You don’t think?

You don’t think I can do this, do you?

You don’t think I have that kind of power, that kind of control? You still stand there, thinking that I can be coerced, denied what I want?

You see me laughing? So silly. Let’s not struggle about this, shall we? You know I can do everything I told you that I could…that I would.

Let me touch you.

Let me run my fingers down the length of your spine. It aches to be bent, you know. Let my touch send shivers down to the balls of your feet, coil in your belly, roil in your blood.

I won’t be denied.

Feel that? The wince you give me, feeds me. I love your hair. Soft, and fine as silk, I enjoy feeling it curl around my hand as I pull your head down so I can tease at your mouth.

No, no kissing back. Just stand there.


I’ll take what I want, you know.

You don’t think I can? How little you know me, sweet tender fleshed pet.

That tender skin will feel the lash of my displeasure, should you be disobedient to my desires. Your bottom lip has swollen already from my attentions. I see the heat blooming in your eyes. I know the darkness swirls in you now, I’ve begun to turn the key to unlock the dungeon you keep it in.

You can hide it from the world, from your coworkers, from your family. But I see it. I call to it. I bring it forth to play.

Bend and feel the heat of my hand caressing your sweetly rounded bum. I know, you hate that term, don’t you? Bum. Sounds so….babyish, yes? You are like my little baby. Come here and suckle at me, let me feed you. Let me… oh, yes, just like that. Mmmm you’ve gotten very good at that.

Yes..gawd yes, just like that…suck it. Suck it hard.



I said stop. So bad. I think someone has earned a wee bit of correction, yes? Oh, yes, let me stripe that pretty bum of yours. Nothing like a good flogging to stir your juices, yes pet?

Look how lovely your skin looks wearing my lines upon it. And the delightful little noises you make when the cane has finished its whistling journey through the air to your flesh.

I know you feel it. Feel the burn, feel it heat you deep inside. I see it, see the stirring. I don’t have to touch you any more than this to get what I want from you, do I?

You don’t think you have any control any more, do you?

Lovely. I’m so glad you agree. You are mine now.

How. Delightful.

Your skin tastes salty. I enjoy the strength in your shoulders, when you stand so straight and tall for me. The way your hair curls across your forehead, mussed a bit from our play.

The look of the cuffs against your wrists…such a triumph, yes? Steel over strength.

And see?

You’re hard. Just as I said you would be. Hard, and ready to be taken and used.

Come here, pet. Let Mistress fuck you.


The Right Stuff

“i can’t fuckin’ believe it. Not A-gain. Geezuzzzzzzzzzz”

His protests were silenced quickly as he was mashed against her cunt, as she pushed him, hard, against the dark and wet chasm of her pussy. It was really, really wet in there, and the deeper he pressed in, the hotter it got.

This couldn’t be good. Not so many times. Could it? He wondered if he could handle it. Once more, with gusto, he silently cheered himself onward.

Yet it went on. And on. Her pussylips swelled, grabbing at him. Her muscles clenched around him. Her hips slammed into him. He was being smashed and smushed by her undulating need to fuck!

He tried to complain. Her fingers grabbed him tighter around the throat, effectively gagging him as she bucked and writhed against him.

That’s when he decided he needed a change of pace.  He got into it. Harder, faster, deeper, he plunged into the hot tunnel. The wetness was the most he’d ever seen, her hole so slick, so humid.  He hmmmmm’ed into her folds, feeling her muscles rippling, hearing her gasping with the intense pleasure he was giving her.

It …was good. It was reaally good. It was better than good…it was perhaps the bes……


“OH FUCK NOoooooooooo”

She bucked and writhed against the pink vibe buried inside of her. So close, so close so damnedfuckingclose….

and the fucking vibe had turned off.

Frantically bucking her hips, she pressed the button on the bottom. Sometimes in her furious fucking she pressed it accidentally and turned it off.


Groaning, she continued to fuck, to grind against the rapidly deployed vibe. Using it like a dildo, for what choice did she really have, she finally pressed up up up ….

…and fell over the edge into a climactic orgasm.

Trembling with release, fatigue, and saddened a the loss of her favorite vibe, she tucked him into the bag to wash tomorrow morning, and rolled into a deep and dreamless sleep.


“Man, she fucked you to death”

“Yeah brotha, you’ve been pussywhipped!”  the cackle that followed that statement belied any modicum of sincerity, and the entire bag erupted in guffaws.


As if any of them had been used to death. He wondered what his fate would be. A vibe no more, perhaps his use in her pussy, in her fantasies, in her sex-life was done. He wondered if she’d put in him the blue bin…he was recyclable after all. This could be it. His last night in the red bag.


She hummed to herself as she carefully removed the batteries from her dead vibe, and washed it tenderly. So many orgasms at the hands of this little beauty.  Over the two years she’d had it, it had developed its own little g-spot bend, likely part of what had killed it to begin with. Yes, it rubbed in all the right places.

Which was why she tucked him back into her toybag.

He was made of  the right ‘stuff’ !

She giggled at her silly, naughty metaphor.

He smiled as he slid back inside the red bag. Despite the other wanks that lived in here with him…there was no place like home…!


and there you go…at the behest of my Master, a little story about the ‘death’ of my favorite pink vibrator!    ~n~

He wouldn’t….did He?

cough medicine gives me wicked dreams. i woke up Friday morning with this story in my head, and jotted down the basic text before i forgot (i’ve forgotten two, not one, but two stories because i didn’t write it down first thing!) I wrote this midday, and was happy with it. It is short, but (for me) a powerful reminder of who and what i am…His property. I put it on file to publish today ….and i found myself thinking  about this story as i was driving to Maine on Saturday.  And here’s the bad news…i think i wrote this story…a version of it anyway…a long time ago…last year or maybe before. So, pardon the duplicate thought waves…tho the text won’t be identical, the message remains the same…i am His to play with…howsoever He decides to play.  ~n~

I walk to the hotel, through the lobby. I’m impatient as I wait for the elevator doors to open, as I step inside, as I punch the button for the 9th floor.

The box stops at floor 3, 4, and 7.

I try to not grimace. It’s been a long time, and I am so eager for Him. To see Him, touch Him, taste Him, please Him. Finally the buzzer sounds, the digital reads 9 and the doors open. I step out onto the plush carpet, my heels soundless as I turn to the right, reading door numbers.

Even if I hadn’t seen the correct number, 933, I would have known. He’s put my blindfold on the door handle. I slip it on, knowing He wouldn’t have put it there if He didn’t expect it on me.

I knock, leaving my fingertips lightly on the door.

I feel it begin to pull away, feel the tug of the air as the door recedes into the room. Yet I wait.

I feel His hand on my chest, then the tug as He uses a hank of hair as a leash. I step slowly forward into the room.

He continues to tug me forward. His hand on my belly stops me.

“Kneel.” He says.

My heart races. He is not my Master! Yet I sink to my knees.

“Good girl” I hear Master’s voice from the corner of the room.

Another fantasy unfolds into reality.



“No?” His voice was incredulous.

“No…Sir.” There was a pause as she breathed in the word, the defiance of it.  Tried to draw strength from the air in the room. “i….won’t.”

She watched Him shake his head slowly. There were few words that annoyed him more than “won’t”  and she wondered at her punishment for refusing this task.

His nostrils flared and she watched Him control his annoyance. That always amazed her. Sometimes he’d lash out at the smallest of things, and other times, He absorbed her big things. Oh, not without punishment, she was sure that was coming. But He was patient about it in ways He wasn’t, always.

He was the predator tonight, circling round her, round her. Looking at her. Flicking a finger against one clamped nipple. It hurt. It really hurt. Yet the shockwaves were carried to her pussy, adding to the wetness ooozing down her thighs.

She looked up at him, her eyes begging for a forgiveness that her lips refused to speak.  He raised a brow. He knew her well, inside and out. Heart and mind, and yes, even her misplaced spirit. It was all well and good to have a spirited woman, but defiance was not spirit.

And she was, very, very defiant.

It was curious that she had yet to utter her safeword. A curiosity yes, perhaps, or maybe more…maybe an oblique invitation to be pushed.

“Very well. You have made your point, little one.”

Reaching over, he removed her clamps. They stung, burned, and he rolled them gently to soothe. Not the mashing twisting torment that He used during play time. Just to get the bloodflow back.

She looked up at Him, perplexed. “Sir? Shall i suck your cock?”

He shook his head, no. He gestured her to rise from her kneel, and sent her to the bathroom.

“Wash and bed.”

She started for the bathroom, one hesitant step, another, before turning.

“But Master? Your blowjob…”

“No cock for you, little one. Not until no becomes yes.”

She stared at him, at his erect cock, and felt saliva pooling in her mouth. She swallowed, uncomfortable with the feeling of guilt. She had not pleasured her Master. He had refused it as a punishment for her defiance, and that added to her guilt.

When she came out of the bathroom, He was in bed, reading. She slipped between the covers, and sidled up to him.

“No touching, little girl. No orgasms, no touching anyplace, except for dressing, and wiping after you shit or piss.”

“and in the shower,” she corrected absently.

“No. No touching there. *I* will wash you myself, when I have the time.”

Oh! He *knew* how much she liked her showers. She hated being stinky. The sneaky bastard! No orgasms, no touching and now this, likely no shower tomorrow as he had meetings all day. And Wednesday was full too, if she correctly recalled their daily calendar.


Her next chance to shower would be Thursday? She shuddered, and rolled over to sleep.


She woke, dreaming of showers. Rain showers, golden showers, being cleaned in the shower by many hands.

It was strange that this was the punishment that burned the worst in her head. Because her pussy was already pretty put out with her, too.

He hadn’t woken her when he got up this morning, which was unusual. There was a note on her dressing table. She was to dress in the clothing He had chosen, including an anal plug. Including a butterfly vibe. And carrying small elastics in her pocket for when he would text her, later today.

An hour after getting up his first text came in. Two words, and neither was ‘hi’…just terse orders. So, He was being pissy today. Or stern. Her lessoning had begun.

“Vibe on.”

She knew that she could not turn it off without permission, even as she could not turn it on without his “okay”.  The vibe didn’t touch anywhere near the butt plug, but her nerves were sensitized, and she was becoming very turned on. She felt the wetness in the crotch of her panties, the sticky, stringy mess that He would tease her about later.

Call her a slut.

Call her a whore.

Telling the truth with his words. But it embarrassed, even as it excited. Or perhaps it excited because it embarrassed.  He texted after 45 minutes, and she sighed with relief when she heard the chime.

And moaned when she read His order.

“Elastics on your left nipple. Not too tight, but two of them. On the same nipple, yes, slut.”

She fumbled getting the first one on, and the second one pulled it even further out. She looked and felt strange, unbalanced. Her left nipple was visible through the cotton of her shirt. Visible through the sheer bra she wore. And it was so very sensitive.

“Bread. Coffee. Milk. Peanut butter. Eggs. Go now.”

Well hell! Sending her to the store this way? She didn’t argue. The price she was paying for that little hesitation, that one small defiance was growing exponentially. Like ripples in a pond, he was casting her like that stone. Or maybe the trip was the stone and she was the pond?

She made it there, the vibe soundless under her skirt, since his text came in as she’d parked the car, “vibe off,” thank goodness!

She got back into the car and texted Him…”done, Master.”

“vibe on. High.”

High would just about kill her, she thought,  pulling into the driveway. Her clit was throbbing like a toothache, and not being able to hold back the cum was a distinct possibility.

“Vibe off.”

He was driving her crazy! She kept moving through her day, her body coming closer and closer to tipping over that precipice of need. She was almost panting by the time He came home.

He pointed to the floor beside him as he sat to eat.

So, she wouldn’t be allowed to eat, either. Her tummy growled, and she frowned. He smiled.

He took off his belt, and looped it around her throat, pulling it through the metal fixture and tugging it snug. He pulled her to the floor, and put his foot on the loose end of the leather.  Her head was pressed to the floor, with no wiggle room. If she moved, she gagged. Her ass was up in the air, the end of the plug peeking out from between her cheeks.

He pinched them fondly, leaving little half-moons from his fingernails. She whimpered under his foot.

He ate slowly relishing the well-prepared meal, pausing occasionally to pull the plug from her ass, and put it back in.  Each time she would moan, or groan or make some other noise. Twice she farted and he slapped her ass, admonishing her for stinking up his dinner with her gas.

She was humiliated. So embarrassed she wanted to crawl under the rug and hide. No one had ever treated her this way. And yet, as He kept pointing out, her pussy was so wet it was gleaming silver, and running down to paint her thighs with her juices.

“Just like a slut who wants to be fucked, after such an exciting day. But of course, you can’t. You won’t. No, that’s your word, isn’t it slut? No?”

She was crying, her body no longer hers to control. She wanted. She needed. She throbbed. She craved.

“Master…yes. Yes, Master. Yes.”


There was silence, and then he lifted his foot, pushed away from the table. He looked at her, the mess of tears and snot and mascara running across her face, her demeanor no longer defiant.

She craved.

And He had control over what she wanted.

“Beg for it.”

She looked at him, her face still on the floor.

“Please, Master,” she whispered. “Please? Let me drink. Please?”

He unzipped his fly, removed his cock, spreading his legs. He gestured her to come to her knees, and take his dick into her mouth.

“Good thing I didn’t piss when I got home, slut,” He said as his hot pee splashed against the back of her throat.


She was the most exquisite creature he had ever laid eyes upon. She danced amongst the butterflies in his garden as the heavy heads of Echinacea and Rudbeckia bobbed in the soft evening breeze.

As she reached on tiptoe, her body was limned for a moment by the setting sunglow, an etching of such perfect beauty that he knew he must possess her.

Soft breasts pressed against the coarse linen of her nightshift, while long, gently curling tendrils of cornsilk hair danced counterpoint to her movements. Her feet were bare, glistening with dew, and her face.

Aaah, her face.

She glowed from within, his little garden fairy. Her features were perfect, balanced and soft with youth. Her eyes were alight with joy, mouth soft, a perfectly curved bow as she laughed with delight as one yellow-winged butterfly landed with precision on her upthrust digit.

His cock grew fiercely hard, throbbing insistently. He must  have her.

He turned from the window, and ordered his manservant to fetch her.


She knew not to go to the Master’s garden, that it was his private domain. Yet the allure of the golden sunset, dancing butterflies, and soft evening air drew her from her small hut and out amongst the flowers. The scents swirled around her as a yellow-winged butterfly played bold suitor, and she laughed with delight when he came and kissed her finger. Her joy-filled laughter caused her faithless companion to flit away, and return to dancing among the flowers, and tightened the cock of the Master, watching silently from above.

She turned with a gasp when she heard a voice, breaking the revelry of her dance with the setting sun.

“You are bid to come with me.” Master’s manservant, Joseph stood there, his face revealing nothing. She shivered. She could not believe she had been stupid enough to be caught here, and in her nightshift, no less!

“Please, Joseph, if I may dress…”

He interrupted her, shaking his head in the negative. “You are bid to come, now.  He awaits.”

Oh, great green goddess…the Master had caught her playing in his gardens. She shivered, wondering at the cost of this transgression. She hoped she could throw herself at His benevolent mercy; after all, He was a good Master. She had worked hard in the kitchen since she was a child, and the head cook had kept her on after her mother had passed into the Summerland.

The tiny hut on the far side of the garden had been shared with her mother; she had lived most of her life here. She didn’t know any place else.

Her heart beat heavily with fear as Joseph led her through the house. She’d never been beyond the kitchen, since she supervised the dessert-making, and had herself begun teaching two of the younger girls the basics.

The house was fantastical, gleaming woodwork, smooth marble, gilt and glitter wherever the eye turned. The steps were cold under her bare feet, and she was reminded once more that she was wearing her bedshift.

In the Master’s home.

Joseph stopped before a dark door. The knob was made of pink crystal, and she wanted to just stare in awe at it, but the door was opening, and there, across the room, stood the Master. His hands were in his pockets, and he was coatless. He stood in his fine linen shirt, his boots gleaming in the half-light. No lamps had been lit, and he was cast in bold relief by the rouge-red sky that burned behind him.

She’d seen him before of course, He was the Master. But never this close, never in his bedchamber, and never while she was in her shift. And certainly, never, ever, after having violated the sanctity of the Masters private garden.

She stopped just inside the door, and almost bolted when the manservant turned and left, closing the door behind him.

“Come here.”

His voice gave no indication of his mood.  She knew little of men.  Would he strike her? She moved slowly across the room, her face reflecting her fear and worry.

“What do you think is happening here?” He asked, curiosity overruling his more base urges, as he saw the look of deep consternation in her eyes. Was she about to cry?

“I-i w-was in Y-your garden, M-master,” she stuttered. “I….shouldn’t have been. OH, Master, i am so so sorry…please don’t turn me out, Sir, please. I’ll do anything..”

Her look of desperation, her broken-voiced words shocked him. Did his staff really fear him that much?

“Silly girl, of course I won’t turn you out. For pity’s sake you were walking in the garden! It would be different, perhaps, if you’d plucked one of my posies and tucked it behind your pretty ear,” and he slid his finger along her temple pressing the hair behind her ear, and giving it a soft pat with his finger. Her eyes widened at the touch.

“I’m joking, little one, no need to be so fearful.” He knew that one day he wouldn’t mind a look of nerves and fear on her face, but not now, not over something as trivial as this. When he came at her with a crop, yes. But over a stroll through the gardens? He shook his head.

His finger went under her chin, raising her face to his.  Then, unable to help himself, he pressed his lips to hers.  She jolted as if struck by lightning. She was delicious, and his hand slipped around to cup her head, and press her mouth more firmly, more deeply. He slipped his tongue between her open lips, and tasted of her.

nilla notes: 

this story plagues me. When i started, i had a very clear direction of where to go. And then as i wrote…it transmuted into this. So what does a writer do? Been pondering that very question myself.  i could put this in the dead file for later. i could write the version that originally came to me. (done that several times, haven’t i?!) …the statue (a pic of an actual, small statue for sale on ebay) …stirs something in me.  A sense of beauty. Perhaps innocence, lost. Or perhaps….innocence…preserved… Do take a moment and weigh in on my dilemma! Your thoughts are appreciated! ~n~

Pet (2)

He tried to regulate his breathing, tried to calm his racing heart. After all, he had put his arms into the loops that now fixed him to the bed. He had willingly let her attach the second loops around each ankle. He had even been the one to put the pillow under his belly before she’d tied him down over it.

He wasn’t sure if it was simply obedience…or the wicked, scary-thrilling excitement of what was about to happen, but his cock was stirring too.

This was not a good thing.

His cock was still locked tight within its confines. The shiny metal ring was looped around his balls and cock, the cage snugged over, and locked with the silver padlock she had personally closed tight yesterday with a satisfied little ‘click’. The key, he knew, was hanging on a chain around her lovely throat.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what she was doing, sliding on her brand new harness, fixing it just right. She’d tried it on before, of course, several times. She’d strut around the bedroom, and boast about her ‘hard-on’, making them both dissolve into laughter.

She had yet to fuck him with it.

That all changed today. Because he’d fucked up. And now, he was truly fucked. Screwed. Ass outta luck.

He felt goose bumps rise across the backs of his thighs, over his butt. He was almost embarrassed. And she was certainly taking her time in getting to this. Not that he could complain. He could murmur, mutter, and grouse…but she’d only hear “mwmsmsoooggg”.

Something trailed across his exposed ass.

“My slave was a very bad boy yesterday, wasn’t he?”

He tried to say “yes, Mistress” but it came out garbled, so he began to nod his head, when he felt the sting across his backside. “OOO” he yelped.

“Oh, I see you understand me now, slave. I didn’t hear your agreement with my statement. You did fuck up yesterday didn’t you?”

She waited a bare half-second before striking his ass yet again. His head rose, his breath whistled through the holes in the gag…along with a humiliating amount of drool.

“You need to be quicker on those responses, slave,” she admonished him. He heard the smile in her voice. She was enjoying this. Really enjoying this.

“Mistress was very hot and sweaty yesterday.”


“This does not a good impression make for a business meeting.”


“Mistress does not like going into a meeting smelling like she has had a workout.”


Each statement was punctuated by an increasing number of blows to his aching posterior. Gods! Would she never stop?

Yet he could feel it.

His cock was stiffening in the cage. Another blow, another aching ‘growth spurt’ in the cone of hell.

She wound down with a mighty series of thwacks. He was moaning steadily now, his ass was throbbing like a toothache,  and then he felt it. Her cool hand smoothing across his welted butt.

“Pretty” she cooed.

He moaned. The contrast between the hot acre of flesh and her small cool hand was amazing. He felt the press of steel against the edges of his cock. Uh oh.

There was a feeling of something else cool dripping on his ass.  Very cold.

“I put the lube in the fridge, just to help you out, slave. Thought you might need to chill a bit before I fuck your tight ass. Such a lovely tight ass…and all mine to fuck.”

She was being deliberately crude, coarse, and Dominant. Geezuz, when she got like this it was …amazing. There had never been the feeling of this much power before. Yet there was no mistaking who was in charge here.

She was.

And reveling in it.

The Assistant pt 5

it’s been quite awhile since we last checked in with our intrepid news reporter…i hope you enjoy the next part of her story. know that i always appreciate your replies, but i am currently a bit under the weather, (being sick in the summer? sucks rotten eggs), so if i don’t reply, i’m not ignoring you, just trying to get better. Stories are set to publish all week, so enjoy, and i’ll try to catch a few extra hours of sleep….i will, eventually, respond to any and all comments…promise! ~n~

She wasn’t certain if she’d ever had a more daunting assignment. She’d been asked to visit, and write up an article about a BDSM club. She’d had no idea, going in, that she’d have become so introspective about her own personal wants/needs/desires.

She’d never considered herself a pervert, before today.

Yet here she was, hanging limply against the supports of a St. Andrews cross, her ass and hip burning from the very first flogging she had ever received.

And she was so turned on she could barely breathe. Yes, her ass throbbed. But equally so — her pussy. She swore she could count her heartbeats through the steady beat-beat-beat in her swollen lips, her aching clit. And she was soaked. She couldn’t feel the wetness, her legs being spread as they were. But by bending her head just a bit, she could see the embarrassing puddle on the concrete between her spread-eagled feet.

He came around the back of the cross, and looked at her. She looked back, unable to talk around the ball gag lodged behind her teeth. He kissed the tip of her nose.

“More, little one?” he asked, his voice kindly.

She thought about it. Really, really thought about it.

For about 2 nano seconds. And nodded her head, yes. She admired the fact that he didn’t laugh at her. After all, at the start of this, she had thought that this was almost a waste of paper. She’d rolled her eyes when her editor had suggested this piece. Nate always “suggested” with an iron fist.

Later, she’d thank him for that. But for now, all her attention was focused on what was going on behind her. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear much. He was moving around her, she felt the slight breeze on her skin as he stepped behind her. There was a whirring hum, and then his voice against her ear.

His warm breath tickled the soft whorls, sending a dart of electric current straight between her legs. She moaned at the sensation. So light, not even a caress, yet so intense.

“A bit of pleasure, little one, after the pain.”

She felt the press of something against her pussylips, and it was so stimulating! Talk about intense. The humming of the vibe against her was echoed in the sounds that came from behind the ball gag. Soon she was bucking against it, fucking into the pressure hitting her spots just exactly right.

She was that close to an orgasm when He pulled the device away. She whimpered in need. His breath against her ear only added to the erotic waves crashing against her body.

“A submissive, a slave, a slut must ask her Dom, her Master, her Owner for permission for her ultimate release. We do love the sounds of begging.”

He ducked under her arm, his nose almost against hers, his smile wide. She blinked, looked at him through blurry vision. She wanted. Yet how could she speak, gagged as she was?

“Say it,” He whispered, eyes fixed to hers.

“caw ah ……” she paused. Cum was such a ..dirty word.

“Yes?” He drawled. “Can you…? what? Say it little one. Tell your Master what it is you want.”

She blushed. She was so embarrassed. Her nipples rose with the flush, her lower body thrummed in pain and pleasure, and she looked into his eyes. He was …laughing at her. The bastard. Brought her to this state and laughed at her. She was a reporter, dammit, a fine writer, and here she was like a common trollop and he expected her to …

Her mental diatribe was cut off as the churning bulb was pressed once more against her mons.

“Perhaps the little slut has forgotten what it was she wanted?” He grinned at her as she writhed in her bonds. In her mind she was pulling away from the tool, but she felt the damning movements of her hips grinding forward, seeking.

“Caw ahh cuuu?”

She wasn’t even conscious of making that choice. The choice to beg. It was like her pussy had taken over her brain. And they said men thought with their dicks. “They” had no fucking idea!

“Hmmmm.” He tapped his lips with his free hand.

And pulled the massager away from her pussy. She groaned in frustration, her hips pressing forward. She could almost feel it. Almost…but not enough. Not enough.

No where near enough.

“Most D/s couples would be more formal. You’d have to say ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ before, but…since this is your very first D/s orgasm, ” He paused. Gods, He was playing Dom for full effect, wasn’t he?

His free hand snaked into her hair, lightning fast, and the tool was pressed hard against her pussy. He pulled her head back, even as her body strained forward, trusting her bonds to hold her in place as she fucked herself wildly on the device.

“Cum, slut. Cum for this Dom!”

Her last conscious thought as her body exploded was that He didn’t seem to be playing at Domness after all. He was a Dom…and then the room went dark.

Nice ‘n Naughty

She straightened up slowly, her ass a throbbing, painful entity. It reminded her constantly of how she had spent her weekend. But here it was, Monday again, and she was at work.

At work, and showing Mrs. Carmichael, once again, how to log into her email account. You’d think, since she did it every Monday, that she’d remember, but really, Mrs. Carmichael was just lonely. Getting free computer access at the library gave her a chance to communicate instantly with her daughter in Colorado Springs, and gave her company too.

A dual service, really. Librarians did so much more than check in books. They … they served, really. The greater public didn’t always see all the work that went on behind the scenes, caring for the books, keeping up on what was new, adding to the collections, shelving books, pulling for requests…and that was just the tip of the iceberg that was librarian services.

She thought she loved working the front desk the best, seeing who read what, noting that there was a new Cussler book out and wouldn’t Mr. Hartman be pleased about that; it was a chance to interact with the public, and talk about something she loved most of all- reading. Well almost most of all. There was that one other thing that came first…her Master. While she loved her job, she loved being Master’s good little girl even more.  Today she wore her ‘professional’ demeanor.

Yet, yesterday she’d been spread, face down on her Dom’s four-poster, as He’d flailed her ass good.


Because He wanted to, of course! Just as He’d wanted to bite her nipples until they were swollen, red, then purple, then so painful that she had cried.

And when His attentions had turned from flogging her to fucking her, with that rock-hard tool of his, when He’d lain on her back and fucked her “backwards”, his hands had reached under and squeezed her nipples hard, painfully, tortuously hard. She had cried at the beauty of the pain and pleasure He mixed for her, He fed to her.

Later, they had nestled, cuddling together. He’d told her He was stepping things up again, working to fulfil her fantasies, that she might not always like it…but that eventually she would enjoy it.

That always made her nervous.

A patron jarred her out of her thought-loop, reminding her of her task here, and now. Focus on the work. Ignore the sore ass, the aching of her well-used body.

She opened the book to scan the label and two small elastics fell out, with a note.

“Put these on at the soonest opportunity. You can guess where. I’ll be watching.”

He looked at her, his smile polite, but his eyes like buffed steel. Her mouth half-opened, her heart began pounding. Thankfully there was no line behind him, no other librarian at the front desk with her.

She made as if to speak, but he shook his head, nodded towards the note.

Her Master had begun to stir the pot.


She made it to the employees bathroom on shaking knees. Who was that guy? He had to be a Domfriend of her Master’s….Why would her Master send a guy to work, for fucks sake? 

yet, here she was, in the bathroom, sliding tiny elastics onto her bruised nipples, and trying to not cry out at the pain this caused. The note showed two loops, so they wouldn’t be super tight…not at first.

Not until the nipples swelled up behind the constricting rubber. Not until they were partially deprived of blood flow for a while.

Her nipples poked through her bra. They were visible through her sweater. Not hugely obvious, but since she felt them so intensely, it seemed like they were giant red beacons, pointing out her status.

“Slut here. Slut here. Lookit my tits. See my nipples.”

She hated when He humiliated her like that. She was soaking wet already.

She went about her morning routine, partially sex-buzzed. She wondered if patrons could smell the sex on her. She felt hot and flushed, and her tits hurt.

The pain built like hot licks of fire along her nipples, under her breasts, along the sides. Every breath brushed them so gently against the lining of her bra, every movement jostled them in their cotton cage.  She was bound by her submission, bound by those fucking elastics, bound by the need growing in her pussy.

He was in the library. She’d seen him upstairs at the computer table. And blushed.  She didn’t know if he saw her. She passed into the 541 section and put away the book on Physical Chemistry. She slipped into the 916 section, and filed the book about ancient Egypt, and stopped short when she beheld the last book in her pile: “The Ethical Slut; A practical guide to polyamory, open relationships, and other adventures.”

She turned the book to find the call numbers on the spine,  306.8423EAS.  She looked up to find those silvery eyes on her, a half smile on his face. He’d stacked her deck! She walked to the very end of the aisles, and found the place in the stack where the book went. Human sexuality, and she’d had no idea that her library had that many books on D/s, masochism, sadomasochism, and alternate sexual lifestyles.

She lifted the book to slide it into the vacant pot, and noted a piece of ribbon. She tugged on it and pulled out an egg vibrator. Taped to it, a sticky note.

insert   A S A P

She had to wonder what he would have done if someone else had done this task; then again, perhaps he didn’t care. She stuffed it into her pocket, and slid the book home, blushing furiously. For that moment in time, she didn’t even think about her now painfully throbbing tits.

She headed back to the restroom, avoiding making eye contact with the man sitting there with the grin on his face.