Yes You Can

For dk…..

The heavy leather collar chaffed. Even more so when her wrist cuffs were secured to the sides of her neck by it. The deadweight of arms dragging at it chaffed. Hurt. Reminded her. She was kept. By Him.

The first slap of the cane across her tit ached like the devil. The second slap burned like fire. When she lost count she was dizzy in her pain. He’d seen her sway, and barked at her not to faint. Not yet.

Dear god. Not yet? What the fuck did that mean?

Her tits were bruised, throbbing. The pain washed over  her in waves. She was blind to the world around her, seeing only the blues and greens of the wallpaper wavering before her tear filled eyes. He did not exist…just a motion at the end of pain. She did not exist. Just pain at the end of the motion.

The edges of her vision began to blur further. She saw him move again, kept her eyes on the wall. His hand on her head, pulling her hair, tilting her head back. He stared down into her. Bored those charcoal eyes right into her soul. Kissed her. Hard. Deep. Demanding a response in return.

His denim shirt pressed and rubbed her abused tits. His mouth denied her air. His warmth fused them together. His lips pressed, his tongue swirled, tasting her pain. Tasting her desire. Deeper. Darker. Drowning.

Her lust exploded, even as he applied the clamps to her throbbing nipples. Swollen, turgid with the beating, still He wanted more from her. Pushing her. Forcing her.

“can’t Master” she gasped. “can’t”

“Yes, you can. And…you will. For me.”

“always for you,” she whispered.

The pain ate away her courage. Pushed to the bed, forced face down, she wondered how she could bear what He was giving her.  Trembling, she felt the rough bedspread under her absorbing her tears; arms spread and secured to the far side of the mattress. Laying on her belly fed the pain beast, as her clamped and beaten tits throbbed.  His belt lashed her vulnerable, delicious ass. She tasted her failure. She. Could. Not. Do. This.

She did it anyway.

Pushed over the edge of pain into the dark abyss, she felt herself tumbling, trembling. Complete submission. Completely His. Taking His demands.

The orgasm exploded from her. Unexpected. Unbidden. Pulled and pushed from her body by his rod, by his belt, by his hands. The white-hot heat of pain and passion fused together, illuminating, for just a moment, their matched needs.

taker. Giver.


The Thief part 6.

He pulled the blindfold securely over her eyes. Her tightly trussed arms and torso were kept motionless by his efficient binding, but her feet were kicking up a storm. 

He pulled her upright easily, and led her, protesting and fighting, to the center of the room. Holding the rope securing her hands in his large hand, he threaded it through the ring  that hung just above her head and pulled. Her arms, tied behind her, pulled up by the wrists. She began to bend over to accomodate the pulling on her arms. A long, low moan came from behind her gag as he pulled  her tight. It was an uncomfortable position, to be sure, but he really wanted to make a point with her. This was the best way. A quick, harsh lesson in obedience.

Her ass, bare and vulnerable was exposed to him. He stood behind her, surveying her form. Lovely. And soon to be made fully His. He went to the chair where his suit pants lay, folded neatly. After pulling his belt from the loops, he dug in the front pocket and retrieved his cell phone.

He made a brief phone call, his tone too low for her to hear. Her arms were killing her, and she was so afraid of falling. Bent, exposed, she seethed. And yet, dammit. He turned her the fuck on. He’d played with her, pulling her nipples, teasing her clit, just before he’d bound her wrists and strung her up. Now her cunt was pulsing with need, she was juicy wet, and although she hated to admit it, terrifyingly excited. Lost in thought she didn’t clue in to the faint swish until the white-hot slap registered on her upturned ass.

“MMMMWWWWW!” She screamed through the gag.

Again her ass took his belt. God! Help! Sto-o–p!!! He could not understand her words, buried behind the undies stuffed into her face, sealed with silver tape. Still, she tried. Tried earnestly. Until she broke. The first cry escaped her nose. A broken whimper. Then the tears came. One. Two. Six. Then a torrent as she sobbed.  He pulled the tape from her mouth. Slapped her ass again. He reached forward again, and pulled the undies from within,  and she took a deep, sobbing breath. Her lungs were on fire. Her ass was on fire. God. SHE HURT!  And then he hit her ass again.

She took it. Crying silently, knowing that no sound she made would stop him. She had her pride. The tears she couldn’t hold back, but she would take this. Overcome it.

His fingers found her slit. It was throbbing and wet. Slick and wet. Her cunt hole was leaking every bit as much as her tear filled eyes. He began slowly, slowly filling her cunt with his fingers, parting her swollen lower lips and flitting up and down across her opening. He watched her fluids slip from her, tiny pearls of need. Her moan as he pushed deeper, withdrew, pushed back, withdrew,  told him all he needed to know.

He pulled his fingers from her. They came away with a sucking sound. He wiped her wetness on her  flaming ass cheek.  He pushed into her, hard and throbbing. His cock slid in easily, her cunt making slurping sounds as if swallowing him. His thighs burned from the heat in her ass as he pumped into her swollen slit, and twin moans of pleasure filled the room. Reaching forward, he grabbed her swinging tits, using them to pull himself deeper into her channel. Wetness oozed from her, ran down his balls and her thighs. She was perfection! Pain and pleasure bring her to hot wet need. A need he was more than ready to answer with his own. Beat after beat he rode into her, and she pushed back, grunting with the position, her sore arms, and her aching , begging cunt. The shiver ran from her clit to her neck as she felt her pussy begin to tighten, squeezing down on his cock as her orgasm exploded. He held on for a few more deep, thrusting strokes then his cock clenched and doused her with more wetness.  He stroked her soft belly as his cock poured his release into her, pulled her hips back against him, until he softened and slipped from her. He leaned against her ass for a few minutes, recovering.

He leaned forward, flicked her cheek with a finger. Kissing her neck he murmured “nice”, before pushing away.

 Crossing the room, he took the chair from the desk and pulled it under her so she could rest her shoulders and upper torso upon it.  She heard him digging under the bed but had no idea what he was doing now. Her attention was solely on her burning ass and needy pussy. She felt him attaching something to her ankle. He kicked her legs further apart, then attached something to her other ankle. Now she stood, spread wide, unable to close her legs. Still in a place somewhere between euphoria and floating emptiness, she didn’t at first hear the soft knock on their door.

He let his friend into the room. Watched as Walters eyes lit with amusement and admiration. He watched Walt’s face as he observed the fluids dripping from her onto the floor between her spread legs.

“You’re such a lucky fucker, you know that, right?”  They grinned at each other.

Her head came up at the strange voice. Blindfolded, she saw nothing. As she opened her mouth to protest, to …say anything, he pressed the ball gag deeply into her. Fastened it tightly.

“You’re going to want to bite down on this. That’s why it’s there. I told you that you are mine now. And now I’m making it permanent. Walt will put my tattoo on your ass.  The more you stay steady and cooperate, the faster it will be over. There is one other modification I will be making, and when done, you will be mine and mine alone. ”

“You came here to steal from me. Now, I have stolen you.”

” Seems fair to me,”  she heard the man named Walt say. He was behind her now, and she felt his cold hand on her burning ass.

“Here?” she heard him ask as he wiped his hand down the curve of her cheek.

“No, here,”  and she felt Him smack his hand firmly on her reddened butt…midcheek.

“Can you follow that or do you want to trace it?

It didn’t take much longer than an hour to trace her owners hand on her asscheek. She did scream when his name was carved into the center of the “palm”. 


How fucking appropriate.

The Thief part 5

He slipped into room 309 quietly. He finally found the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the top of the television, half-hidden by an open box of PopTarts. Grinning, he snagged two packs and put them into his shirt pocket, then hung the tag on the hall side of the door.

Quickly and efficiently he went around the room. He opened the lock on the smaller of the two suitcases, found the “secret” compartment. He let out an appreciative whistle at the nearly $10,000. he found hidden within, and shook his head over the diamond engagement ring in the other compartment. So tacky, stealing someones engagement ring. You had to draw a line in the sand somewhere, he thought, and she had most definitely crossed it. He left the money where he found it, pocketed the ring in his trousers.

Hefting the larger suitcase on the bed, he found her clothing, all very nice designer knockoff’s, complete ensembles. Shoes, faux jewels, accessories.  Enough to let him know she’d planned to stay here about a week. In yet another compartment, carefully wrapped was an assortment of gold chains, a few watches, a credit card which read “James Conroy”, two ladies watches, and an assortment of casino chips.

He continued around the room, still not finding what he was seeking. Her purse had contained little beyond her room key, a lipstick and $3.00 in change. Finally, scattered in the pages of the Bible provided by the hotel, he found what he was looking for.

As he tipped it upside down and began fanning the pages, out fell a passport, and two drivers’ licenses. Same picture. Two different names. Picking up the  passport, he compared that to the other two. Honey Maxwell.  He knew the Maxwell name, but doubted she was related. She did have a certain air about her that bespoke breeding, but still. Someone related to the billionaire Maxwell family hardly had to casino-hop to survive, let alone use those casino’s as  a cover for a nice little bit of larceny.

Grabbing up the suitcases, he proceeded back to his room.

Opening the door, he tossed the suitcases into the closet, paying no attention to the struggling bound and gagged woman on the bed.

“One more errand, Honey, and then I’ll be back. You have some ‘splainin’ to do.” he threw over his shoulder  in his best “Ricky Ricardo” voice. He went  out to the hallway, fingering the diamond as he waited for the elevator doors to open. When he arrived in the lobby, he strode purposefully towards the front desk.

First he handed the diamond ring to the clerk.

“Found this in the corner by the window on the  third floor,” he improvised, with a casual smile.

“Figured that someone was missing it real bad..either “he” because he’d not yet proposed, or “she” because she’d said yes and then lost the ring!” 

The desk clerk took the ring, and thanked him. Told him that, in fact, the unlucky, yet hopeful, groom had lost the ring before the proposal, and had actually thought about reporting it stolen, despite him knowing it had been in his pocket.’

“You’ve just made a young man very happy!” said the clerk with a smile as he put down the phone. Indeed, the whoop of joy had come through the ear piece loud and clear.

He smiled, then went on to his next order of business.  Handing over her room card, he told them that “Honey” and he had gotten cozy with each other, and she was now staying with him. Currently, she was tied up in his room with her stuff, and he was helping her out by returning her room key.

The desk clerk, spotting the exuberant young groom coming from the elevator, quickly took the keycard, and cancelled the room for Honey Maxwell. Informing him that her credit card would not be billed for the rest of her stay, he thanked him once more for turning in the ring.

He walked across the lobby, went outside to enjoy the fresh air. Seeing the coffee shop across the street, he went over and bought two coffee’s.  Heading back to the hotel, he chucked to himself.   Hell of a day’s work, and it wasn’t even  lunch time yet! He tapped the breast pocket where the Poptarts crinkled in their silvery wraps. A treat…and then…a treat.

God he loved his work!

Sparkle…HNT 1/28/09

Sometimes, especially now, nearly mid-winter, even nilla gets the blues.

i remember that this is the time of year to be reflective, introspective.

i think about all i am grateful for.

my family. my friends. my home.

my health. my pets. my blogpals.

However…. the most significant

gratitude i have is for Sir.

 His hands. His mouth. His heart. His humor.

His firmness.  His implacable will.

His understanding of my complicated life.

and taking me despite it.

He makes me better.

He makes me sparkle.

Even when i’m blue.


LIfe is too short  not  to sparkle!

Happy HNT!


i am against the wall with his hand on my throat. Our eyes are locked by his command. Even without his hand  holding me, i would be pinned by that gaze. I want to look away, across the room, anywhere but at the wildness i see living behind the face i love.  He is hungry today. And today he will feast on me.

His other hand is on my breast. I feel the heat through my thin shirt. He is impatient with the buttons, and before i can move, he has slipped his hand from my throat to join it’s brother in tearing my blouse apart. My tits fall into his hands and he’s pushing me back into the wall with them cupped hard in his large hands, my nipples rising at the familiar touch, and yet i shiver.

Slowly his face comes to mine, our lips a breath apart. His eyes have pinned me helplessly here. I cannot struggle. I cease to exist except where i see myself reflected there. What is that strange light in my eyes? Whatever it is, he reads it well and his hands begin to squeeze and my flesh is molded by his force. Thumbs come up and pinion my nipples against palms.

Tears rise in my eyes, and i blink them away. As they fall down my face, his eyes track their descent until they fall softly to his forearms. It must have been a magic elixir because the effect on him is electric. He pushes me up as well as back against the wall, and i’m rising to tiptoes as he brings his full lovely mouth to mine and plunders.

This is not a kiss. This is assault. He sucks my tongue into his mouth. So hard i cannot get it back. His teeth bite on it, and i moan and arch up even more. Then his tongue is back in my mouth. I’m being mouth fucked by him and it’s hard and hot and i feel his hungering thirst.  I can’t catch my breath. He’s taken that, too.

I can feel my tits swelling around his fingers. My nipples are hard pebbles, sore already yet craving more of his touch. They press on and up into his grip.

My slacks are wet. Not moist, but drenched. I feel the silk sticking against my thigh where my wetness has caused it to attach to my flesh. The buttons fly off as his impatient fingers pull them away, down, to drop around my ankles. My ass, pushed tight to the wall by his hips, pushes my pelvis forward, seeking the beast’s cock. And i feel it, through his jeans, feel it’s throbbing pulse. My cunt  finds the pulse and matches it, beat for beat. I yearn towards him.

His hands leave my tits, once more,  thread through my hair, yanking my head back. All i see now is the ceiling as he works his teeth down my throat, back up the other side. Nips and hard bites interspersed his journey, until finally his head dips to my tit and finds the nipple. He sucks this as fiercely as he had taken my tongue, but the bite here is harder. I feel my knees buckle and only his body holds mine to the wall.

He’s let go of my hair but still i stare at the ceiling. My body is alive, alight and on fire with a raging need that now matches his. His slut. Trained by him to respond to this…the rise of his beast in  lust-heat.

He steps back, just enough, and i slide to my knees. I worship the cock straining for me.  I know what is expected, and i open his jeans and free him. Take  his hardness into my hands and cradle him for a moment, before kissing the weeping head throbbing visibly before my mouth. I am allowed no more, before he pushes my head to the floor and plunges into me from behind.

i am his. And he never lets me forget it.

Of Lust and Desire

I write texts to Sir all the time. Some of the texts are just wee things, kisses i like to send to nudge at Him, some are quite salacious and naughty. Yeah, it’s a tough job, but this subbie is up to the task!!

The other day i sent him a text that went something like “where desire ends and lust begins”. He liked that line, but queried, “Where does desire end and lust begin?”   and suggested that i make a blog post out of it. Oh! an assignment! I love assignments (yes, i enjoyed school…)

I’ve spent the week since that text, pondering about that chance comment of mine. Does desire end when lust begins?

Or does it deepen and blossom and grow into lust…lust therefore being desire, transformed? Hmm..and does that preclude good old fashioned lust, whereby we see some hottie that appeals on a base animal level and makes us want. On the other hand, perhaps desire is lust transformed. See, i’m still all over the place about this!

for nilla? There are a few people i feel lusty about. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. (hot hunka hunka!). Captain Jean-Luc Picard. (I have a wicked  thing for bald guys …and no, Sir is not bald. Although i have suggested he shave his head…nilla laughs) Mariska Hariguay …c’mon you’d have to be dead not to notice her…, anyway, do i desire these folks? Um, not really.

So, lusty wench that i am, i am stimulated physically when i see some of those hotties on tv. That to me is just lust. I don’t know them. Who they are when they are not playing their character on tv. And that doesn’t stop me from erotic thoughts of any of them. That’s what i’d call “Lust”.

For me, whatever the hell Websters says (and i did not look up the definitions, i’m speaking just for da nilla here)…. lust is pure physical reaction to pheromones, visual stimulations, and whatever other wee cues our body picks up on to say “go fuck that person…i want it” . Talk about objectification!!

Desire involves more. It’s a knowing of something/someone…something that connects away from the purely physical…although that must certainly be a component. I love ice cream. I desire it when i haven’t had it in awhile. And sometimes when i really “need” a “fix”….i lust. I can taste it in my imagination. I feel all the physical sensations…the creamyness of the texture, the sweetness of the flavor, the chill snap waking up my mouth…Lust. A desire for something familiar, something wonderful, something craved deep within. I don’t lust for ‘chunky monkey”…i’ve never tried that flavor. But “chocolate chip cookie dough”? Oh, yes, my favorite. Familiar, desired, and on occasion, lusted for.

I think about how i desire Sir. His mouth on my body, his hands on me, the pain and the pleasure he pulls from me. It’s a yearning. A….deep need within me. I don’t feel it for other Dom’s or even other men. Or women. I get this desire from knowing Him. From talks and texts and physical contact. And Lust? Oh, hell ya!  Sometimes just the way He says something to me on the phone gets my juices running…i feel the shiver of it deep inside of me, a tingle that reverberates down my spine, and deep between my legs. This happens during every conversation. Sometimes i tell Him, sometimes i don’t but …always before the end of any conversation, i’m wet, and wanting and lusty.

In the nilla’s humble opinion, then, lust is just body wanting body. Desire is so much more! Sexual need wrapped in emotion….Love. Familiarity. Need.

nilla desires Sir.

as Martha would say…”it’s a very good thing”….

Sea Witch part 3 (fini)

It was mid-winter before she understood.

The man she’d nursed to health during the late days of summer was long gone. A warrior never stayed long in comfortable surroundings, and there were always wars to be fought.  He left without promises of return, as neither believed in falseness. She had been saddened by the loss of him. His warmth in her bed at night, his humor in her simple ways. His helping hand in gathering wood for heating the cottage in the cold months ahead, when storms would rake up the coastline, and toss waves and sand against her sanctuary.  When she awoke that autumn day, snow was spitting from a leaden sky, the hearthfire was burning brightly and  a small, handcarved  wooden bracelet lay at her place on the table in the gathering room. She knew then he had gone.

Routine comforted her. Harvesting the garden, hanging her herbs, creating her potions and putting up provender for the dark months kept her busy until now.

The snow had blown and piled by her garden wall, head high in places. She had trekked to the water’s edge, but her sea lover was not near. She turned to go back to her cottage when the vertigo hit her. Falling to her knees, she retched violently.  After a time, the feelings passed, and she rose unsteadily to her feet, and made her way home.

No.    It could not be.

Yet, as one day rolled into another, she watched her belly grow big and round with child.  She knew by mid-Spring she would be delivered. She shivered, and not with cold. Alone, giving birth to a child. How would she manage? Who would help her? The townsfolk never came here; the new road bypassed this jut of land completely. She had always preferred that, but now, alone, she was frightened for the first time of her isolation.

Again, routine became her salvation. Beating the dampened sea-grasses to release the rough fibrous insides, she twisted and rinsed them until the fiber was maleable. This  she spun into a coarse thread, eventually making spools and spools to be woven into the fabric for her clothing. It was a long, tedious project, and kept her mind occupied when panic threatened.

Again and again she went to the sea, but he never responded to her calls.  She recalled their last, violent encounter, the same night her human lover had taken her for the first time. Perhaps that had been his way of saying goodbye, and she was truly alone.

Still, she had the sense of him biding his time. For what, she did not know. There was a feeling in the air, and unless she cast a circle for clarity, she would be kept in the dark.

 And yet.

The fear of knowing was almost as bad as the fear of not knowing. Putting it off for today. Always to be done tomorrow. She, who never procrastinated, refused to move forward on this one thing.

The days grew perceptibly longer, her belly grew rounder, and simple things began to take on a special onus. Bending was nearly impossible, so great was her girth. Sleep?  Impossible.  She was uncomfortable, cranky, irritible.

The heatwave  came one moon cycle  after the vernal equinox, and  was a mixed blessing. The heat sapped her energy. For several days she was lethargic, sitting or laying on the garden bench was all she could muster energy for.  On the third day, she woke feeling refreshed, energized. Rising quickly, she threw open all the windows and doors to the cottage, airing out a winters worth of musk and gloom. The cleaning frenzy came on her unexpectedly, and bedlinens hung in the branches of the flowering apple tree, curtains waved from gleaming windows, and by days end, every inch of the little house was tidy and fresh.

Looking around, seeing nothing more that needed doing, she peeled off her sweat stained clothing, leaving the pile by the door. She walked to the ocean, naked but for the wooden bracelet her warrior had left her, and slipped into the chill of the water. She felt like she had come home again. Warm sun on her back, cool water on her legs and lapping at her distended belly,  sand smooth beneath her feet.

Slowly, taking it inch by inch, she lowered herself into the cold and briny water. As it closed over her head, she felt her hair floating like a cloud around her. The pressure in her back eased, and the feeling of weightlessness was a wonderful relief from the burden of hefting around her enormous belly. Head breaking the surface of the water, she turned to face the shore, to feel the sun on her face. Eyes closed, she bobbed there, home in the sea.

The first touch of the tentacle caused her to gasp. He was here! The tentacles twined around her recumbent body, softly caressing her breasts,  now huge  with milk for her coming child. She felt the maw on her back, sliding around her to cup her hip, the lips sluicing around her, tasting her until it came to the mound of her belly. Slowly, the maw sucked her belly inside of it. The tickling was both sensual and silly. She drew her hands across the tentacles, touching for the first time, her sea lovers skin, rather than just succumbing to his touch.

Tentacles touched her face, mouth, eyes, ears, throat. Such was the sweet feeling on her belly from the gentle suckling that she missed the first clenching ripple.

The maw slipped from her belly to her cunt, and she felt a gentle pull as the sucking resumed. A slender tentacle from the inside of the maw entered her, stroking her inner walls, probing at her cervix. She felt it slide up and inside. A feeling of something moving inside her caused her to look…she could see the slim arm of the tentacle against her swollen belly. It was inside her…touching her baby!

The first hard cramp came as soon as the tentacle withdrew. She was held securely in her sea lovers tentacle-arms, cradled, soothed as wave after wave of pain crashed against her. The urge to push was forestalled by one tentacle across her mons. She heard the soft   ‘no’   deep in her head.  Again and again cramps hit her, and she felt torn apart by the fury of them. Finally the arm across her pussy was withdrawn, and came to wrap around her belly above the child. She felt the squeeze as it tightened slowly, and the need to push was finally approved.

yes, now

She bore down with a fierceness that was so unlike her. The growl coming from her mouth was more animal than woman.


She gasped through the release of pain, then again it tore across her belly…

“push, push”

and with a pop, she felt something emerge from between her legs. A pause. A breath. Repeat.

The sound of a babies wail filled the now dusky sky. Cradled tenderly in a tentacle, she was offered to her mother. As she took the child in her arms, the maw returned to her womansplace, and eased the afterbirth from her. Raising the babe to suckle, she felt overwhelmed, tired but energized at the same time.

As she left the ocean, she looked back to where he waited just below the surface.

Return to me”

She smiled. She would indeed return to him. She looked down at the child in her arms. Greeted with eyes of deepest sea-green, skin as white as the tentacles that had brought her into the world, they gazed at each other. Mother and daughter.

The legacy continued.

Epi 1.

Beneath the cool spring waters, he lay in repose, watching the witch-woman and the babe. He raised an arm to his eye, examined the wooden bracelet. If he could have snorted in disdain, he certainly would have. Carelessly he floated the disk in the water before him, then, grasping it firmly, he headed out to sea.

On an island far away, a ragged, unshaven man lay in a hut made of woven branches. He rose from his nights rest to pace the shoreline, scanning to see what may have washed up in the night. Halfway through his journey, he spied it. A round wooden bracelet. It was above the high tide line, and how this had come to be here was as much a mystery as how he himself had come to be here. All he truly remembered was going to the waters edge after leaving this bracelet at his woman’s table. He’d woken early, and thought to take a brief wash before returning to the cottage. He’d felt something choking him, and he lapsed into unconsciousness. When he woke, he was here. Alone.

Epi 2.

It was her daughters first birthday. Taking the toddlers hand, she walked her slowly to the beach. She listened for him, but rather than him, she found a coarse-woven bag made of a seaweed that grew far too deep to have come from these shores. As she lifted the bag, she saw that it was filled with oysters! Large, meaty ones, good for making a hearty stew. Large oysters such as these  she never found here, for as with the seaweed, these grew deep within the ocean.

It was later, cracking the oysters to begin the stewing, that  she found the first pearl.

The Thief pt. 4

“Where’s your stuff?”

His voice, gruff with fatigue, growled into her ear  through the darkness of the room. He had finished his dinner, she had finished blowing him, and then he’d pulled her up on the bed, still bound at the wrists. He secured her feet together, tight. Uncomfortably tight. There was no way she could move off the bed and get anywhere…except by rolling. Since she couldn’t open the door, that was pretty futile.

He’d warned her about making noise, or she would find her mouth gagged yet again. The ballgag was uncomfortable enough, and messy enough to make her nod “okay”. Likewise,  his alternative gag, the washcloth and tape,was just terrifying.  What if she swallowed the washcloth in her sleep. He wouldn’t care if she died. After all, he’d caught her in the act of burgluring   his room.

She must have dozed, because his voice, when it came,  startled her. The room was pitch dark, but his body was warm behind her.  She was naked, having had her dress cut off earlier, so his body heat was welcome. He kept the room fairly chilly. She felt her nipples rise at the faint eddy of air moving in the room. That was the only reason, and had nothing to do with him. His arms around her were tight as restraints but also warm. Strong. He was very strong. He’d hauled her around the room like she weighed nothing at all. She was not attracted to him. Much.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, little girl,” his voice was colder now. She felt the rasp of a day’s beard growth against her neck where he leaned on her.

“What stuff” she whispered, remembering his admonishment to be quiet.

“Listen, slut, I know you have a room here. No woman traipsed around hotels without a purse and yet, you had  none in the lobby, nor one now. Where are you keeping your haul, your tools, and your clothing?”

She was quiet, thinking fast. If he found her room, he’d likely turn her in. She’d had a good 3 days here, jewelery, cash, and the like stashed in  her locked bags in her room. Damn him!  She moaned as he pinched her nipple firmly. Kept squeezing. She pushed back against him, felt his cock hardening against her ass. The pain in her already sore nipples was intense and she began talking fast.

“I-i keep my handbag in the hotel lobby safe…my keycard is in there. But I can’t go get it now because you ruined my dress. ”

He grunted a response, still squeezing her nipple.

“Please,” she gasped, “oh OW!” and her voice squealed louder as she felt the edge of his thumbnail digging into her. “Okay, okay, room 309!” She moaned in relief when his hand left her nipple.

“Listen,” she whispered, “if you get me a dress or something to wear, I’ll go down to the lobby, and get the keycard and bring it to you, okay? Then I’ll just disappear and you’ll never have to see me again. Keep the stuff you find in my room. Deal?”

She craned her head back to try to look at him, but his face was lost in the darkness. His hand rubbed up and down on her hip, occasionally sliding around to her belly and ass. She didn’t welcome the need that was building inside of her, not one bit. No.

“And then you’ll call the cops and I get busted for your thievery? I think not.” He replied and she heard the humor in his voice. He slapped her ass, firmly, then she felt him rising from the bed. The lamp across the room snapped on, and the dim illumination showed him, his cock rising before him, and his beautiful ass. Damn that man. Why did he have to be so powerfully attractive. And so fucking dominating.  She hated that. Didn’t she?  Ignoring him for the moment, she mused on her reactions to him manhandling her. She’d never been all that horny before, she could take or leave sex, frankly. But he’d already given her several body shaking orgasms, something no other lover had ever managed to do. Not that he was her lover. He was a Bastard. With a capitol B!

He came back to the bed, sitting facing her. He started talking as he began releasing her hands.

“You will wear this. Only this. I think a little humiliation is in order, and frankly it will amuse me no end to see you walking through the lobby in my tee-shirt. ” She stared at him in horror. “Maybe I’ll let you keep the heels on. That would be a nice touch. All tousled like you are, you look like you’ve been completely fucked. Which you have, and in every sense of the word. You’ll ask for your purse, and then we’ll slowly exit from the lobby. Head on up to your room. See what you have up there, little girl.”

He held out his shirt to her. It wasn’t oversized as some men preferred, and as he released her legs and helped her to stand, she could feel the hem of it barely grazing her upper thighs.

“I can’t go into the lobby like this!” she protested.

“Prefer just the heels then?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. She looked at the floor, knowing that he would make her do just that. She shook her head, heard his chuckle. Fucking Bastard. She fumed silently. His fist pulled a handful of hair, raising her face.

“Be a good girl. No pouting, No sign that you’re in distress. Or I will have to report that you came into my room, unannounced. And you’ll be at the police station in that outfit. ”

She stared at his amused face, glared for a moment, then dropped her gaze. He shook her head with his fist. She winced at the pain of her pulled hair, then sullenly, quietly said “okay”. That was the best he was going to get out of her, he knew. That was okay, he’d made his point. He released her, then walked across the room and tossed her shoes at her. While she fastened them on, he pulled on his jeans.

The entered the lobby, a striking couple, doubly so because of their attire. She, ruffled, mussed clad in a  mans white tee-shirt, and heels, he in jeans, no shoes, no sox, no shirt. She charmed the desk clerk by admitting she’d forgotten all about her purse in her hasty departure, and the young man hastily swallowed her story, oogling the nipples that pressed against the thin shirt. He returned with her purse, and was treated to a lovely view of her reddened ass as the man , hand pressed against her lower back, coyly raised the back hem. He watched her gorgeous butt until the elevator doors closed.

Some guys had all the luck. So they got all the fuck. The desk clerk went back to his paperwork. But he was smiling.

Sea Witch part 2

She walked along the edge, where water met sand. Clearing her mind,  breathing in the cool evening air. Absently her mind catalogued what she saw as she passed; the sea-grass was near harvestable, there were pieces of lumber by the high tide line to  collect tomorrow for the garden bench she needed to build, and the rose hips were full and lush this year.  She anticipated the fall when she could harvest them, making a wonderful tisane to ease her winter blues.

She stepped over the strange marks in the sand before fully realizing their import…drag marks. Something big had fallen and been dragged into the surf.  She stared out into the  calm waters. Nothing stirred as night began cupping the water, edging ever closer to her.  Turning away, she looked up the beach. Ten, fifteen, thirty steps up she found it. A pool of nearly dried blood. Hoofprints. Man tracks.

Looking back towards the ocean, she surmised that his horse had been injured, or he was. Somehow the injured horse had been led, or fallen nearby. And her lover had feasted well.

Had it eaten  the horse and the  man?

Cautious now, she headed for her little cottage. The door was open, yet she knew she had closed it tight…she had once spent endless hours coaxing a skunk from within when she hadn’t closed it completely, and had vowed to never make that mistake again. She hadn’t. And yet, the door was unmistakably open.

Slowly she edged into the dimness of her gathering room. The fire was down, and barely lit that side of the room. As she crossed towards it, a strong arm wrapped around her throat, a second around her waist. She stiffened, then relaxed into the grip. Wild things sensed fear. She would stay calm, despite her heart beating wildly beneath  her breast.

“Who are you?” came his gruff voice.

“A woman.” she responded in her softest tone.

The arm around her tightened, a hand came to find and fondle her tit, pinching at the nipple that hardened for the first time at a man’s touch. A ‘mmmmmm’-ing noise came from him, more of a rumble than pleasure, but she was unschooled in the ways of men.

“Nice tit.”

What did she say to that? But before she could respond, she was pushed away, and spun about. She looked into deep blue eyes, a rough face grizzled with several day’s beard growth, mistrust written all over his face. She placed her arms out to the sides, palms up.  She slowly backed up, and turned to freshen the fire. He followed.  Took her chin in his hands, examined her face.

Sea green eyes stared calmly back at him, while her black as night hair curled fetchingly around her face, and cascaded down her back, nearly covering her well-rounded ass.  Full breasts pushed against her coarse-woven top, the soft swells a creamy contrast to the rough fabric.  She had seen him wince when  he reached for her chin.

“You’re hurt. I can heal that, if you dare let a woman such as I touch you.” This was a near-taunt, and had the desired effect. He drew back, brows furrowed. As he submitted to her ministrations, he continued to look at  her.

“I will take you to my bed.” He pronounced.

“You will sleep.” she responded.

“After.” he replied pulling her towards where he lay on her bed.


When the moon rose over the water, she heard the call in her head.  She disengaged herself from the arms of the man, her first human lover. She felt  an ache in her cunt from his cock, so different from her sea lover. The sea was cool, and slippery, and His was hot, so hot, throbbing and silky.  Her nipples rose in the chill of the air, but unerringly, she made her way to the water, lost in thought.

Rarely had he summoned her when it was not her moonblood time. Yet, here he was, and she shivered as his cool tentacles wrapped around her legs, crawled up her body, circled her breasts, raspy and sore from her lover’s beard.  The sea creature pulled her hard from her feet, and she gasped as the maw attacked her swollen cunt. The tentacles which usually were so lover like, giving her passion and fulfillment, whipped at her flesh, painfully squeezing her breasts, the very tips of the tentacles pinching her nipples harder than they ever had before. The grip was punishing, hurtful, and for the first time she felt fear, and tried to pull away.

He would have none of it. The maw sucked at her exposed womanflesh, driving her up and over into passion like wildfire. She felt like she had been stung by a rayfish, so fierce and brutal was his attack on her. The thrusting was not slow, letting her adapt to the size of the beast, not caring as was his wont.

This was nothing short of rape, and her anus and pussy bore the brunt of the assaulting creature. Her legs were pulled apart so hard she feared she would be ripped in two. The sucking was so  hard she felt he would suck her inside out. The pull on her clit was making her moan with pain…and yet behind the pain, just behind it, was a dark, deep lust, coiling within her. As the two appendages continued to batter her, one buried deeply in her ass, the other thrusting hard  in her pussy, she began bucking, seeking more, still more. Her moans were louder now, not cries of pain, but pure, animal lust. As her orgasm flooded her, she arched, rigid in the beast’s grasp, feeling his probing organs swell and fill her fuller than ever before. Twin geysers of his spray filled her, a  thick and foamy release. This had never happened to her before! She felt bloated with it. Her breasts throbbed in time with the squeezing on them, the tentacles pulled hard  on her nipples, and for one moment, she feared her death at his desire was a foretold conclusion. She felt the anger in him swell, then, with a final surge and gush, his release seemed to calm him.

She was his.

As it was ordained.

Glow: Flash Fiction Friday

Thanks to sephani for hostessing this week. FFF is the creation of Spanky, where a photo captures a sexy moment…and we writers get to imagineer the story. Go to sephi’s blog “Turn the Paige” (it’s in the blogroll on the right!) for the complete list of this weeks authors and see all the different views a photo can create…nilla

He had a thing for latex and leather. This day, latex ruled. He zipped her into the seductive body suit, pulling the tight sleeves just so, fitting it to her tight body, drawing it in, admiring how it sluiced down her body, except for her gorgeous tits. Free, full, luscious fruits, he adored how they were highlighted by the  slickness of the black garment. For her legs, clear latex stockings. And the heels, oh Gods the heels. Tall, impossibly tall, she had complained to him.

“It’s okay. You won’t be walking in them” he responded, with a sly wink. She blushed.

Posed in the window, guilded by the rosy glow of sunset, she was his latex kitten, waking for play.