The Symbol (2)

been awhile since part one

Malique watched the sassy slut, Sam’s slut, sashay across the room towards him. He kept the smile buried deep. God knew the wench was smart-assed enough as it was. She for sure didn’t need to know how amused He was at her antics.  Sam spoiled her, to be sure, but Mal could understand.

She was a fine-lookin’ piece of ass.

And her smart mouth kept Him and Sam’s other friends amused when they hung out together. Today, He had other uses for that sharp-tongued hole.

Sam had given him carte blanch with her, except for her little asshole, which was a damned shame, ask Him.  He loved watching those tiny little holes stretch out as his big ole dick sank slowly down into that hot tight tunnel.

Just the thought of it made his cock twitch. Maybe. Still, Sam was a friend, and one didn’t bugger the slut of a friend without repercussions.

And a good friend wasn’t worth the use of a hole. No matter how hot and tight it was. He shook his head sadly. Nope.

She lay face down on the table, her perky ass pointing to the ceiling. The mouth had motored down as Sam left her here.  He slapped the bottom of her bottom, where thigh met cheek.

She jolted.


“Din’t Sam tell you to watch your trash mouth last week?”

“Well, yes, but first, He’s not here, and second…ow. That fuckin’ hurt, Mal!”

“Whether Sam’s here or not, watch your mouth, girl.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair, thick and curly against his big hand. Nice. The scent of wildflowers raised to his nose as he pulled her head up, torquing her to look at him. Her eyes had widened, he noted. Good. Time for her to take ole Mal serious.


“yessir.” the words were spoken softly, demurely, her voice thick and husky. So, the little slut really did respond well to this kind of caring. The thought make his cock begin to stiffen in his boxers. He dropped her head, and moved down her body, stroking over her lower back, the top of her ass where the tat would be placed.

He cleaned the area with alcohol wipes, and as it dried, he confirmed the drawing of the tat with her. She smiled, dreamy-eyed, nodding.

She was so fucking sexy, laying on his table like that. Ass exposed, one small hand under her cheek, eyes gleaming.  He laid the drawing down on her back, and took up his tools.

The outlines finished quickly, and she had minimal moaning and whimpering. Then again, Sam had pointed out that she did enjoy pain.

That much was obvious as her little pussy was leaking profusely now. The scent of rich cunt juice filled him as he leaned over her right cheek, outlining the last of the three holes.

“Gonna take a break now.” He spoke to the back of her head, as his gloved hand slipped down her ass-crack and felt the heat from her pussy. She was all but steaming. He kept his hand in place, then walked around the end of the table. He pulled her down the slick surface, pulling her pussy closer to him. Her legs braced on his shoulders as he pulled his stool in.

With a practiced flick, he opened the two sides of the table, an innovation he’d created when he first began doing slave tats on girls cunny lips. This gave him full access to this area, with the added ability to secure those legs, open, and vulnerable to His inky needles.

He’d never felt the kind of lust for those sluts that he did for Sams girl here. Then again, Sam was renowned for his girl and her oral skills with his friends. Mal had never been to a game night with girl, so He’d never experienced her mouth on his cock.

That would change tonight, he knew. No fuckin’ way she was leaving without swallowing a load of his thick cream. But for now, he was on a different course.

He scooted forward on his stool, and buried his face into her wet cunt. She arched up at the unexpectedness, a long low moan escaping as his tongue dove straight up inside her cunthole.  His hands held her thighs apart, and his nose tickled her perineum.

He opened his mouth wide, and covered her pussy. His lower teeth scraped across her clit, and she jolted and cried out. It was erotic pain, and he felt too, the hot rush of juice as he grated his lower teeth again across her swollen clitoris.  Then he sucked. His tongue snaked across her inner lips, and the suction was intense. He pulled away with a little *pop* that had her writhing.

“Gawd, gawd.” Forgotten was the stingy pain in her lower back from the outline of her tat. In place of that pain, the intense need building between her thighs overran that hurt. She bucked against his face.

“Oh. Gawd. Going. To. Cum. Please. Sir?”

His head lifted from her cunt.

“you better fuckin’ cum, slut…” and He went back to feasting, nibbling and sucking at tender lips, fucking into her hole with his long thick tongue.

She came, hard and fast.

He drove her on again. As she erupted a second time, He slid a finger up and into her tightly puckered asshole. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Slurping up her drooling pussy, He wiped his face on the back of her thighs. Pushing away, he squeezed on calf.

“Time for the next part of your symbol, slut.”

and he walked across the room for a new pair of gloves.

If Wishes …

She took the last few hesitant steps carefully. The teapot whistled shrilly, and she turned the gas flame off.

The crystal bowl on the table was one of her best. She had doubts about pouring boiling water into her Waterford, but…the instructions were clear.


Pour contents of packet into large crystal bowl. Place a large, pure silver spoon in bowl.

Add 3 cups of boiling water, stir vigorously with silver spoon; remove when mixed completely.

Carry bowl outside and set under a full moon.

Add one snip of personal hair of recipient, and one drop of personal fluid (not urine). Do not stir.

That was it, easy-peasy as they say. Whoever that ubiquitous “they” ever was.

Her heart was in her throat as she carefully measured 3 cups of boiling water, and poured it into the bowl. There was a soft sputter, and a hiss as the hot water cascaded over the brownish powder at the bottom of the bowl.

She gingerly took up the spoon. It was freakin’ hot! Yikes! Using a corner of her denim shirt, she grabbed at the end of the spoon once more, and began stirring vigorously, careful to not splash the liquid up over the sides of the bowl.

The granules at the bottom began to melt, to disappear. In a very short time, they were gone. The water changed hue, from clear, to brown, to tan, to pink, to white, and then, clear again.

She was mystified.

Where did the solute go?

She stared into the depths of the water…but there was no trace of anything there, just the glint of the silver spoon’s bowl refracting the light, and the watery reflection of her own colors.

Sighing, disappointed, she nonetheless carried the warm bowl and her tiny manicure scissors outside. Her backyard wasn’t huge, but it was private,  bordered by tall bushes on one side, and a wall of trees on the other…the neighbor on that side being a hermit of indeterminate age.  Likely those bushes hadn’t been trimmed back in 50 years or more.

Total privacy was just the thing one needed when doing alchemy of this sort, she thought with a wry grin.

She trudged out to the center of her yard, where the silvery rays from the moon shone clear of her little house.  She felt peace fall over her as the long cool beams caressed her face softly.  She lifted the bowl, showing its contents to the shining Orb, noting the silvered gleam covering the surface of the bowl.

Where the fuck was her spoon?

She placed the bowl down on the ground carefully, and using the scissors, snipped a bit of her hair and sprinkled it into the bowl. It floated there for a moment, then sank out of sight. Funny, even in this light the strands should have been visible at the bottom of the bowl. She shook her head. She’d decided to go this strange route. . . might as well see it through, then.

Dipping a finger between her legs, she felt her pussy. Wet. She was perpetually wet, it seemed, needy, wanton, and lonely.

She took her wet finger, and gingerly touched it to the surface of the water. It wasn’t too hot any more, and she stirred her finger through the water.

The tingle surprised the hell out of her.

With a last glance into the bowl, she sighed, and turning, went back into the house as the old witch had instructed her.

And went to bed with the kitchen door unlocked.


She stirred restlessly under the blankets. Coming awake slowly, groggy with interrupted rest, she felt…entwined. She tried to disentangle herself from her blankets, but she really could not move.

She tried to blink her eyes, but there was only darkness.  What the hell was going on here?

“Ah, you awaken, my little slut..”

The touch of a heavy, warm hand over her breast was a surprise.  Slut? who was he calling a slut…

The pinch on her nipple was firm. Painfully firm. She cried out when He rolled the hardening peak between his fingers, and moaned aloud when she felt the tight bite of what could only be a clamp upon the freshly tenderized flesh.  And cried out when the task was duplicated on her other tit.

OMG! She thought as she tried to breathe through the pain.


His fingers were doing painfully devilish things to her, pinching her tits around the clamps,  then trailing down to tickle around her belly button, then rising again to torment her breasts.

Each time his hands slid down her body they drew ever closer, enticingly closer, to the suddenly throbbing juncture of her thighs.

She could feel the trickle of moisture seeping from her.  It was embarrassing. It was hot. She wondered if she’d ever been more sexually stimulated.

She wondered if she could take the pain. It really, really hurt. You could read all you wanted about nipple clamps…the only thing that helped you understand the hurt of them…was wearing them.

She wanted them off.

She wanted them on.

She needed….oh gawd. Needed them off. Needed those hands to dive deeply between her legs. Needed.

Raw. Primal.

She felt gloriously like lust incarnate. She was giddy with the swelling of pain and desire He was stirring in her.

“Please….” She had thought it would come out a screaming moan, but it was merely a breathy sigh.

He bit her at the top of her mons, just at the start of her cleft. She arched up, crying out in pain, the movement setting her tits in motion, and ratcheting up the pain roiling in her breasts.  Her arms would not move, her legs pegged far apart. She was open and vulnerable to His every depredation.

His teeth moved steadily downward. The hard nips on her tender outer lips were nothing compared to the sudden sharp bite of pain as he sucked her clit between his teeth, and into his mouth.

Pleasure like she’d never before known flowed through her like a river. She was hot, and cold, shivering with pain and pleasure mixed so tightly that she couldn’t tell really, which was which.

His fingers drove up inside of her without warning, but she was so wet they slipped inside her with ease. His fingers fucked her to an explosive eruption, even as his teeth continued to bite around her pussy. Although she’d never have said she was given to multiple orgasms, she felt the second one building inside before the echoes of the first had died away.

And she was up and over that knife-edge before she could even speak.

Trembling with the force of the second cumming, she felt the upsurge of pain rising in a wall of fire from tits, and tortured cunt.

She almost fainted when the first clamp came off, his mouth quickly replacing the tight tool, with a torque every bit as powerful as the biting clamp. She was moaning, tossing her head constantly, and yet another orgasm swept over her.

She’d never cum when someone sucked her nipple before!

He treated the other nipple the same way, biting, sucking, pulling orgasm after orgasm from her.

She would faint from pain, from pleasure, awakening to deeper torments, intensely given joy.


The light from the morning sun crept across the room, marching with intent across the floor. It illuminated one small foot, hanging off the bed, pink polish glinting off the nails.

The beam crept higher up the mattress, finding a thicker, larger foot, and a well-muscled calf, before it bent off and slipped over the pillow.

Strands of hair mingled on that pillow, one dark, one bright. Twin smiles were not disturbed by the daring gleam of light.

Arms were wrapped tightly around each other.

When eyes finally opened, he smiled down into her sleepy, rosy face.

“I never believed in witches but She promised me I’d meet the girl of my dreams under the full moon. I could hardly believe it when you came out into the moonlight in your back yard last night…illuminated like a shaft of quicksilver in the dark…”

She smiled. She hoped she’d have time to get downstairs and hide the packet on her kitchen table.

Her wish came true, and as she bustled around making Him coffee, she slipped the packet labeled “Insta-Dom” into her bathrobe pocket, with a grin.

Sometimes wishes really did come true.



He stalks me around the room, though in truth i’m not really trying all that hard to escape. i’m prey, but willingly so.  His eyes are fierce, and a shiver travels from my neck to my pussy.

i’ve never seen Him quite like this before.

He says nothing, just that leonine stride towards me as i mince ever backwards around the house.  My nipples ache from the treatment He’d given them before….


Sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, He rises. i take no note of it, He often gets His own second cup of coffee. Yet, not today. He  yanked me up by my hair, pulled down my cami, and bent his head to my tits. His hand stayed in my hair, pulling me backward into a living bow, quivering as his insatiable mouth arrowed to my  nipples. i tried, once, to pull away from the hard clamp of teeth on tender flesh, moaning and crying out as he feasted roughly on me, but His free hand snaked around my waist, holding me tight, holding me close.

my nipples were doomed.

Mauled, throbbing, sucked to hard, rosy peaks, He finishes with me by placing the new clamps onto the tenderized bulbs. The chain is so heavy, and i moan. How to tell Him how much it means to be held this way? Chained to Him by His hand, even when He is not here to control me, i am still, clamped thus, His to control.

The texts came throughout the day.

“Left clamp off. Pinch my nipple.”

“Right clamp off, roll that tender bud and text me *immediately* how it felt.”

“Good. Good. I *own* that pain. *I* own that nipple. MINE.”

“Clamps on.”

“I don’t give a FUCK if it hurts.”

“Do. It. Now. coz if *I* come home to do it……”

By days end i was a sopping, ragged mess. My tits ached, hot licks of fire stirred again and again from softly warm embers to 3-alarm raging inferno by Him.

At supper, as at breakfast, He rises quickly, chair thrust back so fast it tips, and crashes to the floor. I startle, like an antelope upon seeing the lion stalking her.

Too fast for me to resist,  He is on me, His teeth busy at my hurting flesh. Gawd. Gawd. Hurts. i am moaning, dying, living, breathing through the torment, even as my cunt clenches and my orgasm leaks down my thighs.

He pulls away, grabbing the clamps off the table where they lay, gleaming in the candlelight. A strange decoration for ones’ dinner table, perhaps. . . but not our table!

He fastens them brusquely. Precise in His movement, drawing my pain to new levels. His words come from far away as i find myself falling into the deep well of submission.

“no. cumming.”

All i can do is nod.

He releases me, pats me on the ass and sends me to my chores. i wash the dishes in a dreamy haze of pain, of submission, of intense need. He knows what nipple pain does to my cunt. He’s smelled the results of it by now… that first hard cum.

To be shut down as the need built? Built that need ever deeper, ever more intense.

Denial is so fawking hawt, i’ve told Him.  Obviously, He believes it. He sits reading the paper as i move around the kitchen, setting it to rights. Preparing the coffee for morning, setting the table for breakfast.

Perhaps i provoke Him, leaning across to lay out His napkin, His spoon, my chain swinging free and tap-tapping on the paper.  He knows i hunger for Him now.  i smile winsomely at Him as i move away, back to the safety of my side of the table.

i see the hunger rise in Him. His game has tormented Him as well as me. my eyes flash to His crotch, the hard bump in the front of His jeans mute evidence of His need. He sees me looking. And snaps.

In a heartbeat His eyes change. From amused, to hungry. From complaisant watcher, to fiendish predator. He folds the paper with a sharp snap, then rises. He stalks me around the room, though in truth i’m not really trying all that hard to escape. i’m prey, but willingly so.  His eyes are fierce, and a shiver travels from my neck to my pussy.

He hunts, the hungry Lion.

Swiftly, efficiently, i am brought down,

and consumed.

What to Do @ 100K?


Thank YOU. Thank YOU ….YOU did this…YOU came here and made me a stats slut.

You came here and made me check my numbers every week…and YOU came here…and read my stories, and the real life ups and downs…

You came here to see me lose my D/s virginity, my ass virginity, get a Dom, then another Dom, lose a Dom, recommit to a Dom (Sir B…i love You…)

You came and kept on coming…and WOW. Whodathunk a little vanilla mom blog about sex would change my life so very much (and trust me it so has), would help me find some special friends, would make me grow and stretch as a woman, a slut, a writer…??

Not me.

Not for the life of me would i ever have thought that i’d have 100 hits a day, let alone 100,000 in 17 months.

So, thanks to you, loyal readers…those vocal few i so adore, and you silent readers who sit back, read, and smile, or wank…*grins*

Since YOU got me here…i really need to do something special, don’t i?

Hmmmm. what to give to the pervs who have everything? *thinking*…no, not that.  or how about…hmmmm…no, not that either. *shakes head* definitely not that…

i know…how about a picture of Sir B’s gift to me? Really kewl gift, might i add…

Don’t believe me?


slut chains!

Thank You. Each of You. i value your readership, comments when proffered, and your constant kindnesses.




The Assistant 3

The room was dark, and almost disturbing. There seemed to be the echo’s of tears shed, of cries let loose…all manner of things hung upon the walls…whips, to be sure, she understood, even the crops. But those big silver hooks? She hated to imagine what happened with those!

She lay, stretched out, feeling a bit languorous as His hands massaged her back, butt, legs. Standing in bondage, tied ever so efficiently, had taken a surprising toll on her, despite the fairly brief time He’d left her there for. She felt shivery, quivery, drained.

And so fucking turned on it was embarrassing.

The slap on her ass startled more than it stung.

“Time for you to roll over, and let me work the sore spots there. Can’t have our Ace Reporter telling tales of dark, mysterious abuse to her readership, now can we?”

“Oh, i’m not even thinking about …” her voice trailed off as His hands expertly rubbed down her shoulders, around her throat, and rubbed briskly at her breasts through the cropped white tee-shirt that fit tight enough to be uncomfortably revealing. She wondered if He could see the dark circles of her nipples in the dim light. She felt a blush blooming, as the hard nubs of them poked up in greeting when His hands slipped up and over them.

“Don’t be embarrassed that your breasts, your nipples respond. Totally natural. They were bound tightly so as the blood flow returns to normal, they become very sensitive. One of the reasons subbies like rope bondage is the heightened sensations.”

“So what do the Dom’s get out of it?” she asked, her eyes closing as His fingers did seem to magically release the tense muscles that she’d not even realized had been so strained.

“We get power, control, all that you’d expect. And it’s beautiful. Beautiful to see a woman wrapped in a web created by my hands. Beautiful to watch her suffer for me, if that is what the purpose of the play is.”

“Well, i didn’t suffer all that much,” She felt she needed to prove that she was a tough old bird, as tough as those 20-something subbies he likely usually played with.

“Of course you didn’t, little one.” The secret smile that never seemed far from his mouth sent a little frisson of nerves down her body, peaking her nipples even tighter, and causing her pussy to tingle.

Damn He was good.

He kept contact with her eyes as he rubbed into her crotch, over the wet spot on her silk trousers. Neither said a word, but when his palm cupped her there for a moment, then another, she felt the blush rising once more.

“There is nothing wrong with being aroused by this. Some are, some aren’t…our bodies are curious things. You may have a latent desire for a bit of kink…maybe you’d be surprised by it, but the ever-increasing sales in the various toy stores prove that the world is becoming more sexually aware.”

“Well, perhaps, ” she agreed, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean…this…” and she waved her hand around to encompass the room and its many tools and toys,  “would become mainstream. And if it did…wouldn’t it lose a bit of its….cachet?”

He smiled down at her. Nodded after a moment, almost to himself.

“It’s possible that some of the attraction is that of being counter-culture…trying to imagine a world where D/s ruled the day…the counter culture would be vanilla people sneaking around trying to do missionary…”

He lifted his face and boomed out a big laugh. It made her giggle.

His hand slipped away from her, almost reluctantly. She felt turbo-charged. Whether it was His hands or latent sexual energy, she wasn’t sure but suddenly she felt like bounding up from the couch and exploring.

As if He knew what she was feeling, he proffered His hand and helped her rise.

“Want a tour, little one?” She nodded, noting that he did not release her hand, but rather pulled her around in front of him, holding her arm across her body, pinning her to Him.  His free hand gathered a fistful of hair and pushing her, albeit gently, forward by it.  She almost giggled at the contrast, one hand held softly in His, while he guided her around the room by her hair.

“Kinda like walking a pet” He said, drolly, looking down at her.  She tried to look up at Him, but the pull in her hair made her wince. He walked her up to the St. Andrews Cross.

“Want to try?”

“I think i want to try it all…!” she said, rising excitement making her daring.

He murmured against her ear, his voice a soft, husky promise.

“Be careful what you wish for, little one…you might like it.”


The phone woke her at 2:48 a.m. She rolled over, grabbing for the fucking thing which was singing La Vita Loca.

Russ’s ringtone.

They’d been fighting off and on now for 3 fucking days. He was gone,  gone to Denver nearly a week ago.  She was so tired of the drama. They’d not spoken in 5 hours…so why the fuck did he need to call, continue the drama now?

“What?” her voice was husky from the tears she’d shed when she’d laid down attempting sleep.

“Put your hand on your right tit.”


“Quiet.” His voice, far from the anger-filled tones of earlier, was quiet, but oh-so-firm.

She stopped talking.

“We’ve lost something along the way, pet.”

The way he said pet always sent a shiver down her belly, a shiver that landed at that deep vee between her thighs. They’d not had any time for D/s play in…forever. Maybe that’s what had gone wrong.

“I’m taking it back. Now. I gave you an order; your fucking hand had better be on your tit, pet.”

“Yes, Sir” her voice had softened, sweetened. “my hand is on my right tit, Sir.”

“Good, pet. I want you to caress my tit for me. Softly, let your hand glide up and around it. Feel how firm that flesh is, how it craves my hand on it.”

Her breathing picked up, deeper, faster. She knew he could hear it through the phone. There was silence as she explored her breast at his prompts. Push, pull, swirl. She felt the cold deadness of her pussy melt away at His touch.

“pinch your hard pink nipple for me now pet. It is hard for me, isn’t it?”

“yes Master,” her voice  was breathy, and so obviously turned-on.

“good, pet, pinch it hard, as hard as I would if I was standing over you.”

“Yes, Master” and she squeezed the fat little bulb of flesh hard enough to squeal painfully into the phone.  “oh, hurts, hurts”


“thank you Sir, thank you.” and the tears began anew.

“Whose tit are you are touching?”

“Yours, Master.”

“And whose nipple is being so skillfully squeezed with my pain?”

“Yours, Master.” her voice was hushed, submissive, husky with the growing need his touch stirred in her.

“Open your legs, wide, pet.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Don’t you fucking dare stop pinching that bud.”

“nosirnosir..” she was quick to respond, renewing her grasp on her quite painful nipple.

“good pet. Time to go hands-free on the phone…I have plans for your other hand now.”

There was a faint scrabble of sound, then the soft humm as the phone went to speaker mode.

“Good pet. Now, reach down between those legs; touch that swollen button. The one you like me to bite as I pull the chain between your tits, the one you like me to slap over and over with my hand.”

Her breathing became ragged, and He knew, that even without touching yet,  she was coming close to her release.

“Touch.” His voice was harsh, hard.

“yessir” her breath rasped in her throat as she responded to His voice, to the pain  he wove  around her body, connecting pussy and tit. “Yes, Sir” as her body shifted, accepting the pleasure play, the hard little flicks, the soft rubbing of her fingers across her engorged clit.

She was so close. So close.

“Please, Master.”

“not desperate enough.”

PLEASE,  Master…pleaseplease—-i–i–please?”

“I am not sensing desperate  need here, pet.How can I believe you are as needy as you say? I don’t hear it…I don’t believe it.  You know what I think?”

Her breathing was almost violent now. “What, Sir?”

“Careful pet….”

“Sorry, Sir,” she all but sobbed.

“I think you need a nice hard cock in that needy hole of yours.”

There was a sound at the doorway, and the snap of the hallway light switch clicking on, spilling its incandescent glow into the room. She stared. Shocked. Amazed. Thrilled.

He was home. Not in Denver.


She was filled, even before he came into the bed.


He pressed her back into the mattress, one hand over her mouth, the other still clutching her $87.95 Delux Chef’s Knife. The press of it against the soft flesh at the base of her throat was a thin cold line of terror.

‘that’s a good little kitty’ he murmured near her ear. Her hair spilled wildly around her head, a halo encircling her in the half-light filtering through her curtains.

It had been twisted into a neat chignon as she had bent to get the paper off the side steps on her way out the door to work.

He’d come out of the shadows, launching himself on her, and slamming her against the closing kitchen door, still folded in half. She landed hard on the kitchen floor, him on top of her. She’d tried to yelp, but the door closed before any noise got out. He’d used the chignon to pull her across the floor to the block on the counter where she kept her knives.

He had pressed the tip of the knife against her throat as she laid there, stunned, breathless, wild-eyed.

This wasn’t fucking happening.

The sharp prick of the knife against her throat told a different tale.  Her heart thundered hard, as he laid out the ground rules.

“no fucking screaming, kitten.”

“fighting will hurt you worse than me”

“and you won’t win”

“I’ll still get what I came in for…”

He grabbed her by the front of her jacket, lifting her like she was that kitten he kept calling her. Fear froze her limbs.  A quick slice down the front of the jacket released the buttons from their threaded ties, and they skittered off under the table.

A few hard tugs and the jacket lay behind her on the floor.

He didn’t even use the knife to rip her shirt from her. The soft Georgette blouse tore easily at the seams, and she stood before this stranger in her flesh-toned bra, and plum skirt. His hand reached out and pinched one round tit.

‘nice kitty.’

The words or the pinch freed her from the fear, and she turned and bolted for the door. In a second he was on her, long before she could even turn the knob.

Her heart thundered loudly in her ears as his arm encircled her throat, the edge of the blade pressed against that slender, fragile column.

He’d walked her into the bedroom, to her dresser.  He found the sex toys first, of course.  He held up her favorite blue dildo, made a rude joke, then dropped it back in the drawer, ‘for next time,’ he said, with a thin smile.  Then he found the scarves. He gathered them up and stuffed them into his pockets.

He took his hand from her mouth, helped pull her into the center of the bed. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. The knife gleamed dully, convincing her to be quiet. To not fight. To survive.

It seemed to only take moments before her wrists were lashed together with her favorite rose silk scarf. He sat upon her now, straddling her, the knife laying in promise upon her rising and falling breasts.

He leaned up and over her, securing her tethered hands to the openwork of the fanciful wrought iron headboard. His crotch pressed towards her face, she smelled stale urine, and felt the heat and heft of an engorged cock.

It felt…big.

She tried not to look. There was a large bulge in the front of his old denim jeans. God. Dear God.

Jack wasn’t big…she’d never been fucked by anyone other than Jack. This guy could rip her to pieces….

Tears gathered and spilled over, running down the side of her face, ticking into her ear on the one side, and just under her jawbone on the other.

“please…” was all she could whisper, as fear clogged her throat.

“Hell, I’ll please you, kitten…” and he shot her a feral, hungry look as he pulled her skirt from her.

She was left in her bra and panties, hose and heels. He took one slender leg, and slid off the shoe, tossing it onto the floor behind him. He looped the scarf tightly, expertly around her ankle, and pulled her leg to the corner of the bed, tying it off.  He repeated it for her other leg, though she did try to struggle, and lashed her foot out at him.  He laughed.

The bastard laughed at her.

He caught her flailing leg under his arm, pinning it hard against his torso.

“What the fuck are you going to do with one foot that you couldn’t do with two hands? Silly, stupid kitten. A punishment for being a naughty girl now.”

His fingers hooked into her panties, and he pulled hard. They ruptured at the side seam, and he used the knife to separate the remaining bit of silk.

“Wet” he murmured, as he fingered the crotch, running his thumb over the wet spot, then lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

She turned crimson. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stuffed the small swatch of fabric inside.

“Taste your horny honey, kitten?” he asked as he watched her move the fabric around in her mouth, trying to push it away.  More tears fell now.

He laid down atop her, the thickness between his thighs pressing against her pussy. She almost moaned with the sensation of the thick press of cock pushing the flap of his zipper against her clit.

She didn’t want to feel this. She couldn’t feel this.

“you’re fucking wet for this, aren’t you kitten? Wanting a nice thick piece of meat inside you, don’t you kitten?”

His voice was sinful, thick and sensual, as his mouth pressed to her cheek, his whiskey colored eyes watching her closely. He was pressing against her in small fucking motions, his hips grinding against her, pressing into her sensitive flesh, the roughness of the denim on her tender bits a sexual tease.

He rose up a bit, pressing back on strong, muscled forearms. He took the knife, and sliced through the bra holding back her tits,then through the straps, releasing her into his waiting hands.  He kneaded her tits hard, firmly palpitating the tender flesh, before grasping her nipples in hard fingers, and pinching tight.

She arched up, pressing her pelvis against his.

“nice little kitty, so nice… she loves being petted, hmmmm”

She cried out, softly, ‘noooo,’  afraid that if she protested overmuch he’d gag her for real this time.

She feared that most of all.

He slid down her body, until his mouth captured one reddened bud and he bit down on it. She heard the rasp of his zipper, and in moments felt the press of the thick head against her.

“What a nice wet kitty,” he almost purred against her tit. He slipped back up her body, sinking his cock up and into her belly.

It was fucking huge compared to Jack’s…and yet, her body stretched almost instantly to accommodate him. Her eyes almost rolled up in her head as he pulled out, the flare of his cockhead rubbing against her g-spot.

‘mmmmmmmnnooooo’ she moaned, low, almost inaudible.

“oh-ellllya, kitty” and he began thrusting and parrying, his shaft working deeply up inside her. She’d never felt so full before. Never felt the rasp of a cock pulling her tissues this way, then that as he pulled in and out of her grasping cunt.

His hand fingered her tit; while the other began tickling at her clit. The plunging of his hips never ceased as he continued his three-point torment.

She was being raped. She had no say in this. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to feel this …and yet her body began the ripples that she knew signaled her oncoming orgasm.

She came, hard.

And hard on the heels of her own breaking, his.

“your hungry cunt just sucked the juice right outta my cock, kitten.” He laid a moment, gathering himself, then rose up over her once more.

“good kitten” he slid his hand up and captured her nipple once more, gave it a hard squeeze.

He slid from the bed, zipping his pants. She watched him head out the bedroom door, without a backwards glance. She heard the opening and closing of the kitchen door, the sound of it being pulled tightly shut echoing down the hallway to where she lay, bound to the bed.


He found her there when he got home from work. He was solicitous, caring. She refused to file a police report, saying it would harm her at her job, the negative publicity that always seemed to follow rape victims.

He supported her decision.


Friday night he met his friends for poker night. He met Mason’s eyes across from him at the table.

“planning on losing again tonight my friend?”

He shook his head. He knew the penalty now for losing more than you carried in your pockets.






Thoughts about Rape/Rape Fantasies…

You know, this is a hot-button topic, and one i’ve never addressed in “open forum” before.

coz, yanno, i live in the illusion that i’m still a ‘good’ girl.

even though i know i am not, when i’m being totally honest. This is not to say that i’m not a good mom, a good worker, a good person. But deep in my heart of hearts, i know i am a slut. And i’ve come to some kind of terms with that.

You all have been privy to a lot of my own fantasies. And one that gets me off pretty damn quick (Taken)…is one of forced sex.

And here my clear thoughts get muddied. Is it consensual non-consent rape? Did she really, really want Him all along and he’s finally gotten tired of social pandering and taken what he, and she, both wanted all along?

True rape…is a crime.

Let me be totally clear on that. True rape…being stalked, being “taken”, being used…is a horrible crime against a woman (or man, or child)….

But rape fantasy…wherein we are forced to take what we secretly crave…a total and complete loss of choice? That’s an entirely different kettle of fish.

This thought came from Ximena, who has joined Monocle and Will Redbud over at Erotic Writer. She wrote this story here and has garnered a lot of comments on it…go read it, and see what you think.

i wrote a similar story a long while back. Wait, lemme see if i can find that link…here it is, amazingly titled “Raped“….*snickers*. Yes, that was back in the early days of the blog, see?

So Will commented about Ximena’s story, to quote the first part of his comment “If it’s not consensual, then what’s the fun, either in experiencing it or writing about it?”

That got me to thinking about this topic.

I used to say that i was “date-raped” my first time.  The guy i was with…i really liked him. But i was so fucking naive about sex. He didn’t pin me, hold me down, choke me, not that kind of assault, not at all. For him it was caring, and taking it to the next level.

i was …stunned. i just lay there, wanting it to be over.

in other words, i submitted.

Fighting or protesting? never even crossed my mind.

So, was i raped?

Dunno. We had sex a few more times after that, but not many more. He went away to college, and i met another guy at the place i worked who lusted for me. That was my third sexual experience, again clumsy and not anywhere near as happy as the one i was also having with my best (girl) friend. Anyway,  i digress.

For years i felt that i’d been raped.  Fucking geeze. sigh. This isn’t supposed to be a soul-baring post here, but i feel like i’m laying it all out there today.  k, then.

i was sexually molested for most of my childhood. “He” taught me to stay. To not fight. To not protest. To …accept.

i fully understand the roots of my personal submission come from that.  And i’m not a “poor little girl” anymore…i have forgiven, and moved on…and found a way to carefully express my need for submission.  The only reason that i express this here, now, is to explain why i felt ‘raped’ that first time.

So why the need for rape-fantasy?

For me, it’s the total loss of control. The loss of choices. To accept. And to allow my body to lose control because that is what “He” wants…

hmmm…perhaps it’s a lack of personal responsibility there? If he makes me feel turned on, i’m not really a “bad girl”…then its all on Him…and i can still be “the good girl”…whatever the fuck that is.

The most redeeming thing to me about writing porn, even the dark stuff…it de-isolates me. (is so a word, i just made it!) i’m not the only one who gets off on this stuff. i’m not the only one who gets a pussy-tingle when i read (or write) this stuff.

it’s so important to not feel like the weird kid in the class, even now, isn’t it?

i’d love feedback on this.  if you choose to respond in non-open format, email me privately at–i’ll respond either way, here or there.



Putting Up…and…Manners

So, i have a profile on fetlife. i’ve had it awhile actually. And today i got a ‘tap’ from a guy.

He’s in the UK, and definitely, oh so definitely not my type. OMG. He’s 23.

Yes, twenty-three. And into “mature women” coz, yanno, “mom’s are naturally submissive to the needs and wants of their children.”



not *this* mom, at any rate. i (believe it or not, tis true) am a very strict parent. i know where my kids are all the time, who they are with, what’s going on. i think it’s generational, because for sure i’ve become a female version of my Dad.

So i tell Him that. Oh, and he’s a Dominant. So i do what i always do when i start a convo of this ilk…i tell him that i’m involved.

*snark alert*

he tells me he’s not asked me to drop my doms and become his submissive. Well, duh.

This is the kind that, after talking for a few days, and you tell them “i’m involved” say…well why the fuck didn’t you tell me that at the outset so i didn’t waste my time on you.

So i told him why i told him. And to play nice. This is what he wrote in reply:

Well, I have no expectation in anything. I don’t expect to find what I need and desire right now, because it takes time to establish that bond and trust, and it does not just happen like that. So you would be fine.

no expectations so i will be fine?


i wrote him back asking him if he even understood how insulting that was. (you could hear the 747 flying over his head…whooosh) Yeah, oblivious.  And, he goes on to say:

“Well, the difficult part is, to find those who are real or those who are willing to invest their time and energy to get to know each other to establish that mental connection rather than the body connection (sex). It seems like most want it now now and now”

okay, i grok that but didn’t i say at the start that i wasn’t going to be the “one”?

I told him that having no expectations (fergodsakes…and 23????no expectations????)  was like not tryin—-and  i quote Yoda at him (try? there is no try…only Do. or do not.)

And that sums up my weird day talking back and forth on fetlife.

now back to my regularly scheduled smut!


Without a word he pulled her out of the house by her nipple ring. His grip was insistent, his face stubbornly set.

They’d been arguing for hours.

She had been non-compliant, that was true.

She had resolved to be a better girl this year.

She had tried to hold her tongue…and had failed miserably. One “fuck you, you bastard” too many and now here she was being dragged outside, naked, by her nipple ring. She prayed she didn’t trip, else he’d wind up with her nipple in his hand, and she’d be looking purty weird for the rest of her life.

She wondered if her medical insurance handled nipple re-attachment.

“I told you to chill. I told you to be quiet. I told you to be a good girl. Did you listen to me?”

She shook her head from side to side slowly, widening her eyes and trying to show how repentant she was, in her face, with her body language.

He wasn’t buying it.

“Stick out your rude little tongue. MORE, slut. Better.”

He took a pair of chopsticks, and quickly laid her tongue between them. A twisty-tie went on one side, then the other. Her tongue was pinched tightly, outside her mouth, painfully tight.

“oooooouuuuuuuu” she muttered. The little stabby ends of the twisty-ties jabbed her cheek on one side, her lip on the other.

“Suck it up, sunshine. Isn’t that what you told ME?”

Her eyes widened. Did she really say that? She guessed she did…sometimes her brains leaked out her asshole when she was mad.

He pulled her to the chain link fence, pushing her hard against the cold metal. She shivered, and whimpered. It was fucking cold!!

He took a clamp from his pocket and attached it to her nipple, over the ring. Fucking OW! she hated that. It pinched on the bit of the ring that went through her nipple…

He wove the chain through the links in the fence, then attached the other end to her other nipple. She stood pretty close to the fence now. Her face was perhaps an inch away, her tits, even less than that.

He walked away, she heard his steps receding. The shed door opened with a squeak and suddenly she knew what he was going to do. NO no, that fucker, he wouldn’t would he?

He put the battery down between her feet, and hooked the cable to the fence between her spread knees.

“You wobble at all and you’ll get a hard little pzzzzzzing!” He made the zipping sound of an electric zap.

“Tits, belly, hell even your face, slut. You touch, you zing. Be careful how hard you shiver.”

The string of drool dripped from her open mouth down her tit, down her belly, and made her shiver violently.

Her right nipple just brushed the metal fence.



she cried out, the gag holding her tongue keeping the sound fairly low. Not that there were any neighbors around here to hear her.

That fucker. That fucking fucker.

He walked away.

“I’ll be back eventually, slut. Mind your tongue now, bad girl.”