me a wee task last week and asked me to send pictures. I went one step further and videoed it which He *loved*.  He was glad that I’d thought to go a step beyond, and send Him something that would be sure to make Him smile (even as it made me wince.). It’s always nice to please the Dom, you know?

Oh, you want to know? About the task?  About the video…well, sorry, you can’t–at least about the pix…as it has too much face in it, so He could see the painful grimaces I made.

However–I’ll share what He had me do, how’s that? Since you asked, and so nicely too! :D

I had to put on those thick clamps. Do you remember them? They look like this:

clampsThe chain is pretty weighty by itself, but He had me add the clamp in the middle that holds the magnetic weights…and i had to add 3 of the weights. Ouch.

Now, if you’ve been reading here for a long while, you’d perhaps remember that He gave me the clamps long ago, early in our relationship. And I had to wear them whenever I wrote my dirty tales. I won’t go so far as to say that I got “used” to them–but they didn’t kill me either. Back then I wrote every night before bed, sometimes for long periods of time. Obviously I wasn’t to keep them on for hours, lest I damage the poor nilla nips, but it was enough of a sensation to keep me constantly horny, always wet. Back then we also saw each other monthly, which was awesome. These days’ we’re more like an old married couple–the heat is still there, but it’s muted by distance. When we’re together it’s BOOM! and we’re back in heat…but apart, we just sort of roll along.


I had to wear the clamps.

and the weights.

And then I had to lean forward so my tits were hanging free, and smack the weight with the fucking pink hairbrush.

SMACK! JOLT! (swing, swing, swing, moan, groan)

Three times. Each harder than the last.

It was very painful. It was extremely thrilling. It was hawt. It was…really awesome.


I’m such a painslut.

And yanno what else?

It wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I got hungry and horny and lust-filled–and He left me hanging there (literally and metaphorically), having me pack up the toys and put ‘em away, and “by the way, nilla–no O”.

I forget the why of it.

And it doesn’t *matter* the why of it.

Doing it, making it happen at His behest—was super-freaking-hot.

(just writing about it made me all hot n bothered again. :D

But that was a week ago, and since then–well, you know how it goes. Life. He’s busy, I’m busy and I don’t think either of us is in our D/s role. He’d be the first to jump in here and say that He is always in Dom mode–which is true enough. I just don’t get enough time with Him to reap the benefits of it.

Hmm…re-reading that sounds like I’m pouting about it. I’m not, not really. Regretful, to be sure, but (glances over at ironing pile, thinks about the next laundry load, the sick kiddo on the couch in the next room, and the making of lunch and dinner…) you know how we ALL have to walk the line of vanilla and submission.

And I don’t know but perhaps–having such an intense vanilla life–if it doesn’t make those times when there IS submission special. I read of blogs where the day-to-day life of a slave is…hum drum. “Do your chores. Cook dinner. ” etcetera. Hell…that sounds like my vanilla life! As a submissive I *always* want more of His dominance. But I’m not a child at a cookie jar whining for more, more, more (mostly because the person holding the cookie jar away from my begging hand is not my Master, but myself {and wouldn’t Freud have a field day with that image?! LOL!})

Part of submission in my world is acceptance. I knew when I took that leap off the cliff that it would never be my full-time thing. I have a vanilla life that is precious and good. The fact that I wanted more…wanted something darker, meaner, rougher doesn’t preclude my responsibilities to that other life. And believe me, I struggled with that idea. For years. I wanted dominance full-time. I almost left my family. I wanted it so bad. But –I guess I grew up, with His help. I couldn’t leave my kids. I just couldn’t. I could not justify wanting to be spanked/fucked/beaten (aka my desires) versus fucking up their little lives. I’m not one of those who was in a dire situation and needed to get out and make a new start. And I’m not a person who will say “I gotta find my own bliss, sorry peeps, I’m outta here…” It is just not in me to do that.

Learning to be moderate about my D/s doesn’t quell the needs. Not by a long shot. But thankfully I’ve got a Master who understands both sides of my life, and who has His own busy life. And while I know He cares deeply for me, He is not looking for a full-time sub/slut. What we have here works for us. And yeah, it’s not exciting 98% of the time.

But that 2%?

Oh yeah. I love that time.



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