HNT Bubbly


Image | Posted on by | 3 Comments

Infinity (9)

Her heart beat hard and quickly. His eyes held her as surely as if she were rope-bound by his hands. Yet caught up in the sheer drama of the moment, one of those wildly random thoughts popped into her head, effervescent as a champagne bubble. She wondered, since she had no idea, what his feet looked like.

She giggled.

He frowned.

“I know, I know. You really wanted that line to work for me. But hell, I don’t  know the first thing about you. What your toes look like. If your hair is really your hair. For that matter, I’ve barely even spent an hour with you. Okay, that night of wine…more than an hour but I don’t really remember much of it. So….how can I go into the bathroom and give you my panties when I don’t even know you?”

The look on his face was priceless. She who was not all that adroit at reading faces could clearly see pissed off/annoyed man, puzzled/perplexed man, and finally the wry grin that spelled humor.

“And have you gotten to know other Doms before me? Handed them your panties?”

“Never. Not ever. My panties have never been handed to anyone. Well you know I’ve had a Dom. He wasn’t good for me. We weren’t a good match. He was always finding fault with me, I never could please him except when he was really hurting me. We couldn’t find middle ground between the pain and the day-to-day pleasures of being a couple. Even accepting the inequity of our relationship.”

He looked at her. She thought that he’d make some sort of reply to that, but no, those doms tended to hold their cards–and their opinions–close to the vest. His next words didn’t address her comment at all. Which irked her even as her belly rumbled its protest at smelling so many lovely scents, but not yet to partaking of any.

“Shall I order?”

“You might as well…I’m here at your behest.”

“You need to feed yourself better.”

She laughed and patted her belly.

“Oreo’s are survival food for writers.”

“Cookies are not ‘food’…they are a treat.” His voice dropped as the waiter approached. “Much like orgasms.”

She blushed, hiding it behind her wine glass as he ordered steak for himself, and chicken for her. Damn but he was slick. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know his name, only that he was her landlord.

Well, perhaps Amanda had told her, but the leasing of the house had been done via the publishing house so perhaps not. And she’d never asked after he’d appeared on her pool deck. The waiter moved away, leaving them alone with the view to the water. Even in here the ocean wove a spell around her.

“Should we ask to be moved out to the patio? It can get crowded later…”

“That would really be nice.”

She paused.

“I don’t know your name.”

“Would knowing it make you give me your panties, which are no doubt a bit moist by now?”

Oh, he was a sneaky bastard, to be sure. She shook her head, but couldn’t stop the little grin.  Quickly he arranged for them to be seated out on the deck, in the corner where their conversation would be harder to overhear.

He took her hand as he sat, clasping it.

“Hi. I’m Tom. My friends call me Tom.”

Her brows lifted.

“That’s a joke, right? You’re name is really…” She rolled her eyes around trying to think of some absurdity.


He laughed.

“Nope. Just Tom. Short for Tomas. You know many of us from Cali are descended from Spaniards who populated the area…”

“Okay, Tom,” she purred. “What’s the rest of it?”

“Planning to google me later?”

“I google all my stalker friends.”

She laughed at the expression on his face. Insult and pride.

“Oh, aren’t you all lord of the castle now, Tom. All insulted because I called you a stalker?”

“I had thought we’d laid that to rest a few days ago.”

“Well, you didn’t take advantage of me while I was drunk, which I appreciate,” she replied. “If and when I have sex with you, I’d really like to remember it.”

“If and when I decide to have sex with you,” he retorted, “you will, indeed, remember it.”

There it was again, that indefinable thing that made a Dom a dom. A subtle thing, really, that firm taking control of a situation where she may have thought, for a foolish minute, that she had the upper hand. And damn, didn’t that make him all the more enticing?

Their food arrived, interrupting their wordplay.

Just as well, she mused, because she might accidentally cross a line she had no business crossing with him just now. He did attract her, there was no doubt of that. 

They ate for a few minutes in silence.


“Delicious. Thank you.”



She paused, a forkful of chicken just in front of her lips. Her brows crinkled as they did when she was puzzled. He knew that look well, from the times he’d spent watching her writing on the pool deck. Fuck it, maybe he was a stalker.

“My name. Tom Ocaviaus.”

The chicken remained as it was, mid-way to her lips. He watched her for a moment more, before he couldn’t contain the guffaws any longer.

“Your face…” he laughed. It was a full-bellied man-sized laugh, turning heads to look at them. Smiles and grins flashed their way before he wound down and the other diners returned to their own business.

“You think you’re funny…”

“Hell, I am funny. Gods, your face.”

“Okay smartass, what is your name for real?”

Hearing the snippy, snarky, pissy sound in her voice only made her more irritable. Sheesh. She was sounding just as annoying as her old dom had said she was.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound…”

“Bitchy? That’s okay. You wear it well. I’m not overly fond of door mats you know. You’re one spicy woman, Cassie. Part of the appeal.”

He paused for a moment as the chicken slipped between her lips. His cock gave a little lurch. Her mouth was very appealing.


She pulled back, staring at him.

“I’ve never in my life heard that name. Bi….”

“…mack-you-let,” he finished, speaking phonetically. “It means ‘two spots’…maybe an ancestor had a horse with two spots, or two birthmarks…who knows.”

Well, at least she now had a name to google. They finished their meal slowly, their conversation moving through the normal things people talk of as they begin to explore one another–tentative at times–but full of smiles and nods of agreement. Finishing their wine, they sat in companionable silence, and watched the sun slip into the Pacific.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Just to Help…

okay, grab a cuppa quick coz I only have a minute. Two at the most.

I’ve got writers brain and I don’t wanna lose it…I’ve finally got the resolution to the story Infinity (found in my header or here.) and I have time today, just today, for writing. I’m sitting with a cuppa tea at my right elbow, newly trimmed nails for typing ease, and fresh-scrubbed from my shower (and that will be the theme for Thursday’s HNT.)

The new chapter(s) won’t publish until at least Friday so you have time to go to that link and read up so you remember where we were at…I can’t believe  how long it has been since I last worked on this–but the end is at hand. At last. There are a few other stories that need endings and I’ll get to them. Eventually. :D If you pester me enough, right?

That’s the news from here…no face time with the M this past weekend, hoping for a wee time this upcoming one. I do like the greedy sound in his voice when we try to figure out time to get together. We really do miss one another, though he is scant with words about it. Maybe if he recognizes it aloud it makes it harder? I dunno. I profess to NO knowlege of how man-brain works, let alone Dom-man-brain!

Okay, peeps, cuppa time is over…it’s time for me to write!


Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Repairs ~ A Danger Date Story

inspired by the pic on this post by Jz… found here…thanks for that, Jz! ~nilla~

Damn the rain that made her have to check the undercarriage of her car in the stuffy garage. It would have been much easier to see what was going on under there if she could have parked out in the driveway in the sun. But today, the one day she had free to check the weird whangy noise under her chassis, Mother Nature had to send a deluge.

Propping the chucks behind the wheels, she jacked up the front until she was sure there was enough room for her to wiggle under. Frankly the thought of it made her want to puke, but her purse was light this week, and her ability to Rube Goldberg a fix was legendary. If it bought her an extra month or two before she had to haul off to the garage, that was all to the good.

She opened the side door, the one that led to the house, letting in a wafting of rain-chilled air. Drawing her denim over-shirt around herself, she sighed, and sat on the towel she’d spread. Laying down, she gingerly inserted herself under the car. Ah, and there was the problem, a pipe whose tie-down had failed. That explained the thunking wobble she felt under her feet when driving the under-carriage killing roads to work. Though she dearly loved living in the boondocks and not the city, there were definite drawbacks to it. Still, this would be a relatively simple fix. Feeling around for the duct tape, a Rube Goldbergering necessity, she tore off a generous strip and began to wind it around the pipe, re-attaching it to the metal support beside it.

Caught up in her task, she failed to hear the approach of footsteps. Or perhaps she wouldn’t have heard them anyway with the thundering boom of rain on the garage roof. Her first clue that someone was there was when her ankles were kicked apart.

“Woha! What???”

“Shut up.”

Something pointy poked against her thigh. Holy hell, was she being robbed? In her own garage?!  And in a vulnerable and defenseless position to boot.

“Unzip your pants.”

“I will not!”

The pointy thing pressed harder into her thigh. Was that a glint of silver? A knife? Jeezuz…her heart thumped.

Her hands moved to her fly, unzipping her jeans as she spoke rapidly.

“Look, I…my wallet is in the kitchen and…”

“Shut the fuck up and finish. Hurry up!”

The voice was a rough growl. Goosebumps rose along her arms as she worked her zipper down.

“And the button, cunt. Do I have to tell you every thing?”

“You didn’t say the button. And you’ve got a knife. On my thigh. I’m not taking any chances of second guessing you. Be specific if you want something.”

Why the hell could she not keep that note of censure from her voice. He could freaking kill her and over her snippy attitude. Her mouth kept doing that to her, all the time.

His hands gathered fabric on the side of her jeans, then tugged down, until it cleared her buttocks, her thighs, her calves. The bright chill of the air hit her exposed skin as he tugged off one sneaker, then the other, before removing her pants completely. Maybe she should try to shimmy out from under the car…

He pressed the knife against her pussy.

“Don’t fucking move.”

He teased the tip of the knife under the elastic band encircling her leg. No, she wasn’t going to move a hairs breadth. The fabric parted as he turned the blade; her pussy now felt the caress of the damp New England air. Containing the shiver was impossible.

“Look, you don’t have to do this….”

The blade pressed against the plump flesh. Swallowing the rest of her words she took shallow breaths. The knife moved upwards, slicing away the rest of her panties.

“Stretch your arms out over your head.”

“It’s kind of tight in here…not a lot of space to be wiggling in..”

The knife pressed against her again, the warning clear.

“OKAY, okay, I’m doing it…just…please…”

Somehow she got her arms stretched out over her head. Something…someone…grabbed her wrists, tugging them. The cool kiss of metal and a series of clicks were followed by a sense of weight. Her hands were dropped to the ground, the sound of a chain clinking echoing under the car.

“Hey!” she yelped, as she heard the unmistakable sound of the jack being turned. The car lowered until it was mere inches from her. The thought of being crushed under a thousand pounds of automobile frightened enough to make her lash out, feet kicking, arms trying to move. Whatever he’d done to the chain had kept her mostly immobile, and she only managed to bang her heel on the concrete floor.

Cold liquid splashed against her crotch. She felt the cool slide of it leaking down her pussy lips, slipping into her crack, the tickly sensation of drops as they fell onto the pavement under her. There were other sounds, the softest of voices. There were two of them. The sensation of something pressing against her anus got her immediate attention. Whatever it was, it was huge. Eyes squeezed tightly, she thrashed her legs, only to have them caught and held. Slaps on her thigh made her cry out. Nothing stopped the persistent push of something enormous seeking entry into her tiny rectum. When the head popped through, she screamed. There was movement between her legs, sounds she could not identify, but her whole attention was on the intruder in her ass, and the painful stretching ache there.

“It’s very big, this dildo. It is braced most perfectly. Listen to me girl. We are leaving now. You can get out of this predicament easily. Shimmy down from under the car. Fill your ass with this rubber cock. Your arms will move with effort, the chain is very heavy, but you are strong enough to move it. The key to the cuffs is on the workbench.”

He slapped her thigh again, but spoke no more.  Their feet made soft sounds as they walked away, the door closing behind them. She waited a moment, another, gathering her breath as she made that first painful shimmy out from under the car. Her arms already ached from tugging the heavy chain a mere inch or two. Her bottom protested the further insertion of something where nothing that big belonged. Biting her lip, she wiggled herself free, yet not without consequence, as she moved one slow, ass-filling inch at a time.

It wasn’t until much later, as she limped out of the garage holding a dildo that could double for a Louisville Slugger that she saw the blue paper he had taped against the door. It bore the logo “Danger Date”.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

HNT – Curved


Image | Posted on by | 2 Comments

Bolt ~A Danger Date Story

oh my….the things that come into my head when I’m scrubbing the shower….oh yeah, dragons…we’re in full rape-fantasy mode on this one…~nilla~

“I said ‘stand fucking here.’ “

His voice was a rough growl, as menacing as his hand woven roughly into her hair. Giving her head a rough shake, he stopped her in the doorway.

“I’m almost done,” came a voice from by her feet. Waves of terror washed through her. There were two of them. It was midnight, or nearly so. The last warm breeze of the season fluffed the white gauze of her kitchen curtain; the only light in the space came from the nightlight under the counter by the sink. The billowing curtain held her attention, holding her mesmerized, as if by watching it she could pretend that two men were not in her house.

“Relax, you’ll enjoy it more,” whispered Hair Holder against her ear. The smell of soured beer made her nose crinkle. A hand fumbled for her breast, found it, and squeezed. Her feet moved in a small dance of hurt but the hold on her hair held her in the same place. A hand grasped her left ankle, another startling event.

please…” she breathed out the plea.

The man kneeling behind her worked quickly, ignoring her, fastening rough rope tight around her ankle. There was a hard tug. Her leg moved closer to the inside of the door frame, followed by a soft snick–she recognized it as a carabiner. She wanted to kick out, tried to, but her free leg was caught and wrapped just as quickly.

The hand at her tit moved, found the other, mauling it. Rough fingers mashed her nipple. Short little cries came, but his mouth slipped over her lips, silencing her. When he moved away, she tried to scream but a chunk of fabric was shoved deep against her tongue, filling her mouth. She tasted the bitter tang of urine. His underpants? Before she could spit it out, his hand covered her mouth. When it moved away, she felt the stickiness of the tape he’d left behind. Her feet were spread, anchored to each side of the door frame. For a moment she deeply regretted having the door widened this spring.

She still had her hands free, and his hand wasn’t locked into her hair. She flailed out, trying to see him in the gloom of the room.

“Ah, now, none of that.”

The other man. Damn but she’d forgotten him for a moment. He stood in front of her, his tall frame blocking any light. His face was shielded by shadows, his body a dark form; she could see nothing of his features. She tried to hit his face, his torso. Hands striking wildly, bouncing off hard muscles, she panicked.

A single hand secured her two without hesitation. She felt the noose of rope slip around her wrists, as she tossed her head and muttered ‘nooooo’, though no sound other than a faint grunt came from her secured mouth. Yet in moments, she was tied tightly, her hands drawn up and over her head, the rope secured through a carabiner as she had thought. A quick clip secured her to the fat O-bolt in the center of the upper frame, a bolt that had not been there when she had gone to bed hours ago.

Hands cupped her ass, tugging her hips forward. She shook her head no, once, then again as those fingers scrolled her nightgown up and over her round bottom. From behind her came a sharp smack and her head fell forward onto the hard-muscled chest in front of her. Whinnied screams came from her nose as the first guy hit her repeatedly. It wasn’t a hand, but some sort of paddle-the sound was loud in the darkness. Rope Man held her firmly, not that she could have moved, spread and secured as she was.

It went on forever. Her ass throbbed. The burn blasted up her back, down her thighs. From far away, she felt hands on her bottom, spreading her cheeks. The cold squirt of lube was a welcome temporary relief, until she realized what was coming next. Again she tried to struggle, but her bottom was arched out, her back curved in welcome. A cock pressed against her anus, pressing until it popped through the virgin hollow of her asshole. He grunted then, fingers grasping her hips as he pressed deeper, filling her bottom with the hard stab of his penis.

Fingers probed her pussy, then raised to her face. Wet and sticky, he rubbed them across her cheek, shoved them into the base of her nose.

“Smell that? That’s you, cunt. Wanting exactly what you’re getting.”

As her eyes adjusted once more to the dark space, she could faintly see him walking away. He came closer again, but stopped. A sharp snap against her belly forced her to push back, further impaling herself on the thick cock in her ass.

Beer Breath relaxed his hold on her hips, lifting her nightgown  until he hooked it  up and behind her head. His hands paused momentarily on her tits, smacking them together. They made an audible clap in the silent room. His hand grabbed her hair, tugging her head back. There was a bright flash of light, the whirr of a camera.

“So you can look back and see yourself, fucked in the ass. See the look in your eyes, a mix of horror and lust.”

With a soft laugh, his fingers slid down her sides, digging once more into her hips.

Rope Man stepped closer. She thought she saw it this time, movement in the air, moments before something slashed against her tit, a rain of fire. Her ass was hot against Beer Breath, a steady throbbing ache, yet the burning of her breasts as the onslaught continued soon overtook that pain.  She barely noticed that he had stopped, that he had moved close, until he sucked one tit into his wet mouth. When he bit her nipple, she screamed into the gag. The deep rumble of laughter she felt against her tender flesh. And then she felt his cock pressing against her slit.


She woke on the kitchen floor when a shaft of sunlight shimmered against her cheek. Her body hurt, crunched on the hard tile. The temperature had fallen during the night, and she shivered when the breeze blew the curtain, curling chill air across the floor. Her nipples crinkled and she moaned.

Sitting up, she looked at herself, and remembered.

Red lines ran around her wrists, her ankles. Bruises covered her tits, darkened one nipple to purple. Her thighs had bite marks, and her ass throbbed. Rising, she noted the drying puddle of sticky fluids in the center of the doorway. Her gaze took in the three bolts screwed deeply into the door frame, one low on each side, one high in the center. She shuddered, remembering more. Looking away quickly, her eyes fell onto a paper on the kitchen table.

It was on pale blue, expensive stock, but as she lifted it, she saw below it, a photo of her, the photo of her, taken during her assault. She stood there, remembering the feel of thick cock inside her ass, as she examined the picture. Her arms secured over head, shiny duct tape over her mouth. There was a silvery mark on each cheek, one she recognized as her own pussy juice that he’d wiped there. Her eyes looked full of fear, her breasts poked out, a bruise already forming on her left one. It was both horrifying and erotic. Dropping the photo, she picked up the blue paper. It was a bill from Danger Date.

She’d need to pay that, immediately.

Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

It Works for Us

It had been a long, long, long time since he and I had any extended play time. And when we have extended time apart, he doesn’t task me with things to do — which is good because I just simply don’t have the time available to do much with being his “good little slut”.

Does that shock you to your core, that last statement there?

Yeah, me too. Once, long ago when this was new and hot and ohmahgawd I wanna do it all and do it now and do it with anyone… I would have thought that a “slut” like that was a bad one. A non-submissive, just a whore.

But now? I’ve been doing this dark and naughty thing we do for a long time…and I am older and wiser. We all serve our tops in a variety of ways…and in the ways that work best for each of our relationships. For all of those relationships that start out gangbusters and going hardcore 24/7 Dom/slave? Very few make it. Sure there is Omega and mouse…and Scott and kaya…and there’s Fiona and her Sir…and if I’ve forgotten to add YOU, apologies. Those are the lone few that leapt to my mind this late evening as I write.

The point here is that you have to make this D/s thing work for YOU. Well you and your Top…but you know that I meant that, right? Anyway…you can’t do this for anyone else. Not for blogland, not for the accolades of others in the lifestyle. If it works for you and makes you happy, then go for it. Don’t feel the need to copy anyone else’s thing and feel that you’re doin’ it wrong if you don’t.

So you all know that M and I don’t live together. We’re semi LDR…(well, long distance as in around 40 miles or so, as opposed to cross-country!)…but between his responsibilities and mine…it’s been very hard on us these last two years. He doesn’t like to Dom (read: give tasks, sex act etc) unless he’s there to reap the benefits of the torment. He’s VERY hands on.

When we played a few weeks ago, it was hard and rough and fast. And cuddling and tickling and pain. And kisses that lasted forever, and brutal fucking and being fingered until I thought my cunt would be swollen and tender forever, followed by that wonderful languid feeling of being well used.

There is also the “one last orgasm” thing he does, when it just hurts so. fucking. much. His fingers jab into my swollen and tender pussy, and I moan and thrash, and he holds me down with brutality, and savages me…and then I’m hot and it’s good and it hurts and oooomygawd…I’m fucking back and then I come and it’s like I’m dying with it…a sudden surging rush of liquid, a bed-soaking orgasm that drains me totally until I fall into the depths of subspace.

All that good stuff aside? He won’t tell me what to wear, won’t tell me what to eat, won’t tell me when to go to bed. He’s my Dom, not my keeper. I’m not his pet, nor his child…so those are my decisions to make. He really doesn’t have a way to enforce it, so if I fuck up? What can be done from afar? Not much. It has worked out to an occasional “you will have two half-o’s tonight, 3 minutes apart, no cumming” and that’s it.

A few years ago I would have been unhappy with that. But these days, when my vanilla life is jam packed–between college teen and schooling two younger kids, and my various jobs and running my own business? I’m stretched pretty thin. There have been times I’ve thought seriously of stopping this blog because how boring am I?

But then I have these dreams, or even these naughty “thinks” that come up in the course of my doing some mundane task or other…and I know I need this outlet to be here for me. Because I am a submissive and I am a slut and I am a horny wench, and I do have a warped sense of what is sexy…sometimes it’s sweet with a touch of pain or teasing, and sometimes it is dark, and vile and nasty and so …untoward…coming out of my head.

Here is a place that I don’t feel at all judged by that.

So you’re stuck with me. And I’m stuck with him, and he with me. We’ll go on making this wacky wild nasty thing we do work…because it does work.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , | 7 Comments

Quiet Corner

for the pervie searcher…thanks for the inspiration…~n~

She sat in the small sliver of sunlight in the quietest corner of the library. The novel, light and romantic, suited her mood. At this late afternoon hour there were few patrons about, and tucked away in this little nook, she was all but invisible.

A shadow fell across her, which she ignored. Occasionally someone would walk behind the stacks and block the slanting light coming from the skylight over the main foyer. The sense of presence made her look up after a moment. Her eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting though she made no sound as she registered who had intruded on her space.

He sat beside her. The slight movement of his head indicated that she should return to her reading. He too opened a book, laying it across his lap. Shifting to lean closer to her, his fingers slipped across her breast, easily flicking open one, then a second button. Her breath caught in her throat as those skilled fingers eased up and into one lace cup, stroking the tip until it rose. Her body clenched, her pussy dampening when he pinched the thick bud.

There, in the long ray of light, he teased her tits, rousing her to a fever of lust. When she would have spoken, his barely spoken ‘hush’ silenced her. She craved more, wanting his long fingers to cradle each tit, to squeeze it until she begged for him to stop, yet he only stroked the tender tips. She longed for his fingers to graze her thighs, to part her weeping lower lips, to make her come, there in the quiet sanctuary of books.

Lips slid across her temple, fingers left her breast, leaving her mourning the loss. Her clit pounded maddeningly, her body lusting to be used, taken, ravaged. The cushion made a tiny squeak as he rose, and moved away.

Breathing in short pants, she tried to calm her racing heart. A breath in, a breath out. Eyes squeezed shut hard, then opened. The library was the same as it had been minutes before, but suddenly she didn’t feel the quiet peace, with the storm of need surging through her. Her eyes fell to the cushion where he’d sat. His book lay there, yet a yellow posty sticking out from pages caught her attention.

Tugging the tome closer, she opened it. A Rubens nude was featured on the page. She recognized “The Union of Earth and Water” but his words on the note made her smile, and yearn.

“Later, you will be my urn, and gush.”

Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

HNT- Beaten

If a picture paints a thousand words, then this is the start of a novel…one writ by His hands.

Yes, this slut is still floaty, still happy, still bruised…and this?

This was only the beginning.


Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Sub Spacey

Oh, have I been floating. . . and sitting gingerly. Time is not flowing like a river, but whirling around me like a whirlpool…

I’m remembering things at the end. From the beginning, from when-the-fuck-ever. It’s a strange and wonderful feeling, yet also disorienting. I remember …kinda…doing something …maybe hugging him or kissing him and he was pushing me, steering me and then somehow I’m on the bed and my ass is bare and he’s beating my ass

so so so so

wicked hard.

His hand had to hurt (he denies this)…I’d like to believe it, anyway. Because my ass really, really hurt. Stung like hellfire, and he had this way of hitting with the heel of his hand that was like a pounding, punching kind of blow, that was very painful.

And of course, he HAD to hit the same spot.


And again.

And again….

…until I’d rear up and yelp and whimper and make him laugh.

But let me slip back to the end. I was deeeeeep in subspace. I was floating, my head just gone. I was aware of him…his warmth, his arm around me, fingers in my hair. I couldn’t move even if he’d let me, I was totally trashed by then. The bed under me soaked from orgasm overload, and feeling totally boneless.

His lips move against my hair, and I realize that he is talking, not just kissing me. I tried to hear the words, to make the sounds have meaning, but for a few moments there, I’m totally lost. At last I focus enough to follow him. In time to hear this:

“You know nilla, when I was fucking your ass?”

I make some sort of ‘yes’ sound so that he knows I’m really listening now.

“It kind of reminded me….”

I’m encouraging him to go on, making little mewls of yes-sounding sounds…but I’m also wondering. Where the fuck is he going with this. I begin to feel myself pulled back into the now, with him, beside him, back inside myself.

Fucking my ass reminded him of something other than fucking my ass?

(really…should I be insulted? Embarrassed? What? Where is he going with this analogy?)

He pauses a long moment.

“….of separating cheese slices.”

There is a long, long pause. And I snort. And then I giggle.

Soon, I’m shaking with laughter, laughing so hard that I start coughing. He’s laughing, we are simply hysterical with it. After a bit, we calm down again, silent, me still giggling a bit.

“You know how it’s all stuck together and tight…”

And I’m off, laughing myself right back into subspace.

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments