Transformations (f)

part e

She flew through the house and tore up the stairs. Why today, of all fucking days, she had to have not one, but two things spilled on her at work was a mystery for the ages. First the fucking copier had vomited developer powder on her, then Mickey had tripped and spilled his (blessedly not hot) coffee on her. Half milk, 2/3 sugar, a dash of coffee. Good old Mickey, and his syrupy java, all down the front of her jacket, splattered on her shirt, and down her left leg.

Fucking fuck! She impatiently ripped the shower knob to “ON”, then peeled out of her clothing so fast it was a miracle she didn’t set it ablaze.

She had to wash her hair, she thought, uncertain as to whether she was wearing a coating of copier toner in her tresses. And on top of everything else going awry today, she had to top it all off by getting caught in a traffic jam.  A tractor-trailer carrying dog food, of all things, had jacknifed across the three lanes, and spilled thousands of pounds of kibble across the expressway. It had taken over 2 hours to make her normal 45 minute commute home. Detoured, stuck in the morass of motor vehicles, she began to wonder if she’d make it home at all tonight. Now, here it was 8:38 p.m. and she was going to be late for an informal date in her own living room. Fuck!

She sighed, stepped into the shower. She looked down at her feet, and almost cried to see she was still wearing her heels.  Then it started. At first a teary sniffle of a giggle. Then a snort, and that made the laughter even harder. It wasn’t a moment later that she was bent double, laughing like a lunatic in an asylum.

“OGAWD” she tried to calm her racing heart, stop the wild release of the laughter, but bent as she was, there they were, her fucking shoes. Right there on her fucking feet, with her fucking thigh highs. In the fucking shower. She guffawed. She swallowed, choked, giggled, guffawed some more. OGAWD, she moaned, her stomach aching from the wild laughter.

Palm braced on the front wall, head leaning against that arm, eyes closed, she gave up and simply allowed the laughter to flow, as cleansing as the tears would have been.

Tension poured out of her, washed away by the heat of the water, the sheer ridiculousness of the position she was in.

He stood watching her through the gap in the curtain. Her laughter was slowing now, reduced to giggles and hiccups.

His cock was hard as stone in his pants; he was smiling widely at the picture of her there, her softly arched back, her delightful ass, the hose and heels drenched, but delineating beautifully curvy legs. He could see the outward curve of her right breast, the protective curl of her arm across her belly.

She had no idea what time it was, when she finally got herself under control. She straightened, arching her back, and shaking back the sodden mess of her hair. It trailed in long, saturated tendrils down her back, around her tits, tickling her elbows.

She was rinsed enough. Gods knows she must’ve been in here close to 20 minutes. She cranked the water off, and reached out to grab her towel. It wasn’t there.

She pulled back the curtain, and scanned the floor to see if it had fallen.

It wasn’t there.

hmmm. She thought she’d put one there this morning when she did the wash but perhaps she’d forgotten. Squeezing as much water from her hair as she could,  she bent and removed her ruined shoes. She poured the water out of them, and still wearing her stockings, carried them into her bedroom.

He was laying on her bed, propped on her pillows, arms folded behind his head. Her towel lay draped across his lap. She let out a shriek of surprise, of shock.

He raised an eyebrow. He wondered, as he watched her mouth move soundlessly for a moment, if the rosy tone of her flesh was embarrassment, the heat from her shower….or from  a much more exciting source.

“Well, my dear girl, when I suggested you dress for Me tonight, I had no inkling what you had in mind. Gotta tell you though…that outfit works for Me.”


i tip my hat to tipacanoe for the spark that got this idea flashing across my brain….thank You, Sir! ~n~

He tied the blindfold as she stood in the center of the room.

He’d wanted to play this game at for a long time. He’d gathered friends from their munch group, invited them to a special play party.  Though there were other games and events scheduled, this was the highlight of His evening.

She understood the rules. She must find HIM in the room of men.  In a room of naked men.  What she touched, she must kiss, lick, fondle, until she was certain it wasn’t Him, then move on.

So many smells, different colognes, different spicy man-tang filled her nose.  Soft voices falling silent, she heard the collective sound of their breathing.  All of her senses heightened by the loss of her vision, she was prepared to play this game of His, ready to explore,  and prove to Him, as she had said to Him so often,  that she knew Him by touch alone.

He surprised her when he took her hands, and  tied them behind her back. Surprised her further when He gently lowered her to her knees and told her softly to count to 10, then begin.

Oh, He was devious, she though, smiling nervously as she suddenly realized how she would be touching each man until she found Him…

nilla is not a weeble

It’s been a busy Thanksgiving week here in nilla-land. First all the preparations for the big Feast, including getting the house ready. Though we don’t have a big family, having 5 people coming in really added to the fullness of preparing. It was a noisy, high energy crowd.  Well, okay, they’re my family and we’re all rather…loud when we’re together, especially my brother and i, who spend all day zinging back and forth…and anyone is fair target…Case in point…he says (and this is a joke that HAD to show up here)…

“So, sis, I had this idea for a new kind of french fry but Oreida won’t go for it.”

“Gee, bro, why not?”

“Well, it was going to look like a vagina, yanno, kind of the opposite to tater tots?”

*me, giggling*  “mhmmm, okay, so…..?”

“Yeah, I wanted to call them ‘tater twats…”

me…bent double hooting with laughter, while my family looks at each other in the other room sayin’   “what’s going on with them now?”

My family thinks my bro and i are weird. Funny, but weird.  We’re like twins, just 9 years apart (yup, i’m the eldest)   We’d keep looking at each other through the meal and erupting in laughter.  It was that kind of day. Fun, funny, and full of good food.

Yeah, i *was* the cook. And it was goooood food. Tried a new recipe for “Swedish Apple Pie” and since i’m a Swede, i had to try it. NO ONE ate the traditional pie, everyone LOVED this.  If you want, i’ll send you the link. Kind of a blondie/cookie-ish topping, no crust.  Totally yum, and i don’t like pie.

So in the midst of all this happy stuff was some angst. Remember aisha has spoken of all us subsisters having a various degree of angst of late.

i’m dealing with my own.   i’ don’t know if He even reads here anymore, but i’m just going to say it. i was UBER pissed on Thanksgiving at You, Sir. i sent you a loving, sweet text when i woke, and i heard nothing back until well after ? 1030 ? or later?? and it was one line of nice, and one line of sarcasm. Grrrr. i sent you that long letter telling You how i was feeling, and i got that in return. One text a day isn’t really cutting it. i feel like i’m bracing myself for a big fall, here, a Humpty Dumpty moment. i’ve given a ton of myself to this relationship Sir, but i’ve not gotten as much back on my investment as i had hoped. as i need. as i crave.

Angst moment over. okay, not over but i’m stopping for now.

Then after Thanksgiving we put away ALL the fall decorations, and Christmas kinda explodes here. We do it almost all in one day. No tree, that goes up later, but all else, yup.  So munga trips to the attic to get Fall decorations put away (many giant tubs worth of stuff). 10 crates (biiiiggggg crates) of Holiday/Winter/Yule stuff. We all go off to do our bits, and thank Goddess the kids are all old enough to be real helpers.

nilla does the outside stuff. the “Man” stuff…stringing the lights, hanging garlands, decorating the light pole, creating boxes to go on the two cemetery stones we maintain.

For the first time since i was 21 i fell off the front porch railing. It started as a wobble as my foot discovered that the back edge of the board had dry rot. Yikes! Hella time to find that out. So, wobble, wobble and boom! Don’t remember much as i guess i closed my eyes when i went flying through the air….i remember opening my eyes and seeing the astroturf that lines the porch floor was )*( this close to my nose….

Yanno, a 4 foot fall isn’t fun at 21, but it uber sux when you’re 30 years older than that.

ouchies. i got ’em.

For a heart-stopping moment, i thought i’d broken my wrist, as i mostly landed on that and my hip. Honest to goodness, my first thought was “ohno! how’m i gonna type my blog??”

Seriously. Committed to my blog much? *cackles*

i got up slowly, and wobbled my way into the house on shaking knees. i was so cold from being out there anyway…hard to say which was shakin’ me more at that point!  Warmed up a bit inside, walked off the trembles, and then…..went back out and finished stringing my lights.

It looks freakin’ awesome.

Guess you can’t knock a subgirl down for long, weeble or not!


Her mouth bobbed up and down on his cock. He sat quietly eating dinner; she, not as quietly, seeking hers.

He’d not let her eat at the table tonight, a simple head shake as she prepared to lay her place at the table.

She had sat by his feet, hoping for a morsel, but He had gestured for her to sit between His feet.  The smell of the fragrant chicken she had prepared for them, and the rosemary new potatoes stirred around her, and her mouth watered.

She’d not been bad, but every now and then He would deny. Because He could. Because it fucked with her head. Because it made her hot. Because He was The Boss.

He’d reached down and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling her face into His crotch. She’d used her teeth to lower the zipper, always a challenge, but especially so when He sat.

She reached up to steady His rod, and He slapped her hand. He slid the chair back suddenly, and she nearly pitched forward. How He could stalk out of the kitchen, elegantly dressed, yet cock sticking out, and still look elegant was a mystery to her.

He returned with a short length of rope, and tied her hands behind her back. His hand on her face propelled her back under the table, and He sat, pulling His chair back into position.

A hand grabbed her hair and caught her ear as well. She whimpered. The fist tightened and she whimpered again. A quick glance up at Him showed His satisfied smile.

It wasn’t easy sucking a cock with no hands but she did it. Lapping slowly around the head with her tongue, drilling his slot with the tip of it, then trailing her talented tongue around the underside. He was silent, but she felt the cock stiffen against her lips, as well as His belly muscles clenching near her forehead. She smiled inside, pleased.

Slowly she toyed with His cock. Sucking, kissing it, trailing her lips along the sides. She rubbed his stiff pole along her cheeks, nudged it with her nose. Her lips nibbled softly at the base of the shaft, teasing Him. Impatiently He grabbed her hair again.

“Don’t play with your food, slut,” He warned, but she saw the gleam of amusement in His eyes.

She opened her mouth, and He drove her head down onto His cock with her hair held tight in His left hand. She heard the clink of silverware against china, and knew He’d resumed eating. How the fuck He did that she didn’t know.

Satisfied that she was giving her full attention, His hand left her hair, and she began to suck and bob on the cock now buried in her hot, wet mouth.

She felt Him quiver, just a bit, and eased back.  She was teasing Him again. She let his shaft slip from her lips with a pop.

It was low, and soft, but she heard His small groan.  She smiled against the head of his rod, then pushed her tightly closed lips against it, as if denying entry.

He took her by surprise, took control, when both hands grabbed her head, and slammed her mouth down on His cock, driving it to the back of her throat.

She gagged, and attempted to pull back, but one hand moved to the back of her head, and held her down. She gagged, and coughed, and panicked, as she always did. Gag-tears leaked from her eyes, and when He let her up, it was only for the briefest of moments before He once more slid His cock deeply into her throat.

And again, she gagged. Again, she fought, again she whimpered against the cock lodged so deeply.

He let her up. All the way up. Pulling her head up to look Him in the face.

“Your cunt is wet, isn’t it slut?” At her nod, He smiled. “You hate when I do this to you, isn’t that what you said the other night to your subsisters?”

Another nod, and her eyes dropped. He so rarely read her blog. Figures *that* would be the time.

“You hate it, but it makes you wet. Funny little slut. Now, finish your dinner.”

She might have thought that she’d wanted chicken, but really, wasn’t this the meal of slut-champions?



i want.

i want to go upstairs and fuck my little pussy.

i want it bad.

You made me want it, You and Your dirty little texts. Talkin’ to me about what You were going to do to me tonight.

“going to tie your hands tight” You wrote.

“behind your back, then the blindfold” You tease me unmercifully.

my pussy is getting wetter, beginning to swell, beginning to throb a bit, a little center of hot need starting to burn in my belly,

“I’ll push your face into the mattress, you’ll have trouble finding your breath”

i start to pant as i read that. yes, control me. control my breath. take me, use me.

“you won’t see me come up behind you, but you’ll feel it on your ass”

i imagine the feel of it the warmth of the leather belt marking across my cool ass, the vulnerable way i feel, unable to see, to speak much. i just have to  accept.

To submit. That word sends a shiver through my body. i have given it to You, given it all to You. Submit, and be full, be alive, be happy.

Time passes between texts. You are busy at work, and i, here.

Busy with my day, i cool down a bit. i am content, when my phone jingles, the kind of a jingle that jars my pussy awake and alert again. Your special text tone, the sound from Jaws. it makes me smile to hear it, and my pussy clenches down. she loves hearing the predator is seeking hot wet flesh.

“I;ll bend u over my knee & shove my fingers up yr cunt” i can tell by the text-speak that You are turning You on, too.

“ck to see how wet u r. my slut”

“will spank u until u r nice n juicy 4 me.”

three texts, three little fire bombs erupting in my cunt.

i want to go upstairs and fuck my needy wet throbbing pussy. i glance at the clock, and yes! There is time before You are coming home, coming to play with your slut.

i head up the stairs, thinking of those texts, thinking how much i need this before You come home and tease me that way You do. Close to the edge then stop.

Close to the edge….then stop.

Closer to the drop away point…and stop.

Closer, making me screamandcryand mewl for release, make me beg for mercy, pleaseSirletmecumPLEASE SIR….and fucking stop.

i hate that game.

it makes me wetter and needier than anything else, and the final drop over that edge is stupendous and wonderful and good and i still hate that game.

i turn the corner at the top of the stairs. The phone starts playing ‘da dum.    da dum…”

i don’t have to look at the text box to know what is there now.

You can read me like a book, even when You can’t see me.

“da dum.    da dum….”

“no cum.”



Domme-Wife (3)

She pulled him across the room by the leash, leading them to the “Electro-sex” booth.

“We want to try this,” she said in her “don’t fuck with the Mistress” voice. Damn but she was getting good at that, and it certainly did wonders for his cock, hearing that tone. He felt the little twitch deep in his shaft. Funny that, after all their years together, her voice could still give him a woodie.

“Sure, sure,” came the harried voice of the woman bent half under the table, “just give me a sec here…ooof” and she pulled hard, attempting to tug a heavy box from underneath.

“Wait! I have a slave-boy right here who will be happy to help you..” said Mistress.

“Oh, that’d be dandy,” the proprietor spoke, rising, her hand to her low back. “That is one fucking heavy box. My Master helped me carry it in, but He’s over there..” and she waved her hand towards the dias that was nearly hidden by the large crowd watching a sub get zapped with a violet wand. The sub in front of them was very, very pregnant.

He went around the table and helped tug the box out for her, gamely offering to lift it to the table if she needed. Thankfully, she did not. She was right, it was a very heavy box.

“I’m interested in playing with electricity on my boy here,” said Mistress, leaning against the table.

“Oh, electro-sex is so awesome. He doesn’t have heart issues does he?” She looked wide-eyed at him.

‘Well, fercrissake, he wasn’t *that* old’ he thought…when she dissolved into giggles.

“oh, gosh, that gets ’em every fuckin’ time..” and she grabbed at her belly as she dissolved again. “Oh, the baby loves when i laugh, oh, settle down,” she implored, rubbing her belly hard.

It felt…odd…to be receiving sex advice from a girl younger than his eldest daughter. But she had a frank, knowing way about her. She showed them the penis straps, explaining how they wrapped softly around his balls, the second strap that would be placed just under the head, and how the unit all plugged into the tens unit.

“Now, this *can* give him hands free orgasms, or just  a wicked hard cock, ” she continued, with a sly wink at him.  “…and who doesn’t like that?” And she giggled again.

Mistress stroked a crimson fingernail down the cage that controlled his cock,  the hard  physical reminder that he was an owned slave, and best of all, Her special little toy.

“Is this something we can try out now?” she all but purred, looking into his eyes. Well, fuck! It was one thing to walk around in a leash and cock cage, but quite another to have said cock be prodded by a 20-something gal…and. . . he felt flushed with embarrassment, and to further push that button up a notch, he was getting hard.

Who needed electro-stimulation?

Apparently, Mistress was not going to be dissuaded by the cock growing stiff inside the cage. She slid the lanyard off her neck, producing the little key that would release him.  She took her time unlocking his cage, her gleaming nails poking him, ‘accidentally, slave’ …yeah right.

The girl came round the table and showed Mistress how to attach the soft fabric strips around his cock, tightening the one around his balls with no trace of embarrassment.

Damn but if being a ‘thing’ didn’t have a bit of juice to it, he thought, then jolted as Mistress made the top strap a bit too tight. The girl corrected her, diffidently, and explained how the little metal electrodes could be placed on the top of his cock or underneath.

“And always start low,” she cautioned, showing Mistress the proper settings for starting up.

“Gawd!” he exclaimed as the first startling pulse leapt through his testicles, quieted a second before the one at the top of his shaft twizzed into life. “Whoaa!” he yelped, moving in place a bit. The movement of electric vibe between the two was discordant, but not unpleasant. He felt the tickling deep in his balls, the twitching of his head.

“If you keep it on low, he’ll discharge a ton of pre-cum,” the sales girl was sizing them up, sensing a sale rather than a ‘quickie trial’.  She showed Mistress how to turn the dials just so, and they both watched his cock leap and grow, pretty much ignoring the man it was attached to.

“now if you turn it this way, watch what happens,” said the girl, a coy smile on her face. Oh, beware of sub-girls with electricity, he thought a moment before the jolt hit his balls, and a millisecond later squeezed his upper cock with a fiery jolt of power. A jolt of cum shot from his cock, landing feet away. His groan as the cum was virtually sucked from him was ignored.

“isn’t that the kewlest thing?” The salesgirls eyes twinkled, knowing she’d totally disarmed him,  as another jolt from the electrodes shot another wad of cum from him.

“My gawd!” exclaimed Mistress. “talk about ‘Hit me with your best shot”

“, fire away..'” sang the sales girl.

He was torn between blushing embarrassment and a bit of pride.

The price of being a slave kept going up, He thought later, after shelling out for the equipment that had so amused Mistress. He carted the equipment back to the car. On the way back, he  glanced at his watch, and stifled a smile.

“tick-tock, Mistress” he said softly to himself as he headed back inside.

The Irascible Matt Fox

usually i write shorter, but this story begs to be told in one long sequence. Fair warning, this one is verrah long.  ~n~

She could hardly believe it! At long last, she was on her way up to interview him.  The somewhat uncomplimentary term  ‘troglodyte’ floated through her mind, though she would never use it in her story.  The talented artist barely tolerated publicity, zealously guarded his privacy, but the gallery had insisted this time. She would interview, and write, a piece on Matt Foxx.

This could *make* her career.

The terse approval, and brief directions she had received in her late afternoon email gave her scant time to gather her things and head up the mountain to meet with Him.
The roads up here had more snow than the slight dusting the valley had received. The tall conifers were gilded with  fresh white snow, and the smell of the crisp air blended with the sharpness of pine. It eked in through the slightly open window. She took a deep breath of the freshly scented air, and shivered. It really sucked that she couldn’t afford a better transport, but that was life these days. Besides, if she closed the window, she’d be melted by the heater which was stuck on “high” and blowing merrily across her feet.

*                                           *                                       *
The deer bolted from the thick cover of the woods, catching her unaware. She slammed on her brakes, realizing too late that was a huge mistake, even as her wheels locked and she felt the skid begin. The narrow drive wound upwards, the drop offs, sharp. She knew a moment too late that her car was heading down into the trees.
Like a slow motion scene in a movie, she saw the front end tip down, down and her car slide sideways towards one tall, thick pine. The jolt was sudden, sharp, and unexpectedly quiet, as  her head hit the side window and she blacked out.

She woke to the sharp slap of cold against her skin, and the tug of someone pulling her arm. She tried to slap him away, slapped again, was gruffly told to ‘knock it the fuck off’. She rose back to consciousness blinking the fuzz from her brain. Matt Foxx’s sharply chiseled face was  bare inches from hers.
“Don’t they teach you stupid city girls how to fucking drive in snow?” He snarled at her.
“Don’t they teach your stupid fucking deer not to run in front of cars?” she snarled back.
He looked down at her, surprised, then surprised her further by grinning. His smile needed to be registered, she thought a bit groggily, as a lethal weapon.


Later, wrapped in a multicolored quilt that seemed quite remarkable for him to even possess, and clutching a steaming mug of cocoa, she offered her thanks.

“This was not how i’d intended to interview You, Mr. Foxx, but i thank you for your timely rescue.”

“Let’s make sure your head is okay before thinking about the interview, little one.”

He had a way, that was for sure. She wondered if what she had heard about him, being part of the BDSM scene back in NYC had any nugget of truth. And wondered too, if that was why Leon had sent her on this particular story. Certainly it would place a big ole feather in her cap, but she was very open about her kink. And Leon was a peach about it, really. He would tease her about it, but in a caring, fatherly way.

Leon was didn’t have a Dom bone in his body, but looking at Foxx…well, he fit the “type” if there was such a thing. Controlling, eagle-eyed, controlling, watchful, controlling.

She laughed to herself. And he was fucking gorgeous. All thick hair and lean-faced. He had “danger” written all over him. Her favorite type, her warming pussy chimed in.

He looked at her. She wondered if it was the man, or the artist whom she was seeing just now. He sipped his coffee, drinking her as much as the warm beverage he held in those talented hands. She tried to imagine them holding a paintbrush, and not a crop.

She shook her head.

“What?” he spoke, and she realized that she’d fallen silent in her musings. A bad thing for a reporter, she knew, and yet, she could lay that to the muzzy headache in her temple.

“oh, sorry, just…woolgathering. Thinking about Your paintings, your studio.”

“Which studio would that be?” His look was challenging. “I’m sure you’ve googled me, heard the stories. I googled you, too. I see we have tastes that run along a similar vein, little one.”

She swallowed, nonplussed. He’d googled her? She’d not even done herself in a long time…like since …high school, she supposed…but she had a fair idea of what He had found.

“So, it’s true then, the New York stories?” her voice, was calm, surprising her.

“Of course it’s true, or you boss wouldn’t have sent YOU to me, would he?”

She blinked. Hadn’t she had that same thought? Damn. Damn. And her pussy was twitching. She rose, her nerves making her hands shake a bit, rattling her.

“Look, Mr. Foxx, why don’t i head back to town and we can reschedule this interview for later…”

“You don’t seem like the cut-and-run type, little girl.” His eyes challenged her. “Besides, your car is fetched up one of my pine trees and the tow company won’t come out this way for quite some time. I told them there was no rush, they could come tomorrow.”

Her heart paused a beat, then rushed headlong into a mix of annoyed anger, and incendiary lust. How dared HE? Then again, considering who, and what He was…why wouldn’t he?

She threw him a glare anyway. “That was presumptuous.”

He grinned. “It was, wasn’t it? You’ll find that is a good summation of my character. I presume, I take.”

“Take? That could land you in trouble, you know.” She wondered exactly what they were talking about, but her pussy knew. Her nipples, hard as rocks under her quilt wrapping, they knew too.

He reached out a hand, which she could no more resist taking than she could stop breathing. There it was again, that little tingle that passed between them. He knew it. She knew it.

“How hard are you going to fight me before you believe?” He asked quietly as He pulled her close.

She shook her head, words for once, gone, fled out into the darkening night.

“You feel it, little one. You’ve been searching for a long time. Maybe it’s time for you to give yourself another try, hmmm?”

His right hand still held hers, but the other hand was slipping up and down her back, and little tangles of lust wove  under her skin at the touch. It was true, she’d gone through lovers like water through a sieve. She just never could find the one Dom who meshed with her.  The one who controlled, not just through pain and bondage, but with an innate confidence. She looked up into His eyes and read truth there.

How the fuck did He do that? Spin his web around her that fast? She tried to break contact, but he held her, soothing and stirring her with that simple caress up and down her back. When he finally released her hand, she was quiescent, trembling a bit, but still.

His hand fisted deeply in her hair, and he slowly pulled her head back baring her throat. Still he didn’t move in, just gazed at her, drinking in even that small act of submission.

She felt the touch of his eyes like heated darts along her lips, her throat. Her eyes closed, finally under that intense gaze, and as her lids fell shut, His lips brushed against hers. Brushed with the softness of a sable brush. And then it was …more. It was a kiss, it was a taking in. He drank deeply from her mouth, tasting her flavor, lapping at her tongue, her lips, sucking those succulent rounds into his mouth, biting and nipping before releasing them.

She felt her lips swell with the attention his mouth gave, and then He went deeper, taking, pulling her into him, her tits pressing against his chest, her mouth under siege. She felt consumed, and as he released her, and their eyes met, tinglingly, achingly aware.


He took her to his ‘Studio’. The public one, where his work evolved. Canvases were everywhere. Pieces of frames lay neatly stacked on a table against the far wall, blank canvas stored in several boxes. The smell of paint, of thinner, of man, permeated the room. She imagined being up here at dawn, or dusk, not just watching the sun rise, or set, but being part of it. The glass walls let the world outside, in. Despite the press of cold air and star-dotted sky, it was warm up here, and she was enthralled.

She did a slow spin, taking in her first impressions, imagined trying to write this, so that her readers could be in this place if only for a moment, through her. It nearly defied description. The faint glow of the rising moon illuminated the distant, snow-bright peaks. She felt she’d been transported to some magical kingdom.

“It’s fabulous. It’s not all i want to say, Mr. Foxx but truly, i…” He watched her, leaning negligently against a long, sturdy oak table, one foot crossed over the other, hands curled loosely on the edge of the surface behind him.  She stuttered to silence as she watched him, watching her. That smile was just killer, she thought, full of charm, and confidence. He knew who he was, and he’d do whatever the fuck he chose. He exuded calm, quiet strength.

And sex.

oboy did He exude sex.

Her nipples went back on high alert, and her pussy jolted. His eyes cruised down her body, resting a moment on her chest, where her protuberant nipples waved at him, then down her legs, and back up. His gaze was a tease, a caress.

“Come. Here.”  His voice was soft, but not gentle. She took a hesitant step forward, and another. All too soon she was standing before his crossed feet.


She couldn’t get closer unless she straddled his legs and moved up him and she for sure wasn’t going to do that. He read her like a book, she thought, as his hand left the table, and curled into the hem of her white sweater. She did not refuse the gesture, though she could easily have stepped back, stepped away. Instead, she left his finger there, let it tease her slowly forward. Slowly up his legs, the brush of his warmth against her own calves, moving upwards to her thighs as she came ever closer. Her pussy tingled, feeding off the heat from his body.

She felt that heat answered  in her cunt, burning and yearning towards his belly, imploring silently for his hardness to bury itself into the silken wetness that  throbbed between her legs. That selfsame  place that had soaked her panties. Finally, he released her sweater, his hand slipping behind her, pressing the small of her back forward those last few inches. Pressed tight to him, she could feel the hardness of his cock pressing into the juncture of her thighs. She imagined that thickness buried deeply up inside her belly. She could not hold back the soft, low moan.

Both arms came around her now, holding her hard, and he spoke quietly into her ear.

“I am going to fuck you, little one. I will lay you here on this table, tying your arms to the legs, keeping you  motionless as I fuck you from behind. My cock will fill you, swim deep up into your hot cunt. I feel it, you know. I feel your heat, smell the wetness of you.  I will take and take and take, fucking you hard, fucking you deep, filling you, using you until I am sated, and I cum deep within you.”

She shivered and though it seemed impossible, heated further. Her breath was irregular, short gasping little pants, trying to draw more oxygen into her starving lungs. Her pulse was centered solely within her clit.

His hands lifted from her waist, drawing her sweater upwards. Her tits hung free, braless as was her wont.

“Hmmm, nice, nice tits, my little girl. What succulent nipples I will feast upon, later. Much later.”

His words sent a frisson of goosebumps down her spine, speckling her tits, and drawing her nipples into firmly crinkled nubs of intense need.

He pushed her away, gently, then stepped free of the table. He loosened the buttons of her trousers, and pulled them free. He pushed her back to the table, and, hand against her hair, pushed her facedown. The top was smooth as silk, cool as glass under her cheek. She lay, quiescent, as he moved about the room. What was going to happen here was inevitable. She knew it.

She wanted it.

Wanted it more than air. More than cookie dough ice cream. More than her story.

He was on the far side of the table now, drawing her wrists together, tightening every loop carefully, and she watched him work the rope against her flesh, feeling an answer deep inside her cunt.  He looked into her eyes as he guided the rope across the table, under it.  He ducked beneath the table now, and she felt the movement of air as He moved, unseen below her. He was crossing the rope around the legs on her side of the table; His hand was firm when He grasped her left calf, and wrapped one length of rope tightly around it, and secured it to the thick leg of the table.  Ducking back under the table, He retrieved the other length of line, and wrapped that around the right table leg, then hers.

She was spread wide, her legs held open, secured to the legs of the table, her arms yearning toward the far side of the table. If she pulled her arms, she felt a whisper of that tug against both legs. Clever.

“I told you downstairs that I took what I wanted. And so I have taken you, little one.” His hand cracked against her ass. “Your boss and I talked long about you. He was worried for you, you see. Thought you were headed down a bad way. He and I go way back. Went to college together, were dorm neighbors. Two geeky guys, a wannabe writer, a wannabe artist, stuck sitting in the hallway together as our roomies boffed every girl they could.”

She was enthralled, then whistled in another sharp breath as His hand slapped her again. She felt the coil of need grow tendrils through her body. She needed him to fuck her.

She knew better than to ask.

His hand rubbed the reddening flesh, then slapped again.

“When Leon called me with the idea that I meet you, I said okay. We know each other, you see. And he felt he owed me, since I introduced him to his husband.”

She jolted. Leon was gay? Well, he’d hidden that from her for the 7 months she’d worked under him. Sneaky. Just sneaky. The crack on her ass diverted her attention back to her heating ass.

It stung, and was not His hand. A flurry of quick, sharp blows and she arched up. Well, she imagined she did, though He had tied her securely and she moved only a fraction. She felt the sudden sharp tug against her clit as He tugged on the black lace panties He had left on.

“Cute panties, but you will need to purchase another pair, or twenty, little one,” He said. With a sharp tug, she felt the sides give way, and she blushed faintly when He tossed them onto the table. They fetched up near her face, and she smelled the scent of her arousal on them, could see the shiny white streaks where her lust had painted them wetly.

He rubbed his hands against her now bare flesh, gently tapping the crop up her back, down the other side. He was painting her in pain, she thought, smiling at the simile, then winced as He struck her hip harder, sharper than before.

“Yell for me, little one, let me hear you sing out…”

She wanted to be quiet, but He kept swatting, rubbing, repeating. Sometimes her ass, then her back, her thighs. Twice that fucking thing hit her swollen dripping cunt. The third time broke her, and she cried out, loudly.

And felt Him fill her.

Her cunt stung wickedly, and without warning He was just there. His thick heavy cock just slid up inside of her yearning cunt like she was greased.

Which, she supposed, she was.

He took her on a hard, fast ride, his hips banging into her throbbing asscheeks, his cock rubbing her in all the right places. His hand came around her and pinched at her clit, sending her into her first orgasm, then slipped away to grasp her hips as he barreled up and into her, fucking her through her orgasm and into a second, even wilder one.

His hands slipped up her sides, reaching under to pinch and twist her nipples, and she came again. Again, He pinched, twisted, slamming his cock roughly into her. He leaned into her now, his hips beating her, his breath at last losing control, rasping deeply as He hurtled towards his own explosion.

When it came, she swore she could feel the pulsing expulsions of cum sluicing up against her cervix, coating her, spraying her with his life-essence. He collapsed on her, as she came again.

“Only 4 orgasms, little one?” he gasped. “Soon I will teach you to cum even more often.”

“How soon?” she panted back.

His laughter painted her in a warm, peaceful glow.

He was an artist, indeed.

The Domme-Wife (2)

He knelt at her feet, her boot-clad legs propped on his shoulders as his lips danced across her thighs, enjoying the texture of the slickly clad legs.

The sweet and heady perfume  from the juncture of those thighs suffused the air around his face with olfactory delight. His cock took the memo from his nose.

‘this way to Paradise’ he thought silently, as his lips played ever closer to their objective. He was taking his time, teasing Her the way she liked.  A single stroke on her succulent flesh roused them both and she nearly purred with satisfaction.

“More of that, slaveboy” she murmured. And he was pleased to obey that order.

They’d found a small room in which to indulge their rising sexual needs. Once she had come so delightfully into his mouth, they straightened up and made their way back to the play space.

She was luminescent, he thought, watching her smile and chat. They paused for quite some time watching a rope magician tie his delightful ‘assistant’, his subgirl. Although they were good friends, he knew that she didn’t notice them there.  He watched them both, moving together to their own rhythms, enjoying  the contrasts of focus and subspace written on her lovely face.

He knew she could only hear the voice of her Master, that the hubbub of the crowded room had faded into the background and for her, there was only one other in the room.

He knew they would get back to her later, and have breakfast together the next day. He was transfixed for a moment at the sheer beauty of her submission. Wondered, too, if he ever got that look on his face serving his wife, his Mistress.

It was a rollicking Saturday night at the dungeon, and they moved around the room renewing acquaintances, checking out vendors, looking at the variety in offerings, from hand made toys, to beautiful leather clothing.  Though he knew he wouldn’t be wearing a spiffy leather vest in the near future, he could imagine his lovely beloved with this burgundy one. The black she was wearing tonight proved that she could pull off this kind of openly sexual Domme look with ease.

He spoke quietly to the operator, told him his wallet was with his pants in one of the lockers, and would be back. The vendor took his name, and understanding that this would be a gift, she discreetly whisked it off the table.

That would have to be in the “later in our bedroom” gift pile, he thought with a chuckle. He could only imagine their kids’ faces if that got under the tree…

“Something funny, slave?” She turned, and looked around at what could be amusing him.

“no, Mistress, just thinking about the kids, their reaction.”

“Slave, I’m not even going to think about that just now. I am thinking about that, however…” and she nodded towards a demonstration of a violet wand.

He imagined her playing its shocking arcs across his body, and more importantly around his cock and balls.


“Really Mistress?” He tried to sound nonchalant, not dubious. Doubt would inspire her to try, he just knew it.

She tugged on his leash, leading him closer. He swallowed hard. The slave-girl currently getting shocked seemed both thrilled and fearful.

She wouldn’t really, would she?

Transformations (e)

She passed in front of the living room window again. It was 8:22 a.m. and she needed to grab her keys and head off for work, but she kept looking across the street.

The fucking garage doors never opened.

Maybe He was working from home? suggested her shoulder -angel.

‘no lights, dummy’ replied her shoulder-devil.

“shut the fuck up” she told them both, and angrily snatched up her purse. She all but flew out of her house shutting the hem of her skirt in the door and not realizing it until she turned away…and couldn’t.

“Oh for crizzakes,” she muttered under her breath. Unlocking the door, releasing her skirt, relocking it, she gave a short, frightened squeak when she turned and found Him right fucking behind her.

“Self-bondage?” He asked with a smirky smile.

She snorted, trying to ignore the blush rapidly suffusing her face, and her pounding heart. He’d just …startled her, that was all.

‘yeah, tell that to your cunt’ whispered her devil.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” He continued with a small, contained smile. She thought he was trying to not laugh, but the corners of his mouth continued to quirk and his chin quivered just a bit.

She stared at him hard for a minute, then sighed.

“Oh, go ahead, dammit, and laugh.”

And he did. Rich, rolling laughter, that made her own mouth quiver and arch at the corners. She refused to laugh. Flatly refused to giggle.

And then he poked her in the belly. The giggle was unexpected.

“There, now that I’ve deflated your ‘huff’, feel better little one?”

He acted like it hadn’t been three days since he’d last seen, or spoken to her. Three long days since she’d found the card on her foyer floor.

“I’ve been out-of-town, and just got back. I left suddenly, hope you got my card?” He knew full well she had, as he’d seen her holding it when she had gone back upstairs, watched her tuck it into her nightstand drawer. Once her light had gone out, He had called the limo company, and before the hour was gone, he was whisked away.

“I’d like to take you out tonight, but I’m afraid my schedule won’t allow anything until after 9, and I think that might be a bit late for you? I wondered if i might stop over for a while, visit, share a glass of wine, work on getting to know the mind behind the beautiful face.”

Flattery, kindness, sincerity, caring all wrapped up nicely, sans bow. “How the hell did He do that at 8:3o in the morning?” she wondered. She was intrigued, she could admit to intrigued.

“intrigued is good” her shoulder-angel whispered.

“fucked is better” snickered that persistent, and all-too-accurate devil.

“Okay,” she spoke, wondering if she had hesitated too long.

He smiled down at her, his amazing green eyes just delving so deeply into hers.

“I’ll see you tonight then. Wear something for me?” His voice was a question, barely. Bordering on an order but somehow not quite crossing the line, not quite getting her back up.

How the fuck did He do that?