Boss (3)

Naked, Greg knelt on the floor, knees spread,  cock pulsing between his legs. His hands were resting lightly on the tops of his thighs, palms up.  He didn’t look openly surprised when his wife was pulled into the room behind his Mistress by her panties. She too was naked. She looked stunned. And stunning.

His Mistress had spoken with longing of a threesome, and it looked like Stacey had just made her dreams come true.  He knew that she was in shock at discovering his secret.

Yet he was relieved.

“What is this?” 

Mistress’s sharp remark caught them both by surprise. She had crossed to the bed and found the crumpled jacket there. She whirled and stared accusingly at her boy.

What have I told you about this sort of behavior?” she spoke to him sharply.


She whirled on Stacey.

“This is my fault. I was getting his things ready for the cleaners. I found your note to him. That’s why i was at the office. I …thought…you were having an affair.”

Mistress looked at her steadily. Then without warning, threw back her head and laughed.

“Well, it’s about time! I’ve been leaving notes like that in his pocket for a month…”

“I’ve been clearing them out of there, Mistress.” Greg spoke up. His voice was deep, and thick with lust and longing.

Mistress laughed with true amusement.

“Well, aren’t you the good boy, tidying your pockets like I told you too. Slut, get over here and hang this up, now.”

She smiled as Stacey fairly leapt across the room to grab the jacket. She carefully placed it on the hanger, then moved it to the hook where laundry for the cleaners was stored.

“Come here, slut.”

The words were almost purred. Mistress tapped the side of the bed right next to where she sat. As Stacey complied, Mistress ran a finger down her shoulder, across one full breast, and flicked the nipple. Immediately it grew, rosy-pink and eraser-large.

“Mmmmmm, how truly delectable your nipples are. My boy has told me how much he enjoys your titties, haven’t you, fucktoy?” She paused and looked over to see his nod of agreement. Taking one between her thumb and forefinger, she pressed it gently.

Stacey gasped. She had never been touched this way by another woman. Greg had spent hours lavishing attention on her tits and nipples, but to have a stranger do so? She flushed softly, embarrassed that she could feel the answering throb between her legs.

She gasped as Mistress suddenly pinched hard. Her head flew up, her body stiffened.


On the floor, Greg winced. He wasn’t certain how Mistress would take his wife’s loud shouting. She didn’t mind moans of pain, but Stacey was so fucking loud. He was amazed to see the smile on his Mistress’s face.  Her smile never failed to arouse. His cock pulsed, and a long line of drool slid out of his pee-hole and hung like a spiders silken thread. The drop thickened and slowly oozed onto the floor between his spread knees. His thighs were burning, and he reveled in the pain of serving Her this way.

She noted the slippery puddle starting to form under his cock. Her smile grew bigger. She tugged the nipple in her hand, pulling her slut to the edge of the bed, and then to her knees on the floor.

“Clean that up. Start with the mess on the floor, and then lick that dripping drool.”

Stacey could not believe this. Part of her balked. Yet she set her lips to the floor, mindful of her still hot ass cheeks. She was sure that was her only motivation, the fear of more spanking.Certainly it had no bearing on the throbbing of her pussy. Obediently, she sucked up the small puddle of Greg’s juice.

“Stick out your tongue and get that string. Don’t you fucking break it. I want you to lift your tongue up and catch it.”

Greg groaned. Mistress’s words, combined with his wife kneeling between his feet had his balls tightening.

“Mistress,” he panted. “Mistress, i-i might cum.”

“Not yet you won’t fucktoy. Think about the butt plug you wore last week to Toronto. In-flight drinks didn’t help that ass-ache, did it?”

He shook his head, moaning again. He thought about the paperwork he needed to do for Wilson, itemizing it line-by-line in his head. It slowed his passion, for the moment anyway.

Yet he opened his eyes and watched his wife gather the cum-string on her tongue and he was hot in a nano-second.

“Slut, I want you to put the head of his cock in your mouth. Just rest it on your tongue. No sucking, lapping, nothing. Your mouth is a nice, warm cave for his cockhead to sit in.”

He was groaning constantly now, his hands fisting and releasing on his thighs. She watched him ride it to the breaking point.

“Fucktoy, put your fingers on my sluts cunt. Your rub it good, boy. You don’t stop rubbing until she cums, and then you can come. You better hold it, boy. You better …”

“Suck it, slut. Suck that cockhead hard, drill your tongue into his little crying hole and suck out his juice!”

Her words were hard;  harsh and guttural and at complete odds to her docile appearance. There was hunger on her face as she looked from one slut to the other. Her fingers went between her thighs and she stroked her clit and pussy.

“Mistress, may i cum?” Greg begged, his eyes watching her fingers dipping in and out of her cunt, even as he rubbed Stacey’s clit hard and fast.

“As soon as the slut comes…no sooner, fucktoyyyyy….”

Her voice trailed off with a groan as her own orgasm caught her. Head thrown back and thighs clasping her hand, fingers buried deeply, she came, harder than she ever had cum before. In seconds the two sluts on the floor were moaning and cumming too. They fell into each other, shuddering through the last of their orgasm.

Slipping from the bed, she joined them, wrapping her arms around them both.  Bodies entwined, they huddled there on the floor. With a deep breath, Vivienne pulled away from them, and rose to her feet.

Unbuttoning her blouse, she turned to Greg.

“Are my toys in your trunk, fucktoy?”

He looked at her, nodding as he replied, “yes Ma’am.”

With a tug, she pulled her new toy up.

“Slut, go downstairs and get the black bag out of your husbands trunk. Don’t bother with clothing. If you’re quick no one will see you. And if they do, they’ll enjoy the view, as I am.”


Downstairs,  she stood for a long moment, looking out the door. She was sure she would die of the embarrassment. Yet, there was no traffic and  little chance she would be seen. She knew all of her neighbors worked. She fingered the key in her hand, planning her moves.  Dashing outside, she almost dropped the ring of keys as she attempted to shove  the trunk key into the slot. Her hands shook, her face flamed. The lock clicked and the trunk sprang open.

In seconds she snatched up the bag, slammed the lid, and tugged the keys out of the lock. Running, she made it to the house, heart pounding. She was humiliated beyond measure. And shamefully, she was also quite turned on. Her clit throbbed, though she had just had a delightful orgasm.

Definitely some weird things happening here today. She was amazed that she was doing this. Going outside naked, for gosh shake.  Letting her husband rub her off in front of someone else. Letting another woman touch her tits.

Shaking her head at herself, she quickly went upstairs with the bag.

Mistress smiled, and took the bag from her, stroking and squeezing her left tit, pinching the nipple.

“What a good little slut you are, my dear. I am so looking forward to all the new adventures that lay ahead for us…for all of us.”

Happy New Years eve, my pervy friends! Just like in the story, many adventures lay ahead of us, as we bid adieu to the “old” year, and prepare to welcome a brand new one.

So many shiny new days to fill, days to lay around and snooze, or to spring out of bed and squeeze every adventuresome drop out of! I wish you just enough rain to appreciate the sun, enough snow to appreciate the warmth of summer,  bare trees to better appreciate the fullness of Nature as it swells and grows, and just enough angst to appreciate the joy that awaits…

Thanks to every one of you for reading, for commenting, for enjoying my little slutty corner of the blogosphere….i wish you all a Happy New Year!


The Boss (2)

Stacey sat in the passengers seat in her car. Vivienne had driven them home easily, chatting about this and that, keeping it light. Somehow she had responded.

Or at least she thought she had.

Her world had just taken a surreal tilt and she wondered how it had happened. Her confused musing was interrupted by Viv.

“Out of the car, now.”

Woodenly she obeyed. She wasn’t sure why, but it just seemed…expected. Sliding out of the seat, she saw Greg pull up behind them. Vivienne led the way to the kitchen door, which was unlocked.  She glided into the house like she belonged there, Stacey thought with a hint of anger. She turned to growl at Greg, but before she could say a word, Viv leaned out the door.

“I said,  come along now.”

In seconds, both of them were standing in the kitchen, side by side. Vivienne looked them both over. Her smile was sweet and wicked. Stacey couldn’t help but be envious of her beauty. She just oozed perfection.

“Look,” she began, only to be hushed by a finger lain across her lips, and a short shake of Viv’s head.

“Lunch, slut. You will fix us all a light lunch, and bring it upstairs. Be quick about it. Boy, go upstairs and sit in position and wait for me.”

“Yes Mistress,” he said, turning and heading upstairs quickly. He knew that “in position” meant naked. His cock still throbbed, hard as steel. She had yet to release any of the elastics that covered his dick. The pain was sweet;  the front of his boxers were  soaked from the constant leak of cum drizzling out of the swollen tip of his cock.

“Take off your shirt and bra. I want to see my new tits.”

Stacey stared at Vivienne.

A sharp slap across her face didn’t hurt so much as startle her.

“Do not make me repeat myself, slut. Remove all your clothing now. I want to watch you make our lunch. And if you remain recalcitrant and disobedient, you will not get any food until dinnertime. Understood?”

Stacey nodded. She didn’t know why she had the compulsion to obey. Yet her fingers rose to her blouse, and began unbuttoning it. In seconds, it was on the floor around her ankles.

“I do not tolerate untidyness. When you remove clothing, it is to be put in the hamper or hung up immediately.”

“Yes, o-okay,”

Another slap.

“You heard my fucktoy answer me properly. You must as well. Try again.”

“Y-yes M-mistress”

“Better. Now, pick up that blouse, and finish getting undressed. You have two minutes or you will be punished.”

Her fingers flew to retrieve the blouse, folding it and placing it on the counter behind her. She unhooked her bra, hesitating a moment as she looked at Mistress’ face. Then her tits were free.  A bit overblown, sagging with age, she was immediately self-conscious. Yet there was no expression other than hunger on Viv’s face. She quickly unzipped her skirt, and folded that as well, placing it carefully on top of her blouse. Left shoe, right shoe, and she walked across the floor to place them on the shoe rack by the door.

She slipped out of her pantyhose, careful to not snag them. These, too, were folded and added to the neat pile of clothing.  A swat against her ass made her squeak. She tried to step away, but a manicured hand landed on her shoulder, holding her in place with fingernails biting into her skin.

“Stay, slut.”

She froze. A drawer opened, closed. There was another swat.


The yelp escaped before she could call it back. Vivienne leaned against her side, whispering into her ear.

“I said two minutes, slut, and I meant two minutes. You still are wearing panties. I mean every word I say. You will stand here and take your punishment like a big girl, or I will have my fucktoy drag you upstairs, tie you to the bed, and give you the spanking of your life with his thick leather belt. Understood?”

Stacey trembled, nodded. Her heart was racing. She winced as the spoon fell again on her ass.  Viv’s hand grasped the small swatch of white satin covering her pussy hair.

And tugged.

Stacey gasped.

The tug came again, harder, even as another series of swats landed on her ass.  The crotch of her thong was pulled tightly between her pussy lips, and buried in her asscrack. It was ….uncomfortable. Another tug pulled the fabric taut against her clit. She moaned now, eyes closed, accepting the next blows on her ass, swaying slightly with the miriad of sensations.

She wasn’t surprised when Viv’s finger slipped between her legs, but she was embarrassed when she took that finger and wiped it across her mouth, lapping it with her tongue.

“Slut, your cunt is leaking.”

She was smiling that smile again. With a push, she set Stacey to preparing a plate of cheese, crackers, and fruit, and tugged her up the stairs with her finger hooked in the white panties.


The Boss

Such a good little housewife she was, she thought as she sorted through his clothing. She hated this particular chore, taking his suits to the cleaners. Drop off on Thursday, pick up on Monday. Week in, week out. He was very fastidious, always cleaning out his pockets, always folding the pants over the hangers, the jackets lined up just so.  Sometimes it made her nuts.

Couldn’t he for once just drop his pants over the back of the chair like other men did?

She sighed, annoyed with herself. Hell, she remembered how messy things got when her brothers were home. She did NOT want to go back to those days, but Greg was just so anal about some things.  Out of habit, she swept through his pockets. Something crinkled against her fingers.

A receipt from the 5-Star hotel downtown, luncheon for two. She blinked at the cost. Hell of a client meal, she thought. Oysters on the half-shell, veal scallopini,  my goodness, a lovely Cabernet to boot. She tossed it on his desk, where it landed with a flutter,  upside down. A dash of pink on the back caught her eye. It was the edge of a kiss in pink lipstick.

Thanks B, V

The writing was very feminine. She knew his secretary, Vivienne called him Boss. He wouldn’t have taken Viv out for a luncheon like this unless something was going on there. She’d suspected for months. That fucking bastard.

That fucking bastard!

Fuming, she threw his jacket in a crumpled heap on the bed. She saw red for a moment. Viv was at least 10 years younger than her, with an impressive body. She was petite, which only accentuated her curves.

That cunt.

That fucking cunt.

She found herself downstairs, purse and keys in hand without clearly remembering how she’d gotten there. In a moment she was in her car, and it felt like seconds later that she arrived at his office.

She was too upset to wait for the notoriously slow elevator, so she dashed up the stairs. In her adrenaline -heightened state even this seemed effortless.

She stepped into his outer office. Vivienne’s desk was vacant, but the sound of her voice came from behind his closed door. She whipped it open, expecting to see him fucking her.

Her pent-up energy threw her into the room. What she saw had her stopping as if running into a brick wall. She’d expected sex. She’d expected a half-naked secretary bent over Greg’s desk, expected a view of her bounteous tits as she hurtled herself into the room.

She did not expect to see Vivienne slapping Greg’s bound cock with a clear stick that she recognized with horror as coming from the Venetian blinds. His lavender silk tie bound his wrists behind his back, and his eyes were squeezed tight in pain.

Vivienne cocked her head at Stacy.

“Open your eyes, fucktoy, and greet your lovely wife,” she ordered, her voice crisp.

“Stacy, come in and close the door now.”

Somehow she obeyed. She noted that Viv had long black satin gloves on, the only deviation from her normal clothing. Her soft pink blouse was tucked into her black pencil skirt, her sensible black heels were not too high, nor too flat. Her hair was coiled neatly upon the crown of her hair in a loose chignon, and her make up was demure. Yet, there was no mistaking who was in charge here.

She swallowed, hard. Her husbands prick was hard and oozing precum. She could see it throbbing, bobbing a bit. There was a glazed look in his eye.

“Hi honey,” he said, his voice devoid of embarrassment. His attention returned immediately to Vivienne. “Thank you Mistress.”

She whacked his dick again, making him moan. Stacy gasped. She had never seen a man get his cock whacked before.

“Why…?” she stuttered.

“Because we like it, don’t we boy?” she spoke with a slightly mocking tone to both of them. He nodded his head.

“Tell me boy, will you fuck your wife in front of me if I tell you to?”

He nodded again.

“And if she fights, will you hold her down and fuck her anyway, because I told you to?”

He nodded. There was a flash of what could have been eagerness on his face for a moment, and then it was gone, replaced by the slavish look of adoration as he looked at Vivienne.

She took a step back, wishing for all the world that she’d never come here. Never found this  out. She was shocked to her core. She was also deeply embarrassed to feel her pussy clenching with a sudden tingle of pleasure. It was like one of those strange and kinky websites she’d seen on occasion, only this was live. And it was happening to her.

“Oh, no, little one, don’t go. I think we’ll all have a lovely little time together this afternoon, won’t we? In fact, I think we should close the office for the rest of the day and head over to your house and all get better acquainted, don’t you, boy?”

At his eager nod, she laughed a throaty laugh. It was unabashedly sexual.

“I will take little wifeypoo home in her car, and you take your car home.  She can fix us a nibble to eat, and then, well, we’ll just have to see what develops between us, won’t we?”

Master! You BASTARD!!


Yes, that was the only response to my wonderful orgasm fantasy.  My email program shows the first line of text, and dammit if every fucking time i checked my email, there HIS was, mocking me.

I was so mad i could have spit.

I was so annoyed i wanted to bite Him.

I was so fucking pissed that i knew if i wrote *anything* to Him, anything at all, it would be a diatribe of immense proportions. I wanted to keep cool.

I wanted to be a good girl.

But gods above and below, i was FUMING.

We talked later Monday night. We talked about this, that, his day, my day, plans for Christmas, yada yada yada.

Finally after about 20 minutes, i whispered “Master?” in my softest, sweetest voice.

“Yes nilla?” He says. His voice is suave, smooth silk.

“uh, Master, about my orgasm report.”

There is silence on His end of the phone.

Then, “I think I saw that. Did I see that?”

Instantly i’m fuming again.

“Yes, Master.” i say through gritted teeth. “You wrote back ‘Penelope'”

“OH” He says (the Bastard)…”Right, Penelope. I’ll bet that pissed you off some, huh?”

Silence from my end of the phone, and then the bastard, the unmitigated gall of Him…He fucking laughs.

“Oh, nilla, I’ll bet you fumed about that all fucking day!” He chortles.

I’m stuttering, unable to speak.

“Oh, this is priceless, she’s speechless!”  He laughs.

“I’ve been on the receiving end of that Swedish temper of yours,” He continued, “and I’ll bet you thought all kinds of mean and dastardly thoughts, didn’t you slut?”

What could i do but confess? He played me like a fiddle. We both said it at nearly the same moment.

“You know, nilla, I like to keep you on your toes. And I want you to remember that I know *EXACTLY* which buttons to push to get a reaction from you. It’s not the same buttons I push when my hand is on your body…but My hand is *always* on you.”

um uh…stuttering and sputtering.

“…planned this. You…i…all fucking DAY Master, i saw that message. I …i…gods Master!”

He is so delighted that He has totally fucked with my head, that i have felt His mastery over me. He played me and i fell hard and deep.

He told me he wanted me to write the response that i would have written if i’d not held back. He wanted the full bore of it. He wanted to feel my anger, my reactions.

He wanted every drop of what He had squeezed out of me.

Lastly, He told me it was the hottest thing He’d read that i’d written right for Him, pertaining to my orgasms and my fantasies. And that i needed to blog it for you, as well as the two follow up parts of what transpired afterwards.

The Man keeps me tied up, even when He never laid a hand on me.

Isn’t that neat?




Last week, due to Master’s kindness…or maybe because He was uber busy at work, too busy to orchestrate His slut’s orgasmic duties…He allowed me a “free-pass” orgasm.

Only one, mind you.

Still, one is better than none! Plus, i could use any toy or toys i wanted, orchestrate any fantasy scenario…it was all mine to play with.

This was so kewl!

He takes Ownership of me very seriously, and is rigorous in my O’s…whether it’s going to be a ZNN day because He wants to fuck with my head, or like Sunday night, giving me the occasional freebie…

Or He may set a scene in mind, or choose the toy(s)…in all ways orgasmic, and beyond, He keeps me on my toes, and constantly held tight in His fist.

gods, just writing that gives me happy shivers!

But Sunday night He gave me a pass on detailed instructions. i wanted something different from my ‘normal’ fantasy…this take was to be a bit more twisted, a bit more almost-realistic. The roots of it, of course, lay in the fictional story that bloomed here as “Drunk”- that of the training School of Q….

That orgasm scenario was the fantasy that you read here yesterday.

Now, like many of you subs out there, i am required to submit an O report the day after my orgasm. Often i will text Him a “thank you Master” right after i cum  (if i can remain conscious long enough afterwards!), sometimes with a brief “wow that was intense” or “nothing fancy, but nice nonetheless”….just as a FYI sort of thing.

Sunday night i texted thanks for the permission,  prior to getting into bed and getting busy. I was just so thrilled about the “freestyle” orgasm. But before i could get going,  He sent me a  text reminder that i needed to submit a report to Him Monday morning.

Now, i’ll admit, publicly, that i was a bit …huffy…in my response. Coz, yanno…it’s been a rule for a long while now that i need to do the report, and i’ve not missed a one of them. Several went to Him late in the day due to family circumstances, but none have ever been missed.

That was pretty much what i texted in response. It was polite, but a bit …terse. Maybe a tad defensive. A bit snarky.

Coz okay…i was still sad about not getting to see Him. And a bit…miffed. i *knew* it was beyond His control. Still, it will be a while before we even have the possibility to see each other again. A LONG while… something like …3 weeks? (this is for “face time” not to mention play time!)

So i was dealing with my sad feelings, and then, layered over that, became frustrated…(okay, annoyed)  about His reminder to send the O report in the morning.

Crawling into my bed, tugging up the covers, getting myself set, i was muttering. And finally i just lay there knowing that if i didn’t put away those feelings, i was never going to be in a sexy mood, would have a hard time heating up, have a hard time cumming at all.

Deep breath. Another. And then…dreamspinning…

i created my fantasy, putting all of vanilla life out of my head. Just…away in a box, on the shelf in my life closet. There, for that moment, i was *in* my fantasy.

And if you need to,  you can take a second to pop back and refresh your memory of that wee fantasy. It’s here.

When that orgasm roared through me, it was like being….gosh…how to describe it? It was like being run over by a freight train, and exploded.

Every cell in my body felt it. There was a moment when the Universe held her breath…when everything  was suspended,hanging still and silent,  before i crashed over the edges of the need, and went free-falling into bliss.

If you happened to freeze in place for a nano-second of time there last Sunday night around 10:25 p.m. eastern time, um, that was my fault!

In other words, it was fuckin’ awesome!

i’d barely had time to put away my toys before i fell into the deepest sleep i’ve had in a week.

I woke up in the morning, refreshed, and clearer of mind and much less sad. i read all of your comments and felt better that this …this nebulous network not nebulous…this..invisible network? yes, better….was there, reaching out and patting me, and consoling me…and i thank you all for that.

It is a wonderful feeling to be so nurtured and cared about, especially when i had been so very low.

Now,  to get back to those orgasm reports….i’m thinking that  you would be surprised to know…well, um…overall?  They’re pretty boring.

i mean, He’s never said ‘gee nilla, this sux” after reading one, but He’s also never patted my head and gone “good girl”…usually i get  a one line response from Him….like…. “nice job on the O report.”

Or if it had pain, He might say something like…. “your pain is My pleasure…” …something lovely and  Dommish like that.

i tell which toy or toys came out to play, the order in how i heated up, how His directions worked, describe whether it was a BIG orgasm or a teeny one…all that …stuff. It is really just straightforward and pedantic. Or do i mean pedestrian? Whichever.

i don’t go that much into the scenes i picture, the words, the feelings the drama…all of what  goes with (at least for me) making myself get turned on and having a lovely cum.

um…i guess, looking back at the past objectively,  i was holding back, a bit. Maybe because He controls so much of it, yanno?

But last Monday morning?

OH, i was in the mood for something different. I was ebullient with a good orgasm, a good sleep.   i decided i would knock His black sox right off of His feet, and write up the fantasy just as it rolled through my mind! Writing it out made me all wet and horny all over again, and i was certain He would be pleased to see the entire story, as it came to me, through me. i was sure He’d sit up and go “whoa” and i could picture Him, sitting there, reading it, maybe even getting turned on from it.

You’ve read  what i sent to Him. The fantasy is totally unedited from what i sent to Him. Pure, raw, gritty sex.

But wait. Before i go on, i need to fill in a few more details…which means backpedaling a teeny  bit  more…

…okay,… well..i’m  His slut. Yeah, i know you know that.  But that is “slut” as opposed to “whore”…..

Sure, sometimes when we’re fucking, and it’s wild and  intense and i’m screaming with the joy and lust of it, or begging Him to hurt me more, please more…then He’ll call me His whore.

But most of the time, it’s simply ‘slut’…

We’ve talked a lot about the “whore” word…and “whore play”…which includes the “whore” shoes (which are the header pic for nilla swirled).

He has a name for His (make-believe) ‘whore’…which is Penelope.

There are times when  i text Him something very slutty,  where He is prone to respond “Penelope?”  He sometimes does this  to annoy me, and sometimes does it to let me know that i’ve  hit the combination that makes me sound whorish to Him.

Now i’m guessing that you can pretty much see where this is headed, now that i’ve caught up the backstory, and presented you with all the info you need to figure this out?

Fast forward  up to my sending off the orgasm story to Him.

After writing this hot piece of orgasm fantasy, and sending it off right away, bright and early in the morning, and feeling so damned proud of myself….i got my bubble burst.

i checked my email around 11:oo on Monday, dying to know what He thought of this hot little piece of writing. I was so happy that He’d had time to read it, and could hardly wait to read what He’d written to me.

i stared in open-mouthed amazement at His one-word response, in shock and disbelief.


this is so long already, i think i’ll post part two tomorrow…

Orgasm Fantasy

i am in bed, blindfolded and tied.

a vibe is pressed against my clit, while i feel something inside of me.

“you’re in slut training school” says a silky voice near my ear. Clamps are attached to my  nipples, the chain threaded through my teeth, and a strip of tape holds my mouth shut around it. My head pops up to stop the incredible pull on my nipples, but a hand presses my head back to the pillow.

The pain makes my clit throb, and the vibe is turned up a notch. i want to squirm, to move away, to stop the sensations, but it is pressed there, and i’m afraid to move, afraid i will hurt my nipples even more.

The fucking starts.

i feel my hips roll with it, feel the growing of need inside of me. it shames me to be so turned on so fast. i hurt, and i lust.

“later, your ass will be filled with cock. For now, we’re just priming the pump, so to speak” says the unseen speaker. The pace is slow and steady, and i suddenly crave hard, fast, deep.

He laughs.

“I know what you want. But this goes my way, slut”

after a time of gentle stroking, he picks up the pace. i’m moaning, and trying to keep my head still, even as my ass raises and i fuck into every stroke.

And then he stops.

Holds the dildo outside of me, holds the vibe away from my clit…and laughs as i whimper, and hump at the air.

“what a slut you are,” he says, and suddenly the vibe is back, turned up another notch and pressing harder to my clit. It is almost painful and i moan and move my head, and tug at my nipple.


but i cannot speak. the tape holds my lips shut tight.

and then the dildo slides slowly back inside of me. Once more it is a slow and languorous fuck and i want more, so much more. I strain at my wrist bonds, try to slide my feet. But i’m caught, helpless to do anything but take it. Take whatever i’m given.

i feel the need build in me again…so close so close…

He reads my body so well…and seconds before i erupt, all stimulation stops. I hear a door open and close. Someone has come in.

“Rick is my plumber. He’s fixing my toilet for me. In exchange, he gets to ream out another hole. Your ass.”

His attention turns to the other man in the room, and he speaks to him.

“There is a thin cane on the desk there. Come over and switch her tits while I finish this,” he says.

i wonder if i can take it without coming apart…he’s gonna hit my tits while the nipples are hurting like this? The vibe and dildo are back, seconds before i feel the first stroke of the can on my left tit.

once more i’m being fucked slowly. i want more. more speed, more more more.

but i can only take what he gives to me, and i whimper with every slash of the cane on my tits, while rising my hips into the fucking of the dildo.

“Can’t wait to fuck that asshole” says the plumber casually….

and i erupt.

He laughs at me. they both do.

and i know in moments they’ll be moving me, and using me, again.


you absolutely won’t believe what the Man did to me, that Bastard! more on that tomorrow…~n~


She sat naked at his feet. She’d never felt so happy before in her life, and it was an amazing thing.

A gift, really.

Okay, the tree was gorgeous, though she had to admit that, at first, she hadn’t thought that she was even “into” Christmas anymore. Christmas made her sad, for those childhood wonder days, now so long gone.

Christmas made her mad….. the frenetic pace it forced people to maintain, to get it all done, all those rituals and events, and all the gift buying, the whole ‘marketing’ aspect.

Where was the joy of the holiday?

She’d long outgrown the religious rituals. She’d gone from one strict religion to a less structured one, to being a total non-believer. She hadn’t believed in miracles for a very long time.

And then she met Master.

He’d tucked her up, taken her under his wing, under his spell. He’d changed her, molded her, shaped her…he’d brought out the best in her really.

She’d forgotten what she’d had inside of her. He helped her unlock herself. He helped her to remember laughter. He helped her to remember…love.

Another gift.

These, she was recalling, were the true gifts of the season. The joy, and the love, and the lust were braided together as tightly as the singletail whip that lay wrapped up under the tree, her special gift to Him.

They had become a couple several years ago, and merged hearts and bodies together over time. Until they’d begun living together, she’d never contemplated a 24/7 dynamic.

And now here she was. The tree, gleaming in blue and white fantasy, had been decorated by her, but under his direction. Blue and white were his favorite holiday colors.  The ornaments were sparkling, and the branches of the tree were healthy, green, and so delightfully scented.

She remembered trudging behind him, pulling the sled. She had worn knee high boots, and a mini skirt. The tube top he’d insisted that she wear under her open hoodie kept slipping down, baring her tits.  Occasionally he’d peg a snowball at her. Oh, he’d had a wonderful time. She, not so much.

And yet, that wasn’t really true, not by a long shot.

It really had been wonderful fun, to be used, and tormented in a way that pleased him so. Her submission, her compliance…all things she freely gave to him.

Another gift that wasn’t under that pretty tree.

“Slut, pay attention!” He tugged at her hair, and jangled the chain that was attached to her collar.

“Under the tree is a package done in green shiny paper. Go fetch it for me.”

She crawled under the tree, ass in the air. Turning to look over her shoulder at him, she decided against the smartass butt wave she’d been contemplating. She blew him a kiss instead. He gestured with his fingers to go, go on and look.

She found the present and brought it back to him, laying it carefully on his lap. It had her name on it. She smiled.

“You didn’t need to get me anything, Master,” she said, looking up at him with love.

“Anything I get for you? Is for me, too.”  He indicated that she unwrap it, and she tore into it. Inside the box was a paddle, obviously hand carved. His  initials had been carved out of the wood, and she knew that when he smacked her with it, she would wear his mark.

“Master! This is …clever and kewl and awesome. And…it looks painful.”

He waggled is brows at her, then crooked his finger at her. Oboy! With a frown, she turned and offered her ass. A very hard swat against each ass cheek had her moaning. It did indeed hurt!

He peered at her ass and laughed.

He allowed her to fetch the handmirror from the bedroom. The letters SA were on her left cheek, and AS  on the right, though the S was reversed.

“That tells it like it is….” he laughed. She stared at him.

“Well, if you spell sass phonetically, it would be spelled saas…..and slut, you are the sassiest of them all!”

She giggled, rubbing the welted letters. She knew it stood for “Scotts Ass” as well as Scott Anderson.

“We’ll call that the toy that keeps on giving,” he said, smoothing his hand over her red rump.

The morning progressed, and one play toy after another was revealed. A new vibrator, a large ass plug, new rope for him, a hood for her.

He appreciated the single tail, ran the braided leather through his hands, between his fingers. There wasn’t room in the living room for whip play, so he tugged her outside to the backyard, ignoring her protests about snow between her bare toes.

After a few swings of the whip she stopped complaining about the snow, and started moaning about the whip. He brought her in before she was frozen, but her ass and back throbbed even more in the warmth of the house.

The last present was in the branches of the tree.

She opened the box and discovered a paper inside, folded small.

There were many gifts under the tree this year, my slut. I enjoyed watching you unwrap and play with everything we’ve done here.

I’ve enjoyed watching you, my most precious gift, under the tree, and under my feet.

We’ve been Master and slut for 2 years now, and you have served me well. Yet I know that there is more that we both want.

Next week, we will make this union official in the eyes of our Community, as well as our city.

slut, I am claiming you for My own, to care for, and be cared for by you in return.  I ask, on this day of sharing our gifts with one another, that you think about this for a moment.

you will be mine forevermore if you agree. I will never release you. I will own you, in the eyes of our Community, and in the ways of TTWD.

You have been mine for a long time. I want you to be mine, forever.

Marry me.

Her eyes were as glowing as the lights on the tree as she turned to Him, slid into His arms as easily as He had slid into her heart.

With joy on her face, she kissed him softly on his mouth, then slid down his body to pool at his feet. With her forehead on the toes of his slipper, her “Yes, Master,” filled them both with joy-filled pleasure.


Blessed be, dear friends. At this time of year, when so much seems so overwhelming, when life is chaotic and hurried, i wish you joy and wonder– for now, and for the coming year as well. I hope that you will take time for yourself, to breathe in the beauty of every day, and breathe out the sadness that clouds it. I hope you see with clear vision the love that surrounds you, even in hidden places. I hope you hear kindness in others, and give it back in full measure.

 Finally, i want to say a sincere thank-you ….for the e-musing messages that have inspired many stories, for the kudos when you say you liked what you read….and for the hugs and cheery words when i was feeling blue…for all this..i thank you, and most of all, i wish you happiness.    ~nilla~

Drunk (fini)

who woulda thunk it…Christmas eve eve, and  there i was,  writing a nice, mellow story to publish on Christmas eve…but after reading the comments from yesterday?  i understand….so…heeding the cries for ‘more, more’, i have postponed that little story  for Christmas Day instead.  By popular demand, i bring you the final chapter to our young woman’s story.  Thank you for liking her, and my work…ya’ll make it so worthwhile!  ~nilla~

How she managed to look both confident and diffident as she passed through the crowded room was a testament to her training. Three intensive weeks had passed since she had turned up on his doorstep. At the beginning, He hadn’t been overly fond of her. She was foul, rude, and insubordinate. Yet, by carefully peeling away her layers, he had found a true submissive, who, he earnestly believed, had been acting out because she was lost.

It would be difficult to imagine the house without her here. He only took on one or perhaps two girls each year now…more and more girls were finding their submission at an age when they were more confident about finding their own Owners. It was a shame really. He was a throwback to a more subtle, more genteel age.

These days,  there were cameras in phones, recording devices the size of a thumbprint, and girls falling all over themselves to be the next great submissive. Doing it his way, the old-school way, was quickly becoming an anachronism. It was why he had decided that tonight would be his last party. It was not just a graduation party for her, his last student, but a farewell to a community that had moved on with the times.

He watched her cross the room, and was pleased. She spoke with quiet deportment to each man who stopped her, even allowing herself to be petted. The men who attended his parties were carefully chosen compatriots whom, he was certain, would treat one of his girls with the proper balance of discipline and compassion.

Earlier this week he had attended a luncheon with her well-to-do parents. It had been a chance for her to show her newly reformed self in public, with people who knew her from her past.  Parents were often the hardest to please.

Where once she might have been a brash, abrasive, wine-guzzling floozy in expensive clothing, she was now refined, quiet, yet brimming with life.

Indeed,  she had been graceful and sweet, explaining that her weeks at his retreat had done much to quiet her inner worries. She’d had, she told them, an epiphany of sorts, and was happier now than she had been in a long while.

He could tell they were puzzled. Where was the ditzy socialite they remembered?  Who was this woman who spoke knowledgeably about world events with her father, and the current fashions in Paris with her mother?  She had eaten lightly, and taken only water at the table, explaining that she only allowed herself a glass of wine on occasion. He could see that they were baffled by the sudden changes in their daughter, but that they were very much relieved, too.

At the end of the meal, she had excused herself to go to the ladies room. He had known it was to remove the vibe that he’d been turning on and off throughout the meal.  He had been very clear in his instructions when they had left the house. She would have 3 minutes to attempt an orgasm; if none were achieved in that time, then she was to reinsert the vibe, and return to the table.

If she had been able to orgasm,  he had ordered her to return the device to him discretely at the table. He could barely suppress his glee when she returned to the table empty-handed. She had kissed her parents goodbye, and returned to her chair.  He had watched impassively as they left. Then he had turned to her, scowling, though inwardly he was greatly amused.

“I had expected an orgasm.”

“Yes Sir. i am sorry Sir…three minutes wasn’t enough time for me..”

She gasped when the egg went on, turned to its highest setting.

“Raise your skirt so that your pussy is exposed.”

She complied but she was blushing deeply. His hand moved to the cleft between her thighs, and his finger unerringly found her clit. He rubbed roughly through the fabric of her panties, scrubbing at the tender flesh.

“Three minutes is more than plenty of time.”

Seconds later she gripped the edge of the table as she came.  She desperately attempted to maintain an impassive facade. Yet, she knew her eyes were unfocused, her brain was boiling.

“Sweet mother of gawd,” she thought.  “Thank you Sir,” she spoke quietly, shuddering. His finger had not stopped rubbing. She felt the suddenly urgent need rise and swamp through her again. Before three minutes were up, she had cum 4 times. Her thighs were trembling. Her lips were smiling, her eyes closed.


Her eyes flashed open.

“Yes Sir?”

“Three minutes was plenty of time. Let us be away.”

Obediently she followed him out of the restaurant, yet he knew she was walking on trembling legs. He hid his smile of satisfaction. She was nearly there.

Remembering, he smiled now.  It was one of his fondest memories of their time together. How the scent of her had filled his car.  How responsive she was when he bent her over his desk, and fucked her senseless upon their return home. He felt a curious pang thinking of her not being here..of there not being another girl to train. Yet it was his job, his personal mission, to bring a woman to the full ripeness that satisfied his male clients, and the submissives he trained.

***         ***         ***

She walked around the room, letting them touch her, speaking politely to them, flirting subtly. There was not one man here tonight that made her feel the way Sir did. Seeing him sitting there in the corner wing chair made her feel sad, lonely. Too many of these men were just here for her holes. She understood that was her primary duty, to be a hole to assuage sexual need.

She understood that there would be a variety of sexual torments. She did, in fact, crave that. But they …she sighed. She didn’t think she had a voice in this. Would He sell her to the highest bidder? Would He take a variety of offers?

Already three men had said their farewells, and taken leave. They obviously were not attracted, or she wasn’t their ‘style’ of slut…but who knew, really? Perhaps they had decided to bid, or not.

While it pained her to be treated like a thing on one level, on a very base human…female level, it did something to her. Putting her in her place, on her knees in service made her horny as hell. Several times she had been ordered to the floor. Hands were laid against her head, her face pressed against crotches, where she felt the heavy thickness of hard cock….. but this was a non-sexual party.

She hadn’t known that, until Tomas had stopped one would-be suitor from taking her into the maids pantry.

“No Sir, I am sorry but tonight’s party is a showing, only. The miss is here to be viewed. You may touch her somewhat, but there is to be no intercourse, per the Master’s instructions.” And he had led the man back into the living room, while he made the ‘stay here’ gesture to her.

“Don’t you know anything, slut?” Tomas said upon his return. “Madeline was supposed to tell you that you were not to go with any of the men to play. This isn’t a fuck-all…”

She blushed. It was very possible that Madeline had said just that, and she had been so swamped with nerves that she had not fully gotten it. It would not be the first time that not paying full attention had gotten her in trouble.

“Thank you Tomas,” she whispered, and she scooted back to the living room before Sir missed her.

***                                       *                                     ***

The door closed with a soft sigh, and Tomas flicked the lock on.  Turning, he watched as the Master led the slut upstairs by her leash. He knew that the Master had taken to sleeping with the girl, and it had given him a faint hope that this one would find it in her heart to stay. He seemed usually quiet tonight. Tomas had been with the Master for many years now, and he’d never seen him looking quite so serious, almost sad.

He watched as the girl dashed up the steps behind her Sir, ignoring his slow and steady pace. Her hand came up and cheekily grabbed his right buttcheek. Tomas hid a grin as He went into the reception room to turn out the lights for the night.

***                                    ***                                ***

“Stop that, you impertinent slut!” Sir spoke firmly, but there was a smile in his tone.

“Yes Sir, of course Sir,” she replied. Her tone was mischievous.  She slipped her hand into his palm, and rather than slapping it away, he allowed it to stay. Funny little chit, he mused to himself.

“I have received no fewer than 5 offers for you tonight, slut.”

The words hung in the air between them.

They walked the rest of the way to his rooms in silence.  She brooded all the way there, about the advisability of saying what was in her heart to Him. Could she? Should she?

Yet, how could she  not speak up? After tonight he could choose to release His hold on her, and lay her leash on another’s palm.

They went into his room, and she began undressing him as she had taken to doing these last few evenings. He seemed to appreciate it.  When he would have pushed her away to remove his belt himself, she   knelt and begged.

He relented. She held his belt across her open palms as she knelt on the floor between his feet. He took it up, and slapped each round tit several times. He admired the bounce of her breasts, the rapid flush of her skin, the sharp rise of her nipples. Her eyes glazed, and his cock rose. Reaching up, she unbuttoned, unzipped his pants, tugging them down. His hand rested on her head as he stepped free of them. She tugged down his boxers, and waited as he lifted each foot for her to remove his socks.

He took a fistful of her hair and pulled her to the bed. He may have been older, but he was strong as an ox. He laid into her ass with the belt. He enjoyed her moans, her whimpers, and her loud begging to cum.

“NOW,” he ordered “cum for me NOW my little whore!”  as he jammed his thick hardness into her soft, wet cunt. Taking her from behind allowed him to fuck her  deeply,  sheathing his throbbing cock all the way into her slick tunnel, as his balls made a slapping sound against her clit. The bedding absorbed her wild cries as she came all over him.

He pulled away, ordering her to turn, as he tugged her to her knees.

Her lovely and talented mouth began to work on his slippery shaft, shining with her own pussy juices. She lapped at him, sucked at him, fondled him. She used every trick he had taught her in how to pleasure a man, and when he came, his cum practically boiled up from his balls and exploded into her throat.

He sat down on the bed, gasping. She crawled between his legs, resting her head on his thigh. He patted her absently as his heart-rate slowed to normal.

He felt wetness on his thighs under her cheeks. The little slut! Had she not swallowed all of his cum? He lifted her face, surprised to see tears, not the sex juice he’d expected.

“Why are you crying, slut?” he asked.

“Please Sir.” It was as far as she got before she burst into full sobs.

He was confused. The spanking had not been harsh enough to engender this. Nothing about this made sense. This was the first time she had broken down like this.

“Slut.” He spoke firmly.

Her head rose, her eyes brimming with tears, her lip trembling.

“You will speak now. Tell me what is going on here.”

She looked at him for a moment more, before replying.

“Oh SIR,” she burst out, “Oh please, please don’t send me away.”

***                                ***                                         ***

She circulated around the room, her hand resting on a forearm here, a shoulder there. She made certain that drinks were filled, that the guests were pleased.

A bevy of young women entered from the private entry at the rear of the room. Each wore a golden chain around their waist, holding a thin drape of black silk in place. As they began moving around the room, it was apparent that there was nothing under the silky fabric but woman, although a careful observer might notice an elegant Q tattoo on an inner thigh.

She made her way back to where he sat, and knelt by his feet. He leaned forward and secured the chain to the collar around her throat. There would be no mistaking that this slut was private property.

“You’ve done an excellent job with this years recruits, little one.”

His voice carried only to her attentive ear. Turning her head, she flashed him her most radiant smile.

“Thank you Sir. It is, as always, a pleasure to please you…in all ways.”

They sat, watching the interplay as men engaged women, trained sluts, hoping to find what these two silent watchers had found several years ago.

(and yes, they lived happily ever after.)

The End



Drunk (4)

She strapped on her heels, smoothed her stockings, tugged down her corset.

After three weeks, Sir’s school had become the refuge that she had always fantasized about. Her parents had sent her to the finest schools, but never demanded anything of her. They had hoped she’d settle down with some Harvard grad, rather than becoming a permanent fixture on the club scene.

No one missed her. There had been daily sweeps of her phone messages, her mail. Her bills were minimal, pleas for charitable contributions were plentiful, but there was nothing personal in any of the mail. On her voice mail were two messages over the last weeks, one from her some-time male companion, and one from her mother.

It had given her true pause to know that virtually no one had noticed that she’d virtually dropped disappeared. She hadn’t been drunk since the night she’d insisted on being driven in Sir’s Rolls, and been brought here.

She shook her head, pausing a moment to look at the woman reflected back at her. Her posture was impeccable; rounds with the cane slapping at her back every time she slouched had corrected that rather quickly.  Her skin was glowing with good food, exercise and the occasional glass of Dom.

It made her smile every time Sir offered her a sip from his glass. Dom from a Dom. She looked at herself, standing there, poised, relaxed, confident. The smile that came now was radiant. He had remade her.

He had more likely, saved her.

He’d called her an impossible woman. He’d clucked his tongue, and promised her ‘bad girl’ punishments if she didn’t hove to.  He’d called her slut, and whore, and wanton.

He’d taught her the beauty of pain mixed with pleasure; he’d taught her how to pleasure a man. She still remembered the first time he’d pulled her to her knees and had her service Tomas. She’d been horrified. She’d given hand jobs before, sure, but putting a mans penis into her mouth?

She’d stayed on her knees, lips locked shut. He’d fastened clamps to her nipples. For every minute that passed without her compliance, a weight was added to the chain that hung between her breasts. As he’d added the 5th one, she’d gasped. She’d been certain that her nipples would have pulled right off. The clamps stayed on, during the entire time of her tutorial blow job.

She didn’t think Tomas was ever going to cum.

And when she realized that she was expected to swallow that stuff? She had been so hungry, nearly dizzy with it. And when Sir had told her that her only food would be Tomas’ cum, and water later? She’d been torn between horror and shock.

Surely no one could survive on cum and water?

She’d not known then about the parties that Sir hosted, about the blind “glory hole” that she would need to service. She had been secured on her knees, mounted on a vibrating dildo that was buried in her pussy and strapped inside of her. She couldn’t push it out, and she couldn’t hump it.

She thought she would throw up, so grossed out was she by this particular duty. A maid stayed with her, pressing her head towards the hole each time a cock slipped through.

Her belly was full and she needed to cum herself by the end of the party. Thankfully Sir rewarded good service, and after releasing her, he let the maid fuck her with the dildo while he slapped her tits with a crop.

She had come to crave the pain to enhance the pleasure.

Tonight she would actually attend one of Sir’s parties.  She would be allowed to circulate among the guests, and her  holes would be of service to any and all who chose to partake of them.

She was nervous.

She didn’t want to fuck up. She didn’t want to be a ‘bad’ girl, nor did she want to disappoint Sir. He was fussy and particular, but he had a nugget of caring and compassion. She owed him deeply for the transformation from the wasted life from before, to the confident woman she was now.

She was a slut from the House of Q, and she had come a long way from that drunken girl.

Tonight, she would please Him.

Drunk (3)

She didn’t remember being unlatched from the sawhorse device, nor being hosed down to get the shit splatters from her body.

She woke up laying on a strange kind of table.  Thick straps fastened her upper arms to the arm support, and the same for her thighs.  The table was obviously designed for restraint. She felt a strap around her throat as she tried to sit up.

“There is no moving.”

The clipped voice spoke with a sharp bite. It was not the  man she was supposed to call Sir. This man was tall and pencil thin. He had been squatting between her legs. Now he rose to his full height, glowering down at her.

“She’s awake?” There was Sir’s voice. He was sitting in the shadows.

“Yes, and wiggling.”

His voice came from the darkness.

“You must lay still for this process. Remember that bad girls …” he let the words drift out into the room. “Well, let us just hold to the thought that thus far, you have not been treated as a bad girl.”

Her belly ached, her asshole throbbed.  She had been slapped, drained, and vibrated to some of the most intense orgasms in her life. Her breast ached where he had repeatedly caned it. This was how he treated good girls? Despite it all, surprisingly, she felt a coil of desire between her spread legs. She shivered on the table and the man between her splayed legs slapped her pussy.

“No moving!”

There was a buzzing hum and the sudden, unexpected sting of a needle. She arched. Tried to arch. There was a thick belt around her middle holding her tightly to the table.


There was a creaking from across the room. In a moment she could see him walking towards her. His unsmiling face scared her.

“perhaps you need a reminder about being still.”

She could not see what was in his hand. The sudden swat against the bottom of her foot almost tickled, until the shock of the blow ran up her foot to her brain.

“GOD!” she yelped.

He hit her foot 9 more times. She was sobbing when he was done. The pain on the bottom of her foot was incredible.

“This is not a ‘bad girl’ punishment, this is a learning tool. Bad girls get far, far worse than 10 swipes. Now, lay still.”

“yes, Sir.”

Her voice was quiet but audible.

The buzz began again and she kept still. The sting on her inner thigh was painful. There was a pattern. Buzz, sting, wipe. Buzz, sting, wipe.

A tattoo.

The bastard was tattooing her? She wanted to leap up and protest but fear held her silent. Fear, and many thick, tight straps.

“This is the second step in your training. Your body is cleansed, and you will continue to fast today. Tomorrow you will feed from a specialized diet to nurture your body back to full health.  Now, you are being marked as one of my girls. You won’t leave this place until you have earned the mark of Q…but for now you will feel it and remember, as it heals and transforms your smooth white thigh; so too are you  being remade…still essentially you, but better.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, really. But apparently she didn’t have a choice. She was desperately afraid of what would happen if she crossed the line and became a “bad” girl.

She wasn’t certain about how she had come to be here, yet a few hours here had felt like an eternity. And despite the fear of the unknown to come, the taking of her body and the promises of “transformation”, for the first time in forever, she felt a sense of purpose.

She wanted to please Him. that funny, frightening, little man called Sir.

Damned if she knew why.