Antiquities IV

She came home, tired, bone weary. She’d gone round and round with her Boss, who had taken her “upstairs” , where the rounds of arguing continued with their Boss…and she had been vindicated.

But Jim would hate her eternally for it.

Some days just sucked.

She rolled open the door to her loft and saw Gene.  She stepped inside, shut the door, and did a double take…..and guffawed. Her purse fell to the floor, and she sagged against the door, convulsed.

His eyebrow waggled, and he strutted over to her. Not a swagger in his walk, not at all. This was a full-blown cat-strut.

“…” and she bent over, holding her belly and laughing madly. For several minutes she laughed until tears spilled, and she sagged loosely to the floor.

Wiping her eyes, she looked up at him. “Thanks Gene…gosh i needed that…” and a few giggles bubbled up as she took in his outfit, a rubber wetsuit. Skin-tight it showed off an impressive bulge at the “centre of manly delights” as he called it, arching his back and thrusting his pelvis forward, turning this way and that.

“Oh, oh….” and she continued to giggle. He sat down beside her, gathered her into an impromptu one-armed man-hug. “You know, Boss, I am breaking all sorts of djinn codes here, right? Dressing up, and hugging…that’s practically verboten.”

“Still, I really like you …and sometimes breaking the rules is necessary…Ghandi did, and so did Rosa Parks…”

She leaned into him. How had they grown so close so fast? She felt like she’d known him years, rather than 36 short hours.

He slapped her none-to-gently on her thigh. “okay, Boss, time to get up and get dressed!”

“Gene–i am dressed.”

“nope. not. We’re going out! He laughed at the look on her face.

“Look, Boss, i found your date book and guess what i found? Hmmm? Hmmm?  No. Dates. Not one Tom, Harry, -or- Dick, and I accent the “no dick”…” He poked her shoulder as she flushed.

“You haven’t had sex in so long you *blush* about it, Boss. We gotta fix that. I put out an outfit on your bed. Found it in your closet….”

She rose, and went off to see. There was something in his eyes that made her curious and then…she flushed. Oh. My. Gawd. He didn’t find that box….did he?

And of course–he had. There laid out on the bed was a short mini-dress, made entirely of black lace. The bodice had a plunging Vee-neckline, which plummeted to her navel, with cross-lacings that tantalized views of the inner swell of her breasts. The straps came up around her neck, halter style, and left her back bare to her waist. A second vee revealed her asscrack under the crisscrossed ties.

“You’ll look stunning in that, you know.” She turned and looked over her shoulder. Gene lounged in the doorway. “I may be gay, but there is nothing I like better than seeing a woman all tricked out in sexy clothing. I am not immune to a lovely set of titties, you know.”

He leered at her, a caricature, making her laugh yet again.

“Gene, I’m not sure where you’re from, but i can’t wear this out, not here….”

“You can wear it to where I’m going to take you…look…” He proffered the flyer to her.


CALL 555-5555




She looked up at him. “Gene…i can’t….i mean…that is not my scene anymore…i…”

“You mean you got burned, so now you’ve decided to bury a suppressed need and forget all about that dark side that needs feeding? Gave up ALL sex, focused on the career, yada yada yada.

I’ve heard it all before, Boss. Trust me on this …we’re going!”

He turned away…then back to her. “Don’t forget the cuffs, Boss..” and his laughter trailed out behind him as he went back into the living room.

She stared at the vacated doorway. Well…fuck!  Slowly she shed her clothing, her work, and gingerly she picked up the halter-dress. Hmmm. This one wasn’t hers…..and she looked over her shoulder…

I fixed the rip, and spiffed up the fabric a bit…” his voice came from the living room.

How the fuck did he do that?

She slid it over her head. It fit like a dream. The fabric Gene had “fixed” was even more sheer, more gossamer. It clung in the right places, flared at the skirt. She sat on the edge of her bed and slipped on one stocking, then the other. Ruffled garters held them in place on her thighs.

She took up the thick leather cuffs. These had been made specially for her by a leather-working friend. Her last memory of Him was laughter and good humor as he had affixed them around her wrists that first time…Soft as butter, strong as steel, He’d said. And he’d kissed her softly.

That was the last time she’d seen Him. He’d moved to the West Coast, and she’d headed here to New York. Gosh that was eons ago.

They slid on, and she was able to fasten one, then the other. She slipped into the black heels,  and strolled out to see the reaction on Gene’s face.

It was worth quite a bit to her to see the look flash across his face when he spied her sashaying towards him.

“Well, aren’t YOU the pretty submissive slut, Boss?!” He circled her, tugging here, straightening a curl there.  He pulled her wrists behind her, and fastened them together.

He held his hand out and a pair of clamps with a thick silver chain *poofed* into view.

“No charge” he said, cheerfully, ordering her to “stay”. Her feet froze to the floor. He attached the chain onto each of her nipples through the fabric.

“it’s extra ouchie when there is something between the clamp and your skin, but i made them a bit loose for you…don’t want to usurp the right of any Dom who claims you…”

“I-i don’t want just any Dom to claim me…” she sputtered.

“Don’t worry, Boss. I know *exactly* what you need…”

He took her hand and with a *poof* the loft was empty. The gleaming eyes of the Meissen fish seemed to smile through the thin wisp of genii-smoke that curled slowly to the ceiling, and dissipated.

And now a few words from Sir B….


Sir B and i have done a lot of talking recently. We have talked much about D/s over our 17 months together, but at no time more intensely than now, now that the date for my collaring is fast approaching.
i asked Him if i should be addressing Him as Master once i am collared. This is His response:

You must know by now that I don”t necessarily abide by nor even recognize as legitimate some of the jargon, themes and rituals of the D/s lifestyle. The primary reason for that is I’ve never been a follower, never will be – and I’m very cocky, arrogant and sometimes a complete asshole. That said, I thought a great deal about the difference between “Sir” and “Master.” Sir is recognition and respect paid by the submissive to a dominant – and, for the most part, offered freely without any relationship necessarily existing.”

“Master, however, is a new ball game. It has inherent responsibilities such as protection, guidance, education and overall caring in addition to implicit authority over the submissive. 18 months ago, I would have sneered at such a role and viewed it nothing more than a costume party – I’m the guy wearing the black hat and mask. Well, because of you, my world has changed and with it, a new destiny – I was absolutely destined to be your Master. It is no longer a word nor a “costume” but a life changing event – complete ownership, control and authority over you. I want that role, I need it, I demand it and I’m officially taking it on 2/20.”

“One of my favorite sayings was made by Hannibal – a great warrior – “I will either find a way or make one.” That’s how I view my role as Master over you -“

He goes on to say a few mushy things that i’m holding close to my heart and not sharing with you all, sorry. *smiles*
i have cried for Him and laughed with Him; begged for release, and begged for mercy from that fucking silver cake thingy; moaned in pain and passion…He is mine, and i am His…
and in a few short days i will sit at His feet and accept His Mastery over my body, my mind, my spirit, my sex.
i don’t profess to know where this path will lead either of U/us… the future is unknown to us all…but i am thrilled to be bound to Him…
So if my stories over the next few weeks are *exceptionally* happy…as sfp said…when i’m feeling this grand, it spills out *everywhere*…and you all are going to get all caught up in the gooey mess of nilla’s happy…
(c’mon, suck it up!!)



Mechanic, repairs

first part is here

He locked the shop for the night, loaded his two sluts into the car, and drove off for home. He’d put the chick in the front seat, after instructing her ‘man’ to remove her clothing, and use some line to tie her hands behind her back.

He reached up and fondled her left tit. Full and meaty, just what he liked in a little slut. He was going to fuck those tits later, fuck ‘m  hard. Nothing compared to the feeling of a pair of thick knockers pressed hard together, and plowing your cock hard between them. He’d shoot more than one load on her face that way this weekend, he knew for sure.

He twisted the nipple and pulled a small moan from her clamped lips. Yeah, someplace else he was planning to leave a wad of cum. Right in the bitchy little mouth, and rather than swallow right away, he wanted to see her balance a tongueful of his stuff for a while. That would keep her bitch-hole open, but quiet at the same time.

Sometimes he freakin’ amazed himself with his own genius.

“Hey,” he glanced over his shoulder to see her ‘man’ looking in the rear-view at her tits bouncing. They made eye contact. “Want you to reach forward and grab her nipples and pull them back towards the backseat with you until i say stop.”

The dumb fuck nodded like a broken puppet, then schooshed forward and slid his arms over her shoulders. Grabbing a swollen nipple with each set of fingers, he began steadily pulling up and back.

They reached critical mass when the bf had her tits pulled high, the nips almost up to her chin. She was moaning steadily now.

“Yeah” he said, “right there. Now just fuckin’ hold ’em there. If you drop one I’ll slap the fucking shit outta you, got it? We’re almost home. And bitch? Keep on moaning. I like it.”

Tears sluiced down her face, and she whimpered and moaned every time he drove over a pothole in the shit road he lived on.  Not that he did it on purpose. Until he saw how much it made her cry. Then he hit a few of the smaller ones.

Just, because he wanted to. He loved the way the tears silvered under the street lamps, the thick lines of black from her melting mascara. By tomorrow morning she was going to be a fucking mess.

He smiled. And didn’t he just love messin’ em?


He pulled round the back of his house. Wasn’t much fancy about it, but it was his, at any rate. Could use a bit of work here and there…he cast a speculative look over his shoulder. And a bit of housework inside as well…damned if he didn’t have one helluva solution sitting right beside and behind him. Mr. Fancy Pants likely had shit for experience, but even he should be able to swing a paintbrush.

He led them in through the back door, and instructed her to make dinner for the three of them.

“You are mine. Mine until Monday. Do a good enough job and I’ll keep deducting from your bill. Fuck me over, and he’ll pay for it.”

He turned to the Dude. “Likewise, I seem to own your sorry ass too. You try to fuck me over, and she’ll pay the price. Kapish?” He watched for the puppet head-nod. Dumb fuck.

“You, with me. Lets get you into some work clothes. You, cook.” Her frightened gaze followed Him from the room. God his cock ached with the need to stuff it in one of her holes. Her mouth? So he could watch the fear in her eyes? Her cunt? So he could watch them both? Maybe fuck her ass in missionary so he could see the revulsion from her, the sick wanting from Dude here.



His cock teases along my folds, the hot firmness slicking through my moisture-laden slit with ease.

Spread wide, open, available, i surrender to the assault on my senses…the grating of the rim of his cock against my inflamed clitoris, the turgid mass of him sliding through my own swollen flesh,which parts to accept him.

My pussy lips swell, wet and pinkened with my need, wrapping around his dick as he strokes up, then down, up and slowly back. From clit to asshole, his cock fucks slowly, teasingly.

I am bidden to silence. A single word will end this and the torment will begin anew, canes on my thighs, clamps tugged on my tits. Yet how i long for the rod of thick, swollen man-flesh to pierce through  my folds and find its home deep within my belly.

i am allowed to moan, to whimper, to let the sex-sounds escape my lips. These are his barometer, i think, how he gauges how far his teasing torture is affecting me.

and i am moaning. i am whimpering. in my head, i am screaming. Only two words, but they resound in my head, again, and again, as wave after wave of need engulf me.

The time for torment is past, now is the time for fulfillment, yet he lingers on. His pleasure is not only the torment of my body, but the withholding of his.

He is looking into my eyes, as if reading the words bouncing around inside my silent head. My eyes, pleading with him as my mouth cannot.

He pulls his cock from my lower lips, and straddles my hips, my waist, sitting back on my tits. His cock pulses just below my mouth, and i lick my lips in longing. My pussy is banging out her need, i feel the coil of juice sliding from cunthole to asshole, slipping up my crack until it pools beneath me.

i smell him.

Musky Man-scent. i can see the pearly drop of precum forming at the tip of  his rigid shaft, and i watch as his hand slips up and down his cock, as he pleasures himself over me.

He milks his cock, until the drop of his dewy juice grows larger, and begins to fall. As if in slow motion, it falls upon my lip, and he brings his cock closer, ever closer to my lip.

The pearl of liquid stretches along the slit of my closed lips, and he dips his dick into it, and pulls it away. We are connected, his ass on my tits, and by the fragile string of cum.

The spider has spun his web and i am well and truly caught, held motionless lest the thin strand of silvered lust breaks…unless He chooses to break it first, releasing me.

i can only lay and wait, not tasting, but smelling that one drop on my lips, the head of his cock beginning to weep another drop.

i watch it form and wonder if i may taste, while my cunt throbs in longing.

i am longing incarnate. Waiting, and needing, and though His patience is long, i can see the pulsing of his cock, the need building in him as well.

He slides back down between my spread thighs and spears me with his lance. His cock is hard, harder than it has ever been, and i feel him taking himself deeply into my belly, deeply, fully making me his.

And when we are done, i find myself longing  for him once more.

The Wall

They met at the edges of their respective lines. His, blue. Hers, pink.

They stood and looked at each other, seeing one another for the very first time. Only the Wall separated them. It was a full 2 inches thick, clear as the air around them. It ran neatly between the pink and blue line, an invisible but impermeable barrier betwixt them.

His hand rose first, touching the Walls smooth surface. It was warm and there was a faint pulsing that transmuted into his hand.

its true what they say, the Wall breathes, lives.

Her hand rose to mate with his, palm to palm. She felt the answering warmth and heartbeat under her palm. She pulled her hand away, studied the place on the Wall where hers had been. Nothing. Clear. She could see the lines that crisscrossed his palm, see the soft blue glow of the ring around his middle finger.

She placed her hand back on the wall.

There was a feeling, short, intense, heat. Their hands sank into the Wall, and for a brief moment, their glowing rings touched. The tingle transmitted through the body of the Wall.  It flowed over their conjoined hands, fusing them together. The girl tried to pull away with a cry, as expected. They females usually responded to the Joining with panic.

They could not resist the call to come to the line, nor could they resist seeing, touching, yearning for the mate that yearned back at them.

The ground where they were standing, against the Wall, linked inseparably, began to pull away, and lower. They were dropped into the Womb.

As they left the Above, the Wall between them thinned, thinned, until it was nothing more than gossamer fibers.  Until even that fell away, and all that held them was that merging block around their linked hands.

His arm came ’round her waist as they were lowered carefully into the darkness.

“We are reborn,” he whispered into her ear, feeling the soft silk of her hair for the first time.

“We are  made new” she responded to the ritual, her heart racing as she scented Him, the first time she had ever smelled a ‘he’.

The darkness was  full around them as their ‘vator stopped.  A voice came from everywhere.

“Proceed along the purple line. Proceed along the purple line. Proceed….”

As they began moving forward along the line, the voice stopped. They came to a room with an illuminated door. All else lay in darkness.

Slowly the door opened.

There was only a glistening slab to lay upon, though it did yield beneath them. It was warm, but they generated their own heat. Moans and cries of ecstasy came from behind the closed, locked door.

The Wall absorbed their juices as they sexed, encouraged them to greater and greater passion. Water and foods were on the table beside them, but they would eat, doze, only to awaken with hunger unsated…for each other.


The elderly man came to escort them to their day rooms.

This is your home now. Feed the Wall well. Someday You will become the Caretaker, whichever of you survives the other. You will choose two to come, to feed the Wall…and each other…and the circle will remain, unbroken.


i cannot explain this. if you like it, fine. if not, fine. it popped off to me after writing 2 other stories…and just about wrote itself. ~n~

Antiquities III

part II

She stared at herself in the mirror. Gone were the long, blonde tresses  she had worn for the last twenty years. Though she had often worn her hair up as she believed befitted her position in upper management, it had actually fallen to almost waist length.

Now it came below shoulder length in the front, mid-back behind. And it was red.

“simply divine, darling” Gene all but cooed at her.  “we just needed to make a little adjustment to whoosh away all that blonde silliness, and replace it with this tone. You were born to be a redhead.

He was right, dammit.

The red had pizzaz, and all but illuminated her eyes. She…sparkled.

“Thank you, Gene,” she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“oh, honey, if I weren’t all about the guys, I’d date you myself. I might, might, maybe even fuck you!!” He spoke with a flourish and an eyebrow waggle that did the Marx brothers proud.  He certainly did make her laugh.

“So there’s one wish taken,” she said, still meeting His eyes in the mirror. You said i would get 2 extra, so i have 4 left.”

“Correctomundo, my perky beauty. And speaking of perky, wanna little sumthin’ something done about your fight with gravity there?” He cupped his hands under non-existent boobs and hefted.

“No.” She shook her head fiercely, blushing madly. Her red locks swished around her face. Gosh it was pretty…!  She caught his eyes, laughing at her, in the mirror. She blushed deeper. “No Gene. No boob jobs.”

“Takes just a wish and …I can make ’em bigger, too…?” He laughed at the look on her face.

“okay okay a genii can take a hint pretty girl. So, what’s next on your agenda? Hmmm? Money? New car?  A guy with a pecker out to there…” He paused, hand outrageously out in front of him, while she laughed.

He shook his head. “No no, all wrong for you, that’s *my* Mr. Do-Me-Right…” and he giggled.

Yeah. She smiled. A giggling genii.

“Gene, i need to finish up here, and get to bed. It’s late and i drove back from Connecticut and …gee…how do i find you again when i do make a wish? Wait. Wait. The lamps. Genii and brass lamps, right?”

He shook his head, grinning back at her.

“That is such a fucking cliché you know…right? Am I right? Do i look like I came from something as immensely ugly as that?” He trailed his hand down the front of his vintage tux.  “No way, sister, try again.”

“Well, um….. something i got in that antique shop, i know…” Her voice trailed off as she studied his face. His eyes were the most intense iridescent blue…almost aquamarine. Where had she seen that…


She laughed, clapping her hands. “The fish!!! You were hiding inside the Meissen fish!”

“You are a quick one, aren’t you. Yes, Boss, the Fish and i have been close companions for a millenia or two.”

“So i rub the fish and you’ll come out?”

“That’s how it works, this genii thing.”

“Well, no new car or anything like that. I’m not really into that. Antiques, sure.”

“Even though you understand the searching for ‘antiquities’ is really a way of hiding what you are really searching for, Boss?”

She looked sharply at him. This genii had been around a long time. She figured he’d seen all sorts of people but he’d never me her before. She was not replacing anything with her love of antiquing. She wasn’t.

“You are.” He nodded, then tapped his head. “I can see it. You need that someone …hell, we all need “him” –whoever Mr. Right is…we all search for that, Boss.  You know i can pop him up for you…”

She waved her hands in front of him in a gesture of denial…”no no no, genii….that is not what I want…if He is out there, well, then…perhaps.”


Gene wandered around her loft while she was at work. She had some cool stuff, but really, it was all just …stuff. He decided to take a walk. He’d not been walking around New York in several decades…or so.

He stepped on the flyer as he stepped out her front door to the outside world. He pulled it off his shoe, fastidious to the core, and was preparing to ball it and heave it when he caught sight of the words on the back.

“Oh!”he exclaimed. He looked at his wrist. Damn. He’d forgotten his watch. He closed his eyes and a blue-faced Rolex appeared. He looked at the date. “Perfect!” he enthused, and turning on his heel, he reentered her loft without opening the door.

“So much to do to get my little princess ready….” He rubbed his hands together gleefully, and set about forming his plan to convince his temporary Boss to give this venture a try….

It would be a formidable challenge. And didn’t he love those most of all?!

Fly and Spider (1)

He took her hand, kissed the back of it.

Oh, he was smooth, no doubt about it. Still, it would bode her well to remember which side of the blue line he was on…and which she was on.

She pulled her hand away, smiled a sweet half-smile, and stepped back, to be absorbed into the crowd celebrating the Festival. His eyes followed her, her eyes on his, until enough people passed between them, and she turned and slipped away.

That had been uncomfortably close. That was the first time in the two years they had been doing unspoken battle that he had touched her. She pondered that. He could have taken her down, right there. He was bigger. Still, she would have been able to raise a ruckus, and he surely didn’t want that, either.

Discretion was his byword, or so it said on his business card. So, he was here, and watching for her. She’d have to be very careful. But his presence here would not deter her.

She hoped.


Minx, he thought to himself, watching her slip through the crowd like water through a sluice-gate. She was as stunning as he had remembered, the waterfall mane of sleek black hair a standout in any crowd.  Yet for all her beauty, she was quite adept at becoming invisible. Slippery.

She was slippery, to be sure, but tonight, at long last, she would be checked …and mated.

He had been pretty certain the allure of so many shining baubles would attract her, his little ‘fly’. And he, the master-weaver would soon catch her in his web.

He could hardly wait.

He’d tasted her now. Smelled her scent for the first time, and met the challenge in her azure eyes with his own. Time would show whether she would still be smiling when she knew she had been well and truly caught.


She made her way around the ballroom for the last time. She wondered where he had gone. Disappeared, he had. And frankly, that made her nervous. She slipped into the ladies room, and pulled the bag she had stored in the bottom of the trash barrel out from under the trash liner. She stepped into a stall, and began her transformation.

First to go was the long, black wig. Her ‘trademark’, it was the only way he had ever seen her, and then only twice. She’d left ‘evidence’ at crime scenes but only of this, the luxurious wig of straight, jet-black natural hair. She pulled a second wig from her ditty bag. This one was sleek and blonde, a shoulder-rubbing swing, blunt cut,  it was a  common enough look  to not draw undue attention. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out the tummy panties and bra set. She shimmied out of her thin red sequin dress, heels and hose, and slipped on the panties, which added close to 15 pounds to her frame. The bra went on next, thrusting her tits out to nearly a ‘D’ cup. She put on the polka-dotted top, the black pencil skirt that came well below her knees, and the black sensible shoes. A gray sweater completed her ensemble.

She turned to her accessories, which were packed into the new handbag, a sensible black double-strapped thing. Dental covers gave her a wide-toothed grin; contact lenses dulled the blue eyes to brown, and black plastic-framed glasses completed the transformation. She slipped her first outfit into the bag, and put the bag back into the trash barrel, under the liner. She’d be back for that later. She took the make up bag out of her purse, and put on the new layers, meant to sallow her, age her.

She was someones secretary, personal assistant–and now able to blend in with the support staff for this event. She slipped the insert into her left shoe, which made her cant to the right just a little–and walk with a faint limp.

She slipped from the ladies room and walked purposefully around the perimeters of the gathering room.  She spied an elderly dowager sitting on a settee, her shawl of glittery golden threads on the floor behind her. She slipped up, and scooped up the shawl, then murmured to the woman as she tucked it back around her shoulders. She received a pat from soft, pampered hands as her reward, and thus established herself as ‘staff’.

She nodded as she stepped away, as if taking note of an instruction, and headed towards the stairs.


He Promises…..

Oh nilla, He says, you are so fucked.

First I’m going to bite your nipples. Yes, the same ones I’ve been clamping while you write those naughty blog stories…

Remember nilla? the night that I made you wear them, and hang all the weights off of them? hmmmm, it looked so fucking delicious, seeing your nipples all stretched out that way.

They needed ice, nilla, followed by a hot, wet mouth. Over and over again. My mouth, nilla.My teeth pulling them back into shape. Warming and pulling and molding them.

My way, nilla, because, after all, they are my tits, aren’t they, little girl?

Maybe, he muses, I will put the clamps on and make you hold the chain in your mouth, the way I did the night before your birthday. Remember nilla? I called you on your phone, and you answered like the good slut you are, chain still between your teeth.

You’d sent me a text I believe, something about…hmmm. Drool, wasn’t it, nilla?

Yes, yes I know it was because you had drooled all over your lovely tits, hadn’t you. And you texted me about that. Asked me why I, or any Dom, would think drool covered tits are sexy.

Tits are sexy nilla, when they are prepared the way *I* demand them to be prepared…clamped and covered with drool, your drool, little girl, has an intense sexual appeal to me.

So perhaps when we meet again, I’ll sit in the chair and have you show me again how you looked that night, in front of your keyboard, as you typed your story, with your naked, chained, drool covered tits.

I’ll lick that drool off you tits, nilla, lick it off and bite those luscious orbs, while my finger explores your tight little asshole. Hmmmmm, that sounds delicious, doesn’t it?

Of course, you won’t be able to say much, what with that big old chain in your mouth, but that’s okay, nilla. You don’t need to speak while my fingers are up your asshole. Or while I’m biting your clamped nipples.

I think, nilla, perhaps I’ll put the chain and all the weights on your tits and have you on your knees on the bed. I want to stand behind you, and look at your open and available ass and pussy, and see the chain hanging off your nipples, visible between your spread thighs.

When I slap your delightful ass, the chain will swing, and the weights will keep it swinging a bit longer with them on there, than it would without them…that’s pure science, nilla. You told me that you love science…and you know I’ll do much to indulge you, my little slut.

And of course I’ll be fucking your ass. Perhaps I will reach around your body and grab that chain and use it like reins while my cock slides in and out of your asshole. I’ll give it a nice hard tug when you cum.

You do love pain when you cum, don’t you, little girl?

Such a naughty little girl.

And allll Mine.



Things i’ve learned in 51 years….

Some things do get better with age and sex is definitely one of them

Fantasy and reality have amazing parallels, and often intertwine

Wearing weighted clamps while writing really makes me a speedy typist

and a fast composer…

You can so make friends on the innernetz

You can cum while your pussy is spanked

and when your Master is fucking your ass….

Being owned is a *good* thing.

“Vanilla” is only one flavor in my life these days…it’s also swirled with chocolate…and caramels…

Bites are sensual…

Being helpless with ones Dom is  da bomb…

Writing a sex blog is cathartic, fun, stimulating, fun, and connects me to a wider universe of like-and-kink-minded people…

Doms like when their subs drool (gods know why?)

Even a hard-assed Dom who is guiding ones diet will let their “ward” eat cake on their birthday!

i’m so looking forward to this, my 52nd year…journeys to take, people to meet, friends to make, a golden collar, and stories, o the stories that await….