T is for Tits…and Trouble

If I was a naughty girl (hehe) I’d have made some smartassy comment about being a teabagger–and you all would’ve had a verrrrrry different thought about what this post was all about. I would have been referring to being in hot water like a teabag, you see, and not about licking M’s balls…no matter how exciting that prospect would have been.

Yes, I’m in hot, hot water my peeps. I forgot a task. A regular task. It’s basically His fault, too. *grins* Kinda. Sorta.

Okay, not.

But still. Kinda.

(You know right there that I’m being a naughty sub right? Not the obedient, willing nilla, nope. I’ve been off the leash too long, friends, and I’m running amok.)

I know, I know, you want your tit pic. Just hang in there a minute, willya?

I’m deeply in the hole with half-o’s. (That’s a double entendre that really works, you know?!)

I keep missing the over/under on our football bets. Two weeks ago? Lost BIGTIME when the Patriot’s coughed up a giant goose egg. Yeah, a number that represented how many O’s I’d won that week…N.0.N.E. It did not represent how many half-o’s I got. 16. On top of 4 that He’d traded me down to (it had been 20, but if I gave up another orgasm…you know how that goes…)…

So  he has me do two half-o’s on Saturday. Now, I’m a horny wired up bitch. I’ve not had an orgasm in nearly a month, and two with only 20 seconds between? O. M. G.

Seriously, Master, one would think you’re a fucking SADIST. 

But I survived. And did my research on the game this past week. Made my bet with M…and came unfuckingbelievably  so close. So close. I lost by one. Damned. Point. So I only get one more half o but *still*.



So because of the two half o’s he gave me over the weekend..and the loss of any new O’s coming into my currently-in-the-negative O ‘bank’…..I fucked up. It’s not my problem if I forgot that Saturday wasn’t Monday’s half o’s…right? Anyone?

I should also add that like most of you (I’d wager) Monday holidays totally mess up your mental calendar. You go to work Tuesday thinking it was Monday and yada yada yada…I worked alllll day Monday doing house stuff, really physical stuff that wiped me out. By 11 I not only was ready for bed, I all but landed on it like a felled tree…timberrrrrr…*thunk* lights out nilla.

I woke on Tuesday feeling so good. Mmm, nothing beats a good nights sleep after a hard day of physical labor, amiright?

And hell, it was doubly good! M hadn’t suggested that I skip my O that night in exchange for a reduction in my half o’s… oh yeah, life was gooood.

And I had the BEST (self generated) orgasm ever.


His text comes in the next morning…”and how was the prep work Monday night for getting that old O last night?”

He knew.

He fucking knew I’d forgotten. Totally and completely didn’t remind me because, duh, it’s a rule and I’ve been doing it for months now unless he’s given me the night off (as trade for giving up the o…)…..

He never loses his temper. Never raises his voice, shouts, gets dramatic, none of that, not once in 8 years. But he sure as hell gets his point across in the most polite ways.

So I’m in Trouble, getting LOTS of half-o’s today at times that it is NOT an expected thing and I’ll be horny alllll damn day.

I did send him a titpic to try to soften Him up (it never works, but you can’t blame a slut for trying) after my shower while I was creaming up my skin. Kind of a hint…wanting him to “cream” me…



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I hate when I fall off the grid like that…

…but it happens.

Leading up to the holiday weekend, working every day…every day. Plus a rush rush rush of a job for 10 days–I didn’t even turn on my computer for 7 days. I haven’t done that since I’ve *had* a computer!!  I was so out straight that my only facebook time was when I was on the toilet…and then only when a kid wasn’t popping into the room to ask me something important. You know those questions…like where did I put my red pen, can I have popcorn in the living room, and by the way the cat threw up on the hallway carpet.


Even my time with M was down to a bare minimum of good morning and good night texts, though I did call a few times, HE was too busy to answer.


Wasn’t the computer age going to give us MORE free time? What the fuck, peeps?? I seriously have way less time, and suspect that you do, too. Because we can’t get away from it. And really–would you want to? Because even when we’re stuck to it for work, the internet gives us great things like tit pix and cock pix and dirty stories, and all sorts of stuff that previous generations had to work way harder to access.

But now I think I’m kind of caught up on real life stuff for a while, and trying to be moderate in how often I say “yes” to things because really, working 18 hours a day is a bit much…doing it for 10 days is crazy. I mean, when am I even going to have a second to think about being fucked? Being beaten. Man, do I need a good beating.

And then out of the blue, M sends me a text to pick a date for playtime, tells me the days he’s not available and sends me reeling. M does NOT do this. Not ever. But sheesh, I hate to tell you all how long it’s been since I’ve seen him, and even longer, like 10 months, for real, since a playtime. I need a playtime so much I can’t even think of an appropriate simile for how much.

It’s been so long that I wondered if I was boring him with the mundanity of my life, which has really sucked up all my sexy good stuff…and asked him if he was breaking up with me…(after he suggested I find a few doms I might like to play with, for him to vett)…

to which I got a resounding NO!


I don’t want to play with anyone else, just my Master. (I hate to be and sound blase about it but been there, done that, had the experience and it was fine, but I’m just wanting my very own M. Anyway, that’s why I thought that he wanted to break up, to pawn me off on someone else.)

But he doesn’t. I’m still his, and he was just thinking I needed more something. Well I do. But the something i need most is Him.

We’re both on the same page about it, and even though it wasn’t very submissive of me to throw down my “no” card…I did it. He didn’t want it for his own pleasure, but for what he perceived I might be missing. Isn’t it funny in a way that he thought I wasn’t happy with him while I was thinking the same thing in reverse? “I don’t want” isn’t a good thing for a sub to say, yet there are times when one must…and I’m glad I did.

So now the holiday is over, and we’re in quiet mode until Thanksgiving…and I’ll be back to carving out some writing time. Thanks to those who wanted to make sure I was okay, since I’ve tried hard to not go dark here…I do appreciate your caring!





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..for a brief natter before I take my tired old ass to bed. I’m writing, working on that new story whenever I have free time, but this is a little Master and nilla story that I wanted to share. For those of us who don’t have perfect relationships. For some like me who wonder all the time why the HELL I’m still doing this after all these years, and with so little time together (it’s NOT his fault either, it’s me and my overprogrammed, work 7 days a week life.)


Sometimes you just wanna *smack* your dom, you know?? I was really pissed with him. And then annoyed, because no text, no call, nuthin’ for over 24 hours. We have rules about that, at least a morning and evening text from each of us to the other so we know we’re okay.

Then I think, ‘oh hell ,what if he was in an accident, or in the hospital…’ and I start to fret. Then I flip back and forth all evening at work between worry and anger. Maybe anger is too strong? It started as annoyance but with every shift back from worry it got worse. . . you know how that goes, right?

I was NOT going to call him. Let HIM make the bloody first move this time. Why am *I* the one holding this relationship together anyway? Isn’t that an “us” task?? And if he doesn’t care enough about me to make the first move then FUCK HIM!!!

And…then I call him on the way home from work because…


Because that’s what we do, submissives. We create drama in our head, and hopefully keep it there–and we submit. Nothing has changed from his end. I never, ever answer my phone. Ever. So why *would* he call after 8 years this way?

And then I am prepared to BLAST him for the non-com..I say ‘You didn’t send me a text last night OR this morning and it’s been well over 24 hours since I last heard from you and that breaks our rules.”

Now, heretofore he would have given me a sarcastic rejoinder, or snapped me back in line with a single word. This time? The jerk!

“You’re right, and I’m really sorry. I was really tired when I got home last night and fell asleep before I could text you. This morning I got off to a late start and it was busy at work, and I just forgot. You’re right, and I apologize, nilla.”

No, I didn’t dream it.

“You Bastard,” I said.

“Took the wind right outta your sails, did I?” he says in this smug tone.

Yeah, he did.  How much talent that he can fuck me up that way, while being nice? It boggles the mind. “I bet you spent all day working out your arguements, preparing to yell at me, let the Viking loose,” he says, I can can hear the laughter in his voice now.

“You Bastard,” I repeated.

He laughed, and all was well with the world.



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HNT Curves

Or just one curve with a hint of nipple…


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He watched her walk from across the room. Ah, but he loved women. It didn’t matter if they were blonde, brunette, black, white, old, young–he liked them all. But his favorite type was plump.

There was nothing like a soft-fleshed woman. He loved way she smelled, the sweet scent of sex on her body. He loved when her skin was deeply blushed and bruised from a beating, or  the indented lines left from rope, a textural memory his fingers and lips could trace. He loved the way her flesh would indent from a hard thudding blow from his hand or an implement, the waves and dimpling of her skin. How he loved the kiss of sweat that would sheen along her body;  her soft folds, and lush curves a beckoning invitation for his attention.

“Your eyes are glowing with that Spidey-sense of yours.”

A soft chuckle and the sweet fragrance of her cologne were all the introduction Madame Fornea needed. It was her club they were in, M/F, details left to the guests interpretation. Not many knew that he was a silent partner in the business, and that the club was named for both of them, Fornea and Michael. M/F had so many other choice manifestations in this perverse lifestyle for anyone to believe something as prosaic as that.

“She is lovely. New, if not to the life, at least to us here.”

He stroked his hand down her arm. “Want to feel her out for me?”

“I’d be happier feeling her up…those tits…” Madame F sighed for a moment, then smiled, a hint of longing burning in her eyes. Male, female it didn’t matter a whit. Her passion was dominance, and the careful inflicting of pain.

His laugh turned more than a few heads, most of them female. Most of them developed a sudden burning in their pussies, as Sir Michael was a handsome Dom, with the magnetic personality so common among those who were  Dominants. He was rough, often brutal, but a tender and caring partner as well, as several onlookers knew personally. It was an odd dichotomy, the tender and the brutal, and as intoxicating as a drug.

He frowned as he observed Owen Bash moving in her direction.

“I thought we threw his ass out of here?”

“His bounce time was up. I’d have to have a restraining order on him to keep him out legally, and Kylie hasn’t returned to us since the incident.”

“Motherfucker,” he hissed. There was nothing he despised as much as slimy ‘doms’, ones who were into the beating but not into self control. There wasn’t a thing wrong with beating a sub bloody if that was their thing. But to ignore safewords, to break bones? It was a shame the girl hadn’t filed a police report, had gone underground in a society already filled with dark mystery.

Moving through the crowded room, he slipped up behind the woman, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“There you are, pretty girl. I’m sorry I was late, I got caught up in business.” His fingers tightened in silent warning as Owen turned to him with a look of burning hatred.

“Yeah, the business of hassling people. Too bad you water your drinks and your play. Fake bastard.”

“How unpleasant to see you here again, Owen. Please find another woman to play with, this one is mine.”

“I don’t see a collar–”

“Boys…Doms…Gentlemen.”  She raised her hands, palms up, pressing them apart. “I have no idea what your issue is, but please keep me out of it.”

Moving as if to step away, she was drawn up short by Owen grabbing her upper arm, squeezing it painfully tight. While she was a sub who really enjoyed pain, it came with a play partner and certainly not a stranger. Her yelp of surprise was quickly followed by his, as she turned fast and slapped his ear hard with the flat of her free hand.

“You fucking cunt!” He released her arm, grabbing for his ear. “You could have busted my eardrum.”

“If you don’t get the fuck out of my space, I’m gonna bust your balls and stuff them in your ears, you bastard. You keep your fuckin’ hands off of me unless I’m your sub, which won’t happen until we’re wearing ice skates in hell.”

Her face was red, her eyes glowing with a blue fire that was enticing. She took a menacing half step forward, no shrinking submissive violet, and bared her teeth. It was all he could do, Michael thought long after the fact, to keep from applauding.

Owen took a step back, and they all knew in that moment that he’d lost.

“Fuck you, you frigid cunt.”

“I’m only frigid because your cock is too small to warm me up, you fucking worm.”

He thought she might explode, could actually feel the rage pouring off of her. Her tits were wobbling with every deep, angry breath she took, though her corset was working valiantly to contain them. Michael nodded his head at one of the bouncers standing in earshot now. He noted that Madame F stood beside him, preventing Owen from storming off, deeper into the crowd.

“You may leave now, Mr. Bash. Or I can have my steward assist you.”

“Fuckin’ dump. Don’t know why I bothered to come back. This club fucking sucks. You suck, too, you cockwhore bastard.”

He glared at Michael for one long moment before turning and stalking towards the door. When he attempted to veer off at the last moment, the bouncer grabbed his arm and forcefully marched him to the door. He disappeared from sight.

“Well, that was thrilling,” she trilled, her laugh lightening the mood. “It makes me want to beat the hell out of someone. Volunteers?” she called out to the crowd, unsurprised to see a multiple of hands shoot upwards.

“She went over to the lounge,” she murmured, sotto voice, to Michael, as she pointed at one tall, dark-skinned man dressed only in a loincloth.

“Let’s see if I can make your skin blush, dear fellow,” she said, snapping her fingers to lead him away.

Michael turned and headed for the lounge. He had a woman to entice.

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A Horny Dilemma

He is a Bastard.


I said it aloud, right here on my blog.

Master is a fucking BASTARD!!

It’s football season, peeps. Wait. I know you think that was a terrible segue. But it all sets the stage. M and I wager on football games featuring our beloved and beleaguered Patriots. This week we had a sub quarterback. The weather forecast was for heavy and intense rain. No WAY was I taking the over at 41.5. No WAY would the teams score over that number in such conditions.

I was fucked by the third quarter.

For a long long time it looked as though I’d come out okay, we were up 21 to nothing, then 21 to 3. Plenty of wiggle room there, I thought smugly.

Yeah. Except…not.

So the bottom line is that I’m in the hole (no pun intended…)for 14 half-o’s.

You read that correctly.


It rarely stays at that high a number. No, now it’s a tool, every bit as effective as a flogger or nipple clamps. We may be apart, we may have missed playtime, we may not have seen one another for a month, but trust me, this Master of mine is in his element. His glory, even.

I gave up my orgasm last Tuesday so that I wouldn’t have to do prep work on Monday (two mandatory half-oh’s. (see what I did there?))  I gave it up knowing I’d recoup the loss of last weeks O to a BANGER of an O tonight.

But last night I had to to two more half O’s. That’s okay. I got my number down to 12, and I’ll still get a huger bang tonight.

And then we talked. I should have known. His voice, man, when He’s fucking me over, when the Dom is full-out and terrifying, his voice goes to velvet. BLACK velvet.

“Nilla, if you give up your O tonight…”

“NO.” I interrupted abruptly. “no no no no no. I didn’t get an O last week and I’m so fucking horny Master…”

“Stop,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice. “You’re going to make me giggle out loud.”

There’s a pause where I sputter and sigh.

“Now, no more interrupting me, slut.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say somewhat petulantly.

“If you give up tonight’s O, I’ll cut your half O total by 6. In half, nilla.”

There is a long, long pause. I hear him listening for it, for the moment when I’ll explode.

“You. Fucking. Bastard. That’s evil. That’s rotten. That’s terrible.”

He laughs.

“I …I…you…Bastard.”

“Oh, nilla, this is great.”

I’m hot, and wet and turned on as I’ve ever been, and here he is just totally screwing with my head.

“Let me know what you decide, nilla,” he says as He hangs up.

What on earth am I going to do?

…i have no fucking idea….


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WordPress tells me that I’ve written over 2100 posts over these years. That’s a LOT of words peeps.

Thank you, for coming here and reading and liking my posts enough to ask for more. I really love that about the internet, that there can be supportive communities existing in cyberspace. Thanks for the support, the love, the compassion when things have been tough, and the huzzah’s over the triumphs! You are the best!

(more writing happening. Life is calming, at last. Kinda. Sorta. You know how that goes!)

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When she screamed, he stuffed her panties into her mouth, then slapped her. Ignoring the two fat tears that slipped out of panicked eyes, the frantically shaking head, he slapped her again, harder. Her cheek pinkened, the outline of his fingers clearly delineated.

“When I say roll over, I mean roll over.”

Rising up, he flipped her over, despite her flailing arms. His hips held her down to the floor; he could feel her buttocks churning under his ass as she kicked and bucked. It made his dick hard as fuck to feel her desperate struggles.

Rising, he watched her squirt forward on the hardwood. He loved when they thought they could get away. Catching her ankles, he tugged hard, back towards him. He sank to the floor, letting his hands slide up her thighs, holding her tightly, knowing he was leaving a trail of bruises in the wake of his touch. Reaching up he shoved her skirt up, and slapped her ass. She whimpered, making little kitten noises at every hard slap. Her ass jolted, her body quivered. His hand tugged aside the crotch of her panties, his fingers found her fuckhole.

She might have been fighting but by God her cunt was wetter than the Colorado river. With one hand he tugged down his joggers. His rigid cock popped free, slid right into the burning heat of her pussy. His cock was cocooned in the succulent wet warmth, her straining muscles working along his shaft. She was squealing like a fucking pig now, as he worked himself deeper. She was tight, slick and tight and by God he was going to fuck the fuck right out of her.

His fingers bit into her hips as he pulled her back onto his shaft. He was buried full to the hilt, his balls resting against her swollen pussy. He pulled out, all the way out, and reached under her. She responded so well to being hit, he thought, that it would be fun to see what happened when he slapped her fuckbox. She jolted hard enough at the first blow that he grabbed her hair to hold her in place. The sounds could be used to dub a porno, he mused, before he slapped her again. Her head was tugged back hard, her throat extended as she whined around the panty gag.

“Oh, did that hurt your little pussy? Even more than my big cock ramming up into your belly?”

His tone was mocking, his hand firmly striking her now, hard and fast. Just the way he was going to fuck her in a moment. He might explode if he kept going. He could feel her meaty lips begin to swell, could see them hot and red, beckoning him to enter, to take. Grabbing her hips again, he pumped himself into her as he tugged her back. They came together with a loud smack, followed by moans. She was so fucking hot, so wet. His cock seemed to grow longer, harder, the intense throbbing increasing his need to pummel her slick fuck hole.

He fucked like a man possessed, his cock dipping into, then out so quickly he was a blur. Each time he shoved his dick to the hilt, their bodies came together in a loud slapping crash. Snot and tears rolled down her face, leaving a trail as he fucked her across the floor. He came with a roar, grinding his hips against her swollen vulva, pressing his come deeply into her belly.

“All done, my succulent little fuck hole.What a lovely tight snatch you have.”

He grinned, pulling out of her. With a last hard slap on her ass, he rose. Tucking his cock inside of his pants,  he sauntered to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water. While he drank, he walked back into the living room.

“Don’t fucking move for an hour, got it?”

When she didn’t reply, he toed her foot.

“If you don’t answer, I’ll get hard again, and fuck you in the ass. And I won’t be nice about it this time.”

Taking her nod for assent, he left the way he came in, through the sliding glass door.

He jogged back up the street to where he’d parked his car. Taking up his cell phone, he made the call.

“She’s all done. Hope she ‘catches’…if not, let me know. I’ll be happy to help you try again.”

He turned on the radio and pulled away from the curb, thinking of his sperm swimming hopefully upstream. By all the gods he loved his work.



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HNT~Summer Freckles


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Thank You!

Ah, my pervie peeps, you never let me down!  Thanks for all the feedback. First, let me say with utter sincerity…we’re all bunch of sick fucks, my friends. Embracing that was one of the hardest, most profound things I’ve ever managed. And while I don’t feel 100% slutty and naughty all the time–life is simply to busy–when I have a moment or two to just lay in that semi-awake place between sleep and alert, my mind *always* rolls towards darker fantasy stuff.

I’m finally finished with the uber challenging job I’ve been working on all week, and tonight I’m going to fall into bed, totally drained. Even my facebook friends have only gotten a random blurb from me this week. Well, with the exception of that football game… I think they’d all wonder if I died if I didn’t post all the good stuff ‘live’ as I watch…!

I’ll have time to write after tomorrow’s HNT. I have no idea what it’s about yet, but my fingers will let me know when I sit at the keyboard and let my imagination loose…may it flow freely. That’s the best fun about writing…I often have no idea where it’s going, but it’s always a fun ride.

Peace and pervie dreams my friend…on the morrow, HNT.


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