Love Our Lurkers Day…

This may be a day late or maybe right on time…but Kaya is posting it so i shall as well.


Please take a minute and give a little shout out and let me know who you are…this is the day when bloggers all around the blogosphere beg our lurkers to ‘decloak” for a moment, just so we can say a personal ‘hi there, thanks for reading” to you.

You don’t have to fill the form in with real stuff (i think) but please just a wee…’hi i’m jill from the hill’ or whatever?


*smiles* or i might have to take out my easy button and use it on ya!

PS today’s HNT post is just under this one….

The Beast…

Though muffled by the large black ball gag buried between her scarlet lips, her shriek percolated from the area where her head lay, half hidden by pillows and rumpled bed covers.

It had been a wild afternoon.

Fucking and sucking and cumming, to be sure.

But then, after a bit of food, abed and served from her delectable body, of course,  a nap to recover, He was ready for more.

Some days it was just like that. The Beast within was not sated, only tantalized by the feast from earlier. The taste of her sopping cunt on His tongue. The feel of her tight-puckered nipples between his teeth. The heat from her ass as his cock ripped through her reservations, plunging fervently through her nervous rectum.

She’d lain there, saucy wench, one knee bent, waving it about. He’d get glimpses, flashes really, of her swollen pussy. But that didn’t stir the Beast.

It was the very scent of her.

Every pass of her knee through the still and warm room stirred wisps of cunt perfume. It wafted, teasingly to his nose.

He had no idea what she was saying, though her lips were moving.

It was all about that smell. And the Beast wanted more.

She’d gasped when He grabbed her hair, no warning, just pulling her across the bed so that he could reach into his drawer and pull out the gag. She hated it. Yet, it never failed to bring a rush of juice to her succulent pussy lips.

Shoving the gag ungently into her facehole reminded her of her status, owned cunt.  The smile that crossed his face stilled her. It was full of desire, dark, deep. Her eyes met his before he rolled her over, buckling the straps hard.

He pushed her back to the middle of the bed, grabbing the special bolster she had created, to rise her ass in welcome for Him. Slipping his hand roughly between her legs, his hand cupped, then squeezed her cunt, and lifted.

He slid the bolster under her belly. The Beast began to salivate, his cock began to stiffen.

So fucking there.

Available for his use. Round, smooth globes of flesh, begging for his brutal hand. The first slap was testing, firm but not all that stingy. He barely felt it on his palm, though the imprint of his hand brightened quickly on that blank and open canvas.

His hand was not enough.

He looked around the room, the Beasts’ darkness shoving aside anything but the need to possess, to take, to use. To hurt. To feel her submit, to take it- take it all- from her. And to give it all back to her, redoubled.

His gaze fell upon his belt. He rarely used it, preferring the thin welting lines of the cane, or the all-over thuddy sound of the paddle.

But today, today, it had to be the slap of stiff leather on soft flesh.

Saliva pooled in his mouth. On silent feet he crossed the room, pulling the belt from the untidy pile of  his quickly doffed jeans. It slithered free with a delightful rasp, as the prong and buckle performed a soft  metallic  counterpoint, chinking softly as he wound it ’round his hand.

Crossing back to where her ass lay in wait, his arm drew back and round-housed through the air. The dangling tail sang as it slapped sharply across her round, vulnerable bottom. The bloom of the stripe was perfect. Nearly immediately following, the sound of her muffled shriek. He saw the tightening of the muscles play across her buttocks as she tried to adjust to the unexpected assault on her ass.

Again, his arm sailed through the air, again the belt cut through, singing with the force of its passage, until it released all its kinetic energy against her flesh. Another welt, another shriek from the pillows.

He began to rain the blows upon her, one following another, pausing momentarily to survey his work, to glide his hand across the red heat forming there. To savor.

So fucking good. So fucking His.

Then she shifted, after one particularly well-placed slap struck the same spot, and he watched as a bruise began to form under her claret-colored skin.


The Beast sniffed the air as she shifted again. The sounds of her muffled weeping moved him not a bit. But the smell of her. That pure, unadulterated fragrance of aroused cunt … moved him deeply.

His cock, already more than half-hard as he had plied his belt upon her, tightened further. Suddenly, that which was half-formed was rigid and throbbing.

His vision wavered, he swallowed. He could picture it, his cock buried deeply in that weeping cleft. He could see it, his cock pulled out, glimmering with the sheen of her juices. Bathed in her scent.

He threw the belt in the vicinity of the crumpled jeans.

Mounting the bed, mounting her, he matched actions to his vision.





Halloween Munch (2)

Cassie wandered around the munch, hoping her Master would arrive soon. There were so many couples already there, some fabulous costumes, some wearing what vanilla’s would call ‘costumes’, but here in the Dark World, were simply fetish-wear. The woman in heels so tall, so thin, she had to hold onto her Masters arm or tumble. She saw a blue, latex-clad man, including head piece, held at the end of a leash by a woman of  beautiful curves, wearing a lace basque and carrying a parasol. Her lace collar was deepest black, with small diamonds winking with her every breath. Off to the side, was a Domme having an earnest conversation with another Domme. Both had ‘boy’s on leashes, but the one Cassie took note of was laying, semi-recumbent while her ‘boy’ serviced her pussy.
Boy did *that* give her a delightful tingle to her own pussy. She wondered if she would ever be so brave to have someone suck on her cunt while carrying on a normal conversation. She thought about how she felt when Master was eating her.

Consumed. Brainless. All of her being focused on His mouth devouring her.

She gave a little shiver, remembering his beard scraping along her engorged clit. It might have hurt someone else, but by then she was so far gone that it was just a new layer of stimulation. Could she talk when He was using his tongue to lap at her clit?

When his fingers and lips would pierce and suck at her holes?

When his teeth would nip at clit and pussy lips?
She swallowed hard, caught up in the memory, her head turned to the side, looking towards the two chattering Dommes,  but unseeing. Her pussy gave a lurch and started to seep a bit as she remembered the way He would continue working on her. He would pull an orgasm from her, as she humped up into His face, despite the restraints He’d bound her in. She’d moan and scream and seep and ….
“You okay, little one?” The voice was light, the hand on her shoulder lighter still.
She came back to the room with a thud. And a hard-beating pulse centered just between her thighs. She blushed, and turned to the woman lightly stroking her upper arm.
“i-i am, i…”
“imagining life on the other side of the collar?”
” um, no, i—just…watching them” she nodded to the still nattering Dommes, tho she noted that the red fingernails of one hand were clenched around her ‘boy’s head, pulling him deeper into her. “and remembering my Master.”
“ah. And are you still in service, little one?”
Cassie smiled at the inquiring tone. Looked up into the beautifully done eyes of the elder woman. Let her gaze hang for just a moment longer than polite on the deep red, lush lips. For an older woman, she had a delicious mouth.
“i am, Ma’am,”
“To both our regrets, then. May I get you a drink, little one, or would your Master not like that?”
“i..i need to stay around here to watch for Him. But…thank you.”  With a soft smile, and a trailing finger running down her forearm, the Mistress made her way through the crowd. Cassie watched her for a moment, looking at a pair of gorgeous legs, clad in seamed hose, and ending in stupendous shoes.
She took a deep breath, and turned to look at the crowd. A group had gathered to one side. Oh, a rope demo. She made her way to that side of the room.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly-true nilla

sorry sorry sorry sorry…..i don’t have a story for you.

thought i should get that part over with, first.

Instead, a little  bit of real-life, since you are all so caring about what’s going on. i’m finishing a period of punishment for  D2 and i’m feeling pretty down in the dumps. No one enjoys being punished, to be sure, but this has just dragged on for so long. He says he’s making a point.

i made a bad choice, i freely admit it. i fucked up. i’m guessing one or two of you have made a mistake or two in your own relationships and can relate.

as i was reminded lately, part of this lifestyle is about the joy of service.  i keep thinking that when that service is no longer joyful, then perhaps  it’s time for it to be over.

He says he can make me happier once my punishment is over, that punishment is not supposed to be joyful. yeah, i grok that.

will i be happier once punishment is done? i don’t know. Maybe. He says he can do it. I don’t have a reason to *not* believe it, but then again, i’ve rarely ever been this down before.

and in the midst of all this, i get a “dear john” kind of letter. honest, painfully honest.  thanks, um, for your honesty? what else can i say to that?

it hurts.

This is  NOT a bid for sympathy, so please don’t write all gushy “poor nilla”…i did screw up, and i’m paying my dues.

so the “Good”  is that i’m being open about my D/s life. Using my blog as a place to vent (politely) about the BBD who i think has been very harsh, and who feels that He’s taught me a valuable lesson.

i don’t share much true nilla here, it’s just not what my blog is about.

Moving on now…time  for the “Bad”, which is my chore list for this upcoming week. My kitchen floor finally got fixed after 3 fucking months (yes, months) of disrepair from a leaking dishwasher hose. But it’s all fixed and i have a lovely, new kitchen floor.

But. (isn’t there *always* a but?!)  Didja ever read the story “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie…”? Well, that’s my kitchen. With the new floor, i can see the woodwork really is dingy, dinged etc. ……and  there is a TON of woodwork in my kitchen. So i’m going to be spending the next two days painting it.

And then there are the small areas where there is wallpaper instead of knotty pine paneling. Sigh. Can you see where this is heading?

Yeah….you guessed it. That’s the “Ugly” part. At least 10 years old, and while i loved the pattern, it so doesn’t go with anything now.  So, that’s going bye-bye. Peeling it off, prepping the walls, and hopefully the new paper i ordered will arrive mid-week…well that purty much sucks up the rest of my free time this week.


Mundane work like this really gets my brain spinning, and i will be getting off punishment, AND  seeing Sir B this upcoming weekend, and that makes me quiver with anticipation….and that means ….i will be writing again.

Thank you all for being so forebearing about two days without stories.

And for listening.

And for caring. For that most of all.

Halloween Munch (1)

She looked at herself critically in the mirror. She looked over her shoulder, checking the fit of the skirt over her ass. Sleek. Curvaceous, but sleek nonetheless. Turning forward again, she smiled at how the velvet corset teased in her waist, lifted her tits. And that wisp of lace across the top added a hint of mysterious cleavage.

She was HAWT.

The munch was going to be fun. Her Master would be there, she knew that having to work a bit later than He’d expected was frustrating to them both, but they’d survive. She’d never gone to a D/s event alone before, and there were a few butterflies swimming in her tummy. She smiled again, wondering if that was all that would be swimming there, later.

She slipped her collar into her handbag, grabbed her keys and headed out.


Arriving at the club alone, she scanned the parking lot. Halloween munches brought everyone out, it seemed. She could feel the thrumming music as she approached the door, a tickle across her skin.  She took a deep breath, then pulled the thick brass handle. It opened with a moan. She jumped, and the door guard (and he was in full guard regalia, circa Roman empire) let out a throaty laugh.

“Who goes there?”

She looked up at him with a cheeky grin


“Not in that outfit, missy,” He replied with mock scowl. “You, later, here.”

“Sorry, taken,” She replied, patting him on the arm as she stepped in.

Into a very strange wonderland. A few sub-fairies, several with wands and wings only, as well as the leather crowd were moving through the lower levels. Upstairs, she knew from previous visits, was the dungeon, atypical from the idea of a more traditional dark and gloomy space. Window-filled, it could play to the humiliation crowd by having the darkening curtains pulled wide, or, for the traditionalist, pulling them tight and shutting away the world beyond.

She was greeted by the host and Hostess, a couple she had met a few times at these events. Mistress was bedecked in a very brief skirt, over-the-knee boots, and a white full-blouse with a black corset over that. She looked…delightful. If she was into women, this would be the one for sure! Her slave was none-to0-shabby in his elegant suit and tie. His hands were cuffed to his belt loops, a separate cuff for each hand, giving him some limited mobility with his arms. He held his Mistress’ pinky finger with his. They were so sweet.

“Where is Master Pene this evening?” he asked. “I thought he didn’t like you out and about at these types of soiree’s? Called you ‘trouble on sticks’ as i recall…”

She laughed aloud. It was true, she managed to get into an inordinate amount of trouble. She was happy-go-lucky, free-spirited, and touchy-feely. Her 5 inch heels were the ‘sticks’ Sir had been teasing about.  She had originally hated the idea of such ‘mile high’ heels. But gradually, His fetish had won her over, and she was able to walk without teetering.  Her worst habit, however, was gawking. She couldn’t help herself, it seemed. Fairly new to the lifestyle, there was so much to take in. So many fetishes. So many varieties of D/s. And she loved looking at cocks. Sometimes so longingly that the owner thought she had other intentions.

“He was just about ready to leave work when he got called from…somewhere in Europe? Asia? I forget. Anyway He called and asked me to meet him here…”

“Well, Cassie, we’ll try to keep an eye out for you, make sure you’re doing okay.”

She smiled, gave each a brief hug, then progressed deeper into the swarming mass of people. She stopped to watch a woman she knew by sight but not name. A Dom was slowly drizzling wax along her tits, her nipples peaked and coated,  already hardened  from previous passes.

The candle sizzled and sputtered, as she moaned under the steadily dripping liquid. A thin trail led from her tits to a ring around her belly button. There were large drips heading down to the very top of her cleft.

He tipped the candle back up, setting it to one side, and taking up another with a large pool of molten wax. To the delight (and no doubt, kindling lust) of the onlookers, He poured it into her belly button.

The scream was so fucking erotic.

She moved on, heading for the ladies room. Once inside, she slid into a stall, trying not to disturb the two girls who were fetched up against the stall wall, hands in each others cunts, mouths entwined, moaning and humping together.

Quickly she texted Master.

“Permission to pee, Sir?”

She held the phone and her bladder. A minute went by, then another, as her right leg began to jitter.  As she was breathing deeply and slowly, thinking about tight sphincters, His text rang in.

“Yes, slut, you may pee.”

‘OMG’ she thought, ‘just in time!’ She texted him her thanks as relief spread through her throbbing bladder. Sometimes being an owned slut was hard work!

In a Funk…

likely i’ll be well over it by the time you read this. or i’ll put it away in the whatever file until it passes. just…i’m in a funk.




i’d say ‘tortured’ but that would be fun. yanno?

don’t mind me. i’ll just be the redhead fwumped in the corner. not pouting. not…. anything. empty. breathing.  and taking up space.


Little Miss Muffett (4, fini)

He caught up to her in the parking lot. She was bending into the back seat, looking for her spare pen in her rucksack, when His voice carried to her.

“Now that’s a view a guy can appreciate. Waaaay better than sunset on a beach!”

She backed out of the car hurriedly, whacking her elbow on the headreast supports, and cursing under her breath.

“Little one get an owie?”

“Oh, now see, You’re just being sarcastic,” she complained, with a laugh. Still, she let out a soft moan as He cupped her abused elbow in his hand, squeezing and kneading it expertly.

And used that elbow to pull her closer, until her well-rounded bosom was scant inches from his chest. She felt the breath catch in her throat when  her eyes were caught in the depths of His intense scrutiny. His mouth came to within a millimeter of hers, pausing a moment, asking a question she thought she didn’t have an answer to.

Except, she did.

She rose to her toes, just a whisper of movement, bringing her lips into gentle contact with His.

His free hand wrapped around the back of her head, his fingers combing through her hair, holding her, pulling her into His kiss, his tongue probing into her mouth, dancing with hers.

The heat that sparked between them was nearly incandescent.

She felt her nipples rouse, rising to press insistently against her bra, seeking Him. Her pussy renewed its thrumming beat, wetting her panties once more.

The memory of His rope singing against her flesh, his hands roaming her body resurged through her. She was His in a flash, all the heat and lust He had generated during his performance rising to the fore once again.

A lust she had tamped down ruthlessly, the moment the last bit of rope has slithered down her body to lay, wet with her juices, between her feet. She had looked at that knot, knowing that He knew, He saw, He understood, far better than she, what was happening to her.

She had looked at Him, smiled. Thanked him. She had bowed to the audience when she was finally released, then melted into the crowd.

She was here on a story, dammit.

She’d spoken once more with Ruby, been introduced to her Dom, who was also her husband.

By then Ruby was handcuffed, and being led to a cross-like structure. She’d watched, mesmerized, as Malcom had pulled off her gown, his hands twisting and turning her brutally. Yet she’d smiled. He pushed her, ungently, to the cross, then had cuffed her to it, hand and legs opened wide, back to the room.

She had gasped when the lash first fell with a crack against Ruby’s naked back. Ruby had arched, crying out, the welt purling up her back, brilliant against her pale flesh.

Before that cry had died away, another stroke of the lash, another cry, another welt.

She watched while Malcom created a pattern on her flesh, a series of cross-hatched lines down her spine. Then he put down his whip, and taken up a strange kind of fancy paddle, which looked oddly familiar to her. Intricate whorls had left an openwork design there…wait! Her grandmother had one of these by the fireplace, used to beat the rugs out on windy days.

The whack of it against Ruby’s ass was a curious sound. Ruby had cried out, then panted through the next few blows. It left a curious outline against her reddened cheeks, first white, then deeply, intensely….ruby.  She tried not to notice the thin silvery line tracking from between Ruby’s legs, wetting her inner thighs, nor the shudder that took her between strokes of the beater.

She’d seen Tie once, His tall frame easily recognizable across the room, and had sneakily ducked down to sit in a chair and pretend to be fascinated by some wax work happening a few feet away.

It had been fascinating, but the pulse of her pussy took more of her attention than the man having a rainbow of hot wax ribbons poured over his cock and balls did.


Once she could no longer see Tie, she made her way out. And yet, here He was. His tongue half-way to her tonsils. Or was that her tongue going for His tonsils?

She pushed back a bit. Tried, anyway. She couldn’t explain why her fingers were balled into tight fists into His Fisherman’s Knit sweater.

His lips moved against hers. It took a few minutes for the sense of them to percolate through the boiling of her blood.

“Come with me, Muffi”

“Come with me, Muffi”

She shivered, then boiled again as He nibbled, then outright bit, her lower lip.

“Come home with Me, Miss Muffett, and let me tie you to My tuffett…”

She giggled out a laugh.

“Well, when you put it that way, Spiderman….”

Somehow, she knew she was already caught up in His web.

Little Miss Muffett (3)

He walked to a coil of rope at the side of the stage, and picking it up, stood looking at her steadily. His eyes were suddenly sharper, the eyes of a predator. An eagle…or even more dangerous, a Wolf.  Her knees shook a bit as she stood where he had placed her, center stage. She could sense the eyes of hundreds on her, her body nearly bare, but she only felt His. He looked at her, into her. She shivered. She stood, clad only in her bra and panties, but it was not cold that drew the gooseflesh across her arms, her belly.

Her eyes, large and luminous, followed His every movement. She drew strength from his presence, holding onto her with that intense gaze.  He moved behind her, and she took a fast, deep breath. For a moment, she was bereft.

And then, He was there. She felt the heat of him against her ass, her shoulder. She felt his hands in her hair, pulling out the stick from her leather barrette, allowing her hair to tumble down, cascading from the sloppy knot on top of her head and tossing wildly around her breasts, shoulders and back.

His lips brushed her ear as he pulled the mass of waves to the back of her shoulders, baring her breasts and belly of the tresses.  She shivered in response to that soft caress.

The rope sang as he drew the first folded coil through his hands, and  over her torso. The doubled rope was quickly pulled tight against her, making her take a deep breath, and releasing it with a soft moan as his arms came around her, holding her tight as he drew the next round of rope around her, below her breasts.

With every tightening tie, every knot, he would hold her, consuming her with his vitality. His rope and his hands were drinking her.

Somewhere in the middle she began to fuzz. The tight constraints ceased to pinch and bind, and began to control, and to dominate. But there was also a sense of being  nuzzled, and nestled, drawing her closer to Him, closer to a need she could not define.

Until He kicked apart her ankles.

Her hands were tied behind her, and he had moved to her front. With every pass of the rope now, heading lower down her torso, he would hug, glide his hands along her, gently caressing, then firmly holding. Her breasts were contained in a rope bra, and her nipples were so sensitive, that the unobtrusive cotton against them rubbed like nettles.

He knelt between her spread legs, his eyes boring into hers, his breath whispering against her navel. She was breathing shallowly, so incredibly turned on.

As her Mom, the hippie would say, she was “feelin’ groovy.”

She felt his hands circle around her ass, so nimble with the rope, around and then pulling it up, hard. Then again. He wrapped it tight around her legs, his hands briefly caressing her suddenly incredibly tight butt.  Gawds. Her breathing increased, and she felt an embarrassing rush of lust.

Jeebuz! He was right fucking there! There was no way he could not know she was suddenly wet for Him.  He reached for the rope dangling untied that hung from the center of her chest rope. All the encircling ropes passed over it, the end of it hung loosely to coil between their spread legs. He tugged it now, taking up all slack, and tied a knot in the doubled line.

He drew it between her thighs, nesting it snugly in the silk-covered cleft. He never broke eye contact with her as he pressed the knot against her, never as he felt the soaked swatch of fabric. He could feel the shiver, the moan running from her as he pulled that cord tight, straight up that soaked valley, between her clenched asscheeks, and slipped it up and through the coiled rope round her hips, her waist.

He ducked around her, and pulled.


The moan that came from her was audible. The sexual tension between them transmitted to the mesmerized audience.  There were indrawn breaths, and more than one heated exchange going on. Not that she saw anything. She was, as Mom would say, “totally far out, man, like, outtasight!”

She took no notice of the blow job happening almost at her feet. Of the Dom pinching his girls nipples as she knelt between his spread legs.

The total center of her focus was the big knot laying on her swollen clitoris.

And of the fat thickness of rope laying between her labia.

And up between her asscheeks.

He pulled the rope tighter, the knot rubbing her clit even tighter. Her mouth opened and a sighing moan came out. Her eyes were dazed. She looked stunning and stunned, strung tight with  his rope coiling her.

His hands slipped through her pussy again, she felt him putting a bit more pressure on her with the rope and could only move as he moved her.

Oh gawd, how He moved her.

dear readers,  this story is one i’ve wanted to write for awhile, as rope bondage simply turns me on. it’s fascinating, it’s beautiful, it’s powerful. i invite you to go to this link and watch the vid by one of the Lifestyles preeminent Rope Masters, Monk. I have read his blog off and on over the years, but never actually seen his work until i watched this:

and from that, this story. ~n~