*running through the blogland, naked* (HNT)

*looks over shoulder….pauses*

OH, hey!

Hi there. (makes no attempt to cover self, coz yanno…sexblog)

:D

This week…has whomped my ass. I told you last time I ran through here that I was ill–damned stomach virus–and this thing lasted for SIX fucking days. I lost a good chunk of weight, though so it’s not all bad…right? (laughing)

The downside of this virus, aside from the MEGA DOWNER of not seeing M last weekend when we both had time to hook up, was that–okay this might be oversharing but this IS a submissive pain-slut talking here and if you didn’t want to read such intimate and wackadoo things you wouldn’t be here in the first place, amirite?–my poor anus became terribly inflamed.

Which of course I told M.

Which of course He’s had a field day with. And has promised that Big Red the anal plug and I will become…”intimately acquainted with one another and if you think your ass hurts now, slut, just wait…”

YIKES.

And yeah. It makes me horny and wet when He says those things to me.

So because I’ve spent all week playing catchup in my vanilla life, and had a real time crunch (sorry to all my friends that I usually correspond with regularly that I’ve virtually ignored other than an “I’m alive” email this week!) trying to get to everything I needed to get to….so again I missed Half-Nekkid Thursday…

But neverfear! Today is also BoobDay, so I’ll post today and next week get my ass back on track. Have a wonderful pervy weekend peeps…I’ll be finishing up the last of my “heavy duty” gotta-get-done list and be back to my normal chatty self. Thanks to all who’ve asked if I’m okay. :D You cheered me up when I was feeling fraught with overload!

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Happy Belated HNT

Happy Boobday!

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Speaking of “nuthin”…

A few things to catch up on and then a wee story to reward you for hanging in here with me.

1. There was no HNT this week because I was really under the weather. (I know some of you peep over here just for that!) So here’s an older pic to mollify you:

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It is a good memory for me too, as it is from my last playtime with Master.

2. There won’t be a playtime this weekend as planned…I’m just about over my stomach issue…and Master “caught” it. NOT from me, since I haven’t seen the Man in 7 weeks now. But He sent me a text early this morning–blaming me, of course!–telling me of HIS tummy woes. Which He “caught” from my texting Him of my sickness. Of course I HAD to tease Him just a bit…because after all, He kept teasing me about that freaking Blue Bag of His…(which is NOT His toybag and I’ll leave it up to you to figure it out but it’s the thing that cannot be mentioned…). While I’m disappointed that we can’t meet, I certainly understand. When neither partner is fully up to snuff–it’s not going to be a fun time for either.

3. I think you have all been SO patient about waiting for a story…so though this is short, I hope it at least is a wee bit …entertaining!

~nilla~

Suppertime

He wiped his lips carefully with his napkin. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced down at his slut kneeling on the floor. A long silver line of drool ran from the corner of the ball gag, snagged on her nipple, which was swollen and bulbous with the tight black thread drawn around and around it. The shiny drop of spittle then cascaded to pool in the vee of her thighs, before it slipped down her legs, a rolling brook of slime. A small puddle was forming under her knees. She was a luscious wreck, as appealing in her sloppy mess as the perfectly grilled steak he had just finished eating.

“That was a lovely supper, slut. Very well done.”

He noted the lines of strain around her mouth, figured that her shoulders were likely bothering her, tied tightly behind her as they were. Or perhaps it was the tightness of the crotch rope that was causing stress. Her tits were a beautiful shade of purple, and his cock tightened in response. Envisioning his crop slapping down over those eggplant-colored beauties, he wanted to spring up from the table and begin to play with her. After all, dinner and a bit of entertainment was a way to soothe a man after a long hard day at work!

Her stomach growled, and he was reminded that she had, after all, prepared him a meal of great enjoyment, which he had chosen to not share with her. Still, it wouldn’t do to let the poor thing keel over from starvation. Leaning forward, he removed the ball gag. Scooping up the trail of gunk, he wiped it across the bridge of her nose, causing her to recoil, and wince as the crotch rope bit into her tender flesh.

“I know, dirty slut. You’re sore and hungry, aren’t you? Carefully now, crawl over here to the table. There you go.”

His hands steadied her as she slowly and painfully made her way to his feet. He placed his plate on the floor. A wee dash of juice from the steak made a bold slash across it. She looked at it, then at him. He could hardly fail to notice the sweet tears gathered in her eyes. He patted her on the head. Sitting back, he took in his view of her. Just gorgeous, hair matted, spit everywhere, piteous hungry look on her face.

Unzipping his jeans, he released his shaft, growing thicker by the moment. Holding the thick rod, he waved the head towards her.

“Suppertime, slut. Come and get it.”

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This, That, and a Bunch of I Gots Nuthin’

Rocky week here in nillaville…

Busy up to my eyeballs, vanilla life has reached its crescendo and things are now calming for the summer season. My spouse and I are spatting about a divergence in our parenting styles (I can’t go into it or I’ll start seeing red and then maybe grow fangs and go out and bite some poor innocent…) and that’s making me crazy.

And M and I had a tiff. Not even a tiff. I was hurt by something He said…and by things He hasn’t said. And I sent him a LONG series of texts when I was exhausted and overwhelmed with the above stuff…and to His credit, he did NOT dismiss my commentary out of hand.

He listened. (read my pages of texts)

He responded kindly.

He’ll work on some of the things that I mentioned that did really hurt my feelings, and then told me He understood that when things in my vanilla life took a turn that I started to question myself–and him–and I reiterated that while that may have been the catalyst…that I’d been feeling these feelings for a long while and hadn’t the courage to say anything about it.

You know, I was just sucking it up. This IS a D/s relationship after all. But, still…I’m not a doormat, and He is willing to hear me out if I’m going to communicate rather than rant and blame and yell. So … I reined it in (my angst) and spoke clearly and only sent one tiny snark at the very end when I got all worked up.

And then I sit and wonder why I do this when I’m a week away from playtime? I’m sure  there will be some “don’t forget that if things change in my feelings for you, slut, that you’ll be the first to know” time. Because He’s steadfast about that–and that leaves him lots of space for his semi-sarcastic comments, and teasing.

So He’s cutting back on some of that, and I’m going to cut him some slack and remember that if He really is not happy to see me, that he’ll say so. He’s never had trouble expressing himself, so…yeah. He’ll let me know. And the air is clear, at least.

It doesn’t help that it’s been 6 weeks since I saw His face, either. That always gets me angsty.

And I thought I’d have time to write but frankly? I haven’t. And when I do sit down? It’s on the edge of my bed before I fall bonelessly into it to sleep. Why is there not more time these days? Sheesh.

Just wanted to let you know I’m alive and kicking (and working, working, working)…and I’ll be back at some point I promise. Stories in my head don’t help you lot jerk off now, do they? :D

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HNT–Naptime

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A Kinda – Mad Moment

I am a work in progress (no shit, right?)–I hold a deep and abiding belief in non-perfection. I do strive to be the best me that I can be– and even if it doesn’t match someone else’s ideal, if it’s MY personal best, then so be it. I’m never going to be perfect because it’s an ideal, like beauty, that is in constant flux–and really depends on who is doing the judging.

Nods sagely.

Yup.

So when I fall off the edge of my own forward progression I get mad at myself.

Or to put in the terms of the local vernacular? Sometimes I fall back into bad ways of thinking that have nothing to do with the reality of what is going on.

Do you have any idea what I’m blathering on about? Yeah…it’s all vague because frankly? I’m embarrassed at myself.

I have worked SO hard (under His tutelage) to NOT jump to conclusions when things between us go awry.

Or do so from my point of view.

Case in point.

I had a job near to where He lives. I’d hoped that we could hook up. But it didn’t happen. I can’t go into specifics as to the why as He is intensely private, but there was just no way He could meet me.

I told Him on the phone that it was okay, that I understood.

And I did.

I do.

But that didn’t stop my heart from breaking a little bit…it’s been 4 weeks since our last face-t0-face. I miss Him SO much.

And it was, I’m ashamed to say, all downhill from there. After we hung up, I pouted. And okay, I cried a little bit. And I got mad, too. All over the course of a 45 minute drive home.

And the thing was..I meant it when I said to Him that I understood. I did. But…it just didn’t stop me from spiraling down.

By 1130 that night I’d gone through mad, through resignation, and into a sad little pity party.

if he really cared about me he would have found a way.

if he really cared==he would have invited me to his house, since he couldn’t get away…

if he really…

wait.

Yeah. That was it. Right there. He never extended an invitation to His place. He could have. So obviously– he doesn’t really want me and only feels an obligation to be with me every few months. Because I’m needy. Because sometimes I have to nag him to agree on a playdate. Because obviously he’s just placating me.

Right?

(shush. I see you sitting there with your mouth about ready to say ‘oh nilla–geeze woman! What the fuck is up with you to feel that un-confident that he wants to be with you. You know He does..he’s told you so himself.)

(See? I told you this was embarrassing. And see Jz? you’re not the only one who can zig and zag down this path to mental craziness…!)

So I texted Him…appropriately worded, respectfully inquiring. Asking why He didn’t consider inviting me, and apologizing for my forwardness. And saying that I wasn’t saying that if He ever invited me I wasn’t going to be expecting it to be a sex date, just time to be together.

And guess what?

He texted me back shortly afterwards.

It had never occurred to him to invite me (men!)…and he was well aware of my time constraints. And of course I could come to him, to his house. Silly slut.

I wasted an entire afternoon being upset–for no reason.

And that really annoyed me.

:D

Sometimes I’m just that emo, I guess. I’m glad he doesn’t mind that about me…at least if it doesn’t happen often (and it doesn’t!). This being a grown up thing is really wicked hard sometimes! And obviously–sometimes I’m not very grown up about where my head goes! And we’re good, Master and I. And my overactive imagination has been locked up in my mental dungeon and is currently getting a good whipping…

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FB Funny

octopus

I swear, these are my *vanilla* friends who post this stuff for me to see!

LOL

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HNT–The Things I Do to Amuse Him

Okay, so this is wicked late–but the weather is so nice and the garden has been calling my name and…garden2…everything is so new and sprouting and needs some spring lovin’…

But the work of a slut is never done, so I took some pix for Him…and before I even sent them to Him I knew He’d be bored as hell with them…so I put on my thinking cap and…

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In His reply to the pic, He says the clamps aren’t tight enough…my nipples aren’t white yet. I swear, They are never satisfied! Damn Sadists!!!!  :D

I did hasten to reassure him that they were indeed VERY tight on my poor nipples that are totally not used to being clamped these days (but twice in 8 days now…so maybe I’ll get used to it again?). And yeah, okay, I’ll admit it.

I’m horny as hell.

And it’s ZNN…

and there have been threats of a imminent half-O…or worse (what’s worse? I don’t even ask. I mean really…that would be the epitome of dumb, amiright?! Do you know how HARD it is not to ask anyway?? Yeah, I was certain you did.)

Happy HNT pervie peeps!

 

 

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Violation

oh the dark and dirty things I think of while walking my pooch… ~nilla~

(maybe dragon-y for some--but then again? maybe not!)

violation

noun vi·o·la·tion \ˌvī-ə-ˈlā-shən\

: the act of doing something that is not allowed by a law or rule

: the act of ignoring or interfering with a person’s rights

 “C’mon baby, let’s walk. No, no sniffing now, momma’s gotta make it up this hill…”

She jiggled the dogs chain, and puffing a little, got her moving forward up the long hill. It bordered a church, the long expanse of green lawn a major attractant for the area’s dogs. Molly always had to tug Fluff past the garden rocks to get her ’round the corner. Once they started up the hill, the small dog would prance along merrily.

She enjoyed walking in the early  morning, even before the sun rose. At five a.m. not many others were out and about; by five thirty the joggers would come running, and by six, other doggie parents would be out on their first jaunt of the day.  The robins were sending up a chorus of music, the song sparrows sang a descant. The air was warm enough that she didn’t even require a jacket today.

As she crested the long low hill and drew even with the back of the church, she paused and took a breath while Fluff squatted. Directly behind the church was a big parking area, and behind that, a big open field, bordered on the back side by a cross street. Stepping into the parking lot, she unclipped the dog, and reaching into her pocket, withdrew a tennis ball. She threw a long lowball for Fluff, who gave a happy yip and raced off. She walked towards the edge of the pavement, smiling as her dog scooped up the ball, and running in a wide arc, came back for her treat. Dropping the ball at her feet, she snarfed down the kibble, then took off after the ball again. They played this way for some minutes, until a cruiser pulled into the lot. Though it looked like he was going to park and drink coffee, he slow-rolled over to where she stood. Slipping the leash back onto Fluff, she turned at his low tone.

“You had your dog off leash. We have a law about that here.”

“I’m sorry–she comes right back to me, as you saw.”

“Nonetheless she isn’t to be off-leash. Stay there.”

He puts the cruiser in park, and exits the vehicle. Round the front bumper, she notes how tall he is. Cops always make her nervous. And somewhat excited, thanks to that whole men in power and uniform thing. He squats down to look at her pooch. She expects him to pet the dog, comment on her manners. He looks at her, then stands.

“There’s no tag on her collar.”

“It’s on her other collar back at the house…”

“City ordinance 57.3 Section B, Subsection 3 clearly states that dogs in our city must wear their tags when off the owner’s property. You’re in violation of two counts. I could seize and impound your dog, fine or arrest you. At my discretion.”

He stares at her hard, and her heart is racing. Arrested? Over an unleashed dog that weighed under 20 pounds soaking wet? Over her lack of tag…? This was outrageous. Her mouth opened to protest, but he held his hand up.

“I’m not in the mood for any shit. I’ve got…”

He pauses and glances at his watch.

“…20 minutes left on shift. I don’t want to have to work an hour of OT to write this all up. Nonetheless, you’ve broken the law, miss, and you must pay the price.”

“She’s hardly lawless, you know…nor I…”

“Don’t get smart-mouthed with me. I can see a road to compromise here. Come sit in the cruiser.”

She was afraid if she went into the back that he’d just haul her in, regardless of him wanting to get off duty.

“Front seat. Put the dog in the back.”

“You’re going to arrest my dog?”

“Just get in the fucking car, dog- lady.”

Her hand shook as she opened the door. He took the dog from her and put her on the backseat. Sliding in, it seemed he took up most of the space in the front. He turned the car around and faced the meadow.

“I think you know what you can do for me to…relieve my mind that you’re going to be a good and responsible dog owner in the future.”

“Your mind?”

She had a pretty good idea what he really wanted “relieved” and doubted sincerely it was his “mind”. The telltale bulge at the apex of his thighs answered that question. She glanced from that, to his face. One eyebrow raised.

“Well?”

“I…are you going to…you know…”

“going to…what?”

“going to take it out.”

“IT?”

She huffed out a frustrated breath. Seems he was determined to humiliate her.

“Are you going to take your dick out of your pants?”

“I’ve never cared for that word. That old joke, you know…Tom’s Dick is Harry…”

“That’s a stupid joke…”

“What were you asking me?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Are you going to take your…penis…out of your pants.”

He cocks his head to the side.

“Are you a nurse? Or…pardon the sexist assumption…a doctor? Because they’re the only people I know who say “penis” quite that way. Uptight. Naming body parts in that …doctorly way.”

“Cock. Fine. You want me to be crude. I ‘ll be crude. Are you going to…oh never the fucking mind…”

She scoots over a bit and reaches for his fly. His hands lay on his lap. He is not going to help her at all, she understands. He’s hard enough that getting his shaft out of his pants could get his dick scratched and she was wary of that potential hazard. She unbuckled his belt, opens his pants and reaches into the opening of his underpants. His cock is warm, stiff, soft as silk and hard as a steel bar. The flared head is ruddy, and the scent of him makes her mouth water.

“If you’re sure…”

“Put my fucking cock in your mouth.”

Rather than argue, she opens and presses her mouth around him. Her tongue curls to accept him, while her head lowers, then raises. Her hand fists around the base of his shaft, feeling the roughness of the crinkled hairs there. Sliding her hand up, her mouth up, she begins to spread the saliva along the length of him, stroking firmly. She alternates between sucking at the crown, and taking him deeper each time.

He moans a bit as her hand warms, and her mouth creates suction. The salty tang of his essence leaking from the tip hits her tongue, and she is moved to take more of him. Rising up, she strokes again from base to tip, as her sucking lips slip up over the head of his cock, sucking at the tiny tender hole at the tip. She feels the quiver of response in the hard flesh in her hand.

Her lips encircle him again, and she moves to take him deeper. His hand lifts from his thigh and presses her head down, hard, and she gags as he is suddenly fully within her mouth and throat.

“Suck that cock, you fucking cocksucking slut…”

He speaks dirty words, his tone guttural. His fingers tangle in her hair, holding her down until she thinks she will die from cock-choking, but he releases the pressure, allowing her to rise and gasp for air.

“Again,” He orders, and shoves her mouth down. Once more she gags, the angle all wrong for her pleasure in the task. He is so hard now, the head so big that he truly cuts off her breath when his cock lodges within her throat.

He lifts her head, fingers not gentle as he tugs her up, slaps her cheek hard enough to make her eyes water. Her head is spinning….and yet there is a sudden deep jolt of longing deep in her belly.

“Hurry up. I’ve only got 10 minutes before I need to be back at the station.”

He shoved her head back down. The head of his cock glistens from her spit and the drop of fluid that lay like a clear pearl, balanced on the tip. She sees it all for one flashing moment before that weeping head is pressed against her lips, before they part and the salty essence glides over her tongue.

“Just suck.”

His hands grip her head and begin pushing her down, pulling her up. He used her mouth like it was a tool, not part of her, a human being. She was, she realized, a sex object to him. The thought brought humiliation and the unmistakable rising of lust. She choked as he pushed her head down, his cock gagging down her throat at the awkward angle, her nose buried in his pubic hair. He made a sound, something deep and filled with dark pleasure as her throat hiccupped around his cock. He held her there for what felt like hours, before dragging her head up, allowing her a breath. Tears stung her eyes, she swallowed bitter bile, fought the urge to claw at him. In the backseat, the dog whimpered in shared distress.

“Fucking cocksucker, finish me!”

Slamming her head down on his engorged shaft, thick and hot in her mouth, she felt the quiver of his belly against her cheek. He stiffened, his fingers curled into claws against her skull, as he ground her head down, lifting his ass from the seat to drive himself as deep as possible into her face. She heard his groan of release, the relaxing of muscles as he pulled back a bit.

“Swallow it all, not a drop on my uniform or you’ll regret it.”

Sucking hard, she drew semen into her throat, swallowing quickly. Finally he was done, slumped in the seat, his cock slipping free of her lips as he began to soften.

“Put your toys away. Gently.”

Her hands shook a little as she gingerly tucked him away, then zipped up his uniform pants, and fastened his belt. He watched her, his eyes boring into her face. She didn’t make eye contact after the first moment.

“Let me see your tits.”

She bit her lip, immediately regretted doing it. She wasn’t some skanky novel heroine, but the nervous habit had been lifelong. She held the hem of her shirt a moment too long. His hand raised and slapped her cheek again, firmly.

“Now.”

Her shirt rose, baring her breasts to him.

“Take them out of the bra.”

She didn’t want to do that. Yet her fingers slid up, tugging down one cup, then the other, before raising the hem of her shirt again.

She expected him to grab. She expected him to fondle. She expected pinching. Yet he just sat and stared at them.

“Get out of the car and take your mutt home. Keep your tits like that. I’ll enjoy watching you round the corner and seeing your titties bouncing as you walk. Go.”

Dropping the tee-shirt, she slid out of the cruiser, opened the backdoor and took out the dog. Her knees were trembling, her pussy hot and bothered. Her nipples rubbed against the cotton of her shirt, aggravating them to hardness. In her mouth, the taste of his semen made her lick her lips. Turning, she quickly walked out of the parking lot, knowing that he was watching her. She rounded the corner, blushing as her tits bobbled freely under her tee-shirt. She swore she could feel his eyes on her. The thought brought a fresh rush of wetness between her thighs. Finally she moved past the field and into the more residential neighborhood beyond. She urged the dog down the next street, hoping Fluff would poop quickly so she could get home.

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

“That was a fast walk.”

She unleashed the dog, hung the collar and leash by the door where she’d have it handy for later. Barely glancing at him, she merely nodded at her husband and remained silent as she busied herself feeding Fluff. She felt his eyes on her as she moved around the kitchen.

“Look at me.”

She noted the half-smile that revealed that charming dimple that always got her stirred up. Her clit pulsed, a reminder of her intense need. She met his eyes at last, found him looking intently at her over the rim of his coffee mug. Blushing, horny, she knew she was beyond caring what he thought of her. His eyes smiled, one brow rising as he looked at his wife.

“Let me see your tits, doglady.”

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A Jolt of Dominance

I’ve mentioned before that Himself is not much for long-distance dominance. It’s been a little quiet on the Master and nilla front of late–our crazy schedules have kept us apart for 3 week (I know, right? Total suckage…and not the good kind of sucking, either.) So imagine my surprise, when after a very long dry spell of no distance-domming…he drops a bomb on me.

On my way home from work we’re talking. It’s Thursday, the hard and fast rule of absolutely no touching myself in place as usual. He’s not had me do any sort of edging in…months, I think. No dreaded half-o’s. (and isn’t it funny that in the dreading there is also a terrible longing to be tormented, too?) Really, not much of anything.  When he starts talking about ZNN (Zero, Nada, No touching) I’m  (truthfully here…)….not really paying much attention. But something he says pings through my brain and I stutter…

“What? What did you say Master?”

“I said, nilla, if you’d been paying attention (how did he know my mind was wandering?), that I think it’s time to have a Half-O tonight. It’s been quite a while (no kidding, right?) since I’ve had you do this, and I think today is the perfect time to…get you to pay attention.”

*blink, blink, blink*

“uhhh….You have my attention, Master…”

“Good slut. I want you to climb that mountain and stand on the crumbling edge. I want you so close your toes are hanging over that edge. I want you crying and whining and swearing….but if you fall, I’ll beat your ass the next time we meet.” (since He always beats my ass when we meet, and he is making specific mention of it, I know He means a *wicked bad awful terrible* kind of beating…)

“uh…m n aa m…uh…”

“*laughter* Aw, poor little slut forget how to speak?”

“uhhmm…”

“*more laughter*”

“uhm…Master…I’m not a big fan of this and I’m really out of practice and…”

“I know…that’s why it’s important to retrain you.”

“*insert silence*”

“Oh nilla, how I love these quiet little pauses in our conversations.”

And He laughs to himself as I attempt to sputter out some sort of reply. And of *course* I hate those frigging half-o’s. And of course I *love* them too. I need that hand (metaphorical) on my shoulder making me conform to what He wants. Truly, my vanilla life is SO full (my cup runneth over!) just now that feeling submissive seems far away. I know I AM a submissive, but without the Dominance factor? I have to pack it up and put it on a mental shelf and get on with things. (That makes me sound like a guy, doesn’t it?)

But then He … well, He knows me, firstly. And second, He is a dominant, and it’s his natural state. And he’s long professed to not really care about long-distance domming. . . He gets his thrill in the face-to-face contact with me. (OH the gleaming smiles when he tortures me when we meet, even for just a bit of tea.)

The order is issued, and won’t be revoked. He never, ever, changes his mind when he issues an edict. Ever. I finally manage to stammer out my compliance. I mean, it’s out of left field, this order of His. I’m busy thinking about things I need to do when I get home, and BLAMMO! He knocks me off my complacency with that jolt of dominance.

And then deepens the pot.

We’re just about to hang up…I’m not too far from home, from vanillaville.

“Oh. Right. Nilla–”

“Yes Sir?”

I’m a bit confused now, His tone throws me off. He sounds confused, a bit rushed. (He’s not. My radar goes up and begins sending signals to my clit.)

“Clamps.”

“Clamps?”

“Nilla. There must be clamps. Unless you’d prefer the big plug up your ass. That would be in addition to clamps on your nips.”

I demur quickly, adding that of course I’ll put on the clamps, and nosir, I don’t need the anal plug to remember my place. But I can’t resist one last wee protest.

“But Sir, Master….I…It’s been a long time since I wore the clamps. Since January. At our last playtime. I…”

I pause a moment trying to phrase this appropriately so I don’t wind up with a plug up my ass for being sassy.

“Yes, nilla?”

Ohgawd. His voice now. Silky and dark and I can picture His face, the gleam of his eyes, the steady watchful gaze of the hunter. I’m so turned on *justlikethat* that I could have an orgasm just from His voice.

“I..my nipples, Master. They’re out of practice. Those clamps are really gonna hurt…”

He all but purrs now. My clit is throbbing, my pussy is wet, I can feel the dampness seeping from me. I’m so ready for him to fuck me rightNOWpleaserightnow…but it’s the phone and I’m almost home.

“Aww, that’s just perfect.”

The sadist, dormant for most of the winter, has returned.

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HNT- Plainly Tits

*sound of screetching brakes*

Hiya pervie peeps…just skidding in here on my broomstick to splash my tits on the blog…gotta honor my obligations to M, now don’t I? (with playtime in the not so distant horizon, I’m working extra hard to be good. Of course M says that I’m never “good” because I’m just a horny slut (grins)…but I’m obedient which is quite a different thing.)

A quick aside here–He’s already tormenting me about playtime and had me babbling yesterday “…ba…uh…blr…” which sent Him into hysterics. How? What? Anal plugs in the freezer, and more time to be spent on torturing my feet…(my toes curl just thinking about that, and in an “OMG NO!” way, not in excitement.) I told Him that I hated that…and He replied “I know, that’s why it is one of my favorite things to do to you , nilla.”

Sadist!

Okay, time to get my broom going again *sound of revving engine*….Happy Half-Nekked Tits…er Thursday!

hnt

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