Nighty night, peeps…
Nighty night, peeps…
I know, you’re used to seeing a pic of my boobies here on Thursdays. But I’m going to be late on that, simply because I’ve been too busy working to even snap a somewhat sexy pic. I don’t take *hours* to set up, gods no! But I’d like to be a little bit in the spirit of the thing, you know. And I have other stuff to talk about. And if I get time, later this week (insert wild, raucous laugher here) I’ll even post a story that’s been floating around my head this last week.
You know from my last post that M has seriously fucked with my brain. This morning, after having not one, but TWO nights in a row of nightmares about being used by ‘bad’ doms, I had to write to Him.
I had to say something I haven’t said in all the 8.5 years that we’ve been together. Or is it 9? I forget. I guess it is close to 9. Anyway, I’m dithering.
I had to lay out a hard line in the sand. Boundaries. Me, who never, ever, EVER thought she’d say no to something, finally had to. Hey, I’m not young anymore. I’m bumping up against my 6th decade on this planet, and I’d like to make it to the 7th or 8th or beyond, even. (There’s a big eclipse in 2072 that I’d like to see…)
Yes, I sent him a list of hard limits.
No asshole licking (does that make me wimp?) despite the fact that I’ve done it before. Back then, I found it extremely unpleasant, even though it also turned me on. Because I’ perverse like that. Now I’m older, wiser (at least a little) and can appreciate the danger factor in picking up a disease from licking some strangers shitter.
No breath play. There was an asphyxiation sex play death in my area recently. Kind of shook me. I love watching a guys hand around a gals throat when I watch porn, but I don’t really want to be choked out when a strangers dick is down it.
No knife/gun play. I guess that should have been a hard limit a long time ago but it never was an issue between us. But he said Doms plural, so who knows what they could bring to the table…er…bed?
I’m not sure even 20 minute passed before I got a text from him.
“What the fuck nilla,” it began, and I knew then that I’d shown him I doubted him. I didn’t. I doubted them, but it looks like I doubted his judgement and I could see it…after the fact, of course.
“Call me later this morning.”
He never asks me to call him in the morning. It’s a challenge with both of our schedules. But I made it happen. The phone call started the way the text ended. Except for the tone.
“What in the everloving holy fuck would ever make you think that I’d put you in that position to be harmed like that?” he says, his tone mingled perplexity and …love?
I stuttered. Stammered. First, that he showed me that kind of caring. We have a strange relationship, one that looks weird from the outside of “us”. I know he cares for me and can’t usually say the words. He shows it, but it just isn’t Him to be all lovey-dovey about it. I know he wouldn’t kill me…or let anyone else harm me. I know it deep in that safe spot inside of me that allows him to hurt me so good.
But I had been really scared.
I was scared for a week, and I finally couldn’t not ask.
We talked it out.
I didn’t remember tell him about the nightmares, but I will. And we’re good, though I could tell there was still some feeling of WTF, slut in there. He knows I’m a flighty and ofttimes off the wall slut. I’m not sure he fully realized how much he’d freaked me out!
On the bad side, and totally unrelated to this little D/s hiccup, he might need to cancel our playtime due to a situation totally out of his control, something he may have to attend. And he gave me days of notice, so I won’t be moping Saturday afternoon.
It will suck for us both. He told me that he’s hoping to wiggle out of it if at all possible. That’s major, as he usually doesn’t say stuff like that. Like…ever. It helps a lot, knowing this, that he wants to hurt me, fuck me, be with me.
So we’re good, crisis averted for the nonce. I’ll keep you posted on tittypix, and playtime. 😀
If you don’t get titty pix, you’ll KNOW we had playtime and I was just too busy being fucked and spanked to post.
(wouldn’t that be great?!)
He’s fucking with my head for certain. But it is a promise? Is it merely payback for my
stupid unfortunate choice of spending a day teasing him about his doctor visit and a finger up his ass for a change?
I’d be the first to admit that I had a grand time poking the bear (thanks Jz for reminding me of that fun phrase!) that fateful day last week. Oh, I laughed and giggled at every impertinent text. I pictured his face as he read them, alternating between annoyance and amusement (I do amuse him–most times).
But sometimes I go just a little bit too far.
Such was the case last week. One ass-poking tweek too many, I suppose. And payback isn’t a bitch. No, pervie friends, in our world, payback is a Dom with a vengeful mind.
We’re having a playtime very soon. Very soon indeed. He texts me.
“This will be one for the record books, nilla.”
“This will be a true diary* entry.” (*what he calls my blog)
“Oh, btw, no touching yourself!”
Upon my complaint as we’re more than a week out–this text…
“The Doms want you horny.”
*pauses while you take that in*
Yeah. Re-read that a few times.
I’ll keep you posted where this goes. Just learn from this my friends. Do not poke your Dom too many times…
For our next playtime…soon…
M had his annual physical today which he described to me as “a pain in the ass, in all ways”…which sent me off on a wild tangent of texts. Teasing. Taunting-ish. Verrrry naughty nilla.
We have playtime coming up pretty soon.
I think I’ve been…what? Prodding the dragon? Poking the snake? Whatever they call it, I’ve teased M right into revenge mode. Guess I pushed that button just one time too many.
(Can I admit to you that while I’m quite nervous now, I’m also more than a little horny about this?)
(Ssshhh. Don’t tell Him!)
I’ve gone on this tangent before, I know. Those that have read here for a long time will nod and say ‘ya, nilla, we heard you loud and clear when you went all through this 2 years ago…’
But it bears repeating. So, let’s back up a bit and start at my own beginnings…
My sex kinks are fear and pain.
M knows this, and is very, very good at scaring the holy fuck out of me. He knows what turns me on, and exactly what buttons to push to please us both. What we do behind closed doors is truly D/s, full of pain and moans and his laughter and my tears. It’s full of orgasms of pleasure and orgasms beyond counting, and into the realm of a very different sort of pain.
But when we part ways, though we remain Dominant and submissive, we’re also real. I don’t know how to put it other than that. He’s kinky, I’m kinky, and it is a part of us. But it isn’t the whole of us. He has no desire to kidnap me and keep me in a cage in his cellar. I have no true secret desire for that to happen.
But as I said above, fear plays a large role in my turn-on factor. And if you’ve read even half of my tales, it shows. I don’t live in kinkworld, however fun that might be. My reality consists of occasional visits with my Dom, (a very small amount of my time, actually) and the regular day-to-day life things: going to work, and feeding and schooling my kiddo’s, and taking care of my pets, and the house and the yard and and and.
Real. Life. Shit.
What my issue is with sex blogging is my very own personal guilt about writing these really truly nasty tales, and some pervie peep taking it as permission.
“I read it in the sex blog that nilla writes. She writes really cool stories of kidnapping and fucking any slut I want. I think she’s telling me what allll those cold bitches want. Pigs. Whores. Sluts.”
I don’t want to plant that seed in anyone’s head! I don’t want some sick fuck to read a story that I wrote and assume that all girls are sluts/whores/cumholes and should be scooped up –drunk from the bar, or walking down the street, or whatever…and making them their forever slave.
This blog is not permission to be a jackhole and steal
This blog is not permission for you to harm someone who is unwilling to be your sex partner, sex doll, sex toy, or sex slave. Or whatever name you choose to call it.
This blog is not permission for anyone to do harm to someone who is not committed to being a party to your sexual fantasy, and making you a part of theirs.
The last time I went through this kind of guilt/crisis, I could not write for several months. It was just after that guy in Chicago was found to be keeping several women in his basement. He’d kidnapped them as teens, if you recall, and raped them and made them pregnant and kept them hidden away…for years.
That haunted me. Still does, actually. That guy said sex blogs and porn made him do it. And if you tumblr or tweet or read blogs–it’s all out there. Some truly horrific misogynistic stuff about snuff rape and women not being people and should all be grateful to be taking their cum.
It kind of horrified me, actually. I may be a perverted sex blogger but by damn I’m a person too!
It doesn’t change the reality of the fact that reading abduction/rape fantasy is growing by leaps and bounds. So many people have sexual fantasies about being taken/used against their will.
It’s hot. It’s violent. It’s perverted. It’s a sicko fantasy.
And for whatever reason, it is my fantasy, too.
That there is the key word, though. It IS *fantasy*. I don’t expect a reader to find me and say oh hey nilla, there you are, come with me now and I’m going to fuck you brainless no matter if you want it or not. Nor does any other woman/teenager/person living their lives want that.
It’s in the mystery, the fantasy of it, that make the thought of being powerless so sexually stimulating. I blame it on the strange connections in my head but who knows why any of us are wired the way we are. And really, it doesn’t matter as long as we have the morality and discretion to separate reality from fantasy, right?
Here’s the bottom line and then I’m going to put my soapbox away for the night.
Don’t rape someone who doesn’t really want it.
Unless you work it out in advance (consensual non-consent) in your relationship, it really is rape. If you think all girls deserve it/want it/crave it/ need it…you’re wrong. Build a D/s relationship to make it work but don’t read my stories and use it as a guidepost for grabbing your own partner against their will.
Be a bastard. Be mean. Be brutal. But do it the right way.
then this would be on time. Oops, my bad!
On a sideways tangent, it always amuses me that when I need to drop a pic into my blog it says “insert”…mmmmm….
(once a slut, always a slut…!)
“I see here that you have no family? No one to take you home after your procedure?”
“I’m planning to Uber it, Dr. Melon.”
“I see,” he said, looking up at her over her chart. “And no one at the other end to help you get in, get you settled?”
“No, Dr. I’m pretty confident that I’ll be okay. I have a friend who is kinda on call should I need her.”
“Very well then, let us proceed with the examination, and we’ll go over your options.”
The doctor lowered her johnny and probed her left breast, the right. He pinched her nipples gently, hefted them in each hand.
“Well, you have good responsiveness in your nipples, and that might change after the reduction. I think you have a fair amount of breast tissue we can do something with. I’m going to do a further test, and we’ll set something up for you.”
“Yes doctor,” she said, shyly tugging her johnny up to cover herself. There was a definite blush in her cheeks as she took the cup he handed her, after mixing some pink powder in it.
“No need to be shy Ms. Morrison,” he chuckled as she hesitated. “I’ve certainly seen my fair pair of breasts over the years!”
Her blush deepened and in her embarrassment, she chugged down the glass of whatever it was. Sweet, with a slight salty-ish tang….
“So you gave her the hormone powder already?”
He nodded, fastening the last of the buckles around Ms. Morrison. Tugging the last strap tight, he nodded to his ‘assistant’.
“She’s good to go. She should sleep for the next several hours.”
“That’s good, because the last one that you sent me woke up halfway there, and cried like a fucking banshee,” was the terse reply.
“As I recall, you have definitely enjoyed the fruits of that ‘banshee’ rather often.”
“Well ya, cuz now she’s screaming for a whole different reason.”
“Multiple orgasms will do that to a woman.”
The two chuckled and the ‘assistant’ wheeled out the gurney to the waiting ambulance.
She awoke with her tits throbbing painfully. Trying to reach one, she was confused by the metallic clinking. Tugging her wrist was futile, it turned out, as her eyes began to focus. She was handcuffed to a bed.
“Oh my god!” she yelled. “Help? Help?”
A figure came towards her, one she vaguely recognized in her befuddled state.
“Calm down now, Ms. Morrison, we don’t want to interrupt the process. Your body is undergoing some rapid transformations just now. While you were asleep, my assistant and I began injecting you with a wonderful cocktail of hormones. Your tits probably hurt some, as they are growing and filling with milk.”
His hand reached over the edge of the barred bed, stroking her swollen tit. She arched, moaning. Even the light touch was painful, her tits were so huge.
“Aaah, I see. You’re ready for your next milking.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.
“I…I can’t have babies…I…I can’t make milk….You…you’re…insane!”
“Oh, lovely slut, I’m far from insane. Do you realize what people will pay for titty juice? Oh my, they pay a fortune! A chosen few will win a very expensive trip here to suck your milk direct from your swollen jugs, and for a ridiculous fee, will be allowed to fuck your cunt, which is swollen and tight and juicy.”
His fingers slid down her body, entered the cleft between her legs. It was then that she realized she was naked, and chained open. As his fingers slid inside of her, she felt an orgasm crash through her.
“Yes, that’s another side effect of the hormone cocktail. You don’t have to be pregnant, we simulate those lovely little hormones, and your body will orgasm with the easiest of touches. You’re going to be horny and crazy for people to fuck you.”
He paused, stroking her inner thigh.
“Which I assure you, there will no shortage of volunteers to do.” He paused again, then lowered his zipper to reveal a large, swollen cock. “Including, of course, me!”
She came when his cockhead brushed her lower lips. And had yet another orgasm as he pushed inside of her. She moaned when he did , when he was jammed fully inside of her. Her cunt squeezed his shaft tightly, a hot and wet velvet fist, as yet another orgasm shuddered through her.
A single drop of milk leaked from her left nipple.
Ay-yup. this is it, my nasty fantasy. Being kidnapped, milked, fucked to oblivion. It’s pretty fucking awful…. (and yet so awfully hot…) ~nilla~
Seriously, these days are flying past. Summer is supposed to be filled with long, languorous days…yet here we are slipping right along into almost August. It’s been a strange summer, to be sure, with heat waves followed by deeper cold waves than I ever recollect happening in mid-summer. Anyway, I digress. Here it is, HNT, and me with nary a moment of my own to take some new pics. What to do but go scrolling through my phone, and what did I discover, but this one, all soft and feminine. Maybe not quite the smutty slutty stuff I usually do, but nonetheless, my offering to you on this last HNT of July.