Mechanic, parts

Part two is here

Leaving the big-titted slut in the kitchen to cook  was part of the plan to improve his life for the weekend. The next was getting the sumbitch boyfuck to help around the house. He and the boyfriend left her there, and headed into the hallway between the kitchen and living room. He looked back and saw her checking out the kitchen. She looked good, He thought watching her.  The remnants of her ruined blouse hung from the waistband of her rumpled and cum stained skirt. Her big tits bobbled as she turned from stove to fridge, and she blushed deeply when she looked up and saw him looking at her.

Naked house sluts. What a fucking fine idea, he mused. He turned to the he-slut.

“You, dickhead. Go into the bathroom, get your clothing off, and come back here. If I’m not here you put your forehead right here on the fucking wall and wait for me. Yes. Naked.” He understood that flushed look of panic. For whatever reason, it made his dick hard all over again.

He pointed out the way to the bathroom, then went back into the kitchen.

“Slut.” He enjoyed the startled look, the fear in her face as he advanced on her. She stood, hand filled with an egg, ready to crack it, frozen. He reached around behind her, unzipped her skirt, and pulled it off. She stood now, naked except for hose and heels.

Fucking grade A prime fuckmeat, if he’d ever seen the like before. She was classy, he gave her props for that. His hands cupped her ass as  his mouth suctioned at her tit for a minute.

It pleased him that the little resistance as she leaned away, was not evident in her hard nipple. Oh, she was getting into it. She’d die before admitting it, he knew that, but her hard nipple, and the scent of wet pussy was pretty clear to him.

She was getting off.

Fucking cunt. He spun her around, and curtly admonished…’cook.’ While she broke and scrambled the eggs in a bowl, he fondled her tits, sucking along her shoulder. She poured the eggs into the waiting skillet, and the moment she set the bowl down, he bit her.

She jolted, tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. Hands fisted around her pillowy tits,  teeth biting hard into her shoulder, he felt his cock throbbing, aching for her pussy.

He released a tit, unzipped and felt for his shaft. Harder than it had been in a coon’s age, he got it out of his pants, and slid it into her asscrack. He fucked in the slick channel between her legs, and finally found what he’d been seeking.

She was wet, hot and steaming wet. His cock slid home easily, and deeply.

She moaned.

What a slut!

“Don’t you fucking let those eggs burn, whore,” he ordered, as his mouth left her shoulder. The imprint of his teeth was clear, and spots of blood where he’d broken the skin dotted her pale flesh. He ground his belly against her ass, his cock filling her tunnel, as she moved to stir the eggs before they cooked down too much.

He fucked her in short little thrusts, never moving much more than a few inches. She came, hard, squirting onto the floor. He came almost as hard, holding her around her waist as he pumped thick rich wads of his juice up inside her.

Panting, he laid his head on her shoulder, as she turned the eggs to off. His cock slipped from her, deflated, exhausted. Poor overworked pecker, he thought with a grin, no fucky for a month and now twice in the same day!

He pushed away, and grabbed her by her hair.


She looked at him, her eyes wary.

“Clean this fucking mess up.” He took the pan, grabbed a fork and started eating from it. He was starving! She moved for the towel hanging from the fridge handle.

“uh uh” He shook his head ‘no’, mouth full of eggs. “use your fucking mouth. Consider that…your dinner.”

He watched, eating the eggs, as she began crying again, then knelt and began lapping at the cum on the none-too-clean kitchen floor.

Was this the fucking life or what?








It’s Monday.

Memorial Day. A time to remember all those who have given their lives in service to America. As the daughter of a military guy, i admit to having more than a wee bit of patriotic fervor.


Thank you, all you guys and gals who have given the ultimate sacrifice in service to us all. It is a gift of valor, of honor, and it means something to this subgirl.

And yet….that’s not really my topic for today. I just wanted to be sure to say that up front. Coz that is important.

It’s Monday.

And my best friend has had her second chemo treatment. And is losing her hair.

And I am left feeling…?

I ache for her.

I hurt for her.

I want to make it all better. That’s what we do, women, right? We fix boo-boo’s, kiss and bandage and make it all better again?

The big C won’t win this fight. She’s had her surgery, removed the small nodes that had begun to grow in her breast.

She could have decided against chemo. She was right on the low-end of the spectrum. But she wanted to give every single chance she could of laying this dragon to rest.

She chose chemo.

And she’s losing her hair, but winning the war.

Another patriot, fighting for a life of freedom.

Freedom from the big C.

Dominant (1)

i couldn’t believe it.

Somehow, i’d cleared all the hurdles in my personal life, and adventure had finally come to full fruition. i was here. in M’s home.

The butler (butler? omg!) had me sit on one of the dainty chairs that lined the long hallway just inside the palatial double doors. The floor was black marble, and instead of finials going up the wide marble steps, there were little black columns.

Fancy digs, i thought.

We’d been talking online for ever. i hadn’t really fully understood just how dominant a Dominant can be. But i was swept away under the powers of submission. Time passed so swiftly whenever we were ‘together’ on cam. Not that i got to see…but i was seen. It was an odd dynamic, and yet, for us, it worked.

First, talking. It changed, over time, from “how is My little one?” to orders…often issued curtly, swiftly. i would fumble to obey as the terse “strip” slammed through my headphones. My heartrate would speed up, i’d sweat nervously as i hurried to comply, and be graceful, simultaneously.

Usually i would be rewarded with an almost purring “gooood, good my little one”, which never failed to soak my already wet pussy.

Why did i need that approval so much? Was my ‘vanilla’ life so drear that those five little words, and the tone of them, would sustain me? Obviously so. And it was decadent. And hot. OH, so hot. Sometimes we’d play into the wee hours of the morning, me posing and teasing and being hurt on command…and it didn’t matter too much if i wasn’t allowed to cum.

And now this. After all this time, to finally meet in person. i’d taken a two-week vacation from vanilla-land, and come here to meet, and at long last, serve at the feet of my Dominant.

i tried not to feel like a rube, the village oaf, as i sat amidst the splendour of this truly fine house. The beautiful stained glass over the front doors caught my eye, and i was dazzled by it. And then my eye caught pictures cleverly contained therein. A breast, nipple clamped, with a golden chain trailing through the scene. A cock, engorged. The rounded curve of an ass, with a suggestive dark spot between.

Oh Goodness me!

i wasn’t in Kansas anymore.


After what felt like an eternity, trying to not wriggle and squirm with impatience, for i’d been taught better than that, i heard footsteps from above.  i wanted to jump up and see. i wanted to twirl and shout and laugh and hug.

i sat.

“What a good little girl I have waiting for me.”

i almost shivered with the praise. Her voice flowed over me like warm honey.  Slowly i heard Her coming downstairs,  the long, slow descent torment for me.  In my head i  was chanting, ‘hurry, hurry, Mistress” but outside i sat, still and patient, trying to keep my heart in my chest and not leaping out my throat in its excitement.

She came to stand in front of me, yet i held posture. Her finger tipped up my chin, and she inspected me. No other word would work but ‘inspected’. She had seen each me on cam for a year and more, but this was the first time i had ever seen the face of my Mistress. She was beautiful, tall, and strong, and commanding. She looked me over carefully.

Gently She kissed me. Stars and moons stopped in orbit as her ruby lips pressed against mine.

“Two weeks, right, little girl?” Her voice was husky and sensual. So much richer than via earphones.

My voice dried up and left. I could but nod in answer. She seemed to sense my overwhelming awe, for She merely smiled.

“Come,” She said, and She turned and headed back upstairs.

i followed, her obedient “little girl.”

Moving Violations (pt3)

I couldn’t believe my good fortune. First I get lost in the mountains, and then I’m pulled over by the most inscrutable cop, like ever….and now here I am, happy little slut, handcuffed to a four-poster bed, about to get a very serious itch scratched.

And no ticket in sight.

As they said back in the day? Far out, man!

As far as I was concerned, this was the ultimate barter. A win-win, as that stupid commercial touted.

I wasn’t accustomed to getting fucked while laying on my belly, but, whatever. I could roll with it. Well, really I couldn’t roll, tied down as I was! I am a pretty adaptable slut. And if he was thinking to frighten me with some anal?

He had the wrong girl.

Inside I was giggling, but outside? I was still silent. The grin was plastered firmly on my mouth, I really could not wipe that sucker off, but I kept my face hidden, easy to do laying here like this. He was off moving around the room and I had no idea what he was doing.

Okay, I was hoping that he was getting naked, getting ready to plow me good, and “teach me a lesson”. Those are the best sort of ‘teachable moments’ don’t you think?

I’m not sure how long I lay there, relaxing. I was snapped out of my reverie when I felt something tickling along my shoulder. I raised my head, and turned to look, but the cop slid something over my head. A pillowcase maybe. I felt his hand on my face through the bag, touching me. I opened my mouth to protest, but he pressed a gag into my mouth. Right over the bag. The gag secured the bag over my head, and the ball in my mouth kept me quiet. I hated that.

Again I felt the tickle on my shoulder, but this time it trailed down my spine, making me wince and twist and try to get away.  No way. No way was a cop tickling me.

But he was.

And I laughed, and cried, choking around that frigging ball in my mouth, and squirmed. It was futile I know, but I couldn’t help trying to get away from whatever he was using to torture me.

Don’t believe tickling is torture?  You can’t get away. You can’t make them stop. You can’t stop laughing. And you can’t get away. I know, I said that already. And I will keep on saying it. You can’t fucking get away and you’re twitching, and screeching, and you can’t protect yourself…I couldn’t even beg him to stop.

Oh, I tried. But, while my head was yelling “STOP YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE JERK” what came out was “aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrr, ” which made him laugh. So, I cried.

I was choking a bit, the tears and snot had no place to go and it’s so hard to swallow with a gag in your mouth.  I was limp, exhausted. I hurt from laughing, and my nerve endings were sizzling.

And then, it ended. It just simply stopped. I was tense, expecting it to start again, but …nothing happened. I strained my ears, trying to hear over the pounding of my heart, the snurking snuffles as I tried to breathe.

There was nothing but silence in the room. Or the bag muffled his movements, perhaps. All I knew was that there was a respite of the torment. How long had he been at this? It felt like hours. I shivered a bit as the sweat cooled on my flesh.

The first swat on my ass caught me by surprise. I went from chilly to boiling pretty damn quickly. My buttcheek was throbbing, and you know he hit the exact same spot again.  I tried to protest.

What I said was “Hey you fucker…stop that fucking shit right now! I protest! I want a lawyer!”

What came out was “Hrrrrrrr ssssskkkkkrrrr”

Yeah, my point was not being taken. His, however, was coming across loud and clear.  He walloped my ass over and over with whatever it was that he had in his hand.

And then he stopped.

I was crying once more, the incredible pain in my ass, the burn and fry of my tender cheeks after the stimulation of the tickle torture made me all kinds of weepy, once my mad wore off.

A sharp, thin precise pain pronounced that he was not done, not by a long shot. This one I knew; it was a cane or something very much like one. I’d been caned before and I absolutely hated it.  The fine line of stingy pain, the sharp and shocking slap of it against already tenderized flesh was almost more than I could bear.

Not that I had any choice, mind you. I was spread out like a feast. A spanking banquet. He struck my thighs, my calves, even the bottoms of my tender little feet. He hit my shoulders, the backs of my arms.  I felt every single welt form, pull, stretch. It seemed I didn’t have enough loose skin left to form any more welts, and still he slapped at me.

I did what any self-respecting slut would do. I cried. I wailed. I begged. Okay it’s likely it sounded more like a cat being skinned than begging, but in my head it was loud and clear.

And I still wanted a lawyer. Or I did, right up until he slid three of those long, fine fingers into my pussy. He finger-fucked me fast, hard and deep, and being on my belly, he rubbed that special spot just right.

Suddenly the pain and pleasure exploded together, and I was in the middle of a giant orgasm without knowing how I’d gotten there so fast.

But he didn’t stop with one orgasm. This became yet another torture device. He fucked me while I came, despite my rigid muscles inside, and out. He kept up the stroking, pushing me right through another cum, and I felt the squirting gush from me.  I lost track of how many times I came, really.

I think I must have passed out, between the pleasure and pain.

When I woke, I was on my back, all of my undersides throbbing. The bag was off my head, though my arms and legs were still spread wide.

My hair was sweaty and matted around my face, and I blinked several times trying to clear my tear-clogged eyes. Three guys were looking at me. I blinked again.

Still three.

I shook my head, but there really were three guys there.

I recognized the statey who had brought me here by his eyes. They could have been triplets, these three. Almost the same height, the same haircut, even the same generous sized cocks.  But the eyes were different, though they all radiated hunger.

“Nice tits.”  Now he notices my knockers? I’d waited forever to hear something about my great rack from this guy! Geese. I could see the hunger on his face. It was obvious that beating me had racked him up. I wondered if each of them had had a turn in my torments. I certainly had paid a heavy price for my moving violation.

He looked at me, his hand stroking his cock. The other two were equally serious faced. Also stroking their cocks.

I’d like to tell you I was scared. I’d like to tell you I got all lady-like and begged for mercy.

But I told you at the beginning…I am a slut. And this? This was an ultimate fantasy come true.  I watched them come towards me on the bed, moving almost as one.

They were about to commit some ‘moving violations’ of their own…and I could hardly wait!


Moving Violations (pt2)

He was laughing.

Laughing at my little fit of pique, the bloody rotten jerk. My happy mood had finally, fully evaporated. Between the stress of being lost, the upset of being stopped for speeding on the back roads of West Bumfuck USA, and now being transported like a common criminal in the back of the State Troopers 4X4? It all just put me off my game.

So I pouted.

Sue me.

And when he laughed? That grumpy-assed cop transformed from a craggy, self-righteous asshat to a very sexy Man.

Of course my pussy noticed, I told you before that I’m a slut! So there I am, pissed as hell and doesn’t my fucking cunt decide to wake up and start drooling over this guy?

I wasn’t sure where he was taking me, and wasn’t sure if they could book me, in these little mountain backholes, for speeding. Anyplace else, they write you a ticket for umpteen bazillion dollars, and send you on your merry way.

Here, they arrest you?

I must have dozed off, in my fit of pique, with the falling of the sun, the steady hum of the wheels under me, for the next thing I knew, the door was opened and he was reaching in to steady me so I didn’t fall out.

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Airplane, car rental…where the fuck was I? There was the humming chorus of insects, the whisper of wind through the pines, and oh, maybe a trillion stars overhead. The sky was black and soft as velvet, and the light from the stars dancing there was stunning.

There were no lights around us.

It took me a second to process that. He just stood there, watching me watch the sky. His profile was outlined against the starry night, and I couldn’t see his face.

“It’s awe-inspiring isn’t it?”

His voice, whiskey-rich, sent shivers from my spine to my pussy. He understood my amazement at what I was witness to.  I looked at him, then back to the firmament  before me.  It was hard to stop looking at it. Back east? We never saw sky like this anymore. A huge downside of being part of the megalopolis.

I tried to look around, but there was nothing but darkness this close to the ground. The only illumination was from up there. His hand closed around the back of my neck and began guiding me forward.

“Where…” I began to ask.


And for whatever reason, I did.

From his pocket I heard a faint click, and lights came on inside a small building. A shack? A cabin? Hard to say. He led me to the door, and then pulled me inside, his hand still curved around the back of my neck.

“You did something very dangerous today, and somehow I don’t think a ticket will get your attention any more than the speed limit signs.”

But I always paid my tickets, I thought silently.

He pushed me through the little mud room, and into the single room of the shelter. A bed was there, made of rough-hewn logs, debarked, and rubbed to a shining glow. On each corner was a long thong, wrapped round the post several times, and ending in a cuff, which lay open.


I looked up at him, bemused, my heart kicking up a notch. No. Fucking. Way. The cop was gonna fuck me to beat the ticket. This was…I tried to stop the smile but it sprang free of my control.

This was slut heaven, really!

His look was undecipherable.

“Strip. Everything. Right down to skin. Then get on the bed. It’s time someone taught you a lesson, girl.”

I cocked my head at him, sent him a coy smile. I wanted it not to matter that he watched me inscrutably while I stripped but nothing changed the look on his face. Not even when I slowly, oh, so slowly, slipped my bra straps down my arms, reaching behind to unhook, and then even more slowly, let it slide off my tits to fall to the floor.


If they trained that kind of response out of a guy at the Academy, maybe they took more than tuition from him. He could be the ball-less wonder, with a big cock. Or a piss-tube. Or…this was getting silly. I felt humiliated now, since he wasn’t playing to my tune.

I felt the blush rise as I slipped off my skirt, doffed my underpants and shoes.  I trembled a bit, so unused to having a man, any man, be unmoved by my body. I looked damn fine, and so what if I was proud of it.

He reached up and took a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Aha, I thought, now, finally, we’re getting somewhere. He’s at last paying some attention to the girls.  He walked towards the bed, and I remembered that he’d told me to get on it when I was done.

His lack of reaction had unsettled me enough that I’d forgotten.

He didn’t look or touch more than just the nipple, pulling me across the room. I thought for a moment about being defiant and pulling back, but he had a pretty significant grasp going on there. Best not to piss him off any more. I really liked my nipples and wanted them to stay where God, in all his infinite wisdom, had put them.

A quick fuck would settle me, get him off my ass, and hopefully, he’d send me back on my way to my friend’s house.

Ha, if only it had been that easy!

Geek Pride Day

Yes, May 25th, is Geek Pride Day.   i’m not making it up…a reader wrote me an email on Tuesday, informing me of this important cultural event…and as was pointed out to me…geeks can have kinks too….For more on GPD, go here…~n~

She bit her lip as she bent over the keyboard. Working on this project was such a huge pain in the butt. She hated computer science, had only taken this course because she figured that she would be able to sneak read her fav websites, like Peeps, Vague, Rocker World, and read some of those pervy blogs she’d lately taken an interest in.

Instead she “learned” about linux (wasn’t he the kid with the blanket fetish?), and codes (wasn’t that for Bond flix?) and other useless shit.

She was lost. And because she’d been busted, in class, for reading one of those blogs during class, she’d been told to come in on Saturday, for fucks sake. She had to reschedule her mani-pedi, and it was almost summer! She couldn’t go around with disgusting feet…sandal season was here.


She sighed, exasperated. He was such a geek, too, Mr. S. Black horn rimmed glasses, though thankfully, no pocket protector. She thought he kind of could be cute. She was 22, and really, he didn’t look as old as her dad. Maybe he was 40?

The thing was, when he looked at you, you kind of wanted to obey, she thought. She wasn’t sure what that was, some sort of secret Geek thing? She’d met other nerdy types, the college campus was rife with them, really. And she was just here to while away some time.

And because Daddy was mad that she’d dropped out for the fourth time, and insisted she go back until she got her degree.  Dammit.


And okay, because she had refused to marry the son of Daddy’s best client. Who cared if he was rich? He had bad breath, and the times he kissed her, he had fish lips. She shuddered at the memory of his slack lipped, wet kisses. There was something about him that just was so….ugh.

She looked up at Mr. S. His mouth was set in a firm line as he typed away at his console. She looked at his hands, long, slender fingers moving agilely across the keyboard, the soft, rhythmic tap-tap of the keys.

She imagined them working …no. She was not even going to go there. She turned back to the gibberish displayed on her monitor.

Somehow, she got absorbed into the task.


His hand landing on her shoulder startled her out of her reverie. She had really been concentrating.

“Good. Good, Vanessa. I see you’re finally making headway.  I also see,” and reaching around her, he tapped an icon at the bottom of the screen. Vanillamom popped up. She flushed guiltily. “that you’ve been taking some recreational breaks.”

She tried to block the monitor, but he pushed her hand down. Read what was there, a sexy story of submission. With a lot of sex. Which her teacher was now reading.

She felt the flush growing, running down her throat to her chest. The drawback to being a natural blonde was this very visible blush. He took her chin in his hand, looking down at her, his body angled so that she was trapped in the chair.

Not that she would have moved, anyway, as his gaze mesmerized.

“Is that what you want, little girl? Is that why you didn’t get married last fall? Hmmm?”

She flushed deeper, her lips parting, but no words coming out.

“hmmm.” He gave a half-smile, a speculative look. Then, reaching some inner decision, he reached over and shut down her computer. Wiped it. She stared in shock at the blank screen.


“I sent it to my computer,” he said with a laugh.

He took her by her upper arm, pulling her from the chair.

“Come.” The word was an order. They looked at each other for seconds, until her eyes dropped and she whispered a quiet “yes, Sir.”

Could it be that what she was looking for all along was right here under her nose?


He released her in the hallway, and walked away, stepping into the teachers bathroom. She stood, uncertain.

Her phone chimed.

“Go outside to your car. Go to the Mall. Wait there.”

She smiled. Clever.


She sat in the mall parking lot for a few minutes, just long enough to get antsy. Her phone chimed.

“Follow me. Gray truck just passing you now.”

She looked, and indeed the gray truck was just passing. She put her car into gear and followed.  She wasn’t sure where he was taking her, and the curiosity was driving her crazy!

And why was she doing this in the first place? He was a fucking geek! With great eyes. Great hands. Now she did imagine them on her body. And wondered. He wasn’t, didn’t seem anyway, shocked over her reading material. Almost….pleased.

They turned into a long drive, where an old Victorian house sat in grand repose, half-hidden behind a grove of maples. She’d never been on this side of town, hadn’t driven past the mall, really. The country club was on the other side of this tony community. She looked with interest at the old house. Garrets and turrets, slate roofs, and a wrap around porch. Behind it, at the terminus of  the long curving driveway was a garage which must have been a barn at some point. She followed him to the garage, and at his gesture, parked beside him. As she got out, the doors closed with a quiet hum.

“Mr. S..” she began.

“hush. I’m going to give you the rules. You will decide here and now. Obedience, or go back to sneak-reading those dirty little stories. You have an opportunity to try some of those things that make your pussy wet, and your heart beat fast, or you may decide to not cross that line, and go back to your dorm, and continue leading your placid little life.”

“Should you decide to go, the control for the door is here.” He placed the small remote on the shelf beside him. “Or you can choose to step out of reading, and into reality. If that is your decision, the steps are over there.” He pointed to the spiral steps that led up from the front end of the garage. The steps were metal, openwork, and led up, through the ceiling.

He looked at her for a moment, then turned and went up the stairs. She watched until his feet disappeared, and listened. There was only silence. Was he standing there waiting for her? Her heart was racing, and she was getting pretty excited…..but who was he to even mention her wet pussy?

Yet, it was wet.

Damned if the geeky prof, in black horn rimmed glasses wasn’t turning her on. Was he one of them? A…Dom? She quivered, uncertain. She looked behind her at the wide doors. Behind her lay more of the same. Boring. Boring.

Fucking Dead-Boring.

Ahead? Ahead lay the unknown. She was nervous. She was uncomfortable.  She was standing at the bottom step without remembering crossing the room. She looked up, but it was dark. She could see nothing.

She took the first, trembling step. And another. And another. And gasped as her head cleared the ceiling. Oh. My. Gawd.


He knew she’d come up. He had left the door to the playroom open, it would be the first thing she would see when she came up.  The room itself was sound proof. Despite living this far away from prying eyes, the occasional student or faculty friend could and would drop by. The nearly invisible infrared eye he’d installed at various points around the property would light a bulb in the playroom which would alert him that company had come to call.

Around the room, on the walls, hung various implements he’d gathered or made over the years; whips and chains, a variety of cables for carrying power, hoods, masks, blindfolds, rope.

In the center of the room,  the St. Andrews cross, and to the sides, a bed, four-poster of course, a spanking bench, and an electro-stim chair.

Mentally, he rubbed his hands together, but his face was impassive as she stepped into view. His arms were crossed, folded against his chest,  his legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned  against the saw horse, which was bolted to the floor.

He did enjoy the look of mingled desire and fear that played across her face. She was intrigued. And he could smell her wet cunt from here, fer crissakes. Little slut wanted to play. And he was happy to oblige.

He motioned for her to come in, and stepped to take her wrist in his hand.

“Good choice.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, and yet gleaming with an inner light that he’d never seen in class before. ‘Teachers got a whole new learnin’ for you, slut,’  he thought to himself. ‘And I think you’re going to like it.’

He pulled off her blouse, roughly. She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head, and she subsided. He could see the pulse beating fast in the sweet hollow of her throat, excited by the manhandling.

In moments she was naked. He took a fistful of hair and pushed her forward to the cross, and bound her to it.

“Your safeword is Linux.” He didn’t need to see her face to sense the eyeroll, and he smacked her ass. “Respect for the operating system, please, slut.”

She giggled.

He was such a geek!

one last word on being a geek…kink-minded or otherwise…and since he said it so well (see, i’ve been studying, SS!) i’ll simply quote him here:  

Charlie Ross, creator and star of the “One-Man Star Wars Triology,” has this to say about being a geek:

“Part of being a geek in my mind is actually loving somethin­g so much, being unabashedly in love with it, in a way that it opens yourself up to ridicule. And there are people that are extremely obvious human beings, and those are the people that bully. They can’t allow themselves to be vulnerable. They can’t allow themselves to love something and have anybody possibly put them down for it. And it comes from a place of fear, obviously, bullying, but being a geek is, in a sense, being…either envied or feared or just loathed because you’ve found something you relate to.”                                                          (i couldn’t have said that better…so i’ll leave you with…Go, you passionate Geeks..we love ya! ~n~)

Moving Violations (pt 1)

not exactly sure of the how and why of this one being born but it *slammed* into my head on Monday and would not let go. . . ~n~

I knew I was in trouble when he took off his mirrored sunglasses and hooked them in the space between button two and three.

As a rule, I thought most state troopers were supposed to be ‘spit ‘n polished’, all buttons done, ties and shining boots. But here I was in the rural backcountry of fuck-all knows where, trying to find my friend’s house.

She’d asked if I’d wanted her to come to the airport and get me. I’m cocky about my ability to not get lost, to read maps, you know, guy stuff.

Except, since I have tits, and big ones at that, I’m way, definitely…absolutely, not a guy!

I’d been twining around these unmarked mountain roads for a long time now, and I couldn’t even get any cell reception here, which she had warned me about. And…. dammittall…I was steaming mad at myself. I should have been at Cindy’s house hours ago.

All around me majestic mountains thrust fingers of rock up, up and up into space. The perpetually snow-covered  high peaks gleamed against the azure sky, while green trees covered the lower slopes in multiple shades of summer green. We’d be heading out later this week, tackling one of those peaks…if I ever could find Sladesville.

The road was a gravel path at times, and I wended my way onward, sure that this time I was on the right road, using that term loosely. I cast a glance westward, wary of the sun beginning to fall towards the deep vee between peaks. Sunset came fast in the mountains, I knew. And for sure, I didn’t want to spend the night up here, at least not without more than a snickers bar in my belly.

The flashing blues in my rear-view took me unaware. What the fuck was a Statey doing up here clocking speeds? I was the only car I’d seen in fucking hours. And there was no speed limit sign. And I wasn’t driving that fast.

I pulled over, my heart thumping. I smoothed out my hair, reaching for my purse, my license.  My window was down already, catching the pine-scented breeze as the evening wind came up over the hillsides.

He stood there, legs slightly spread, hooking his sunglasses. Above that opening in his blues, a wad of dark, curling chest hair beckoned. I’m a weak slut, I admit it. My mouth watered at the sight of those curling dark hairs. I imagined them arrowing down his belly, pointing the way towards the ultimate goal.

I tried not to be obvious about oogling the cock that filled out the front of his uniform pants, but geezuz…it was a monster, unless he’d packed a bunch of bananas in his bvd’s!

I licked my lips, slicked with my favorite red gloss, tossing my hair over my shoulder. I know, it’s so girly. But its been known to get me out of tickets before.

“Hi…Captain.” I had no idea if he was a captain or a first lieutenant, or a general. I saw it on television one time and it had made that cop happy to get a field promotion, and that scheming blonde vixen  had gotten off scott-free too! At this point, I’d try anything!

“And by the way, Captain, I’m lost. Can you help a girl out? I’m from back east.” I tend to ramble a bit when I’m nervous. Between the pull-over and the setting sun, I was feeling some stress. Of course he’d see I was from back east when he looked at my license. Which he wasn’t doing because he was staring right into my eyes, with a wicked scowl on his face, too.

“You were speeding.”

I wanted to say something smartass, like “duh.”  But I was caught off-guard.

His voice was beautiful. Silly word to use on a man, but really? He sounded like a porn star. His voice was full and rich and resonant. Mountain man meets cop academy. I looked into eyes as blue as mine, yet much frostier. I blinked, tried to smile with my eyes, lifting my license up to him.

He ignored it. And while he didn’t oogle me the way men can, you know, that obvious ‘oh you’ve got big hooters you must be a slut’ kind of look? He didn’t do that but I knew he’d checked me out.  And really, I am a slut, so the whole big hooters thing is fine with me. Sorry if you’re a feminist or what-all. Your loss, my layover, right? Go march, sistah, and I’ll take care of the sexual revolution my way.

Sex. I wish I could stop thinking about it, while this trooper glares at me. But really? Nothing really ever kept me from thinking about sex. I mean, I write a sex blog back home, so why should this be any different? And gawd he was something to look at. Not handsome, but kinda craggy. A guys guy. Never understood that phrase until now. But a guy would totally relate to this guy. And as a woman, and a slut? Ooo la la!

“You were speeding.”

“oh, right, um, I am sorry, Sir, but I was nervous about being lost up here and it’s getting dark and …I guess I was a bit …lead-footed?”

I offered him my confused and addled look which I’ve been told is the height of cute.

Obviously, HE was not interested in ‘cute lost chick’.

“You were driving 55 in a 35. That is 20 miles over the limit. On unfamiliar roads. IN the mountains. Up ahead is a hairpin turn. Take that at the speed you were going and I’d be calling a wrecker to get your car out of the ravine…and the coroner to get you.”

His mouth was a hard line slashed across his face.

“I’m sorry?”

I mean, I was sorry, I didn’t mean  the question mark that got tagged onto the end of the apology, but that’s the straw that broke the trooper.

“Sorry? Fucking-A you’ll be sorry, you dumb….”He bit back anything else he was going to say, whipped open my door, and pulled me out by my hair! Geeze, I’d spent hours with the window open getting it tousled that way…and it hurt.

And fuck if there is anything that turns me on faster than a Man who has his fist buried in my hair, pulling me around by it. My pussy began to thump as wildly as my heart as he pushed me past my car, after slamming the door and pocketing my keys.


As tersely as he spoke, He shoved me into the back of the cruiser. Who knew a 4X4 had that much room in the back? He slammed that door too, then reached into the front and pulled a red tag from under the visor. He wrote on it as he walked back to my car, then stuck the giant-assed sticker right on the side window of the rental car.

Well fuck, that’s gonna cost me, I thought.

I watched him swagger as he walked back to me, my heart thumping wildly at the look on his face. Gawd.

He got into the front, turned on the engine, and drove off, leaving my car behind. Every time I tried to speak, he looked at me in his rearview, but would not reply. Finally, even my vast repertoire of  small talk was exhausted, and I subsided, crossing my arms across my chest, and huffing as I slumped back in the seat.

Not for a moment did I expect what happened next.

May 23rd, 2011–Ta-da!!

I’ve done it!!

Today marks the day that i have written 365 consecutive posts!!!!

*fist pump in air*

The original day i was to reach this milestone was last October (2010), as I’d begun to write a daily post beginning in Oct 2009.  Last fall, i thought i’d made that milestone. Oh, i was all kinds of pumped. 365 consecutive posts! woo hoo. And then.

Then, going back in my annals…i’d discovered…i’d *missed* a post on May 23rd.

o. my gawd.

i was pissed.

i was sad.

i was miffed.

Then i pulled up my metaphorical big girl panties, and got on with my writing again.

So, on the one hand, i’ve written a post almost every day since mid-October, 2009 with the exception of 5/23/10. Or, nineteen consecutive months, with one day missing. (dammit!)  Or to put it another way, 600+ posts.  That’s a danged good track record. And no, i’ve not counted all the posts betwixt then and now…all i can tell you is that in a few more days i will have reached 700 total posts…in two more days maybe three?

And, being the perfectionist i am, i wanted–no…needed– it to be “right”. i see you shaking your head in bemusement……i know, what the fuck does that mean??

Well, for me it meant…perfectly consecutive days.

And now i’ve done it. *giggling in glee*

And yanno what? it’s such a habit to have a daily posting now…that it will be hard for me to *not* post. So i wouldn’t worry that you’ll show up here…and i won’t.

…read on, mcduff…and i’ll keep writing…and writing…and writing…

happy nilla

ps… what?

you want a story too? it’s not enough that i’ve given you 284  selfish, self-congratulatory words of glee?

you’re a tough crowd, yanno? okay. But…only coz its you. And i like you.

*throws back head and laughs*

Stand Up

He took a fistful of hair.

“UP. Straight. Tall. Push out those tits, like you’re begging me with your body to take them. Hurt them. Kiss them. Suck them.”

“Yes Sir”

“Be proud of what you are…be all you can be, slut. You are here to serve, yes?”

“yes, Sir, i am here to serve You, and gladly”

He patted her ass, released her hair, stroked down the length of it.  He walked around her, watching, waiting, looking. A whisper of a touch here, a pinch there.

He avoided all the usual places. He carefully avoided her nipples, her pussy, her lips. Rather, he stroked her cheek, pinched her belly, prodded her thigh.

Slowly he went ’round her again. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his heat near her. She wanted to twitch, to shiver out her stress.  She kept her shoulders up, took a deep breath, pressing her tits out, screaming silently with her body…’take me…use me…hurt me.’

A long moment passed. She heard the sounds of the house, settling around them for the evening. The ‘cheerio’ call of the robins in the gloaming, the pinging of the siding as the air chilled, and his breathing from behind her.

“Please,” she begged, her heart in her voice.

“Please? Please what, little one? What is it that you want from your Master?” His voice was silk, heat, promise. She wanted to lean into that voice, wanted that coy silk, needed that raw heat, and the promise of power, and pain.

Her voice dropped, husky and embarrassed by her needs.

“Please, Sir, hurt me?”

Her body craved it. Craved him. A deep burning hunger grew, in her mind, between her tightly closed thighs.

A hunger only He could sate.

She was an addict, and He, the supplier. She took another breath, deeply filling her lungs, pushing her tits out, arching her spine up, inviting him.

She smiled as his hands snaked around her, and captured her nipples in his cruel grasp.

Her gasp was pleasure, pain, and the sated breath of desire gaining fulfillment.


okay, this was short, but …in some ways very evocative of what i get from writing…for me, for you..for my Man…the gaining of our ultimate fulfillment at the hands of the one we serve…for an evening, or for a lifetime…is very much what i get from setting my fantasies from boiling birth in my head, to here for you to get off on. 

it feeds the addiction in me. 

it sates the beast that lies coiled in my belly, in my head, demanding release.

And yes. ....i get off on it.


Here’s to another “full” year, Lords ‘n Ladies, slaves, sluts and subsisters/subbrothers!

Raise your…

no. never mind. keep your hands down there…that makes me happier than champagne toasts anyway!!




He walked in as she was sucking her fingers clean.

Fingers that had only moments ago given her an awesome orgasm.  An orgasm that He had specifically forbidden her when she had texted Him.

He stopped and stared, His bag slung over one shoulder. He let it fall with a thunk to the floor, His mouth half-open in shock and disbelief.

“Sucking off the evidence, slut?”

She stared back at Him. That was not at all what she had expected Him to say. He looked like a thundercloud, His eyes stormy with outrage.

She had not expected Him back until this evening. He’d said so.

“i…i’m sorry Sir, i was so horny, and ….” She stopped abruptly when His brows shot up to His hairline.

He snapped His fingers, pointing to the floor between His feet.  She slid from the bed in haste, and crawled to Him.

“Face on the floor, raise your ass.”

His tone was curt, brutally so. Oh fuck she was in for it now. She heard the slither of his belt leaving His pants.

“How long did you masturbate before you came, slut?”

“Twenty minutes or so, Sir.” she made her voice as meek as possible.  He stroked across her ass, lightly. For a moment, she had hope, but it was quickly dashed, when the next several blows hit hard and fast.

Then a pause, and another soft stroke. She counted silently as He gave her 20 lashes. She was crying, but trying to remain as silent as possible. When He was pissed at her, it was best to remain quiet, meek.

And she really had fucked up.


She rose, resisting the urge to rub her sore ass. Really, 20 strokes wasn’t all that bad, she mused.

“Downstairs, outside in the backyard.”

She moved to the bed to grab her tee-shirt.

“Did I say anything about clothing, slut?”

“no Sir,” she shivered, her voice a whisper of sound. Turning, she pattered down the stairs, barefoot, bare bodied. She peered out the backdoor but no one was around. It was, after all, not even 11:00 on a beautiful Friday morning.

She slipped out the door, uncertain exactly where He wanted her to go. He did say backyard, so she moved to stand on the cool grass. The sun was warm on her nakedness, smoothing across her breasts, her shoulders, her thrashed ass. The breeze teased delicately through her hair,  and made her nipples rise at the caress of hair and air against her shoulders, her back.

“Over to the flagpole.”

Why there was a flagpole in the middle of the backyard was a mystery, but obviously He’d had plans in mind when He bought the house for them last fall.

“On your knees, then scoot back. Put a leg on each side of the pole. Good,” He spoke, His tone firm, but less outraged. She felt the cold metal cuffs go around one ankle, then the other.


He took her left wrist, cuffing it, then her right, making sure the pole was between her arms, as it was between her legs. The grass tickled her calves, thighs.  A lazy fly buzzed by her head, cruised ’round for a second look, and landed on her forehead.

She shook her head, unable to use her hands to swat it away.

He laughed.  Then, He withdrew a blindfold, and slid it over her face.  She heard His zipper come down, and felt the probing of His cockhead against her lips.

“You suck.”

She wondered if that was a double-entendre insult, or an order. Nonetheless, she sucked. He fed her His cock hard, deep, fast. She barely enjoyed it, hating when the speed of the fucking  didn’t let her taste Him, and made her choke and gag.  Worst of all, He pulled out and came on her face, her body, not letting her even drink His essence.

Oh, He was wickedly pissed.

She heard His footsteps crossing the lawn, the slap of the backdoor.  A few houses away, she heard a lawnmower kick on,  and from the house, the sound of Him grinding coffee beans.

She almost moaned out loud.  She’d kill for coffee.

The sun beat down on her and she began to feel uncomfortable.  She heard the radio go on next door, the sound of young male voices. She remembered that Tom and Vivienne were away for the weekend, and that their college-age son was coming to house sit their dog, who would be having puppies any day now.

She heard a splash, and a friendly argument and knew that Michael must have brought some friends over.

She wondered if they could see into her yard, over the fence, over the bounteous hedge of lilac’s, if they stood on the pool deck.

She heard a wolf whistle. The excited calls of males who spot something exciting. She wondered if it was her.

The creaking of the old gate between the hedges was the first clue, then the hushed whisper of male voices. She couldn’t quite make it all out, but she did hear ‘tits’ and ‘cunt’ and ‘lets try…’

Her heart raced as she wondered how close they would come. She heard footsteps coming closer.

She called out to her husband, her Master, in a  loud, panicky voice.


The back door opened, and the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee came to her.

“Hi boys. See something you like? Go ahead, give her a try.”

“She loves to suck.”

She heard the slap of the backdoor as He went back inside.