Micro Fiction

I’ve been hot, tired, and laggard in doing much of anything that isn’t actually necessary. But in the interest of full truth, my mind is *constantly* churning up little dark and nasty fantasies. And the impetus for some of this is Tumblr, where’s there is good stuff, and darkly dirty stuff, and some even worse stuff that I can’t even bear to write about because it’s awful. But sifting through the drek to the gold…? Ah, there is the joy.

It’s taught me about the tension of micro fiction. And while I won’t profess to being “good” at it, at least I’m giving it a go, here.

This is a gently edited version of what I sent M the other night, in a series of texts over 5 or 6 hours. He said my mind was in the gutter. I love that compliment. ūüėÄ

~nilla~

Once upon a time there was a slut. She was always horny.

Always.

One night she dreamed of a man. He was short.

(that line has earned me a beating, btw)

He was a sadistic bastard, she could tell by the gleam in his golden eyes. He crossed the room to where she stood wearing the 6″ crimson stilettos that he’d said would identify her to him at their meeting place.

“Nice shoes,” he said, without breaking eye contact.

She wanted to squirm nervously. Her nipples became hard nubs poking against her dress. Something about that gleam in his eyes made her wet.

His mouth curved into a gently derisive smile, as if he knew.

“I…have to….go…” she stammered.

“Stay.”

He took one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and tugged her closer, closer, until their lips met.

She gushed.

Well Hello!

Something about summers impending end brings on a rush of “gotta do’s” that is near to overwhelming. Please, tell me you’re in the same boat! Between work and kids and home and this UNBELIEVABLE fucking heat (after a summer chock full of heatwaves galore and rains of biblical proportions)…July and August were just¬† wildly impossible months.

So now I’m trying, really making an effort, to be blogging more regularly. Life had taken on a certain kind of “overwhelming” during the summer, but I’m hoping September will bring some normalcy into the mix. And hey, we’re all hella busy these days, right?! But I’m aiming to sit and write during September, to finish that story, to reconnect with this side of me. After all, I’m not ONLY Vanilla-mom…I’m ripe, nasty, badness inside, too.

The M and I have been texting and talking…no meeting scheduled yet after our last falling through. Maybe something will happen soon, but I’m not holding my breath. At least we’re muddling onward, and throwing sexy jabs out here and there. I hate when my sexy goes on vaca without me! But it really takes just a few prompts from Himself to wing it back.

Take, for instance, a few weeks ago when we had our umpteenth heatwave. It was draining, and I was exhausted from it. He texted this one little thing and my gods it was so amazingly rejuvenating…

Nilla, take care of yourself…an exhausted slut is useless to me…

I’m not sure of all the mental why’s and wherefores, but wow, that just blammo’d right to my heart. I know. This submissive gene is certainly wired weirdly. His comment lifted my spirits for days, and made me take more care of myself–getting to bed earlier, for instance, and make sure I was getting enough fluids.

Then this week a really awful heat. I know you all who read in “normal hot” places might think it’s stupid, but when you live in the Northeast, you don’t expect to have so many days in the upper 90’s with humidty in the 70+ degree range. That’s¬†Florida¬† weather, folks, not New England. And when it drones on. And on. And on? It messes up our brains. So I was moaning to him, and he was semi-moaning back to me. Not everyone up here has air conditioning, certainly not my old house, and not his either. It’s fans in the windows, and sweating. *nods sagely, and perhaps a bit martyr-like*

*grins*

Yeah, well we survived it and I can write about it with a smile because it’s over at damn last!! Anyway, He sent me a text yesterday when I was really blasted by the …you know…and it made me giggle and get up and get some Gatorade and re-hydrate.

So nilla, when you rubbed an ice cube on your nipples, did steam come out of your pussy?

*guffaws*

Yes, he asked me that. When I couldn’t even get up off the bed from my almost-heat-exhaustion state. And it made me laugh and grin when I got up to throw some ice in a glass and chug a glass of water and take a cool shower. I don’t like drinking ice water, normally, but hearing that ice clinking in my glass drew a cartoon picture in my head, and it was all I could do to not laugh out loud when I was done.

Small bits of kink in an otherwise vanilla-filled summer; but they serve as quick jabs to remind me that I am a slut, and I am¬†His¬† slut, and that’s a really good thing. Even when it’s 987* outside. For reals. *

 

*might be a slight exaggeration

Here!

Kinda

sorta

Had to work out in my head about M and I…it’s been an emotional few weeks, so I’ve been quiet here. And I’m super busy with work just now, juggling, always juggling. If you have kids, you get the whole “summer camp” juggle..add in work, and family and pets and major huge house work..(expensive house work, to boot, sigh)…

and you have a slut with no free time except to eat, sleep, repeat.

M and I are okay. No play time, and I’m not going to go into all the particulars, just I was mad about it. Unjustly, but one cannot always control hurt and upset and anger…that’s what makes us human, after all.

So we have talked, and come back to equilibrium, and things are…steady. Are they improving…? No. Are they changing? NO. And they can’t, just now, for a plethora of reasons.

He wants more.

I want more.

We are both living in the wanting, with no way to make it happen.

Yes…some one or twenty of you may think “hmmm, if there’s all that much wanting, surely you can make it happen…?”

But we can’t. It is just the way the dice are rolling just now, and sometimes you just have to accept that it is what it is, and roll with it. With nearly 10 years under our belts, we’ve been up and down these twisted roads, and we always come out to the other side, strong and happy and resilient in our relationship. We aren’t in that first hot rush of lust. We’re in the settled but still needy stage of deep comfort. So, we will do as best we can, and when things work out, then we’ll be okay again.

Just wanted you all to know I’m still pumping air in and out of my lungs, and life continues to roll on. Maybe at some point I’ll have some time to sit, to write, and reconnect a bit with you all here.

Vanilla life is stuck to me like a latex catsuit. (I know there’s a zipper here someplace….)

HAPPY 4th, America!

Not happy with our leadership, mind you, but all in all, the USA is still a really great place to be living; I’m blessed with a wonderful family, a nice home, a good career, a loving, sadistic Dom, and a happy life. I take none of it for granted because I know others out in the world..and even in our country… are not so blessed.

Still, I’m proud to be an American (despite 45), proud to be a part of a great nation even while it struggles to find middle ground for all of us to live together in some semblance of harmony.

And to round out my blessings, I’m finally healthy, independent from that twice damned infection at last. And my Dom is demanding that I find time, and soon, for us to play together because He needs to beat me.¬† Prayers and goddess willing, that should happen soon. (never soon enough, but if all goes well, THIS MONTH!)

Life is good in my corner of the world, dear pervie peeps, and I wish the same for all of you on this day of being (as Rudolph says to Hermie) IN DE PEN DENT!

~nilla~

The Road to Recovery is Slow

I’m kinda pissed. At my body. I’m fighting this…thing… with my spirit and my mind and my heart, but my body has struggled mightily these last 3 1/2 weeks.

Today *should* have been playtime.

Remember I was pissy because He wouldn’t commit to the date and then my life sucked up the time? Well, it so wouldn’t have mattered after all,¬† because he won’t play when I’m sick. Which is fair. I don’t think it’s fun for either of us when I’m not responsive.

So, I’m on a second round of antibiotics as well as another new thing to try to knock this thing out. Seriously, this getting older stuff isn’t always easy…shaking these infections is definitely harder. (Sorry Jz, but this one is definitely true!)

That’s all the pissing and moaning I’m going to do about this. I’m frustrated, but it is what it is, and I just have to slow down a little (hahahahahaha) and try to rest (hahahahahahaha).

But there is a positive thing. I’ve kept Himself up to date with what’s going on here, and he sent me a text that was, for Him, a sweet little love note. He said he “wasn’t done with me yet” and to get better soon.

Yeah…it really is fun decoding Dom-speak. It’s something I’ve become adept at over these last 9 years. I’m never going to get effusive notes, not get flooded with caring words. It’s short, succinct, and usually sarcastic. I know the caring is there. He misses me. He wants to beat me.

And he will.

I finally feel like *I* need it as much as he does, so that’s improvement already. Right?

So please excuse the whineyness, the tinge of petulance, and the grrrr of frustration here. I’m going to be better soon. Better every day, right? RIGHT!

 

Grumbles, I’ve Got ’em

It feels good when you start with a title like that (points to header), and can smile. Because I’ve already worked through most of what was making me feel grumbly/grumpy.

We don’t fight. We discuss. He doesn’t respond to angry texts or accusations or temperment. He’ll wait me out until I finally blow through it and feel bad and¬†then¬†we usually talk, not text, our way through it. I’ve learned that over the years, and really, things have gone along pretty smoothly overall in our more recent times.

But HE wanted to have playtime. HE initiated it, demanded that I find time in June. Uh…okay. I wanted it, I did. Juggling my schedule is always a challenge, since I work pretty much some of every day of the week. Which isn’t to say I can’t¬†make¬†it happen, it just takes planning.

So I did.

And when I gave him the date, He backpedaled. No other word for it, really. He had stuff going on. He had this. He had that.

Okay, I get it.

I do.

*sighs*

But man, it did seriously annoy me. I might admit that I threw my hands up in the air and said to myself, “fine,¬†don’t make ME a priority. FINE.”

And realized that he might feel the same way when I can’t automatically reschedule my shit.

Man, being grownup sometimes¬†sucks.¬† I so wanted to blame him. Fry him up on a platter and …I dunno. But…

I did tell him I was annoyed.

“I thought you were sick,” he says.

uhm. well. err…

Yeah. I am. Still. Fucking. Sick. (third time this year, wtf??!) 13 days but who’s counting, right? I can’t do anything physical without coughing my head off. Walk upstairs? Gasp. Cough. Die a little.

Okay.

That last bit may have been a little exaggeration.

ūüėÄ

But I have been pretty damn sick, and I wasn’t taking that into account. In part because I haven’t talked to him in like…three weeks? (my fault, no voice for a week will do that, right?)

ANYWAY…before I go maundering off into sympathy land, we’ve…I’ve…worked through it. And back into a peaceful place. And he didn’t even have to yank me a little bit to get there, either. Sometimes I just build up these scenarios in my head.

“I’m too old.”

“I’m too fat.”

“I’m too …”

….for Him to be wanting me anymore.

FUCK THOSE TAPES!!

Why do they still play in my head? Why do I let them. NOTHING HAS CHANGED FROM HIS SIDE OF THINGS. He’d tell me if he was done. If he was over the D/s thing.

I know this because I did ask him that a month ago.

He wants me. Wants to hurt me, wants to be with me, wants to fuck me. He doesn’t care that I’m ten years older that when we met. That I’m round. That I’m short. That I’m anything other than me.

He likes me.

He maybe even loves me.

(You know He loves me.)

So, in and out of the dark place and quickly. Kicking my own self in the ass for being an ass. ūüėÄ

Grumble…over.

Oh, and one more thing. We have playtime scheduled. It’s July but that’s okay. I should be better by then. I want to be in excellent health when he beats the holy fuck out of me.

*smiles*

 

He Insists

So there I am, muddling along in the day-to-day of my life. I have been so busy between kid stuff, work stuff and house stuff that I’m up and running the moment my feet hit the floor every morning…so busy that I rarely eat breakfast these days, and chug my one cup of tea between the various tasks for taking care of my family (including fur-kids!). For several days I only sent a goodnight text to M…at midnight.

And then.

I did a thing.

You know how one day you just get tired of the same old, same old? Yeah, I hit that point a week ago, and I cut my hair.

Now, M¬†loves long hair on women. I know that. And I’ve been growing my hair for 12 years (with occasional ‘big’ trims)…but it hasn’t been short-short since he’s known me. And you know,¬† he’s not the day-to-day Dom that manages stuff like that. He doesn’t care what I wear, doesn’t care if I wear underwear or not, it just is too much micro-managing for him. It used to bug him when I’d ask about changing my color, or getting 4″ of hair lopped off.

So I just plunked myself in the hairdressers chair and told her it was time for a makeover. My hair was lank, and damaged, and tired. My red was more trending towards orange, and I was just tired of managing all of it.

She took off somewhere near 9″ and then added lots of layers (I have super thick hair). Now it’s bouncy and vibrant, and a deep coppery red…and I love it. It barely skims my shoulders in the back!¬† It takes me 2 minutes to style and boy how nice to not have the chore of keeping it up. No more braids, no more ponytails…and no more headaches, either. If you have long hair that you put up in a pony or bun, then you know what I’m talking about.

While I’m sure he’s not¬†pleased with my decision, he also understands that sometimes you need a big cut to make it nice again.

So that leads me to his text early last week, insisting that we have a play time in June. Yes. HE initiated wanting playtime. So we’re going for it, hopefully mid-month. I was stunned, and happy, and glad to know that he still wants my fat o…hrm…if I say that word, Jz will be on me again…my fat, 59 year old ass. It’s nice to be wanted, isn’t it?

“I hope you beat me good, M,” I said. “I suppose you could beat me for cutting my hair,” I continued.

“Nilla,” he says, and I can hear the voice in my head as I read his texted response, “I’m going to beat you for¬†breathing.¬†I don’t need an excuse to do so.”

Which just makes me laugh. It’s just so M.

Keep your fingers crossed, Peeps, that things continue to flow and we get a second playtime already, this year. When you’re only averaging 3 times a year, having another time to fuck like minks in such a short time frame is a gift of immeasurable value. And if all goes well, despite him not loving my hair, which I know he won’t, he should hopefully at least not loathe it either.

 

 

Hired! ~22~

Of course the day he finally arrived in the city, there was a major fire and traffic was entangled for hours. He’d abandoned the cab when it was apparent that he wasn’t going to go more than a block an hour, and stomped angrily down the main street until he, sweaty and overheated in the urban heat, found a coffee shop to collapse in. The iced tea revived him somewhat, as did the little waitress he fucked in the back alley. She cried when he pulled out of her pussy, cried harder when he jammed his cock into her asshole. His hand had fisted in her hair, arching her spine, her ass jutting as he punched his way through her resisting rectum. When he was done, he pulled out, carefully removing the condom and tying it off. He put it in his pocket for disposal later before he dropped a $20 on the ground between her feet, then turned and strode away.

Ass-fucking the little slut had relieved some of the pressure from all the frustrations, but he thought seriously about going back and slapping the fuck out of her. Still, his dick was drained, and he’d definitely enjoyed her little mewlings as his thighs banged against her ass while he raped her butthole.¬†Little whore probably liked it way more than she let on,¬†he mused, straightening his shirt as he exited the alley, turning sharply right.

Unfortunately for him, the fire had caused the city to shut power for a whole block, including the building where his little kittycat had applied for a job. He stared at the “Sorry, Closed Due to Fire/Power Outage” sign on the door. Just his fucking luck, he thought with a growl. He headed away, grabbing an available cab. Better to sit in the hotel room and plan what he’d do with his slut when he brought her back here. Which would be soon. Not as soon as he needed, but soon enough.

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

The phone rang, jarring her awake. She hurt in places she’d forgotten about, she discovered, trying to roll over to grab the buzzing cell.

“What?” she mumbled, still sex-drowzy.

“Don’t bother to come in today.”

“You woke me up two hours before I have to even get up to tell me to not get up and go to work? That? That’s pure sadism right there,” she growled.

“Why, thank you! I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

“You’re being a sarcastic bastard now.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. So…why shouldn’t I come ..oh gods I can’t believe I even said that word…” She moaned softly.

“What word? Work?”

“No, I never got that far. Come.¬† Weren’t you listening? I said come. Like..you know….you said CUM…. Over and over and over and over and over and ov–”

“Gotcha”, he said, attempting to interrupt her flow.¬† ¬†“Kat, you can stop now,” he said, trying not to laugh as she kept muttering “over and over”.

“Unless, of course, you want me to order you to masturbate and come, hmm, 20 more times?”

“NO! No…my pussy is way too sore for that. WAY. TO. Sore. Way.

“Yes, of course. But you know, that wouldn’t really stop me. I hope you understand the benevolence of my restraint here.”

She mumbled something unintelligible, and likely unflattering.

“Can we get back to the topic at hand?”

“Which was that?”

“What was that.”

“What?”

“Kat.”

“What?”

“Your morning grammar is appalling.”

“Oh, that what? What are you even talking about now? I’m so confused. And I hurt. Like…my ass. Ouch. My chin. Did you bite my chin you bastard? Anyway, I hurt and it’s all your fault.”

There was a long pause as he gathered patience, which she took as license to continue.

“And I like it. Liked it. And still like it. You know. I liked it yesterda…hey…wait a minute.¬† I don’t even remember coming home. How am I here and you aren’t?? Did you roofie me? What the absolute fuck…?!”

He gritted his teeth. When she ran on a tangent, man, there was no stopping her. A ballgag was definitely in her future!

“You were exhausted. MommaLa kissed you goodbye, and said she wished you happy. You giggled. She said you were drunk on good loving. You giggled again, and we went back to your place. I half-carried you upstairs and you wanted me to fuck you in the hallway.”

“I did not.”

“You did. And somehow I resisted, even when you were supremely naughty and tried to play with my cock.”

She giggled.

“That’s a good kind of naughty.”

“Hmmm,” he replied. “So, the reason I’m calling–”

“Is you want to come back and make it up to me? No, wait. No. What?”

“Kat, I can’t get a full thought out with you blathering.”

“I NEVER blather, ” she fumed, sounding deeply insulted.

“Riiiight,” he replied. “Never. So. Don’t come into work. Big fire downtown and the fire department cut the power. Only one here is me, and I’m leaving soon.”

“Coming¬†here?”¬†she said, sounding hopeful.

“No. Home. To sleep. Even Dom’s get tired.”

“You did play hard with me,” she said, smiling, rubbing her finger over the purpling bruise covering her right nipple. “I love that you played hard with me. To me. On me. Hard, but with gentle in there…like little bits of yumminess in the middle of the mean parts. I like the mean parts too, but you do give good cuddles.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re not wearing the belt anymore.”

“No Sir,” she said, her voice husky. “I’m saying it because it’s true. You give good caring. Thank you.”

There was a long pause between them. He was touched by her words. He thought she was going to say more, but a gentle snore came through the phone. Shaking his head and smiling, he disconnected the call.

 

Hired! ~21~

It was the whirr of the oversized vibrator that roused her. How many times, she wondered in the small corner of her brain that still functioned. How many times had he made her cum. 

“Noo…no more…I can’t….” she moaned.

“Yesssss,” he growled in her ear.¬† “Your final test to see if that belt stays off,” he said, pressing the vibe hard against her. “I know you can cum again. One, two, however many I can wring from your greedy, sopping cunt.”

Her body arched as she spasmed again. Her ass fell to the mattress, wet and chilly beneath her hot cheeks, before rising again in the agony of orgasm. Her nipples drew tight, her clit pressed deeply against the steadily churning head of the monster.

“Aaaaaahhhh!” she shrieked, the shocks from her overstimulated bud painful, so painfully sensitive.

He moved, changing the angle of the vibe, slipping his fingers into her, finger fucking her roughly. Her head tossed as a steady babble came from her mouth, wordless pleas for mercy.

Gods, she was glorious in this state,¬†he thought, the wild freedom of her pain writ over her body, the tremors of orgasm in her belly, her tits, her thighs. Her hair plastered wetly around her head, sticky bits of sperm and spit glistening on her cheeks, her lips, her breast. Though he’d had her several times already, he felt himself growing hard again, watching her writhing. He controlled this, controlled her for this moment. Her body was his to direct, an orchestra of flesh at his disposal. The thickening shaft between his legs demanded her pussy again.

His fingers, slippery with her juices, grabbed her legs, flipping her to her side. Her eyes were blind now, staring at him blankly, as her mouth opened and closed on the animal noises she squeaked at him. Keeping the vibe pressed against the top of her vee, he jogged his hips forward and sank into the hot, slippery cauldron of her cunt. For a moment he could only pause, his penis sucking up the incredible warmth, the slickness of her. He felt her quivering deep inside, surrounding his dick with an unceasing squeezing of her muscles. Hips moving almost of their own accord, he slid out, then back, increasing the pace, then the violence. The hum of the vibrator buzzed at him when he was buried deep in her, the sensation sending quivers of pleasure shock to his balls. He pummeled her pussy then, driving hard, driving deep, driving them quickly up the ramp from lust to raw animal need. His ass tightened with every thrust, his cock thickening as her whimpers came faster, her voice rougher. Each punch of his penis forced a gutteral grunt from her, making him even harder.

When the shockwave of another orgasm rocketed through her, her pussy walls clamped him like a vise of molten lava. Teeth gritted, face straining, he withdrew, slammed home, withdrew again, then drove deep into her boiling cunt, and exploded. With one final coherent thought, he switched off the vibe before falling across her, panting.

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

When they roused, they were stuck together.

“You are glued to me,” she moaned as he peeled his arm from her left tit.

“It’s not my fault that you have superglue for drool,” he replied, wincing as he rose up on his free arm, trying to find the other one.

“I think your pussy tried to kill me,” he muttered.

“It would have been a mutual killing,” she said with a slurred giggle. “Your cock tried to spear my lungs out of me.”

“Your cunt tried to suck me in by my dick, I felt it trying to Hoover me in there.”

“You did it, so you deserved every moment you were terrorized by my pussy.”

“You may have a point there,” he mused, grimacing as he pushed away, his thighs firmly melded to hers.

“OH! Ouch!” she yelped as he peeled away. “Dammit! You’re friggin’ exfoliating me! And that’s YOUR cum, by the way, I distinctly remember you spraying me with your load.”

“Load? What are you, a porno writer?” He laughed, but was blushing.

“Are you…blushing?” She giggled, pointing at him.

“Crap is a ‘load’…semen is something else.”

“What, praytell?”

“You’re pretty¬†spunky after being fucked brainless, you know.”

“Cute,” she said, rolling her eyes, giving that teeny head-shake that let him know she didn’t think he was cute at all. Little brat!”

“I AM cute. And yes, I covered you in¬† my¬†spunk.¬†¬†I did NOT dump a load on you or you’d be covered in shit.”

He paused, his eyes widening. Oh, she could hardly wait for this, she mused, watching his face.

“Unless…”

“Unless…what?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t.

“Unless it’s your unspoken, ultra-dirty fetish.”

“What…oh gods…you…NO! Oh gross, no. I mean, not to judge people who are into shit..but heyll YES, I’m judging. Eww. Just…ewwwww. No. No Sir, I am definitely NOT into poop play. Ugh. Just…” She shuddered dramatically.

“Well,” he said, his tone reluctant, “If you’re sure?”

“I’m totally and completely sure. If you shit on me…”

“I’m not really into public shitting. I’d have to get a volunteer to shit in a bucket or something.”

“Now that, THAT? Is the epitome of “gross”, ” she said, using air quotes over the word gross.

“I can not believe you are air quoting after I just fucked you into tomorrow.”

“I had pent up orgasms. I feel¬†MARVELOUS!¬†In fact, if we weren’t stuck together on your …spunk…I’d be up and twirling with the bliss running in my veins. I am HIGH on sex right now.”

“I see..” He rose from her in one quick moving, making them both gasp.

“FUCK!” they said in unison.

“Jesusgod,” he moaned, cupping himself. “My balls were stuck to you and your vicious pussy!”

“HOLY FUCKBALLS!” she yelped, grabbing her cunt. “You took ten layers of skin off my pussy!”

And then she began to laugh, pointing at him and guffawing. With a frown of injured pride (and sore testicles), he tried valiantly to not let the grin quirk his lips.

He failed.