and now a word from The Man…(and His slut)

It was late when i finished my blogpost for Monday. You all saw that i stayed up to cheer on Boston Rob (who won!)  on Survivor. i don’t usually stay up that late. And i was so flat-out busy yesterday that i never did write my post until almost 11 p.m.

Master was not up when i went to bed…so He didn’t see the blog until this morning when i sent it to Him.

Actually, i sent Him the post because of all YOUR comments. i really wanted to share them with Him.

Y’all are SO  BAD!!! Of course, Himself had something to say about it all, and here is part of what he wrote:

Your public loves you Nilla – but they also know you seep pussy honey down your legs just by turning on a room light. It’s great they’re rallying around you – pulling for you but nudging-up to reality – that the horniest slut alive is going to make it to her FNF w/o an interim “O” or two – tough bet. However, who am I to meddle in such drastically important game changer issues. Effective Immediately: No O today, no touching, nada/zero – with the exception that you repeat last nights corner time – and I’ll give you the new focus later on today. In addition, I’ll accept logical pleas from you and/or your blogsters (through you) as to why it is inhumane to restrict you – aka Nilla the Slut – from one of the things you do best – which is prime your pump and bring on the gusher. You might want to update them on your Tuesday blog – your call.

So, consider yourselves updated!

Which of you will rally forth and add your voice to mine, to allow Master to let me  have an O before Friday Night Fuck? Hmmm? The thing is…i won’t cheat. I don’t steal O’s from the Man.  He knows it, too.

He knows that when He says  ‘don’t touch’   then i will obey.  And if He doesn’t say “no touching”…?  Well, then i just might let my fingers wander where they will  (though i still am not allowed to have an orgasm…)…something  i did do on Sunday night, though goddess knows why— coz it made the need even worser.

And Mick? He LOVED your comment about how great my piece of writing was, being O-less on Saturday. He got to read it when we were together Sunday morning.

Thanks, buddy.

BTW? Your Mistress reads here, right? Hmmmm….might be time for me to explore some more Fem-Dom writing, methinks….

In the meantime, to keep my head (and pussy) from exploding, i’ve written a little something.  Feel free to post comments, LONG, detailed comments, that i can share with the Man, about letting me cum again…please?

Y’all can help out a needy slut, n’est pas?


The Dream

She went to bed untouched and dreamed in black and white.

She remembered the chill, the sharp breeze blowing the curtain, it belling out as it filled like a sail, and dispensed a gust of cold breath into the room.

Just like her own bedroom window. Just like her own curtain. Except…not quite.

She knew it was cold air because she recalled the feeling of it brushing against her skin.

Because of course, in her dream she was naked.

Just like in her own room. Just like in her real life. Only, not quite.

The rising of her nipples under that onslaught of wind, the pearling of her juices as her body responded to that light touch of air …was that memory, or dream?

And then the single touch against her hip. A finger tracing along that curve of flesh. Another finger trailing across her tit, rubbing lightly across her distended nipple, causing it to tighten even further.

Though she had seen the curtain rise in the wind, she suddenly couldn’t see. Was she blindfolded? or the lights out? There was no rational reason why, but nonetheless, she could not see, only feel.

Feel the touch of fingers, drawing across her skin, tracing invisible lines across her body. She shivered at the feelings, soft, teasing, almost tickling awareness of every inch of her flesh.

Then a flair of pain as both nipples were taken, hard, into a vise-like grip. Her head falling back, the swish of hair against her lower back, her mouth opening in a silent moan at the sudden pain, the unexpected pleasure.

As if that turned the tide, the fingers became rougher, probing instead of stroking. The cold snap of metal around wrists and ankles, her body, still standing, pulled wide and open, a breathing “X” of a woman.

Fingers in her ears, her mouth, her pussy and asshole. Twisting, turning, curling. One finger, dozens of fingers. Filling and emptying her, teasing, cajoling, hurting, caressing.

And still that relentless pinch on her nipples.

Pulling on the restraints, she fought to free her hands, thinking to move those fingers from her throbbing, hurting buds. She couldn’t speak, in her dream. Her voice was muffled? or gone? Not clear.

And then the cocks.

So many cocks. Her ass took the first, as her cheeks were parted by rough hands, stretching her, and making that hidden gateway available, visible.

She wanted to deny the pleasure that wrapped around that painful entry, but her pain focus was still on her nipples. Those probing fingers had done their work, loosening her, stretching her. Even as that cock began to saw inside her rectum, another gained entry to her cunt.

Arms wrapped her, and she felt a cock against each hip, a hairy chest against her side, as the cock was pressed against her. They moved very little, little thrusts as they wrapped around her, tightly.

She was cocooned in male bodies.

Even as her nipples were pulled until they snapped free, bitter relief, her tits were taken. Different hands on each one, squeezing, molding, pinching. A mouth, then another, even as her left tit was gripped like it was being choked, squeezed in hand bondage.

She felt the rough rawness of hemp against her tender skin, drawing tight around her left tit, then her right.

And the wind blew across the floor, up her legs.

She woke with the shiver.


Her curtain belled out in the breeze. She didn’t remember leaving the window open last night. She shivered again, and slipped quickly from her warm bed to shut it.

She reached for the sill, and pulled it down.

In the bright glare of morning, she saw the dark bruises ringing her wrists.