My tits are not the same size.

One might agree that there is a pretty large amount of boobage inequality going on here…but to the one to whom it should matter? It doesn’t, not even a little a bit, for he will torment them equally.




(For the record, He would caption this “low-hanging summer squash”!)

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It Hurts

I moan as he slaps my pussy. We are laying snugged close together. I’m on my back and unable to move as he is laying on my hair (deliberately, of course). He lays on his side, his mouth moving between fierce kisses on my lips, and ravaging attacks on my nipples. He has fingered me to many orgasms before, and during these multiple sensory attacks.

It hurts when he slaps my pussy. He is not gentle, not quiet little thuds that excite, but hard, full handed smacks that make a very explosive sound in the room. They do not excite me. Rather, they make me wild. I arch, pushing up at him as best I can. The pain is so raw, my poor pussy having spewed tons of juice, my ‘love tunnel’ (eyerolls at self for that one) is swollen and throbbing and tender.

When he pounds on my cunt this way I have but one reaction, one thing I want more than anything.



I wiggle and writhe wanting his hand to never stop hurting me this way. I come, squirting against his palm, and he laughs a deep and throaty chuckle.

“You dirty little cunt,” he says, so amused. His hand continues to smack me, and now my clit throbs, post-orgasm. It hurts, my lower lips must be red as tomatoes, but still I want it. I feel the heat from the pussy spanking, the need building even more quickly this time. I come, arching and keening wildly as my body trembles and shudders through an enormous orgasm.

He slips his fingers inside of me then, when I’m nearly unconscious from the force of my coming undone. They stay still, just biding their time. As I come around, I feel the thickness inside me. My voice is heavy, drugged with lust and hard use. I think I must sound drunk.

“Zir…” I moan. “Iz zore..sossososo zore…mazzterrrr…”

“I know,” he croons softly into my ear. “Shhhh…” he soothes me, hushes me.

His fingers pound into my aching flesh then, a wild raw taking.

“Shhhh,” he continues to croon as I cry out, moaning, head thrashing.

“Oh….oooohh…” I cry  “hurtzzzzzz….”

“I know,” he murmurs, tone gentle and sweet. “That’s how I like it.”

I come in his hand at that, and soak the bed.

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HNT~Boobus Fryis

Fair skinned peeps PLUS the beach can lead to boobus fryis…(really, REALLY glad I wasn’t having a playtime with M as this healed!)



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Grumble. Grumble.

I woke up grumpy.

Don’t you hate when that happens? The second I get up the kids are all over me about some thing or other, the dogs are clamoring to go outside NOW and I have to pee.

And it is humid, wet, drizzly outside.

Later, it clears enough to make it hot and humid. O joy, my least favorite thing. This summer it seems like, just when it cools down to comfortable levels, and is not humid, BLAMMO, we’re back in the soup. Honestly, I don’t know how all you all from the south can even stand it!! I feel all droopy, non-productive. I AM productive, it just feels like I’m slogging through mud. My hair hangs down my back, and even in a ponytail it sticks to me, and makes me hot. I’d cut it but Himself would *kill* me. It’s finally at a length where he can wrap it a few times around his hand. He loves that. Eventually it will need to be cut, a good few inches at that. And he usually lets me do it in the fall (otherwise I get headaches from the weight of it) when we don’t have as much time to see one another. We’ll see what He’ll let me do.

So I’ve been mopey and hot and uncomfortable and just out of sorts today.

Then I stop and think…maybe it’s….subdrop?

Can it?

Could it?

But … our playtime was weeks ago. Two, and two days…who gets subdrop that long after the event? My bruises have fully faded. I’ve had several hours of downtime to miss him. I don’t wince when I sit.


I’ve turned back into vanilla nilla.


Quick, break out the whips ‘n chains! This slut needs help! (That’s some more hyperbole there, JZ!)

Upon really thinking about it, though, it isn’t impossible that I could be feeling the blues from our playtime being over. I rode the high of that a good 10 days. For 7 of them it hurt every damn time I sat. For the last three it was tender, but I could sit without holding back a gasp. Then I got busy, and have had a pretty full few days. So with some semi-downtime in the offing, it’s really a time to focus on how it was with Him, how it is without him. How my body yearns. How my brain is churning out little tales as I fall asleep at night. I’m turned on as I’ve ever been…but no place for it to go.

It’s weeks and weeks until our next time. It’s time enough for me to let the yearning build, and become accustomed to the feeling of neediness. When the subdrop morphs into mere wanting, rather than sadness at not having what I want, I know things have turned the corner. Tomorrow, if we follow the pattern of other subdrops, will be better. Today is “crisis” day, and things can only go up from here.

(That was not a euphemism for a hard-on, btw, despite how much I enjoy “things”  going up…hehehe!!)

Tomorrow is going to be a better day.

It will, because I’ll make it so. Even though I miss him. Even though I have no marks to touch. Even though the high has faded. So too has the low. Writing to you all about this has helped. Remembering the good time we had together pushes away the sadness.

But gods I’m so needy.

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A Good Weekend

I’m going to tell you right up front that this is a pretty vanilla post. Okay, maybe I’ll have a bit of M and nilla story, but no promises. You know that I write pretty stream of consciousness, so we’ll see where it goes. Consider yourself forewarned!

My weekend was pretty awesome. I got to spend several hours with Jz on Saturday. We trolled a local mall, saw some fancy schmancy stuff  (I’m a rube, and easily impressed by Swarski crysals and ball gowns). We had an awesome lunch with an incredible view and some great conversation. It’s really neat to spend time with someone who gets this whole lifestyle thing that we’re in. No need to weigh every word for vanilla nuance, no need to explain about this or that…she gets it. We speak of families and mutual online friends, then leave the restaurant and walk through the lingerie section, talking underwires and support, cup sizes and how her breasts are totally defying gravity despite our similar ages. I think because I’m closer to the ground than her, gravity pulls my boobs harder than hers. Just a private theory, mind you.


We look at panties too, oohing at pretty ones with lace and satin. It’s a totally vanilla D/s time for us. Doesn’t that sound like an oxymoronic statement? We’re not sexual partners, just friends in the life. And gosh it’s soo good to be able to speak freely.

I got home just in time to miss the rain, and got to do some house puttering. There’s something rather virtuous about that, isn’t there? A little of this, a wee bit of that and you feel like you’ve accomplished miracles!

Today (Sunday) was a gorgeous day in New England. Almost zero humidity, temps in the mid-80’s. My kind of weather. We’ve had a pretty cool summer up here in the northeast..and they are saying later this week–the middle of July, mind you– we could see some pretty chilly weather, with highs barely breaking 60. What a strange summer it’s been. And wet. So very wet.

Normally, slut that I am, I don’t mind a bit of wet, yanno?


But this weather has been MORE than making up for the last two summers of drought. When you have mushrooms growing in your back lawn, you’ve pretty much had enough rain!

M and I have set up a time for our next playdate. If all goes well, it will be our third this year…We’ve not managed to do that in several YEARS! Wow, we’re enjoying the hell out of one another.

We were laying in bed on our last playday and he was assaulting my nipples with his mouth and teeth. My gods his mouth is dangerous! He lifts my tit high, high, stretching it my nipple in his teeth. He growls (how exciting!) and shakes his head, making my tit wobble and shake. He growls again, drops it, then attacks it, chewing and sucking it.

It is lovely. And it hurts like hell. When he takes a break, I whisper “I’m really glad I don’t have pierced nipples.”

“No,” he says, looking up at me. “You don’t ever want to do that.” His eyes glint fiercely, a predator to the core. I feel trapped by him then, a kind of wild, fearful (wonderful) thing.

It made me shiver, and get wet (again). I knew if I ever did, I’d live to regret it. I know he’d savage them, and likely destroy my nipples. The idea of it sometimes still appeals, in that stupid painslut fantasy world I live in sometimes.

I won’t.

But I’ll imagine it, nonetheless.

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By Special Request, HNT!

oOooh my what a fuck of a day! I don’t believe any day is a total goner, because there’s almost always something salvageable about it…today’s positive? No one died. (by my hand, either!) And there was ice cream at day’s end. *nods* Things are always better with ice cream.

If I drank often I’da had a serious problem today, just sayin’.

But I digress. I’m very very late because of all the things that didn’t go as planned …but I’m still posting ON HNT so there! And because a certain reader was intrigued by being bitten on the ass…(and omfg did that hurt!)…today I bring you HNT with no tits. No, pervie peeps, today, HNT stands for Half-nekkid Tush.


Drumroll, please….

ah c’mon…





I need to amend the title. Because the bum shot is NOT half nekkid. No, it’s full-on nekkid. Holy Nekkid Tush! There ya go. Okay, do continue with that drumroll now…and give it some effort will ya?!



Thank you, that was better. (you pervs need to work harder on that, because I am SURE the Doms reading here could beat out a good drumroll…*giggles*)





Although those blue circles COULD be the size and shape of my eyes when He bit me, it’s really just marking the spots where he did bite me (all the rest of the bruises are from spanking, pinching, and his various assortment of beating things.) Funny, from a distance it almost looks like a certain famous mouse who lives in Florida (and SoCal)!

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He was hungry for me (and I have the bite marks on my ass to prove it! ) I could hear it in his voice on the phone, and  again when we were in the parking lot before we went up to the room. There was a tenderness in that public venue, that is a reflection of our day-to-day conversations and texts. He kisses me gently, his hands cupping my elbows in the tenderest way.

But once the door closes on the outside world?

Everything changes. He does. I do, and the situation does.

It’s funny to me, really. Because just days before I was wondering if this was it, our last hurrah. I’d say something like ‘it’s been a great 8 years but…I’m not really into being beaten and submitting anymore.”



He touches me and I become a fucking geyser of want. Liquid drips down my inner thighs. When he grabs a hank of hair and spins me around, I swear I almost drool. Oh it hurts, yes indeed. I was yelping and whining and crying with the best of ’em there.

Muttering about how much it hurts to get to the good part.

He did chuckle at that. And then went back to pinching and biting my ass. Oh yeah, it hurt. And oh my, it turned me on so much. I came at least twice from the hitting. Not giant gushers, but the kind that just slicks everything down.

He touches me, cups my vulva with his hand, feels my wetness.

“You cunt,” he says. “You’re so fucking wet!”

His fingers slip into my cunt and ass, twirling and fucking. I cum in his hand. He laughs again, calls me a whore, a dirty little pain whore.

I eat it up, those words. I wonder, later, how I could have ever sloughed off this…this need inside of me. It’s part of me. Knit into my DNA. I don’t have to explain it to need it. I don’t have to have a psych profile to understand it. I just want it, and that’s okay. It’s okay to want. To crave. To need.

It is a weird thing, this lifestyle choice. But it’s also uniquely awesome in a way nothing else touches.

And yes. I’m hungry for more.

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Tied into Submission

I –for all that I want it–haven’t been very submissive. We talk like friends, he and I, with laughter and teasing. We’re not in a rut, but both of us realize that the tasking and rules of times gone by don’t seem to be a part of our current dynamic.

It’s fine, really. I’m busy. He’s busy.

But it leaves me feeling nervous for playtime. Can I submit? Do I want to submit? Do I want the pain? Can I take it? This, after 8 1/2 years. *wry grin* Yeah. Still to question if I can.

But he is wise in the ways of nilla, and circumvents all that. He physically overpowers me, first off. He uses that tone of voice, and there is nothing I can do but obey. (And yes, he’s not asking me to kill someone in the next room…I’m talking playime here, not falling into the throws of Stockholm syndrome!) He touches me, sometimes softly, sometimes harshly and I hold my breath waiting for which it will be.

He cuffs my wrists to my thighs, then later rigs this system where I am further secured to crossed lines in the middle of the bed. I literally can. Not. Move. My legs won’t fully close, my hands are useless, and I’m existing only for his pleasure.

When he notes this he is quite pleased with himself, and sets to pinching my ass and swatting it. He uses his hands and that blasted olive wood spoon I gave him. It hurts and I’m whimpering and humping my ass up and down the 2 inches it’ll move…and he laughs.

I can’t get away.

I *must* submit to him, to whatever he’s got planned in his devious mind. I come a million times. He finger fucks me, and torments with my Hitachi. (OMFG, OMFG). I whimper and cry and beg.

He ignores me.

(Maybe he laughs, too. I can’t remember huge chunks of that time, other than the Hitachi and orgasms and trying to breathe.)

And I realize, as I lay there unable to defend myself, unable to stop him, that while he forced my submission, I am now wholeheartedly giving it up to him.

Take me.

Fuck me.

Use me.

Hurt me.

Until I’m floating, I’m happy, I’m hurting.

By taking my body, he has freed my mind.



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HNT ~ D/s Style

I’m still floating. Still in a really, really good headspace. I’m pretty much an “up” person these days, with occasional dips into low places, but then again, that’s part of the human condition, right?

But after playtime with Him? I’m so hurty-excellent that I’m getting much accomplished. If only you could see my ass. A full three days into this and sitting is *still* painful. Really painful.

And I’m in a constant state of horny, which is good. And bad. My head is spinning stories, my mind is finangling another playtime and and and…but wait.

I’m going on and on and it’s HNT day! Okay, here ya go…


Heh. Those are not tits now, are they? (totally laughing my butt of imagining all you all’s faces.)

You must admit that it’s a purdy sexy pic though, right? I love the way M’s legs frame mine…and you can’t see it but He is pinching my nipples and I’m taking the picture around his arms. There was incentive to get it right the first time, but he had me take two just in case.

Or just to pinch my nipples longer.

So here’s the set up for the “real” HNT picture.

I’m laying on the bed, already smacked and mussed up and breathless…

“M, can I ask a favor?” I say, my voice kind of quiet and breathy. Then I think about it and say “Nevermind. I can’t believe I was going to even say that. What was I thinking.”

“What nilla?” he says. My sudden change of heart has caught his attention and his eyes sharpen,

“it’s nothing, I changed my mind,” I say, rolling over.

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

He slaps my ass then when I roll to my tummy to attempt to get away from the slap, he lays atop me to stop me. His hands dig under me, and finding my tits, squeeze them, knead them, in a rough, fierce grasp. Now I’m whining and thrashing but he’s pinned me you see. No place to go.

“What nilla?” He says in my ear, his voice amused, and also, brooking no denial.

“I…I did a pic last week a vanilla blackandbluepicture and …and…”

He pinches really hard and I squeal. His laughter shakes through my body.


“And I wonderedifyouddoadsversionofthepic”

I said in a rush.

He crushes my tits, then rolls off me, pulling me up off the bed.


I stand hands at my sides as He takes my tits out of my bra, picks up the wooden spoon I gave him in a moment of sheer stupidity and wanton abandon, and twirls it between his fingers while holding my eyes with his. Holding my tit in his hand, he starts slapping it with the spoon. He switches to pinching my tit, exposing my nipple and swats the fuck out of it. Over. Over. Over again.


I almost came, right then. The pain was sharp, intense. Blow after blow. When he was satisfied with one area, he chose another. I was shaking, almost crying.

“Oh” he says, and drops my tit. “I almost forgot this one,” and he scoops out the other tit, and starts beating it as he had it’s mate.

There was biting in there, but honestly by then I was seeing stars and moons and totally out in blotto land. So here you go,  you pervie peeps! This is the D/s version of Black and Blue:


(And those bruises are even darker now. This was what I took when I got home after playtime)


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Waves of Submission

During play time, things come in waves…times of interaction, greeting, choosing outfits, laying out our stuff. Times of touching and hurting and coming. Times of talking. Times of silence. Times of soft, quiet torture, followed by soothing strokes.

So too does my memory come back to me in waves. During our together time, I’m always in the moment with Him. Always aware, thinking I’ll remember EVERYTHING that happened. And then the day progresses, and pain layers upon pain, and lust upon lust. I am both filled, and drained…and can’t think a cogent thought. It takes time for things to trickle down to my conscious memory.  Now, days later,  things come to mind in quick flashes, images of things I saw, impressions of things I felt, hot flashes of hurt, hotter flashes of sex and pain rolled tightly together. I remember toys, and the brush of his beard against my throat. I recall the weight of his body pinning mine, his hands diving under my shirt to attack my tits. His fingers wrapped in my hair as I suck his cock, or pulling me backwards on the bed to be right where he wants me. The sound of his hand hitting my rump, the sharp and staccato beat of it, followed by the searing heat on my skin. So many images, sometimes moving in a flash as I do some mundane task. I pause and see the movie unfolding.

Near the end of our playtime, the heat and the pain and lust all roll together until I’m begging him to hurt me harder, make me cum harder, make me weep with the pain and joy of it. He laughs with a soft, triumphant sound into my ear. “yes, yes, beg me for it. you want the pain. you want it.” His fingers ram into my cunt, jabbing and thrusting and twisting until I feel like he’s going to pull me inside out. I whine “It hurts, Master, hurts so much…” and his voice hums into my ear, “I know, I know it hurts, doesn’t it? That’s when it’s the best, little girl…”

And i explode.

I cum so hard it hurts, his hand leaving my cunt, only to start slapping my clit and pussy so hard the bed is shaking.

He laughs when my next orgasm squirts from me. This is a huge turn on, just writing this, remembering this. But I’m not writing about orgasms tonight, no matter how good they are, how wet and lovely they are.

No, I’m thinking of that first wave of togetherness. When we’re …reacquainting ourselves with one another. When  all is fresh and new, when I’m just getting into the headspace, when I’m letting regular life go and submersing myself into submissive nilla place…that’s a crystal clear memory. My hair is just right, my lipstick bright. My things are laid out, and I’m ready for fun. I forget how much fun hurts at this time. I just remember the floaty part, not the journey there.

I’m dressed in the outfit he chose. I’m in the shoes, on the bed, having been torn between laughter from his fiendish tickling, and pain as he mauls my tits. I’m laying there in the middle of the bed, awash with sensations, already drained, tousled, mussed, tossed around, bruising.

He rises from the bed, moves to the bathroom. I can’t even open my eyes.

“Stay there” he says in the Dom voice.

You know the one, right? There’s the talking voice, there’s the playful voice, and then there’s the Dom Voice.

Stay there.

It’s firm, no nonsense, don’t fuck around tone sends shivers through my bones, raises goose-flesh on my skin, and thrills me. I’m not capable of defying that voice, of playing around and getting up and hiding toys. He’s serious, he means it.

Stay there.

I can’t even think about dozing off, as the words bounce in my head,  echo around my mind. That tone. Gods, how it affects me! I can feel the submission leaking from that hidden corner inside me, the one I didn’t think existed anymore. I’m no longer merely talking about  submission (in a somewhat hopeful way…) I AM a submissive. I shiver, and am put in my place, though I haven’t moved an inch. I am fully, totally his. A slut. No. His slut. A toy. A possession. His toy, his possession. I lay in the bed as he rises. He pauses at the foot of the bed, speaks.

Stay there.

And walks away.  I don’t think. I don’t whine. I obey.

I half-whisper my reply.

yes Sir.


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