That’s what this is. Pure fantasy, to titillate and amuse. Not to condone true rape, nor true violence. These works are works of fantasy and should never be taken as consent to force yourself upon a stranger, unless you’ve met, crafted an agreement of consensual non-consent, and have a safeword, and a safecall on standby. 


So, yanno, Covid.

2020 sucks and now we’ve lost Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

I’ve been so busy working. And when I wasn’t working, I didn’t have money for my slutphone, so my communcations with Master went dark. I emailed a little, but when we started to open up the Commonwealth again, I started working, and I was tired and scared and still having panic attacks on the regular.

So I … stopped.

I stopped writing.

I wrote a few stories here, but I didn’t write to HIM. I didn’t even check my email. God could have written me and I …I was just blanked out.

Have you felt that way through this? I know several folks who died from this plague, and it scared me so. I think I’m over the worst of the terror, though I live in fear of my kids getting it.

Anyway, finally, when I’d gone about 3 or 4 weeks without more than one panic attack, I checked my email.

And waaaay back in there was an email from Himself. And he was pissed.

If I wasn’t dead of the Covid, or in the hospital, I damned well best write to him IMMEDIATELY. Because now was NOT the time to “go dark” on him.

I dunno what happened.

I haven’t been, nor felt even a twinkling of, anything remotely resembling submission. I hadn’t had an orgasm in a long while (after feverishly having several every day in case I got it and died. I wanted to go out feeling sated.)

But something in me snapped into alignment with that one, terse, firm order… and there was NO mistaking that it was an order.

Am I more submissive today than I was when I discovered the email? I dunno. I’m so tired lately because I’m working so much. Ten plus hours a day 6 days a week is hard on a 60 year old body, just sayin’. But it did make me…feel. Something. Something other that the daily responsiblities. Something other than worker bee, or mom, or housewife…

So tonight, when I finished all the “me” stuff I had to do, I wrote to him (without prompting!)

You know, like a good little submissive should.

I guess I’m back.



Tired. Her head fell back against the headrest in her car. The wash of blue lights thrummed through her half-closed eyes, pulsing against her head, blue-white-blue. She was so fucking tired. The last of the sunset was long gone, she was the only car on the road, and who the fuck cared if she was 10 miles over the speed limit on the backroads of this stupid little town.

“Step out of the car.”

The beam from his flashlight blinded her. With a sigh she opened the door, forgetting for a moment that her seat belt was still attached. Now she felt stupid as well as tired.

“Miss, have you been drinking tonight?”

“No. No I have not. I’m on my way home. I’m just really tired.”

The light dashed around the inside of the car. The contents of her purse flashed through the beam; her wallet, opened to her license, lipsticks, tissues, gum, a bottle of aspirin, assorted keys, three pens, a small vibrator. The light seemed to hover there for a moment longer than on the other items.

“Turn around, hands on the vehicle.”

“Is this really necessary? I’m just going home. I haven’t had anything to drink. I’m just tired. I was speeding, I admit it. I’ll take your..”

The flow of words were cut off abruptly by a gloved hand covering her mouth.

“Shut up. Not another word.”

When she nodded, he released her mouth. She could feel the heat of his body so close to her. Then his hands captured her breasts, squeezing and kneading them. The gloves were gone, and his long fingers pinched and pulled her tits, her nipples. She gasped as he rolled them through her shirt.

“Shhhh,” his voice warned.

She bit her lip to hold her silence, felt the tremble of fear. And a tiny frisson of lust. Wasn’t this her all-time fantasy? Hadn’t she often written this on her blog? Did he read her blog or was he just one of those cops, who took when he had the opportunity?

She was scared. And wet.

Her skirt was lifted, her panties pulled to one side, his cock sliding into her cunt from behind. It happened so fast. One moment her tits were being fondled and the next he was inside her.

His hips jabbed into her, his hands pulling her hips into his thrust, arching her spine. Small grunts spilled from her mouth as he pounded into her. Hard, fast punches of his cock into her hole. Pausing a moment, he kicked her ankles fully apart, granting him full access to her pussy. It hurt, to be fucked so violently. It excited, to be taken. It frightened, to not know how to stop him. It worried, to not want him to.

A shocking thrust, his body grinding into her, then the groan as his cock pulsed. She could feel him cumming. Which meant he wasn’t wearing a condom. She wanted to cry out, but his quiet warning stopped her. After a moment, he pulled her panties back, lowered her skirt.

“Get in your vehicle. Go home. Drive the limit.”

He never looked at her as he strode back to his cruiser, turned off his blues, and signaled her to pull out. She drove away, shaking.


He was at home, eating a snack in front of the tv when she came in.

“Hi honey, you’re late. Long day, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Long. Tired. I’m…gonna go up to bed, k?”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, she kissed his neck.

“Night. Get some rest, hon. You look beat.”

“Mmhm. Night.”

Quietly she went up stairs and slid into bed with her vibrator. Replaying the scene, she fucked herself into oblivion.

Watching her go slowly upstairs, he felt his phone vibrate under his hand. Reading the text, he smiled.

got ‘er done. hotfuck. she ought to be preggo now. thanks for the interesting assignment, Captain!”

He wrote back to his brother. “potential commendation, bro”

He received a reply, an eggplant and a laughing smily face.

Picking up the remote he grinned to himself. Wife fantasy fulfilled. Husband fantasy fulfilled. Baby in 9 months? They’d just have to wait and see.

Hello? Dr. Strangeguy? Are You There?

thanks Tip, for the inspiration..

She knocked on the door. Rang the bell. No one answered. Despondent, she sat on the front step and thought about what she could do…should do…next. She was in a funk. In a slump. In a sexual freefall…and not in a good way.

It had taken more than a little nerve to show up here, at the good doctor’s office, without a call or an appointment or anything. She heaved out a sigh. Why had she thought he’d be there, anyway.

The door opened behind her, and she leapt to her feet.

“Oh,” he said. “Did I mis-schedule an appointment?”

“Dr. Strangeguy,” she said, her voice quivering. “No…no I don’t have an appointment. I’m so sorry…but…but..”

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“I’m desperate,” she whispered.

Oh, he thought. My favorite…

He checked his watch, frowned a little.

“Well, I can’t leave you in such dire straits,” he said at last. “Do come in.”

“Thank you! Are you sure…I mean, if you can’t …if you don’t have the time..”

“I always have time for a desperate patient,” he said as he ushered her into the hallway, and down to his office.

He sat behind his desk, gestured her to take one of the chairs in front. He took up some papers, and tidied them into a stack. Pulling a notepad from a drawer, and taking up his favorite hand-made, wooden pen (made by a fellow Dom), he rose and took the chair beside her.

“Alright, my dear, what seems to be the problem.”

“I’m stuck. Just…stuck.”

“Perhaps a little more specifics? ” he said, his voice trailing off, encouraging her.

“Well, you see, I…well you know. I write…porn.” She all but whispered the last word.

“Yes, I remember that.”

“I’m blocked. Stuck. Because…I can’t….”

He waited as she trailed off again. The seconds ticked into minutes, but still he waited. She looked at her hands. Her feet. The wall. His feet. Back to her hands. At long last she looked directly at him.

“I can’t orgasm. I just can’t quite get…there. I get almost there, and I’m kind of excited, but I just can’t quite seem to …


“Right. And if I can’t…then I can’t write about it, now can I? I mean, I like to write about what I know, and what I want and what excites that dark place inside me. But my imagination is tied to my …” she swallowed, dropped her eyes for a moment. “Pussy.”

Could this be any more perfect, he wondered? A desperate woman he knew was a slut, begging for his assistance in cumming? Inwardly, he chortled, all but rubbed his hands together in glee.

He nodded crisply.

“Well then. Are you looking for me to fix this problem? In whatever way I deem will best help you?”

She nodded, licked her lips nervously.

“Very well then. Come here.”

Obediently she rose to stand in front of him. He gestured to his lap.

“Lay down on your belly. That’s it. I see you wore a skirt. Good, very good. That shows me that you’re still interested in using your body. That you’re still a slut. Say that. Say “I’m a slut, Sir.”

Her voice, muffled from her position came haltingly.

“I’m a slut….Sir.”

His hand cracked down on her bum through the fabric of her skirt. She gave a small yelp. He smiled.

“Oh, this will never do. You won’t hardly feel a thing.”
“I did! I felt it!”

“No, not the way I want you to feel it, my dear.” His hands lifted the hem of the skirt, baring her bottom.

“No panties? You slut!”

He smacked her cheeks, left, right, right, right, right, left. She moaned. She wriggled. She whimpered. He struck harder, until she began to struggle in his lap, which his cock very much enjoyed. Her ass grew deeply red; he felt the heat against his palm as he continued to beat her bottom.

When he was done, he slipped his fingers up into her slit and fingered her cunt.

“Oh my, what have we here? Your pussy is wet, slut.”

His fingers stroked up and down, never touching the part he could feel her yearning for him to touch.

He pushed her off his lap. She slipped to the floor at his feet.

“Mouth. Open.”

When her lips parted, he slipped his fingers inside. She lapped, sucked, lapped again until his fingers were cleaned of her juice. Leaning back, he loosened his fly. Her eyes raised to his. At his look, she rose onto her knees and began to suck him.

“No hands,” he admonished, when she would have reached to stroke him. Grabbing a hank of her hair, he forced her down on his shaft until he felt her throat clench, the delicious sound and feeling of her gagging on him.

He pushed her head off his cock with an audible pop.

“Take out your tits,” he growled. She lifted her tank top, yanked down her bra, her fat jugs bouncing onto her chest. The nipples were pink, and hard as diamonds. Reaching down, he grabbed them, tugging her closer. She groaned as he twisted them, then pulled his fingers off them with a snap. He slapped one, watching it bounce off the other.

“I like slapping your fat tits,” he said. Whap! Whap! Whap!

“I bet your cunt is dripping,”

“Yes, Sir, it…it’s very wet.”

“Stand up,” he said. When she rose, he pulled her forward and sat her on his dick. They groaned together.





“Grind that cunt down now, you little fuckpuppet.”

She moaned, whimpering i’m so close, Sir.


She rose, her eyes begging.

“Spread your legs, whore.”

He reached forward, smacking her pussy. He felt her swollen clit against his palm, smacked it again. She was moaning constantly now, as he repeatedly. struck her hungry cunt.

“Kneel,” he ordered brusquely.

She couldn’t stop the writhing of her hips, fucking air, her body quivering with need. He grasped his cock and pulled once, twice, before erupting ribbons of cum onto her tits. He sat back, breathing deeply, before putting himself away.

“You’re done.”

“But…but…I haven’t cum…”

“Go home. Now. Get naked. Masturbate right inside your door. Right there on the floor like the horny slut you are. Cum. Cum hard. Then get up, go to your bedroom, and do it again. Now, get dressed. And don’t wash any of that off until tomorrow.”

As she put herself together, he rose and went to his desk. Taking his prescription pad out, he wrote for a minute, then tore it free. Folding it, he handed it to the disheveled woman.

“Read this later. Go now. I expect a full report in your blog, tomorrow.”

“Yes Sir. Of course, Sir…thank you.”

She scurried out, and home. She did indeed pop off the two orgasms as soon as she arrived. Laying on her bed, she remembered her clothing was strewn all over her entry hallway. Rising, she went downstairs to retrieve them, and found the prescription he’d given her. She laughed when she read it, and ran upstairs to her computer.

Take two orgasms and write about it in the morning”.

A Perfect Balance

Hi peeps.

I know, it’s been quiet here in my little corner of the blogosphere. Covid19 has kept me fairly quiet up to now, but my job is starting to get busy again (and I’m being safe, promise!).

After the initial panic attacks, sheer terror, the fear, the worry, the stress headaches…I can honestly say that I’ve settled into this new way of life.

Humans are really pretty fucking adaptable.

Because, yanno, we can’t GO anywhere or DO anything…so we’re finding fun with family, and home. And it’s working. I’m happier. I’m steadier. I’m sleeping better-most nights, at least. There’s a curious sort of peace that comes with accepting that it has to be this way for now. I don’t know if that’s a function of my philosophy of “suck it up, buttercup” or my age, but for whatever reason, I’m pretty happy these days.

Summer is always busy for my family and I–it’s time to tackle those tasks that you can’t really do in midwinter. Outside painting, pruning, inside projects…we’ve got something going nearly every weekend.

And my sex drive is starting to revv up. I’m on tumblr looking at all the sexy pix, reading all sorts of smutty captions to various photo’s, and generally masturbating nightly.

For sleep, you understand.

Nah, not because I’m a horny slut. You kiddin’ me? Who has time to be horny during The Covid??


yeah. You can limit my freedoms, but not my libido! And where there’s orgasms, apparently, there’s hope.


How Ya Doin’?

Are you climbing the walls? Leaning hard against them? Chewing them? I know, it’s a crazy, weird, wackadoo time. I think we’ve all been through those phases of denial, grief, anger, sadness. I have finally arrived at acceptance. I still have periods of all the above, including a hefty dose of depression. I’m laying in bed at least one day a week (dressed, but still…) watching things on Netflix. It’s still an improvement from before, when I was moping around for multiple days in a row and NOT getting dressed. Sticking to routine has helped save my mental health. Getting up at my normal time. Making my bed. Getting dressed.

I have been puttering around the house. Allergies are just awful this spring, and it’s been fucking cold for April. I mean, Massachusetts is not the ARCTIC, all evidence to the contrary. FFS, we had more snow in APRIL than we did in January and February. Ah well. Soon it will be hotter than the 6th circle of Hell, and I’ll be complaining about that! But I’ve found little tasks, because let’s face it, attention spans are not long here. Simple stuff like cleaning/tidying the medicine cabinet. Or my silverware drawer. Or even my undies!

I’m practicing self care, too. Moisturizing my super dry skin. Trying to tame my hair (I miss my hairdresser almost as much as I miss M!). I work on breathing (my phone reminds me, lest you think I’m super attentive to my breath. I’m not!)

And some days I’m flopped in my bed on the tv, or in a chair reading, do no fucking thing at all.

Either of those kinds of days are okay. I don’t have to be working at 100%. I don’t even have to work at 50%. I do what I can do and just knowing that makes coping easier.

My state is in crisis mode. Hospitals are coping with our Surge (sounds like something out of a Sci-Fi novel, doesn’t it?) Many of us are unemployed, or barely employed. People being hospitalized has continued to rise, despite the brief stabilizing of numbers for a few days earlier in the week. I’m not protesting staying home. Do I want things to go back to some semblance of what they were before? Of course I do.

And yet, I don’t want to rush back into “normal”, whatever that will be. I keep reading things about the Spanish Influenza of 1918, and how the sudden return to normal caused a massive upsurge of new infections, and more people died in that second surge than in the original outbreak. After 7 weeks in almost total isolation, I’m not ready for that. I don’t want to finally get my “freedom” back, only to have it either snatched back by a re-introduction of shut down measures, or the alternative, illness or *gulp* death.

This virus is one shitty way to die, my pervy peeps.

So, I’m here in full “acceptance” mode. Doing stuff in my house, and hopefully, someday it will be warm enough for me to get out in my yard and get stuff done out there that I’ve been putting off for years.

And it’s a good time to rediscover my sexuality. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? Since I’m not going to have time with M for a long long time, and we’re in limited contact mode (no job= no slut phone), you’d think my pussy would be in shut down mode, right?



I write, I get horny. I read stuff, I get horny. I do stuff around the house….well, you get it. I get horny.

I started masturbating regularly a few weeks ago. I was thinking, “hell, if I die, I want to have squeezed out as many orgasms as I can”. And then I started really enjoying it.

I mean reallllly enjoying it. You could say things have really been cumming along pretty well in my bed. (You’d be right, too!)

There’s this thing called the 8:00 howl…have you heard of it? If you want to cry or rage or express grief or thanks, go outside at 8 and howl. I’ve done it a few times.

I think the thing that is making all of this bearable, tho, is my 11:00 orgasms. Yeah, I’m gonna keep on that.

You should, too.

Gym ~8~

She didn’t have a clue what she was getting into. She was nervous, but titillated too. She grinned to herself. What a wonderfully appropriate word that was! Tit-illated.


“What what?”

“You just started grinning.” Dane paused before pushing her roughly against the far wall. “Trust me, you won’t be grinning when I’m done here. You’ll be moaning. You’ll hurt. You’ll be exhausted because I’m going to make you cum a million times.”

“I was thinking,” she said, pausing to swallow the nerves suddenly bubbling under her skin, “about the perfect word for how I’m feeling.”

“And what word would that be? Scared? No. Terrified?”


Reaching for a set of ties, he paused, looked over his shoulder at her, standing there grinning at him. She was a sturdy thing. He could read the nerves, but also the fire. Her cheeks were still flushed from her laughing fit, but her nipples were hard rocks poking out the front of her shirt.

“Perfect word,” he agreed. “Take off your shirt and bra and let me see your tit-illations.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s an abuse of good English,” she said.



He paused a moment to let the staccato order, delivered in his no-nonsense tone, sink in.

“And that’s not the only abuse that will be happening here.”

Her fingers fumbled at the buttons on her blouse. He looked at her. Just pinned her, staring inside her, it felt like. Never had anyone ever looked into her in quite that way before.

“You need a safeword. It should be something–“

“I know what a safeword is. I read that 50…”

“Do not interrupt when your Dom is speaking, little girl. That book was only a toe-dabble into what really happens in a Domination-submission relationship.”

Shamed, she nodded silently, dropping her eyes, looking at the floor. Silly to think that she knew anything at all about this. His finger raised her chin, he saw the regret.

“You are learning. I will be…” he paused, studied her for a long moment. “careful,” he said. “I will hurt you. You will cry. You will moan. We will discover -together- if pain is what excites you. It doesn’t for everyone. Also, not all kinds of pain speak to all people who are painsluts. My promise is to deliver what we both need, while keeping you on the edge. I will always stop what I’m doing immediately if you use your safeword. It should be something simple, something easily remembered even during duress. Your safeword should not be “yes” or “no”…or even “stop”, because there will be times when you say those words and will not mean it. It can be a color. It can be fucking tulip for all I care. Pick one. And remember it.”

Amused, she couldn’t stop her sudden grin.

“Fucking tulip? How about RED? That’s easy to remember.”

“Red it is. Now get that fucking shirt off or I’ll rip it off for you.”

The implied violence, spoken in a calm tone made the grin fall away and her pussy tremble.

“Okay,” she said.

“Yes, Sir.” He said firmly.

Deep blue eyes flashed to his face. It was sternly set, but she could see he wasn’t mad. Rather, there was a deep intensity there. Those rich toffee eyes bore into hers. She was reminded of a hawk, watching its helpless prey before devouring it. Energy seemed to crackle from him, infecting her. Resisting the urge to bite her lip -how she’d hated that in that damned book, but how she felt the need to do it– she gave a soft nod.


“Good girl.”

He turned away to the wall, turned back. Silver scissors flashed in his hand before he grabbed her bra, tugging her forward.

“Next time, undress faster.”

In seconds, he’d cut her bra between her breasts, the tip of the scissors lightly scratching her soft skin, then the two straps. Tugging the shredded garment from her, he tossed it to the floor. Her mouth opened, closed. She rubbed at the tiny red welt.


His finger lay on her lips.


Grabbing her by the nipple, he pulled her to the wall, then pushed her back to it.

“Hands up. Quickly now, girl. I haven’t got all day.”

Expertly he tied her hands over her head. A subtle tug revealed that she really could not move them down. A shiver ran through her as she realized that she was helpless.

And she doubted that she’d ever been more turned on in her life. When his hands reached around her, his face inches from her, and unzipped her skirt, her breath hitched. In moments her skirt lay in a puddle at her feet before he kicked it away. Taking the scissors in one hand, his other fisted in her panties. Roughly he pulled them snug, until the fabric sandwiched into her slit, pulled taut against her agitated clitoris.

She moaned then. Rose to her toes to avoid the tug. He continued to lift, rubbing it deeply into her crotch. When her eyes drifted shut, her pretty mouth parted, he slipped the scissors against her skin, letting her feel the threat of cold metal.

“This is what a rapist might do to you,” he murmured. “Scare your pussy with your panties, scare your brain with the threat of cutting flesh.”

She moaned again, eyes bright on his face, trying to read through his shield of neutrality. But his eyes, gleaming, showed her the beast laying inside, and she shivered. A quick snip released the crotch, another released the side seam of her panties. Sharply pulling the fabric from her, he tossed the shredded cotton away. Still holding her eyes with his, he drew a pattern from the top of her slit, up her torso, around her swollen nipples. Drawing in a sharp, panic breath, she watched, helpless to move as he pinned her with his eyes, the open scissors slipping around and around her exposed flesh. With a quick twist of his wrist, he turned and hung the scissors on the nearby peg.

He moved away from her then, leaving her body humming. She didn’t know what she wanted. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because she was -there came that word again- titillated by what he was doing to her, to how he played with her body, her mind.

A cool breeze wafted through as the a/c unit clicked on. Her nipples rose impossibly higher, thick nubs of flesh. She’d always been mildly embarrassed about the size of her nips.

He came to stand in front of her.

“These are baby–newbie–clamps. What I put on you yesterday were for more experienced subs.”

Was that only yesterday? she mused. Hadn’t things…hadn’t she..changed so much in so short a time?

“It hurt. A LOT.”

“I know. I’ll bet your nipple is still quite sensitive, yes?”

She nodded. He smiled, the devils grin flaring white hot heat.

“Oh, goodie,” he said, and snapped the clamp on it.

Gym 7

Her nipple had plumped between his fingers. She may have been a ‘newbie’ to pain and sex, but her body responded. Daniel might have wanted to sit and talk it out – he was the office man for a reason, after all.

Dane wasn’t.

And he knew that sitting in chairs and pretending that she hadn’t gushed all over her thighs when he’d whispered in her ear, when he had twisted her tit, well, that wasn’t the solution he thought would be most …beneficial. There was a Daniel word, beneficial.. No, he wasn’t feeling civilized. He wasn’t feeling polite. He wasn’t thinking about manners, jobs, resolutions and solutions.

He was thinking about a nipple growing hard between his fingers.

He was thinking about a woman who had a violent orgasm from sexy words whispered in her ear.

He was thinking about that woman cumming down her legs, her scent wrapping them into a sexy hazy cloud of pure lust.

Normally, Dane was calm, thoughtful. He could stand back and be objective about any slut, any submissive. He could carry on a conversation about flyfishing while whipping ass. He could finger a cunt to multiple orgasms while thinking three steps ahead to the next sensual torment he would deliver.

This? Was not his normal.

Ellie couldn’t think. She could barely breathe for the heavy knot of lust that seemed balled in the middle of her throat. As Dane steered her into the gym, she tried to gather her muddled thoughts.

“Wait,” she began, her voice a thick whisper. Clearing her throat, even as he continued to tug her forward, she tried again.

“Wait. Stop.”

Her feet stopped moving, and he turned to look at her. His face was scowling.

“Why are you mad at me?” she spoke without thinking.

“Mad? I am most definitely not mad.”

“Your words say one thing but your face says something entirely different.”

“Yeah, and my cock is saying something else, too.”

Her eyes fell to his crotch before she could think. She swallowed hard at seeing the very large lump there before looking back at his face.

“Big feet,” he said.

It took a moment, just a flash, for her to process his words. Her eyes widened, and shock painted across her face, until the laughter burst forth. She doubled over laughing, holding her belly.

“OH MY GAWD,” she guffawed.

“Stop,” he said. But her laughter was infectious, and he began to chuckle as well. From the doorway, Daniel watched the pair laugh wildly. He hadn’t heard what Dane had said to her, but whatever it was had dispelled the terrible hunger that had flared between them. Still, regardless of Dane’s words, they were going to hash this out.

“Okay, you two nut jobs,” he began, but they were too far gone in hysteria to hear. Grabbing Ellie by her arm, he lifted her from where she was crouched on the floor laughing madly. He pushed Dane, also laughing, back a step.

“Both of you. Breathe.”

It took a few minutes, some wiping of laughter tears, some deep breaths, flashing smiles. Hands up, he waved away any explanations. He knew just talking about it would set them off again.

“Ellie, I know you’re new to this.” He waved a hand around the gym. On the walls hung all manner of things. Whips, chains, ball gags, things she couldn’t identify. “Believe me, we tried to keep you out of this, knowing you were vanilla.”

“Excuse me what? Vanilla? That sounds condescending.”

“It isn’t. It’s just a way to designate someone in the lifestyle from someone who is not. It’s not a judgement of how anyone lives their lives.”

“No matter how boring it is.” Dane interjected.

Daniel shook his head, sending a scathing look at Dane.

“You’re not helping here. Lots and lots of folks have vanilla sex and are perfectly, completely happy.”

“And are almost always the same righteous people who deny that kink is okay, that kink is evil, unnatural, and abhorrent-“

“I’m not talking about judgement, Dane. We’ve had this conversation a million times. The guy who fucks his wife in missionary for his entire life is no better, no worse than that the guy -you- who slaps his consenting partner around, ties her up, then fucks her sideways. It’s just comes down to what makes each of us tick. And yes, they might call us sick fucks. And yes, we might call them boring vanillas. In the end, none of that matters. Because what gets you off, gets you off. Period.”

Ellie was fascinated. She’d read that book, oh yeah, and hadn’t believed half of it. It was perverted, but it had made half the world horny as hell. And she knew there were spanko’s and knew that people used things like tying to the bedposts or handcuffs, but that seemed just a slightly darker version of the whole vanilla sex that the men were arguing about. What Dane was talking about sent shivers up her spine. And made her pussy weep.

“I want to try it. Try some more of it.”

When she spoke, both of them turned to her, one with a smile, one with a frown.

“Ellie…” Daniel began.

“Let me.”

Daniel looked at Dane. His friend for almost his whole life, a man he trusted. A man the community trusted. A well respected Dom, and someone not given to wild impulses. He’d never seen him so enthralled. It might be interesting to watch this unfold.

“Okay,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll be in my office.”

Turning, he walked back through the gym, leaving the pair looking at one another. He’d seen the hunger in both of them. It was time to let it run its course.

Midnight, Beachside Resort

another one of those naughty stories that crawled into my head at midnight ~n~

‘Gotta get away’ had never sounded so good in her life. Even the night before she left, Carl, master of his empire as he liked to call himself, also her boss, had given her a report to finish for a presentation the next morning.

“I’m getting on a plane in about five hours,” she said, handing him back the jumbled packet of notes he’d dropped on her desk.

“Then I suggest you type really, really fast.”

He’d plopped the pile back onto her desk and walked away, chuckling. Enraged beyond words, she glared daggers into his entire backside, then grabbed the papers and did the work. Really, it was no wonder that he did this to her because she’d let it go on and on and on, despite threatening to quit on a weekly basis.

The rumble of the wheels lowering shook her from the nightmare of her job, and thrust her full tilt into vacation mode. Peering out the window at the dark sky, she could see a forest of lights illuminating the beautiful Florida evening. It was a reverse fireworks show, all the lights on the ground, and she up in the air.

Fifteen minutes later, she was wheeling her bags through the airport, smelling the heady, wild scent of night-blooming flowers. A driver stood with her name on his sign, and she hailed him. It wasn’t long before she was unlocking the door to the rental home, and puttering around to get familiar with the place. It was too dark to see much beyond the pool itself, but she knew the lanai fronted the beach. She could hear the sound of waves slapping on the beach while the sharp tang of saltwater teased her nose. Smiling to herself, she closed the sliding door.

She’d done it. She’d actually done it!

Not only had she written the stupid presentation for her boss, but at the end she’d written ‘and with that, I quit.’ She hoped that he read that part out loud with the rest of his closing remarks. That would simply make her day.


She slept through morning, waking as the afternoon heat pressed against the patio doors of her room. There was no whizzing traffic outside her window, no temperamental boss to please, no wardrobe to assess for her daily outfit. In fact, her off-season trip and her secluded ocean retreat meant she could walk around naked as much as she wanted. She could even beach naked, though she might try that at dusk. Maybe.

First order of business…oh damn, didn’t she just need to delete that expression from her vocabulary? Well, she needed to eat. Too frantic to do anything yesterday except race to the airport to make sure she didn’t miss the flight. And she was too keyed up to even eat plane peanuts, and when she got here she just crashed after the house tour.

Shuffling off to the kitchen, she found it well stocked. Pouring cereal into a colorful bowl, searching for a spoon, she also found the teapot and the stash of tea she’d asked to substitute for the normally provided coffee. In fifteen minutes, she sat at the table on the lanai, looking out at the beautiful, foreign plants blooming around the yard, and seeing the pathway outside the screened porch that she presumed led to the ocean which she could hear, but not quite see from here. She figured the landscaping gave the house privacy from anyone who wandered along the beachfront.


Facedown on a massage table, she moaned. Randall was working on her shoulders, the sun was warm on her feet, and she exhaled the stress and “tension of up north” as he’d termed her tight muscles.

“Oh gooooooosh…” she moaned loudly, as he worked to break up nodules, smoothing out the thick knots she’d named ‘Carls’ after her stress inducing former boss.

“Yes, another Carl has been dissolved,” Randall laughed, his voice deep and melodious. His enormous ebony hands worked miracles on her back, her neck. She wasn’t feeling relaxed enough to sleep, but was finding herself feeling more and more energized, despite the painful process.

His hands smoothed over her lower spine, over her buttocks.

“I can continue to work down, with your permission, missy,” he said. She knew he was licensed, and came well referenced.

“Do it all…rid me of all those nasty Carl knots,” she laughed. Then moaned as he dug hard into the flesh of her arse.

“Jesus!” she yelped.

“Sciatic nerves are very tight, I’m sorry, ” he said, his voice apologetic. “I will treat them more gently, but we must break up the Carls.”

Pressure eased, and she relaxed again, now feeling more drowsy as her hips eased, as her ass released. She farted, loudly.

He laughed when she whimpered an embarrassed “ohmygawd”.

“It happens all the time. I promise, as your body relaxes, the gases will travel through you quickly. Please, do continue to relax.”

He worked down her thighs, behind her knees, down to her toes, before asking her to flip over to her back. Gently he helped ease her over, and began working from her throat to her shoulders, her arms, hands, fingers. Across her chest, digging gently but firmly around her collarbone, her armpit, before he began to massage her breasts.


“I’m sorry missy, you said “all”…did I misunderstand?”

“uh…oh..Uhm. No. It’s okay. Okay. Just…I’m going to blush…so ignore me.”

He worked her left breast first, mashing it flat, then pulling it up, away from her chest wall. He rolled it between his palms, pushing firmly. He plucked her nipple, rolled it hard, making it rise.

Her eyes were closed, her cheeks pink, and her pussy sat up and took notice.

He moved around the table, doing the same thing to her right tit. When he pulled her nipple, she moaned, it just slipped out. She didn’t say anything, didn’t open her eyes, and missed his small smile.

Downward he moved, just as he had for her back. She knew her pussy was moist, hoped he couldn’t smell the sweet juicy scent. His fingers palmed over her mound, left her body. She heard him move across the room, jumped when he placed a warm, moist towel over each breast, over her face, over her mons.

She heard the slick sound of his hands rubbing together, lubing with more warm oil. He peeled off the towel covering her vee, and began to massage her labia.

She moaned as his long fingers captured each lip, rubbed it firmly along the length. An oiled digit circled her clit, then rubbed it firmly. Her hips rose, pressing upward for more, more.

He obliged, rolling and rubbing her tender nubbin.

She was going to cum. Was going to squirt all over this lovely man who was jerking her off. And then the hands moved, sliding down her thighs, up, down again. She felt the gooseflesh rising, the shiver of desire and need and want making her want to scream. Nipples ached with lust, rock hard. She felt them rubbed by the now cool cloth.

He was doing something with the table. He told her to be steady; then she felt her legs part as the table separated. Now he worked each inner thigh, standing between her legs, pressing hard as he slid those incredible hands down, then up, around and back. Down, up, around the edges of her pussy, back down the outside of her legs.

His hands slid up thumbs rubbing hard along her pussy, scraping over her clit. Again her bottom rose, seeking.

His cock sank into her.

“I massage, inside and out,” he said, his voice low and deep. He fucked her then, hard, deeply, buried to the hilt on every thrust.

“Please,” she moaned, not sure if she was asking for more, or for him to stop. He was huge. Her pussy felt incredibly stretched, but he’d relaxed her so much that she accommodated his girth. Every thick thrust hit her cervix, making her whimper. It hurt. And she felt the curling tendrils of an enormous orgasm building.

No answer, just the biting of his hands into her hips, the hard jabs of his cock banging her cunt. She’d never, ever in her life been screwed like this. The orgasm busted free when his hands slid up her torso and squeezed her tits, still covered in the damp facecloth. The cold nubbly fabric, the heat of his cock, the rubbing of his curly crotch hairs against her clit every time he bottomed out sent her spiraling into orgasm. Her eyes rolled up and she gave a guttural cry of pleasure.

He kept fucking.

“Oh…tender…oh oh oh…”

He didn’t stop. She came again. She, who had never had more than one orgasm and sexual partners that came, and left afterwards. Randall kept smacking her fuck hole with his shaft, kept squeezing her tits, pinching her nipples. The thrusts grew faster, and though it didn’t seem possible, deeper.






He growled the last word, grinding his pelvis into hers as if he was trying to insert his entire body into her pussy. She swore she could feel the pulse of his cock as he stiffened, groaning deeply. His cock jerked cum deep into her body.

His hands slid down, around, lifting her ass to take more, to take it all. His thumb, thick and long, pressed against her anus, pushed inside. She yelped, then clenched around him with another incredible, intense orgasm. With a spent sigh, she fainted.


She woke just before midnight, in her own bed. What had happened to her after that last incredible orgasm? She had no idea. Her pussy hurt, tender like her shoulders, her deeply massaged body. Shoving hair out of her face, she rose, and saw the aspirin and water on the table in the kitchen.

Drink this, and take the pills. They’ll ease the soreness. I’ll see you soon, Randy

She moved slowly, loosening up. Tea, a snack would help. Her doorbell chimed. Who the fuck was ringing her door at midnight, she wondered. Grabbing up a blanket, she peered through the peephole.

Opening the door, she spoke.


He pushed inside.

“I’m back, and I’ve brought some friends.”

Every Cough You Make

Well, peeps, we’re starting to rise to the crest of that wave we’ve been warned about here in the Northeast. It’s driven me (and all of us, except for the very, very stupid of us) into Crazy-ville, out of Crazyville, and right back into it.

It’s like…Groundhog Day…loop after endlessly repeating loop.

But somehow, I’m feeling less terrified. Even thinking, last night, that even after The Peak (I’m really thinking about it as a title, a proper name-ish thing), many of us will still get it. Even, many of us will still die from it. (Jezuz, I hope that’s not any kind of prophetic writing there…)

(see? it keeps creeping in, despite my first sentence in that prior paragraph!)

I’m just going to hope that, because of the social distancing (and that is mostly working here) that it really does crest, break and stop (hey, I can dream of positives even while stressing about the negatives!). I’m a curious mix of fearful and positives.

We’re washing our hands.

Stripping out of clothing the moment we come home from the store (or even the single job I have left, even if no one is there when I am).

Showering frequently, Sometimes twice a day, even, if one of has gone out. (Adults…kids are still in the house all the time.)

Tomorrow I’m even making some masks. Something I swore I would not do. Total panic move. But the CDC has spoken and I have to believe that they know what they’re talking about (despite the more than occasional suppression to avoid mass panic).

Today I was outside in the yard, then in, then outside again (if you have dogs, you get that!), and then decided to run and do that one job. I’m on my way there in the car, and I start coughing.

I immediately panic.

I touch my forehead.

I’m hot. Am I hot? OhgodIgotit….

But it’s warm out.

And I’m wearing a flannel shirt.

I get to my job. As I unlock the door and head inside, I get three alerts on my phone. Oh. Shit.

I look at my phone.

“High Pollen alert in your area”

I have three different weather apps. Ergo the three alerts, all saying the same thing.


And I even KNOW it’s my time of the year for allergies…haven’t I been having postnasal drip for a week? (TMI? pshaw!) I have to stop, and laugh at myself.

Paranoid much, nilla?

As Freud might say, sometimes a cough is just a cough.

It’s okay. You can laugh at me now.


PS writing is helping me keep sane (all evidence to the contrary!!) My dears, I’m just going to keep flooding your inboxes I guess! Oh! Didja feel that? Feels like a slut attack is coming on…


“I left a list of everything you’ll need to do to get the kiddo’s in bed, which I know you know, but ..”

“Mom overthinking, I get it, don’t worry, Marissa! Everyone will be tucked up in bed and sleeping right on schedule. And I’ll make sure everyone is up and ready for Nona to pick them up in the morning. Go, you don’t want to miss your ride or your plane!”

“Do I look okay? I’m so nervous!”

“You look amazing! I know that you’ll knock ’em sideways! Congratulations on being picked for the presentation. I can’t wait to hear about it when you get back tomorrow! I’ll swing over after my evening class to hear how it went.”

After hugs and tearful goodbyes from Mitch, the youngest, Marissa pulled her suitcase to the curb and slid inside the waiting sedan. Aimee, arms wrapped around each boy, waved her fingers as the car drove down the treelined street.

“C’mon guys, let’s go inside and see what yummy surprise Mommy left for your snack!”

With the agility of kids, they turned, racing each other to the kitchen. Aimee loved watching the two Miller boys. They were adorable. Plus, the side hustle of watching them whenever their daddy and mom were away definitely helped offset the cost of her textbooks each semester. Sam and his wife both held high positions in their respective companies, and both traveled often. Aimee’s schedule worked perfectly to watch the boys pretty much whenever they needed her. This weekend was going to be quiet, with nothing going on at school, and her homework all caught up. She enjoyed the fun of playing with the two boys. And they had so much fun playing whiffle ball in the backyard after snack, as the sun sank and the dark settled in.

After splashy bathtime, and several stories, she headed downstairs. She debated having a snack, but the cupcakes they’d had earlier had been delicious, and she wasn’t all that hungry. Deciding to snuggle up in Marissa’s bed and watch tv for a while, she put the downstairs to bed, flicking off lights, and checking the doors to be sure they were locked before heading up.

Sliding into the decadent silky sheets, she sighed. Bamboo, she mused, rubbing her hands over the softness. Plumping the pillows, she settled back, and found a rerun of her favorite cop drama. An hour later, she was sound asleep.

Something heavy was on her.

She pushed, moaning. Not really awake, not still asleep, she tried to move whatever was on her.

“Sssooop…” she said, groggily pushing it away.

“No,” said a deep voice. “Tonight I’m going to fuck the everloving fuck out of you, Marissa.”

Her eyes widened. Omg. OMG! It was Mr. Miller.

“Sam…” she began, but his mouth latched onto hers, his tongue thrusting against hers, his lips sucking her.

“Mmmmmmnnnn…” she protested, tossing her head and shoving at him, trying to heave him off of her. Strong hands cuffed her wrists.

“Shhh…don’t wanna wake the boys…” he murmured against her lips, before taking her mouth again.

Her struggles had lifted her short sleep dress, and she felt him. Felt his hairy crotch rubbing against her thighs, shifting to bring his…ohmyfuckinggod his cock was touching her pussy omg omygawd….

In a moment the head of his shaft pressed inside her pussylips, sliding along the slit to find her hole. Grunting and moaning under him, she tried to break the hold his mouth had on hers. In seconds, his hips jabbed sharply up, his cock drove up, and he was inside her. Pumping his ass, he jutted himself deeper, then further into her, until his balls pressed against her anus.

“Mmmmm” he moaned into her mouth. His head lifted, his eyes found hers in the not-quite-dark room.

“I knew you had a tight little cunt, Aimee. And now it’s mine.”