NSFW (3) at Halloween Munch (3)

this is verrah long, likely  my single longest “episode”…i hope you enjoy it! Blessed Samhain, all! ~n~

Cassie stood at the back of the crowd gathered near the ropeworkers corner. She was endlessly fascinated at how a simple coil of rope could be transformed into such works of beautiful restraint. The placement of knots, of loops, how it flowed over the shoulders or around the breasts, up through the pussy, or around the knees…all excited and stimulated her.

She felt a light touch on her shoulder, then a soft voice in her ear.

“Hey Cassie…”

She turned. “Ail!”  She hugged her friend, hard.

“Ali, wow. It’s so gooood to see you. And WoW!”

She held her friend at arm’s length, taking in her tight-fitting emerald corset, a strip of black lace floating just at the top, helping her nipples play hide-n-seek. Her legs were clad in fishnet stockings, and on her feet, a pair of stiletto’s so high it was a marvel Ali could move in them. Yet, she was grace personified, not the klutz that Cassie knew herself to be.

“Uber- sexay, sweetie!”

“Thanks, chica, you’re looking hawt yourself. Where is Sir P?” Ali looked around the crowd, not seeing her friends tall, muscular Sir.

“He got a last-minute call from Istanbul, accent on the bull!” Cassie giggled at her own humor, Ali smiling.

Then she frowned.

“He left you *alone* Cassie? After the last time…”  her voice trailed off, worry for her friend evident in her tone.

“i’m being careful, Al, and Mistress Mal and slave Mack are kind of keeping an eye on me, too. i’ll be fine, promise. Besides, you’re here now….”

“i’m going trolling.” She swallowed the nerves that thought evoked. “i need sex, Cassie. Something rough and tumble and ooie and gooie and spanking and taken. That’s it. i just want to be taken. Used. Drained.”

“Well, be careful with that, okay? You know what they say, there’s one in every crowd, and with this being so open to the wider D/s community, we don’t know everyone here. I think they sent invites to 3 or 4 of the other groups…” Cassie let her voice trail off, as she looked around the club.

“and fer gawds sake, Al, it’s Halloweeeen” her voice grew warbly as she attempted her best ‘spook’ voice, then returned to normal. “and you know how much kookier that can make people.”

The crowd sighed almost as one, and Ali and Cassie turned to look at the woman being bound. Cassie felt her cunt clench. The girl’s tits were tightly bound now, and purpling. The rope guy pinched her swollen nipples and pulled her forward, and up, until she rose on her toes. His mouth captured hers in a vicious kiss as his fingers continued to pull on her distended nipples. A minute passed, as everything but the scene in front of her faded away. When  he released all three, the gasp from the girl was audible, a gulping of air, and the sudden shock of pain in her tits as he pulled his fingers free without relaxing His grip.

Cassie thought her legs would buckle at the incredibly erotic sight.

When she turned to speak again, Ali was gone.


Ali had to leave the rope scene…she was already feeling hyper-sexually stimulated. When the sub’s Dom took her deep into that kiss…it evolked the deepest envy in her. She was ashamed, yet…why not? Why shouldn’t she feel a bit jealous? She was lonely, and it had been forever since she’d had sex, forever since a Dom had sent her to her knees and shoved His cock down her throat.

She almost, almost drifted off in fantasy, but a hand upon her shoulder brought her back to reality.

“Don’t turn around.”

The voice was deep, almost familiar. The grip on her shoulder was firm. Not painful, but commanding.

“Why? You don’t own me!” she replied her tone just shy of surly. Yet, she continued to face forward, subtly accepting the hand, and the command.

She began an inner dialog with herself. Why the fuck had she said that? Well, why the fuck not? Geezbeezuz. That was no way to get a Dom, being rude? He wasn’t her Dom, for all she knew He was a ..a.. she sighed.  she knew, though. She knew He was a Dom. She felt the firmness in his hand on her, she felt the surety He exuded. She felt the press of His body against her back, the radiant heat of Man.  His  woodsy scent teased at a memory, but she simply couldn’t place it.

“True. Still, would you spoil My pleasure in the view?”

She tensed, then took a deep breath, forgetting for a moment that doing so would raise her tits to near spilling out of her corset.

The low hmmmmm He let out reminded her, and she exhaled fast. She felt her pulse beating faster, her pussy reacting to the scent of Him, began to feel the magnetic force of this Dom. Gods it had been a long time. She had promised herself to not fall under the spell of the first Dom she saw…though technically she hadn’t *seen* Him…she smiled at her whimsy.

“Thank You, Sir,”  she murmured at last.

“You can call Me Doctor Sir tonight. And you, fair maiden?”

Ali swallowed, took another deep breath, her tits once more drawing an appreciative growl from behind her left shoulder.

“i am Ali, Sir…umm, Doctor Sir.” she smiled, still facing foward. The curiosity was gnawing at her. She wanted to see if the face matched the voice. The voice was smooth, rich, cultured. Like rich dark coffee with a hint of chocolate.

He stepped around her. All she could see was His eyes. Hair, face all covered in doctor garb. Surgical masks hid quite a bit, and the funny eyeglasses with the bushy brows and big nose hid the rest of Him. All she knew for certain was that His eyes were hazel.

“Will you walk with me some, Ali? We can talk a bit, and if you like, perhaps play a bit?”

At her nod, His gaze slipped down to take in the view from the front. “Damn you have fine tits, m’dear!”She blushed. His hand slid down her shoulder, taking her slender wrist in His hand. He gave a gentle tug, and she was led off into the throng.


Cassie’s phone vibed against the side of her breast. It had to be Sir P. She smiled as she read his short, to the point message”

I’ll be coming soon…as will you...”

She heard the sound of feet behind her and moved to get out of their way. She never had a moment to react when the person moved to her front and zapped the violet wand against her tit, nor, when she opened her mouth to protest, could she avoid the ballgag that someone else from behind her slid between her lips.

A hood was thrown over her face, and she was quickly, efficiently hogtied.

“And that is how you kidnap a sub,” she heard, as the crowd around her erupted in randy cheers, hoots, and hand clapping.

“oh fuck,” thought  Cassie. “Sir P is going to be soooooo annoyed that i managed to get into trouble. Again.”

Her heart beat faster when she heard the opening of a door, and the accompanying thud of it shutting. The hands that had carried her laid her down on a soft surface, but no one spoke. Hands worked to untie her hogtie, but her ankles remained bound. She was flipped onto her back, and quickly, her wrists were pulled behind her knees, and tied. Her pussy and ass were now fully exposed, her tightly-bound legs were up in the air over her body, and kept there by her equally tightly bound wrists. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see, and felt more than a flurry of panic when she heard an unmistakable sound next to the bed.

She heard the sound of a zipper.

“Going down…”

and the snort of laughter from the other side of the room.  She heard footsteps approaching her, tried not to tense, but to breath, slowly.

A finger ran around the front of her corset, lifting it just enough to let her bounteous tits spring free. Her right nipple was pinched, and she moaned at the thrill of pain that arrowed straight to her pussy.

She shook her head no.

Her other nipple was captured, held firm, squeezed. She moaned again, but continued to shake her head.

“Looks like the slut is resisting your charm!” The voice came from the area where she’d heard the zipper. Two. There were two of them. A shudder traveled from her pussy to her tits. One of her hottest, most forbidden fantasies. To be taken by two men, one her Dom, another, someone He was sharing her service with.

She heard ‘zipper voice’ cross the room, felt hands caressing her ample bottom.

“She’s got a fantaaaastic ass,” He said, his fingers rubbing around the smooth shape of one cheek. “I do love a nice big, round butt.”

The man currently attempting to pull her nipples off her tits didn’t speak but she felt some sort of communication had happened, for zipper guy laughed.


A finger prodded at her asshole.

She shook her head vehemently. The prodding became pushing. Seriously intent pushing. She yelped around the gag when his finger slid up into her hole.

“Aaaah, fucking tight, man, fucking tight ass!” The finger sawed in and out of her hole, fucking her back door, each thrust pushing deeper, deeper. He wiggled it, stretching her rectum, swirling it round and round.

Gawd…it stopped hurting, and sent all kinds of sparkly sensations to her pussy. How the fuck did that work? Her Master had not fucked her ass, it had been one of her few limits, and he had allowed it to stay, though he had promised that he would wear her down.

Her nipples hurt like fuck. She tried begging around the gag in her mouth. It didn’t sound like any language she had ever uttered before, but apparently He understood, because he released her tits. And then slapped them. OH! Hurt hurt so fucking good…

“Masterrrrrr” she groaned around the gag. How she needed her Master to find her. These two were working at all her weaknesses. Gawd gawd…

The hood was pulled from her face.  She looked up into the face of her Master!

“Surprise, little one. Time to make one of your naughty fantasies come true…”


Ali and Dr. Sir made the rounds, stopping to observe  another rope demo, a suspension this time,  then moving on, they watched a demonstration of flogging instruments, which Ali found quite compelling. The flogger made of chains held her attention, and she had gasped when the Sir doing the demo landed a solid series of blows upon His sub’s exposed ass. The patterning was beautiful, and judging by the amount of wetness running down her thighs, was not terribly unpleasant to Her.

Eventually the demo ended, and Dr. Sir took her wrist once more, and pulled her along until they came to an open area, where there was another of those small raised daises.  Upon it were multiple small tables, and a bench which looked just long enough for a person to lay upon. There was a small sign upon one  table, with a little clock drawn on it.

“We’re just in time.” He said, glancing at his watch.

“In time?” Ali asked, curious. “What’s happening here, Dr. Sir?”

He smiled. She could see the crinkling of His beautiful eyes.

“We are, if you will allow Me the pleasure, little one.”

She looked up at Him, not understanding fully.

“I’m giving a wax demo here in 30 minutes, Ali. I need to set up my candles, and find a live model. A sub who is interested in working with wax, working with me. It’s very hot.”

She laughed at his double entendre. She thought about it. She’d enjoyed His comments as they had mingled. He knew quite interesting facts and facets of all manner of D/s things, and their conversation had flowed easily.

Dammit. She liked Him. She was becoming quite turned on by Him. Not that it would take much considering her needs just now. But …what did she really have to lose at this point.

She drew a deep breath, and an appreciatively raised eyebrow from Him.

“Yes, Sir…um…Dr. Sir, i’d be thrilled to sub to You for Your demonstration.”

He enlisted her help in unpacking and placing the candles on the tables.  They worked well together, and it wasn’t long before He was lighting them. She spread the oilcloth sheet he had given her, as He had directed, on the wooden bench.  Finished, she  sat and watched Him. That nagging sense of familiarity struck her again, and she frowned a bit, staring at His back, without really seeing Him at all.

Where had she seen Him before?

He turned and caught her frown.

“What, sub? Do these scrubs make my ass look big?”

She refocused on Him, and giggled. “No Sir. It’s… well…um…”

“Go on Ali, say what’s on your mind.”

“i ….i feel like i know You somehow. i know it’s silly, i know i haven’t been here in a long time, but just somehow…” her voice trailed off.

She watched in amazement as He removed the silly glasses, unhooked the surgical mask, and pulled off the hat.

It was Zach!

She stared at Him, mouth agape. He came across to her, closed her mouth with His index finger. He bent down and looking her in the eyes, quirked His brows in an unspoken question.

She smiled.


Not suitable for work, maybe.

But here at the Halloween Munch, it seemed all things were possible.


It carried a wealth of meaning. There would be time to delve into all those meanings, and all that they wanted to explore together…but for now, there were candles burning brightly.

Hot wax. Hot munch. Hot sex.


“it was ZACH!” Ali giggled into the phone.

“no way…not fantasy Zach from work??” Cassie gasped at the other end.

Both were home, recovering from the munch. Both, they would soon discover, were similarly sore, similarly marked with blotches of red, blue, black marks. And both had Sirs’ in their showers, singing.

It was going to be a grrrreat Monday!


…..my first attempt to combine two disparate stories into one final denouement…do take a moment and let me know what you think….

Bad Slave? (3)


The sound of the plastic covering the table was loud in her ears.


The tattoo artist had hold of her upper arms as he pulled her forward towards the end of the table. A padded face-rest, similar to the ones found in a massage studio, was there, also wrapped  in plastic. A center hole for her face allowed her to breathe freely, but she was unprepared for the strap that circled her neck, and the other over the crown of her head that held her tightly to the device.

Her fresh clitoral piercing throbbed painfully as her pussy was pressed into the surface of the table as she lay on her belly.

Her throbbing was only slightly less noticeable than that of her racing heart.

What the fuck was going on here?

She heard them talking over her prone body. Then their hands, moving up from the nape of her neck.

“Here.” her Master’s voice was just to her right. His hand shoveled away the hair from her neck, parting it and exposing the hollow at the base of her skull. His finger came to rest right at the very top of that concave dip.

“hmmmm, challenging me today are you?” She heard the smile in the voice of the tattoo artist.

“Her hair must cover the spot adequately when you’re done.” Master spoke with confidence.

“no problem, I’ll shave this part here,”

His voice continued but she lost the thread of it…SHAVE??? What? She swallowed hard. The trembling increased until she shivered against His hand.

His fist curled tight around the hank of hair under his palm.

She gasped at the sudden pain, but the powerful pull of His ownership settled her racing heart, calming her in an instant.

She felt hands parting her hair, clipping it in place, then heard the unmistakable snick of scissors. Her heart ratcheted up a few notches.



She shivered, unable to move her head, and unwilling to move her body. She felt cool air against suddenly shortened locks.

“Now I’ll use these to get it close, then the razor to make it nice and smooth.”

She whimpered, small, but He heard it.

“Do you trust your Owner?”

“yes Master” her voice was tiny, child-like in its quiver. Her fear was palpable, yet she was not crying for release.

She heard and felt the thin headed razor trimming what felt like a big section of hair from the base of her head. A small chunk of her long locks fell softly, tickling her neck, then landed in a curled heap on the floor at the edge of her vision. She stared at that long, lost lock for a long time, before closing her eyes and giving herself completely to Him.

It wasn’t easy.

But the trust was there. Built over minutes turned to hours, hours turned to weeks, weeks turned into years. She had given Him so much of herself, her trust had never wavered. But never had she fully given him herself in completeness.

Until now.

She had wobbled a bit at times, like a six-year old on training wheels, but He had worked hard to build her in the image He desired. It was what she had always needed, wanted, craved.

The scrape of the small blade against her flesh was cold, and sounded loud in her head.



A finger slid around the spot, testing it for strays. She heard the rattle of paper.

“This is your mark, then?”

He must have nodded, for the room was silent, but the hissing hum of the tattoo machine suddenly filled the room. She knew that sound. Hadn’t she screeched her way through a small heart tat on her right tit when she was 20? She thought she would be okay.

It. Hurt. Like. Holy. Fuck.

Now she knew why her head was strapped in place, because if she had been able to, she would have leapt from the table, grabbed that fucking machine, and shoved it up the tattoo guys skinny ass!!

She gritted her teeth and growled like a woman in transition. In a way, she supposed in the last rational, thinking part of her brain,(the part not focusing on the feeling that the needle was working its way through her flesh and into her skull,) she was in transition.

Birthing into a new slave. Shedding her old persona. Being transformed, fully, as His.

But. It. Still. FUCKING. Hurt.

Like. Holy. Fuck. ing. Hell.

She gritted harder, grunting at a particularly painful section, and felt His hand caressing her lower back, her ass. His hand slipped under her skirt to caress the smooth flesh of her ass, and slip down through her slit.

Her still verrrrrry wet slit.

After 75 hours, it was done.  Okay, it was more like 75 minutes, but it sure as fuck *felt* like 75 hours.

Now she was aching, hurting, head to cunt. And yet, she had taken this for Him. In part as a punishment, for her doubt. But more, as an outward marking to forestall any further feelings of disattachment.

She was so fucking afraid of being disattached.

She was gently raised from the torture table. Some may call it a tat bench, but forevermore, to her it was a torture device. They gave her juice, and Master fed her a bit of His leftover donut. Once she was steady, she was positioned in front of the 3-paneled mirror to see his work.

A small bit of hair, certainly  not much more than an inch-and-a-half square was gone, and underneath, a yin-yang tattoo. Inside, a star, His personal symbol, and two smaller stars, one all white, the other, split.

“This is you.” He pointed to the star half black, half white. “You in your vanilla world, but also coexisting in Mine.”

She breathed in those words, deeply touched by the symbolism. Yin yang symbolism was powerful in and of itself, but now it was made even more so by His choice of design.


Always His.

special thanks to brookepuppy and her master for the inspiration for this story. puppy is *not* a bad slave (hence the question mark), but like every one of us, has struggled. As have i. As i imagine we all have, from time to time…i hope *this* story— does some justice to *theirs*… ~n~

Bad Slave ? (2)

It wasn’t the first time He had displayed her to others. It was, however, the first time He had done so out of “play space” and she was nervous, trembling, and ashamed that she was becoming turned on.

She lay on the table, legs bound to stirrups, and her skirt hiked up to her waist, her pussy and ass on full display to the tattoo artist. She lay back with her eyes closed, trying to maintain her breathing. If she focused for even one moment on the two men who were now inspecting and touching her cunt, she would begin to panic, and that would not be the way to best represent Him.

The touches were clinical, yet oddly thrilling. She felt the throbbing deep inside her loins, the humiliation of being open, exposed, examined by another leaving her horribly embarrassed…

(gawd why oh why did it make her so fucking hot?)

A finger slid inside her.

“You are such a little slut, aren’t you?” Her Master’s voice was filled with amusement. He understood her, knew her inside and out. His demands on her always served His purpose, and yet, He used those demands to feed the desires that secretly gnawed at her soul.

She was such a naughty girl.

To the outside world, a respectable citizen, wife, parent, employee. Paid her bills on time, worked at her church when called upon, happy, nurturing, and competent.

But He had only to look at her with that expression on His face, that “I know what you *really* are” look, even from across a crowded room, and her face would flush, her pussy would swell, and wet.

A gloved hand moved around her pussy lips.

“Ready?” The artist spoke.

“She is.”  Her Master’s voice replied.

She heard the sound of packages opening, felt the movement of hands around her pussylips,  but the sudden dramatic bite upon her tenderest flesh made her scream in anguish. Her Masters hand slapped down on her chest between her tits.

“Be still. Look at Me, look at Me, look only at Me”

His eyes were boring into hers, pulling her into Him. The pain at the apex of her sex was  bitingly intense. She winced, and then gasped as His fingers pinched her nipples, hard. For a moment, the waves of pain from her pierced hood threatened to swamp her. His eyes held her.

“To whom do you belong, slave?”

Her voice warbled, and she cleared her throat. In a voice now husky from feeling the full weight of His ownership marking her, she replied,

“Yours, Master. Always Yours.”

His smile was like bathing in sunshine. She hurt, gawds her pussy hurt, and yet, the small barbell now lodged in the flesh of her clitoral hood was  a symbolic lock, to which only He had the key.


Affirmation, promise, commitment.

She was suffused with pride. He cared enough to mark her as His. The aftercare instructions were given, as her legs were freed. She made as if to slide down off the table, but His hand forestalled her.

“You are not done yet, slave. You know that I want you marked as Mine.”

She nodded, a bit jerkily, her nerves ratcheting up, her pussy throbbing painfully. OMG what had He decided to do? She thought the barbell in her privates was a pretty strong statement of ownership!

His voice interrupted her silent musing.

“The piercing is only the first part. Roll over.”

**nilla owes sephani and her Master a huge debt of gratitude as to the technical aspects of tattooing and piercing! Since i’m still ‘virginal’ in either regard, the actual experiences are ones i cannot recreate without someone…in the know…so thanks sephi and Master, for your thoughts, your experiences, and your willingness to share!

In a Land Far Away…

welcome to the alt.world of nilla!! i had the strangest fantasy come into my head when masturbating this week.
i was a princess (well-duh- of *course* i was the princess!) of a land of women…constantly under attack by our “underling” males…
the law of the land was that if one of the HE’s could make HER cum…she became His property, her lands became His….because she had lost control, or perhaps even willingly ceded it to him, by offering her most precious resource to him, her sexual (ergo fertility) fluids…

The  first sensation i felt upon waking  was hands…
…. i could not see them….  my face was covered by a darkening cloth; my arms and legs were open, held by heavy, strong hands.
the hands of men!

i shivered as waves of fear crashed through me…dear Goddess…NO!
i could feel the tickle of fingers on my thighs, the hushed voices from afar, and the closer  sound of a man laughing near to my hip.
i tried to move, tried vainly to pull my indecently splayed legs shut, but the hand that held my ankles, held tighter, and then a voice  from  near  my  hip…
‘she’s awake’
i hear a whirr, then feel the press of a vibe against my folds, and arching, try to pull away.
men are not supposed to own vibes…they must have taken mine!

‘no, no!…’  i cry out, but  a large hand presses at the top of my mons, pressing me down against the table, and allows  the vibe to continue its dance against my secret flesh.
“you know what i want, don’t you?”
he had been watching me of late, watching with that look of man, lust and need and greed, and of an intensity that should have warned me.

i nod, moaning as he slides the vibe against my clit…so gently but so unbearable as it hits my rising bud dead-on.  i writhe, but can’t move away.
“you will cum.”
the words are a statement.
i shake my head no..no…i can’t…i can’t….and i try one last time for mercy, clemency…”please?” my voice a whisper under the darkening cloth.
I know what will happen if my sex fluids flow…my fate, the fate of any woman in our land.
if i cum, you will own me.
i will let you fuck me, i have no choice. but in my head, i chant, i sing, i am removed from my body…i hold one thought to the fore, one thing to hold to, to cling to. Someone will come soon, someone will find me, scatter these cock-minded men….
you can’t have my cum.
i will not respond to your driving, thrusting MANESS. i am not afraid of your jutting cock, your throbbing veins, your sluicing fluids.
i am strong, a strong woman..i can ignore this, turn it off…save myself, my lands, my …
my thoughts are suddenly jolted, jumbled, confused. There is a sudden surging around my mons, and i am pulled away from my centering thoughts, and brought, all unwilling, to my cunt once more.
A second hummm has joined the first. Another hand pushes between my thighs, gently fucking into me with a second vibe. The first still plays up and around my slit, teasing my clit.
i breathe deeply, but a moan escapes.
“she’s zenning”
Ranglan’s  deeper voice, from between my thighs answers…
“give those to me..”
i feel the sudden change in pressure, as He moves from my open, oozing cunt, passing the vibe to another set of hands, aiding him in his mission. i can’t hear where he is, nor see what he is doing…when of a sudden there is the sharp retort of flesh against flesh, and a half-space later, the sudden sting of pain against my breast. He has struck me!
i feel a mouth on that nipple, the nipple rising in defense of her tit, and the slither of His hand on the other, pulling and squeezing and rolling until that nipple too, rises. He bites, then blows across the abused button, making it rise still higher, and sending a frisson of fear and lust straight to the increasingly sensitive place between my spread legs.
I feel a sharp biting pain on my nipple, then the other. Something has been mounted there, something that pinches tightly and hurts.
Something that makes my pussy begin to throb. Pain! Why was pain doing this to me… i should be crying, wailing, begging for mercy…and instead i find myself wishing, praying, hoping that his thick spear would stab into me, take me.
The bite of pain lodges deeply into my breasts. I feel hands cupping under them, squeezing hard. My breasts are burning with fire, my nipples aching, and my swollen folds are growing ever wetter. I feel the pooling of them under my bottom, feel the tickling of them draining from me.
Then, a different sort of tickling…those stiff hairs that cover a mans’ legs, teasing my inner thighs as He moves closer.
There is a faint click and the two vibes are turned off. There are only a few sounds in the room, one of which is my own harsh breathing.  I know there are others, but for me, for this moment there is only Him.
i feel His heat. It raises from his flesh and sears me as He moves closer and closer. I close my eyes and summon the vision of his cock, sticking out, dowsing for the wet hole it seeks to lodge deeply into.
i feel the heat of his cock pressing then, pressing against the wet folds He has prepared so well for this journey. A welter of goose-flesh runs up my thighs, across my belly, over my tits.
With a single step He is inside of me. The men around us whoop with glee. I hear the sounds of screams from my Ladies, as His men find their own releases… and for a moment, i struggle anew. For, although the battle has fully engaged, it will take more than a hard cock to release me to His domain.
He withdraws, then hilts again, as i chant in my head ‘no cumming, no pleasure”
But His voice grates in my ears as He leans forward,
“Pain, princess, pain to pay for your pleasure, for I know you are enjoying this, though I don’t expect you to admit to it. Pain, too, will release you to Me.”
What? i wonder. What had He meant by that last? It’s true that i am enjoying the play of his body on mine, his cock inside me.
The sting of a crop against the underside of my pinned breast brought me to tears,  and i cried out.  He hits with rapid short strokes, sometimes the left tit, sometimes the right,  and i cannot find my focus.
I am aware as never before of my body, the singing of my pussy under the thrusting, rampaging cock, the stinging burn in my nipples, and the burning lines as He stripes my tits with the crop.
A maelstrom is building, though i try to push it away, His pain and pleasure are whirling me madly around, sensations swarming over me until i feel the deep singing tickle in my clitoris, and i explode.
Stars, moons, colors, sounds erupt around me, through me, inside of me. i shake and scream and arch and feel Him stiffen, his balls slapping hard at my rectum, and the pulsing explosion that is Him, in me.
i am lost. Yet in some strange way, i feel….found.

I know Ya’ll want a story but…

i’ll get to it, i promise!! it’s Monday night and i’m working on Wednesday’s blogpost…..and now- you got this instead. See, i have a reason.

i’m tired.

so tired.

so wonderfully, amazingly, totally, bone-crunching tired.

That’s what being a well-fucked sub will do to ya. Some new experiences, oh, so good, so good so so so good. But i’m still processing, still…on my cloud, i guess.

i promise to start throwing a few bones your way. then again…i like bones. Hard, stiff ones…but *shakes self* …i digress…

So, i was reading my vanilla blog, marveling at the changes of my hair over the last 4 years. Will Crimson has been having a discussion over at erotic writer about middle-aged women and long hair, which dovetailed neatly with the other discussions zinging around the blogosphere, like on sin’s blog about hair being cut.  Four years ago i was blonde with very short hair. So, amused a bit, and wincing at some particularly ugly shade of blonde (i tried about 3 of them attempting to get back to my ‘natural’ color, which was a honey blonde when i was a youngling), when i came across this entry:

Sept 17, 2006  Kinky-now, you may enjoy kinky stuff, and I will confess to seeing some (can you believe what you can see on the internet for FREE?) and I confess to trying to not be like my mom and be a prude at 47. I’m not particularly comfortable discussing kinky things, but still I think many of us are curious about it.”

This was  3 years before my personal explorations began;  i’d certainly seen things on the internet, like the time i was rushing through typing in “books.com” and mistyped boobs.com.

Whole different kind of site!

Anyway, i was doing weekly entries for each letter of the alphabet, a challenge a fellow blogging buddy had gotten me into. i just find it fascinating that my interest in kink had that one little “blurp” that i actually wrote about in vanilla life.

i’ve said several times, (tho maybe not here) that if i hadn’t had a HUGE fight with my wife, vanillamom would never have been born. Huge as in …i was thinking of leaving i was so upset kind of huge. Huge as in … in need to do *something* so i don’t fucking explode, kind of huge.

‘sall about finding that silver lining, i guess. Although i am a pessimist by nature, i work hard at *trying* to find good in bad. Not always successful, but i do try.

Take, for instance, aisha’s recent flurry of posts about wooden spoons. It made me think about Sir’s silver cake turner thing. And how much i hate that fucker.

So i bought Him a pancake turner. i didn’t think to take a picture. Dammit. It’s thick, bamboo, lovely smooth finish, and the sides down by the bottom of the “turner” part curve ever so gently.

i have a new toy to hate.

and love.

and hate.

That fucker stings like nothing i’ve felt before. O. Gawd. He’s laughing, and chortling merrily, and loving it. Gliding His hand down the smooth finish…”WHAP! wHAP! WHAAAAP” …

“niiiiiicccee” He laughs with glee.

“Great sound, and you should see how red your ass is now, nilla!”

He packed it reverently in His toy bag when we were leaving the hotel.

i’m glad He liked it.

i think.

Bad Slave? (1)

She was proud of her body.Not that it was solely hers anymore, being as she was an owned slave.

She angled her head to look at her backside, sliding one hand across the large purple bruise on her left cheek. A smile flitted across her face, as she remembered how that large bruise go there.


Saying it in her head made her smile deepen.


Saying it aloud made her heart pound, her pulse race, her pussy dampen.

He’d held her down with his left hand between her shoulder blades, and applied the heavy hair brush with steady, even blows. He had struck her in the same damn spot. At the time, she was struggling. Struggling with her submission, struggling to breathe, struggling to make sense of it all.

The implacable hand at her mid-back stopped her struggles. The brush applied so firmly to her backside stopped her struggles. The quiet way He had pushed her to her knees, pushed her head onto His cock afterwards, stopped her struggles.

She was owned. Possessed. Cared for, nurtured, used.


He had been busy the last 5 weeks. Life in the corporate world was demanding, and he was good at what he did. Money, people, time; he controlled all with an iron will, or as his slave had said recently, the iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove.

The metaphor made him smile. The little minx. She amused him, served him, sated him. Yet, she often struggled with herself. Far more than was necessary, he knew.

It drove him crazy.

He told her she was owned. He showed her she was owned. When he was with her, he consumed large pieces of her.  He knew it was inherent for her to struggle, and yet, it often perplexed him, too. He knew it was hard for her to go long periods of time with no new demands, and yet, life was full of balancing, one thing sometimes outweighing another.

He knew she understood. Yet he knew she wanted more.

So did He. When he needed to unwind, he pictured her in his mind, thinking of things that would draw her closer to Him, make her feel her submission. She was the one, for Him, and He would be her only Master.


Distance relationships were difficult. They both knew and understood. When He decided upon the perfect solution, the smile crossed his face. True, she wore his collar when she could. True, she obeyed His daily rituals. But what she really needed was a lesson in trust, and a constant reminder that she was owned.


The tryst was planned for late Autumn.  They met in the Big City, and he snapped her collar around her throat before she got into His car, the leash wrapped several times about his wrist. He adjusted the volume on the radio, and it pulled the leash. He made a hard left turn, and that too,  pulled the leash.

He wouldn’t look at her, but he could certainly smell her. The little slut was definitely affected by the jingle of her chain, the tightening pull against her throat.


She swallowed hard against the rise of lust, low in her belly. Gods, gods. Every time the chain jingled her pussy would leak. She was quivering, shaking with needs. She had no idea where he was taking her.

Finally He pulled the car to a stop. The neighborhood was not Fifth Avenue, that was for certain. They were parked between an adult store and a tattoo parlor.

He pulled her across the seat, and out the door, his hand curled around her collar.


She followed him, her face flaming, as He led her along by the chain around her throat. Gods. There were people here. Some smiled, some looked at her speculatively. Her pussy was drenched, her panties soaked. She wondered if  the squishy sounds were audible to anyone nearby.

They went up the steps to the tattoo parlor.


Not only did she not want her flesh permanently marked, she was so fucking scared of needles….

“Quiet. You submit, slave. You are mine, my property, and I will do as I choose with your flesh. After all, slut, it is mine.”

She subsided with a small whimper. It was true, she was His. The sheer hawtness of it made her clit grow erect, her nipples rise even higher, her breath to shorten.

She was so fucking turned on.

She was so fucking scared.


The bell over the door jingled as He opened it. The place was small, and , except for the light over the counter, and two lights illuminating artwork on the walls, dark. There was a funny smell in the air, not exactly distasteful, but different. She felt a quiver in her tummy.

A bald head, with a tat of an unfurling American flag partially seen peered out from between dark curtains, separating the front parlor from the work room.

“oh, right on time. Bring ‘er back.”

They passed through the curtain, and there it was, the steel table. She trembled hard enough to rattle the chain. Her owner turned to her and smiled.

The Bastard!

He helped her up onto the table.  She heard a metallic sound, felt the vibration of it through the table. The noise was repeated.

“Pull your skirt up to your waist, slut.”  She swallowed hard. In front of a stranger…wait..her skirt?! When He’d spoken of tattoo’s before, it was on the back of her neck…

She opened her mouth to protest, but His quirked eyebrow forewarned her, and she slowly lifted her butt and pulled the skirt up. She gasped as her warm flesh hit the coolness of the table, even covered in plastic it was fuck-all cold!

“Knees up.”

The tat artist spoke, tapping at the bottom of her feet. She looked to Master, and at his nod, complied. The tattoo man stood between her open, raised knees, and wrapped his arms around them, pulling her to the edge of the table. He took her right leg, and fit it into a stirrup, like at her gyno’s office.

Except,  he strapped a thick leather strap around her thigh, and buckled it tight. Definitely not her OBGYN’s office. She whimpered when the other thigh was similarly mounted and secured. She jolted when he moved to the side of the table and operated a small crank.

Her thighs were spread wider, then wider, then wider.

“She’s a wet one!” She heard that as if from far away, as she began breathing hard, and one hot tear squeezed from under a tight-shut lid, to trickle down the side of her face. A  hand rested at the top of her pubic mound.

O. Gawd. What was He going to do to ‘His’ flesh?

NSFW – Zach

He watched her. She moved with an unconscious grace that drew his eye and watered his mouth. He refused to think about her gently swaying hips, the curve of her ass under her skirt, the flow of well-rounded tits pressing against her cream-colored sweater, the pebbled nipples peaking the interest of more than one office wolf.

He’d seen the faraway look in her eyes when she leaned against the copier, the faint flush on her cheeks, the dreamy look somehow sexual.

No. He refused to go there. He ignored his twitching cock. The cock that was telling him he was a liar. The cock that stirred, hungry, as he took in her gleaming red lips. The cock that pictured the streaks of carmine left upon the long thick length of itself as he pulled from the hot and wet depths of her mouth.

Shit! This was simply …Not Suitable For Work.

She dreamed of Aruba. He dreamed of her.

Watching her curls bounce as she crossed the commons on her way to her cubicle, he pictured that wealth of hair fanned out against his black silk sheets. One strand would be laying coyly against her creamy satin-fleshed breast, curling seductively around her nipple, which was hard, begging for him to come and pinch it again. He leaned against the edge of the bed, his hand moving to recapture the saucy, taut bud….

“Zach!” The hard clout on his shoulder warned him. Larry the wolf was prowling. “Geezuz she’s a hot piece of tail, in’t she?”

Larry’s tone was lustful, rapacious.

He had nothing against sexual needs, lusty encounters, but Larry was simply distasteful. He carried about him a faint sheen of dissipation.  He didn’t care about his partners, just getting his rocks off, as often as possible, with as many girls as possible. It was a wonder the guy wasn’t a walking vial of herpes.

Ali was fresh meat, in Larry’s eyes. She’d only been up here on the 35th floor a few months, but she had continually managed to avoid the wolf. Smart, oh she was smart. For although Larry would try time and again, she could deflect him as though she were coated in Teflon.

Zach made some non-committal noise, and headed off to his office on the outskirts of the rabbit-warren of cubicles. Mid-management had its privileges, and a small office with a window to the outside world was one of them. He passed by Ali’s cubicle, and glanced at her as he strode past. He pretended to not notice the curve of her back, sloping around to the roundness of hip and ass. He studiously ignored the shapely thigh, the sharp angle of a knee bent, the sweet turn of her calf as it narrowed to slender ankle. He refused to see the tiny foot clad in strappy stiletto’s that were just this side of naughty. He ignored the tightening of his loins, and thought about claims adjustment, the nightmare drive home, giving his car an oil change…anything to stop his rampant cock, which pressed insistently against his zipper.

He sat, opened his computer, and called up his email. There, that would help, maybe. Some playtime at the local munch. A Halloween party. He wasn’t much for Halloween, though he’d often had wickedly wild adventures as a kid, and a very different sort of wicked delights as a young man.

He nodded to himself, took out his pda and noted the time on his calendar. Definitely time to go have some play. He could go as a doctor, one with some rather unusual implements in his little black doctor’s bag. The thought made him smile.

For a moment, he pictured Ali on his ‘exam’ table while he inspected her pussy. His cock twitched as he recalled the scent of her in the copier room this morning.

He rose from his chair. Aye ca-rumba!! He needed some air.

Those Silly Searches

I always think of these as “cheater posts”…but i have written 5 or 6 stories in the space of 2 days and i’m feeling a bit drained…

and frankly…these just tickled me. And i like to share, and maybe make YOU laugh when you see some of the silly things that bring some folks here..

There was one a few days ago for hairy cunt blog.

And they wound up here?

*peers into crotch*

nope. freshly shaved hoo haw here….*giggles*

the rest of these all showed up on the same day a few weeks ago:

there she stood with no pants 1
distended nipple length 1
nilla bdsm 1
vanillamom 1
“distended nipples” tits 1
vanilla mom 1
“nipples distended” tits 1
tit slapping 1
“milking her nipples” tentacle 1
“clit” “quiet when i cum” 1

well. my blog format won’t let me comment on each individual line without a shitload of cutting and pasting, and color me lazy coz i’m not doin’ it.

(remember the number one blogging rule? my blog, my rulez)

so the distended nipple thing catches your eye, doesn’t it? Poor dear tried multiple formats and *still* wound up here! And one wonders if the tentacle milking searcher was the same person?

then there is   “she stood there with no pants.”

Seriously. Duh. I wear skirts!!! (okay, i’m guessing that this scenario may have played out in one of my stories, but to the best of my knowledge, she stood there with no panties. Such technicalities will trip up the novice searcher ever time.

*giggles*  If that was YOU well, sorry, but it *is* funnah.

Now that very last one? I gotta tell ya, my clit is pretty fucking stimulatable. Is that a word? Course it is, i just invented it! Anyway, my clit may stand up and do the hootchie cootchie when He is playin’….but i can out and out guarantee that He has never ONCE told my clit to be quiet.


Still, that would be kewl. A talking clit.

Or … not.

Imagine the embarrassment as He walks behind me, His hand stroking my ass as we ride the elevator to our room. Another couple stands there in front of us, as He calmly continues to torment me with His hand while He looks nonchalauntly ahead as though nothing in happening at all.

And in the silence of the elevator comes a tiny piping voice yelling

“Oh Sir, get your hands off that ASS and come stroke me, *MEEE* instead!!”

“Sir, please put your mouth on me and suck me.”

Yeah. um. i think i prefer my clit quiet too.

NSFW – Allie

i’m almost embarrassed to admit how very long it took me to figure out the acronym NSFW—Not Suitable For Work…a warning to those who open an email that may contain things that should not be read over the shoulder by one’s boss…that inspired this little fantasy….

He slammed her against the bathroom door, his mouth covering hers, swallowing any half-formed protest she might have given. His hand raised her skirt, pulling it with a vicious yank to her waist, then slid under the insubstantial barrier of her silky panties, finding her wet, wanting.

Protests turned to moans as his fingers danced along her slit, and she thrust her hips forward, encouraging him to explore her, deeper, take more…

“Ali? Ali?”

She shook off her reverie, the hum of the photocopier suddenly over loud. The heat against her pussy was that of the machine working feverishly to pulse out 250 copies of the weekly report for dispersal, and not the hand of…..

She felt the heat of a blush as she looked up and caught Zach looking at her quizzically. His dorky glasses were slightly askew. She couldn’t help but look at his hands, which were large, like the rest of him. He wasn’t gorgeous, but he was tall, well-built. His eyes were dark, looking at her with puzzlement. But his hands…

She swallowed, smiled.

“Sorry,” she managed, “i guess i was wool gathering…”

“Someplace hot? Aruba?”

“Someplace hot, yes,” she nodded, the smile breaking out of its own accord. Hawt indeed, she thought. Definitely a fantasy Not Suitable For Work.  She grabbed the papers from the copier and headed off.

“See you later!” and she sailed from the copy room, hoping Zach didn’t smell her leaking pussy.


Back pressed to the elevator, head pulled back by her hair, his hand fisted and tugging,  baring her throat to his rapacious mouth.

She moaned as he bit her just at her jaw, then nipped his way down to that sweet spot where shoulder and neck met. He swiped the tangled curls away, tugged hard at the top of her shirt to bare the spot to his ravaging teeth.

As he bit, her mouth opened in a silent scream, her hips thrust up against his. She could feel his hard, pulsing cock in the spot where her legs joined into that throbbing valley. His hands rose to slip up and under her shirt, capturing her tits, and closing his large hands into fists, her nipples pearling into his palms…

The glugging of the water cooler broke her from yet another NSFW fantasy. Gods she was a sexual mess! She needed to get laid. She needed to be taken. Losing her Dom 5 weeks ago had brought her to this point. Needing to release her submissive side, needing to be used. Needing.

Michael looked at her over the rim of the white plastic cup.

“You’ve been to Aruba again, kid?”

She smiled. That Aruba fantasy had been a dream of hers for a very long time. And it was paying in huge dividends now, since everyone assumed her flushed face was from too many imaginary margaritas and not being fucked in a variety of NSFW work spaces.

“Yep, Aruba. You know, getting away to someplace hot sounds like a plan, now that it’s getting so chilly. So, how ’bout those Phillies?”

The conversation wound down, and she made her way back to her cubicle.


The mid-day slump caught up to her. She had a few minutes, and she sought out her boss.

“Hey, Cathy? I think i’m going to go catch some air, okay?”

Rather than heading down to street level, she decided to head to her solitary sanctuary. She wasn’t in the mood for mingling today. She slipped on her dark coat, wrapped her scarf around her neck a few times and headed up the two flights of steps to the roof. No one ever came up here, the atmosphere was not conducive to it. The A/C unit was here, quiet now in the late October chill. The pebbled surface of the roof was uneven, but not unpleasant. Rather a bit like walking on a cobbled Maine beach.

She leaned against the chimney, looking out across the sea of towers, the highway in the distance reduced from twice-a-day drama to a child’s toy in this perspective.  She was feeling pensive, not exactly down. Maybe she would go to the Halloween gathering next week, even to just get a brief play time, maybe as a rope model or something. Something.

She never heard him come up behind her, until his hand covered her mouth. His large hand. She could see his watch, his shirt. Zach.

“Shhhh, quiet…okay?”

She nodded her acquiescence. It was Zack, fercrissakes.

“I’m going to fuck you up here, Ali, fuck you like the little slut you are. Understand?”

She shivered in the October air.

Friends~Marty~pt 3

part 2 was awhile ago

Amelia woke slowly, groggy with post-sex stupor.  She didn’t remember being unfastened from the kitchen table, didn’t know how they had all wound up in her bed. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she felt cum drying on her skin.

She felt the soreness of her throat, her pussy throbbed, and her ass was a waking nightmare of pain.

Then why the fuck was her clit throbbing and her pussy wetting again?

She needed to pee. Slowly, trying not to waken the slumberous men around her, she slid down the bed, landing quietly on her toes. She tiptoed into the bathroom, shutting the door almost all the way before turning on the light.

She saw her reflection in the large mirror over the sink. Gods she was a mess. She reached up at touched the sticky mass gluing her hair together at the side of her temple, touched the finger-shaped bruises on her breasts.

She frowned. But, she wasn’t feeling frowney. She was feeling horny.

Damn them. Damn her and her memories and fantasies of them.

The door opened, and Marty stood there, looking at her.

She felt her heart begin to race.

“hi” she offered, tentatively.

“you are so fucking gorgeous like this.” Marty was an artist, but this? She looked once more at herself in the mirror. He came in to stand behind her. She caught the reflection of his rising cock in the mirror, then felt it poke along her ass as he pressed tight behind her, cupping her sore tits, and squeezing them.

She moaned softly.

“Look. Look at you Amelia. Marked by the men you love. Marked by your fantasy come to life. Painted in our touch. You wear our fingers here.” He punctuated his statement with a firm squeeze on the lush globe he held in his hands. Her head fell back against his shoulder.

She forgot she had to pee. She forgot she was matted and sticky and  was only aware of Him. His words painted a picture for her, behind her closed lids. How beautiful her submission was to them, to all of them. How much they loved fucking her, fucking her body, her mind. How much they would continue fucking her in the days ahead.

His fingers slid down to her nipples, squeezing hard, then pulling them away. Pulled until they slipped from his pinching grip, and fell with a bobble back to her chest.

“Get in the tub.” His voice was husky now, and his cock was hard behind her. His hands guided her, turned her.

“Lay down, spread your legs, then reach down and pull your pussy lips apart. I want to see all of you, my little fuck doll.”

She shivered at the words, the tone, the deed.

and complied.

He looked at her pussy. Looked and looked. Taking his cock in hand, he aimed it at her. For a moment she wondered how he was going to fuck her here, the logistics seemed awkward…when the stream of his hot piss hitting her between her open labia startled a cry from her.

He aimed at her mouth.

She clamped her lips shut.

“Open it.”

She shook her head, no.

“Slut, you promised something downstairs. Did you forget already?”

She shook her head vehemently no. But she adamantly refused to open her mouth.

He finished pissing on her pussy, playing his stream along her clit and making her moan.

“Stay right there, fuckslut. You need to be punished now.”


She lay in the bottom of the tub for what felt like hours. She shivered, the first heat of Marty’s piss having passed, leaving her damp and chilled.  And she was afraid of what would happen next. She could hear them, the murmur of male voices talking in the other room, then, the bedroom door opening, feet clomping downstairs, then back up.

The bathroom door opened.

Her eyes grew wary as she tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. Sam held a jumble of things in his arms; he had always been the creative genius of the group. He could make the strangest of things come together to make wacky, workable devices. It seemed he’d taken his McGeeky-guyver skills to an entirely new dimension.

She shivered again.

“You’ve been a bad girl.” Andy looked at her, his expression serious, solemn.

“Marty says you disobeyed a direct order, slut. You made a promise to us, and now, well, we need to take some corrective, disciplinary action, you bad little cunt.” Turning to Sam, he nodded.

The three of them pulled her up from the tub. Marty grabbed her chin between his fingers and spat on her cheek, then rubbed it around with his index finger.

He grabbed a fistful of Amelia’s hair and pulled her down across the toilet.  She tried to rise, to resist, but she couldn’t move. When she felt something pushing at her asshole, she whimpered.

“Guess what, cunt? Did you know there’s more than one use for a turkey baster? Sam here took off the bulb on the end, and ducktaped  your big funnel to it.  The little end fits perfectly into this pvc tubing…guess you used to have a fish tank or something, right? The tubing is going up into your asshole now, we’ll put 10 inches or so up there, and then, we’re all gonna take a piss into the funnel.”

Sam took up the explanation as she whimpered.

“You’re gonna get a geek piss enema, little fuck. When we’ve drained our snakes, we’ll stuff this ass plug up your butt-hole, and let it all swish around in there for a while.  You’ll want it out sooner than we’ll let it out, but then your bum will be all nice and clean when we use it. ”

“And later,” Andy added, “we’ll make you a nice warm shot of hot piss. You will open your mouth then, won’t you fuck doll?”

The hand holding her hair relaxed, and she nodded, defeated.

“I know you think this is the most terrible thing, don’t you little Amelia?”

Marty lifted her head, looked down at her splotched, tear-piss-and spit covered face.

She nodded slowly, yes, yes.

He leaned close, closer, his breath warm against her ear.

“Then why is your pussy so wet?”