Drunk (2)

She woke when the first splash of cold water hit her tits. Shaking her head, she realized two things. The first was that she was kneeling on a very cold floor; the second was that her hands and upper body were tied to a sawhorse kind of contraption, which was bolted to the floor.

Her arms were spread out like she was a soaring eagle, her knees were held apart by some kind of bar-and- strap thing.

Oh, and she was naked.

She hadn’t been that drunk, had she? There was another splatter of water and she lifted her head. In front of her was a man, holding a spray bottle.  He was naggingly familiar. He was old, and neatly dressed, and seated in a rattan chair.

Which was rather incongruous in a blue-tiled bathroom.  She tried to see if there were other fixtures around but all she saw was a rank of tiles.

“Good you are awake and right on schedule. You may begin Madeline.” He placed the bottle on the floor under the chair.

“Wait!” she yelped. “Who are you? Why am i here? I need to go home.”

“My name is of no matter. If you choose to address me, you may call me Sir. You will speak to me in respectful tones, no matter how upset you are. This is your training period. And you came to me. Your family has been notified that you have taken refuge here, which they have accepted. To the outside world, we are a retreat where one may come to ‘find their inner light’. In reality, you will be trained to be a proper companion to men.”

She stared at him. She was missing something, she was sure of it. His nod made her nervous. She felt a probing…in her ass?!

“HEY!” she yelped, yet she was unable to move her arms or legs to prevent the intrusion. There was a faint metallic scraping sound, a gurgle, and suddenly a feeling of heat and warmth in her asshole.

“NO!” she shrieked.

“If you yell again, you will be gagged. The enema will help to clear your body of the toxins that you have been polluting it with. Today you will fast, and become cleansed.”


Calmly the man rose from his chair and slapped her across her face. In seconds, a hard rubber ball was pressed behind her teeth and a leather buckle was fastened around the back of her head.  At the same time, her belly cramped.

She needed to shit. Her belly was swelling with fluid and she was aching and crampy and needing to crap and she couldn’t talk and she was so fucking scared.

This guy was some fucking-assed weirdo and she was at his  mercy. Another cramp made her moan, made her sag.

“Remove the nozzle.” His words were calm.

She didn’t know there was a bucket behind her. The moment the tubing came out of her hole, a flow of dirty liquid followed. The smell was horrendous. Her belly seized up again, making her whimper as foul water flowed from her. The sound of liquid shit was almost as appalling as the smell.

After a few minutes the liquid had drained. A few farts followed. Her belly eased, though she felt quivery and light-headed.


Her head snapped up and she glared at him. Mumbling behind the gag, shaking her head furiously, he just cocked his head and smiled that supercilious smile. She remembered him sitting behind a desk, but didn’t recall the whole of it. She felt the tubing press up her butt hole again. She tried to squeeze it shut, but she was weak and the woman behind her was implacable. Once more she heard the squeak, the rushing gurgle of water.

In seconds her belly filled again. The cramps came faster, her body trembled.

“Turn off the flow, and put the plug in her asshole,” He ordered.

“For your impertinence, you will be forced to hold that fluid in your belly for 15 minutes. If I need to speak to you again about your tone, you will be filled again, and forced to hold it for 30 minutes. Your fate, the control of your pain lies with you.”

He stared into her eyes. She felt the tears start. The plug stretched her asshole, hurting it. Her gut was twisted and wracked with cramps, and she shivered with the need to release the belly full of liquid she was forced to contain.

“While we wait, we will begin your first lesson on pain.” He crossed the room to the chair, and picked up a thin stick of wood. Returning to stand in front of her, he slapped her right tit with it. She reared upwards, straightening her back, which made her belly roil.

Cramps threatened to make her scream with pain, yet he methodically slapped her tit again and again. Occasionally he hit her nipple, which hurt so intensely,  but eventually her entire breast was covered with thin red welts. Every hit made her gurgle behind the gag, made her arch or quiver with the pain of it, which made her belly cramp.

There was a faint ding from behind her.

“There now, didn’t that time go by quickly?” He looked down at her. He wasn’t smiling. “Release her plug,” he said and stepped away. The flow from her ass was less vile this time, but there was no less relief in finally being allowed to let go. Her belly hitched, and for a fear-filled moment, she thought she might vomit. She breathed through her nose, and calmed herself.

His finger lifted her chin.

“Better,” he said.

“Again,” he ordered, still looking at her, but speaking to the unseen woman behind her. “Fill and plug just like last time, but use the  number four  rather than the two.”

She cried as her belly filled for the third time. She was shaking with fear, shock, and the rough treatment of her innards.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he said. “The faster you learn your place, and follow the rules, the easier each day will become. Again, how much punishment and pain is under your control. Good girls get rewards. Bad girls…..”

He paused, and drew a breath as he looked down at her. His expression was grim.

She shivered, thinking she didn’t really want to know what happened to bad girls. Again the flow of water, the release of the tubing, was accompanied by the plug being shoved up her asspipe. It felt like a fucking shoe was being shoved up there. Tears trickled down her cheeks, rolling down to splash on her tits.

His fingers pinched her nipples, the sore one and the untouched one. She whimpered.

“And now the vibe.”

She felt something press against her pussy lips. It was big, and cold. It was pressed up inside her warm hole, and she felt the press of it, with her ass and belly filled with liquid, much more intensely.

Straps were fastened around her waist, pulled tight, holding the thing inside her pussy.  There was a faint click, and then the vibrations began.  Despite the pain in her belly, the sensation in her cunt was intensely erotic.

“Before your enema is complete, you will have several orgasms. They will be painful, yet delightful. And thus we begin, braiding pain and pleasure into your body.”

She closed her eyes and tried to fight the feelings, but they grew, rather than diminished. He was right again.

He was going to make her cum, despite the cramps fluttering through her abdomen.

Where the hell was she?

Drunk (1)

She weaved her way out of the bar.

‘nerve of people’s some children’ she giggled drunkenly. The doofus at the bar really thought she’d go out and suck his dick because he bought her a drink or 4 or 5?

Jeebers! The stink of piss on him was enough to put her off men entirely. Why didn’t guys realize that their dicks smelled like piss factories after a day? Or maybe he was one of those “green” guys who didn’t shower but once a week and used sand to scrub so he didn’t make pollution.

She tried to say it several times.



“p’lshun, ther!” Proof she wasn’t that drunk, she nodded to herself.

She wove her way down the sidewalk, passing alarmingly from one side of the walkway to the other, giggling to herself. Her tall, red, fuck-me shoes had been worn to make Joey regret standing her up in case he’d shown up.

He hadn’t.

Her hips swayed, and she eventually made her way to where a cab was parked at the side of the road. She tugged on the door.

” ‘pen up, fool,” she growled, then giggled.  She pulled again.

“Y’r fuckn door won’ opn,” she sing-songed. There was a sound of locks disengaging and she slid inside.

The car rolled away from the curb as she tried, unsuccessfully, to attach her seat belt. She watched the lights stream past, the crowds of people ebbing and flowing. They stopped at a traffic light, and she looked at the driver in the rearview. Their eyes met and she gave a brief smile, then looked back out the window. She didn’t notice him texting with his left hand before the light turned green, absorbed as she was in a survey of women and their hem lengths.

They drove on when the light changed, and it grew darker, less commercial.  She fell into a light doze, waking as they pulled up at a brownstone house.  She pulled a $20 from her microbag, and opened the door. She fumbled with the handle. There was a click and the door opened. A tall man stood outside, holding open the door, and took her hand to help her rise from the seat.

She didn’t notice the $20 was still in her hand. The doorman took it from her, tucking it back into her purse. He helped her up the steps.  Wait. There weren’t 11 steps up to her house were there? She turned to recount, giggling to herself, but the man steering her pulled her onward.

“sokay,” she smiled up at him blearily, “i’m just a weeee bit drunk. You’re a cutie pie aren’t you. So handsome in your suit. i love a guy in a suit. Joey would tell you i just love a guy, but really you are..”

She would have continued on her rambling talk, but he opened the door and led her into a foyer. No, she was not at her home. The ceilings rose to  a four-pointed arch, with a graceful crystal chandelier spilling drops of light along the white marble floor.  Before she could do more than tilt her head back and stare dizzily at the magnificence, he tugged her on to where one half of a double door was nocked open.

This room was much more opulent than the foyer, but in a very subdued, manly way. The rich burgundy drapes looked like they were silk rather than the more traditional velvet. On the floor, a Turkish rug added warmth and color to what might otherwise have been oppressively dark.


Her eye was keen, though her brain was dulled. The antique desk was certainly 19th century, and perfectly preserved. The man sitting behind the desk was also antique-looking. He was old, wizened, and fussily turned out. His tie was perfect, his white hair was perfectly groomed, and his visage was a bit sobering.

His eyes were stern and dark, his mouth a forbidding slash on his face. She felt herself knocked a bit out of her delicious drunk, and resented him for it.

“W’re you?” she slurred, though she straightened her spine and tried to intimidate. She was after all, a Claridge.

“Your breath smells like the back door of a distillery. It is certainly not at all attractive. The amount of spirits in your system do nothing to enhance your femininity. In point of fact, they do much to detract from the fact that you have a pretty face.”

Why the fucking nerve of the little pompous bastard!

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she leaned forward, a precarious choice given her level of inebriation and the height of her heels. A small drop of spit flew from her mouth and landed on his desk. With a glare of dislike, he pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the smut away. He shook his head, and looked to the footman.

“This one is practically hopeless,” he said.

“She put herself in the car,” Tomas replied, “must’ve been fate. She’s just what Danvers has been looking for.”

“True. But so much work, so little time. Look at her.” He shook his head, tucking the neatly refolded fabric back into his pocket. He stared at her for a long moment, as she looked between he and the footman. She was very confused. What the fuck was going on here?

With a heartfelt sigh, the little man waved his hand in her general direction.

“Fine, fine, we’ll take her, but I’ll not put up with much. While I understand Danvers’ need, this one will require stringent methods to bring her around to tolerable, let alone acceptable to my standards.”

“That’s why you’re the best, boss,” replied Tomas, cheekily.

“Take her upstairs and settle her in. Do medicate her so that we may begin the detoxification immediately. She can sleep some of it off, but I want her cognizant by…”  and he snapped open a fussy pocket watch…”by  11:00 tomorrow morning.”

“Yes Sir!” Tomas replied smartly, and with a little bow, pulled his charge from the room.

“I don’t understand, where are we going?” She tried tugging her arm away from his hand, but his grip was strong. A woman stood in the foyer, holding a silver tray with a syringe upon it.

“Thank you, Madeline.”

Tomas, with great efficiency, took the syringe, and plunged the needle into her arm. It was impossible to break his grip, and before he was even done putting it back on the tray, she felt herself falling into a gray mist.

She never felt him heft her over his shoulder and carry her up the long winding staircase, while Madeline oogled his ass.

There, i Did it Again

Why did i let Him in? i’d told him, never again. Yet, he knocked and i looked through the peep hole and there he was and dammit. Of a sudden, my pussy was clenching and my heart was beating and i was losing my breath and desperate and horny.

i hate when that happens.

i do, i really do. i know, it doesn’t explain why i opened the door for him.  held it wide, hand braced on the edge, letting him slide against me as he strode in. that smile was on his face as he looked down. his coat brushed my thigh and i trembled and he fucking knew it.

hi slut he said, his voice all casual and nonchalant. like he knew, he understood that i would be fucking compelled to open the door when i saw him there on the other side. his hair is too long, and silvered to a  sheen that gleams like metal under the hallway lighting. like a halo shines around him, it gleams.

its not like i can’t find someone else. its not like i want to be here. i don’t. fucking compulsion has me standing there looking up at him, letting him see the longing inside my eyes. i want it to not be there. i want it to go away. but he plucks it out of me, consumes the tasty morsel of it and looks for more.

i slide to my knees and place my forehead on his feet. i am humbled in my need, feeling my pussy wet as my nose smells the city on his shoes. his foot lifts, the one my forehead isn’t on, and he presses it against the back of my head, mashing my face down. showing me my place, under his feet. the place where sluts go to beg for attention.

i whimper as my nose crushes flat, as the ties on his shiny shoes press into my flesh, knowing that they will leave marks, indentation in my skin, like the ones he’s carved in my heart.  finally his foot lifts, and i’m allowed to rise to my haunches. his hand finds my chin.

You remembered. Good girl.

the words are simple and soft but arrow straight to my heart. how i crave them, to be his good girl to be his good. praise is so hard-won from him, this is like a badge of honor.

at a gesture, i rise hoping to be fluid and sexy and sexual but feeling lumpish and clumsy. he wants me naked. wants me gracefully to strip and entice him. how can it be enticing to bare those same parts he’s seen so often i wonder, always wondering if this is the time he will turn away, bored with the view bored with me…

and i find myself caring caring caring so much that he wants…he gets…what he wants.

there, i did it again, offered him my craving, craven gaze. he drinks it from me, and tears fall, silver streaks to run down my cheeks and dot my blouse as i unbutton it please let it unbutton easily, eagerly gracefully.

my hands tremble with the need to please with the need to show him i don’t care, i do care …i want i need and it chills me that i do.

i have fallen under the spell again.

yes, there, just there, baring my breasts to his gaze.

there, i did it again, fell into him.


where is the birth of a story found? not always sure. but i read a post of a friend, and felt her pain and …just thinking of that birthed this. This is not nilla, this is not my friend…this is…if i did it right…raw hunger, pure need, and the fear that kind of soul and gut needyness engenders within a sub at times.  ~nilla~


There’s an App for That

She lay in bed, wide awake.

She was so freaking annoyed by that. It was two-fucking-o’clock-in-the-fucking-morning, fercrissakes. She should have been asleep by now.

Fuck-all if she knew what the fuck was messing with her psyche. She was horny, but that was kinda the norm for her. She was comfortable in her snugly bed, and didn’t feel like getting up and going to her toy box.

Goodness knows it was a mess and she didn’t feel like rummaging for her favorite dildo. That would kill her sex need, seeing the mess in there. No, she’d wind up feeling guilty for not cleaning it up, despite saying over and over she would get to it. And then she’d be mad at herself for feeling guilty about it.

She was one woman, living alone. What the fuck else could she do? Working took a shitload of her free time, her volunteer activities, and social life took most of the rest. Who the fuck was gonna care about her messy sex-toy box anyway other than her.

And now look, here she was getting all huffy about explaining her messy toy box to a non-existent person. Fuck! She wanted to sleep dammit.

She looked at the blinking button on her specialty phone. OH she loved that phone. She could do work from it, read blogs from it, even post and email.  It was a great tool, really.

She looked at it and wondered if there was an app for cleaning her sex toy box. She laughed at herself. Yeah, and one for the perfect fuck-mate. Oh hell, why stop there? How about the perfect Dom app. And a sleep app.

Oh hell, she thought with a yawn, she could so invent an app for that.


She woke bleary-eyed. What the fuck time was it? She reached for her phone, before realizing it was already in her hand. The front was lit under her thumb.

Blinking, she looked at the illuminated square. “Sleep” it said. She lifted her thumb off the front screen.

“No way” she said aloud. Carefully she lay the phone on her bedside table. She slid out of bed, needing desperately to pee. On her way back, she stubbed her toe on her toy box.

“What the fuck? she yelped, hopping on one foot and holding her toe. She flipped on the light, blinking in the sudden brightness. Her toy box lid was open, and she could see that every toy was neatly laying within. For a moment she stared at it, then gently closed the lid and pushed it back in its rightful place.

“Never again eat pizza before bed” she muttered.

“What was that, slut?” Came the lazy drawl from her bed. Her head lifted from its suspicious look at her toy box, and whipped around to stare at the stranger in her bed.

He patted the side of the bed.

“C’mere. I want to suck your nipples until you cry, then finger your cunt until you cum for me.”

She blinked at him, a bit alarmed.

“Come to bed,” he said a bit more firmly.  Still she stood, frozen in shock.

With a sigh he rolled over to her side of the bed, reaching for her phone.

“For goodness sake,” he muttered, looking down at the screen, thumbing through the menu quickly. “There’s gotta be an app for this…”


Sad Again…

Sheesh, i’m sick of this roller coaster.

and i can’t even swear about it because i promised the Man and the wife to work on my “truckers mouth”…sigh.

You remember the other day i had some free time in the City and we couldn’t capitolize on it, right?

I had free time today…close to 2.5 hours of it, in point of fact. And He never commits ahead…it’s just His way…and sometimes it frustrates me because i *am* a planner…i have to be, it’s my nature to plan ahead, and i have a family of 6 to coordinate.

Planning keeps me calm.

Planning keeps me sane.

Planning gives me that almost-tangible feeling that there is some control in my life, yanno?

He counts on me to set up dates and stuff and then either can make it or not.

And by now, after reading this far, and the title…you know today was another “not”.

And i understand it was circumstances beyond His control, make NO mistake i am not at all chiding Him. . .

My favorite saying (as is aisha’s)…”it is what it is”

For me that is a mantra of accepting something that i cannot change. That i must roll with it. But as a girl i dislike saying “roll with the punches” (so i’m a bit sexist about things…bite me…). And as a pagan, i have a very hard time with that poem of Grace that AA uses (God grant me the courage to…however that goes) because i don’t pray to god (no offense to you who do, this too is not a judgement)

So i’m left with “it is what it is”…because it works for me.

I texted that to Him. And added “but i’m still sad.”

So He knows how i feel about it all. And i am sad, very sad. He hopes we can carve out time together …. but really i know i won’t be able to.  This week before Yule is CRAZY, between my work, my family…all the “stuff” that needs to be done..

The week afterwards, my wife is on vacation and will be until after the first of the year. Yay, i can sleep in a bit, which is great, but it really restricts my reading and writing time.  (hoping to do a lot of writing this week)

The soonest i can see Him will be likely the 30th, when i have to kill time in the City while my son has a social obligation.

And i am engaged in an inner snark war with myself. “fine, he doesn’t want to see you so why kill yourself trying to make it happen.”

“let HIM do all the planning”

“Yeah, like that will ever happen”

“but i miss Him (whiney voice)”

*sound of stars*

(silence, ya’ll stars are silent!)

so yeah. i’m sad. and pouty. and whiney. and weepy. and sad.

oh, don’t feel bad for me. Remember this is where i come to vent and piss and moan (thats not a swear its a body function btw)

and get the *&()Y(%$#$ over stuff.

On a happier note…i’m going to try really hard to clear up my backlog of unfinished stories. i have 20 of them in my “to do” box. Some will just be dumped into the dustbin. Some will be finished. Some may have to be shelved if the mood is wrong. But many of them are half-written and i fell out of love with them and stopped. So my resolution for this week is clean up the drafts folder.

i’m heading towards my 1,000th post. (sometime in March). . . and i’m kinda psyched about that.

See, i can still smile through the sad.

g’night…i’m putting on my big girl panties and dealing.


And now for a different spin…

At yoga, the instructor closes our session with a reading. I’m laying on my back, breathing deep and slow, being fully in the moment.  This is the reading from last week, and it struck such a chord with me.

Life Here at the Edge
by Danna Faulds

When love lights a fire in the heart,
don’t be so quick to quell the flames.
To be fully alive is to welcome the
Beloved in countless names and guises,
not turn away the wild with the tame.

Drink your fill of longing. Let
love wash through in waves that
lift you up and carry both your
daring and your fear straight
to unknown places. Yes, there
is danger in not staying safely
cloaked in morality and labels –

But there is life here at the edge,
and choice to be made between
thoughtful abandon and passionate
restraint. The plaintive cry of the
heart can be ignored only at the
price of a fully realized life.

Throw arms wide to possibilities
that move and call you to come
forth in freedom and in fullness.
Trust the seed of grace within to
blossom without sin or sorrow,
for you are surely big enough to
hold the truth as it unfolds.

Is it any wonder that this sang to me as i lay there in total peace, tired yet renewed after the labors of an hour of yoga? To me, TTWD is all about living “on the edge”…for me personally it is the choice of maintaining a relationship with another person, a deeply satisfying physical relationship, outside the bonds of my marriage.

And what a relationship it is!

Full of pain and pleasure. Lessons and learning. He has changed too, gone from the complaisant Sir, to a very Dominant Master. His rules, His way.

For instance, i am never, ever to have chips again. Saturday at work, i read the bag of fritos. They are *corn* chips and i am allowed tortilla chips occasionally because they are corn-based. So i had a few.

And then i thought…uh perhaps i should check.

i hear you right now! You’re thinking, geeze nilla, why the fuck didn’t you check BEFORE you ate one. (let alone 9 of them!)

heh. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Yeah, sigh,  so i was in trouble for that, with the punishment of no O for nilla on Saturday. And none all day Sunday. We got together Sunday night and He attacked my clit and i came.  And He pinched my “kitties” (what other folks call a spare tire..) mercilessly; and i came from Him doing that.

When i got home, there was a message. ZNN. No more o’s. Didn’t matter that the 2nd one i’d had from him was from pain, and not penetration…it still “counted” —and i was done.

Was that His way…or a tad bit of remembering my place since i’d fucked up on Saturday? i dunno, and really it doesn’t matter. Coz it’s His way, irregardless of His motivations and inspirations.

So, on Sunday night, i gave Him my Christmas presents, because i’m not certain whether we’ll manage to steal some time before the new year. Sad, that the holidays fall when they do, since it negates my reason for heading to the City where we meet….

Anyway…two of the gifts were ones i begged Him to open right away, as they are things for His tree…

The first was a pierced-tin heart, done in red. Me and those fucking hearts, yanno? *smiles*

The second was a little Santa and some greens on a miniature paddle. The whole thing was a bit longer than my hand, so maybe 8 or 9 inches?

Even in the darkness in the back of His car i can see His eyes light up. Oh gods what now…and i didn’t have long to wait. He laughs.

“It’s perfect!” He says, glee in His voice.

‘perfect’ i think, what the fuck does He mean by ‘perfect’? Perfect for what?

He takes my hand and whacks the paddle on it.

Fucking A – OW! Smarts!

He does it again, and several more times. Then does it to the other hand. Okay, it stings. It even hurts when He hits my knuckle (on purpose!)…but i can take this.

“This’ll make a perfect clit smacker!!” He says, and whacks me with that fucking thing again, the hardest smack of all. I imagine this fuckin’ thing hitting my clit. Rut roe….

This presents a huge dilemma.

Do i moan and protest, and thus encourage Him?

Do i nod and say “yes Master”  soft-voiced and accepting, and thus encourage Him because He knows that’s not ‘me’ ?

He laughs, knowing i’m in the midst of trying to figure out what the fuck to say.

i’m kinda stuck at ‘uuuuhhhhh”…..

“I can’t wait until January…” He says and He laughs again.

Oh yay.

The perfect gift, the gift that goes on giving….to me….or actually, to my clit. i’m sure it will be sending me a thank-you card someday soon, don’t you think?

*laughs ruefully*

Yeah. Not.

what, like these aren’t enough implements of torture

that He needs to use Christmas ornaments as weapons now? 

The Maid (version 2 part 2)

She lay back on the bed, thighs spread.  The surprise ‘gift’ in Thomas’ bed had proven to be very adept with his tongue. What had begun as a kiss to her clitoris, had become a laving, and evolved into one of the best tongue-fuckings she’d ever experienced.

Without being ordered, he had sucked and nibbled her pussy lips, then had licked from her cunthole to the top of her cleft and back down. Her clit had begun to quiver with the delight of his tongue rasping along it, teasing her perfectly.

He was an expert at eating pussy.

But the true test was when she told him to rim her. Without pause his tongue swirled around her brown rosebud. Her ass trembled as the warm wetness lapped around, across, over, and finally pressed against that puckered opening.

She had groaned aloud at the sensations. If she’d had a jot less of control, she would have flipped over and given him her ass there and then.

Not yet.

His mouth had played over her pussy and ass until she came in a suprising rush of sex juice. He lapped up every leaking drop, and in so doing, gave her another gushing orgasm.

She pulled him up by his hair, and as he rose, took hold of his thick and throbbing shaft. She knew she couldn’t keep him in the make-shift ring for too much longer; she was always careful to not damage her toys, and his cock was so temping.

Pulling him further up the bed, she drew her tongue along the underside of his shaft, then encircled the tip with her lips and sucked him, hard as she could.

He jolted and groaned loudly.

Her lips popped off with a sharp snap, but her voice crooned, husky with lust.

“no cumming, slut. You hold onto that fuckjuice, hold onto it for me.”

He nodded, his eyes glazed. She wondered if he’d ever needed to hold back so long before.

She pressed her tits together.

“Slid that big cock between my tits,” she ordered, knowing that titty fucking was a fantasy most men had, but never got to do. Every bump of his pee-hole on her chin left a wet smut. The smell of his cum was intoxicating.

“Down,” she ordered tersely. “Lay down on the bed now!”

With a moan of loss, he complied. His cock stuck almost straight up, deeply red and pulsing. She flipped over to straddle him. His eyes widened as he realized that she was going to ride him.

Slowly she lowered her wet tunnel onto his cock. The fat head pressed against her cuntlips, and she groaned. It felt so good. He was big and hard and filled her wonderfully full. Her knees trembled and she dropped down, his cock fully embedded in her.

“Now, my little pony, let’s ride.”

She braced her hands on his pec’s and lifted her pussy. It was hot, sweaty, wet. Her pussy oozed a steady stream onto his crotch. He lay, arms sprawled, letting himself be fucked by her. His eyes were half-closed, and his mouth, oh that glorious mouth, gleamed with the remnants of her cum.

Leaning up, she kissed him, tasting herself on his lips. Mmmmm she moaned against his mouth.

“Roll over and fuck me, do it hard and fast and deep…you fuck me good, understand toy boy?”

Her words were gutteral, mean. He  nodded, licking his lips.

In seconds she was on her back and he was pulling out and slamming into her.

“Harder,” she moaned, reaching up and pulling on his chest hair. He winced, and slammed her harder.

“Fuck me harder, you fucking pussy-assed cunt,” she yelled at him, and with that, she broke through his last reserve.

He fucked her deeply and brutally, and she came again. Her nails dug into his shoulders, drawing blood. Her teeth sank into his shoulder, as he ground his hips into hers.

“Please,’ he moaned.

She pushed him off.

His cock gleamed with her juices. She grabbed it and staggered to the bathroom.

“Now, NOW,” she yelled, her fist tightening around his shaft. She pulled and yanked it hard, the slickness adding to the glide of her hands jerking him off.

With a groan, his cock jetted onto the bathroom floor, the splats as each wad hit the floor, audible and lovely music to her ears.

He was panting and gasping as if he’d run a marathon. She reached down and slid the elastic off his cock, then gathering her hair, she affixed it back with the wet and sticky band.

“mmmm, delicious. And all day people will ask me what fragrance I am wearing. I’ll tell them it’s a special blend.”

He looked up at her, eyes glinting. She slapped his face lightly. “Say thank you to me, boy.”

“Thank you….Ma’am,” his voice was whisper soft, and trembly.

Oh yes, she did so like them new like this. So eager to please. So hungry.

“You need to clean this up, you know,” she said, pointing to the cum painting the bathroom floor. His hand went to the mop handle, but she forestalled him.

“No, boy,”she said with a laugh in her voice. She tapped his mouth. “With this.”


this one popped at the same time it’s predicessor did, the M/f version….and i could barely decide which to write first.  i rarely venture into the land of Fem-dom…but this one simply screamed to be written!  ~n~

so nilla is a bitch…

So i’ve gone around and around in my head about this all morning. Some days, i’m just bitchy.

overtired? check.

short-tempered? check.

pissy? check.

So…yesterday i snarked at a blogsister, and i will publicly apologize to sin for that here and now. It isn’t my business how she runs her blog, it is her place to vent and gripe and get stuff out…and i went over and became judgemental (a huge failing of mine–likely due to my own “perfectionist” nature)…

i am sorry sin.

And  while writing responses i confess i snarked again. However, this time, i feel justified.

Dave, i’m going to write this post to you…but it goes to any reader who does what i did to sin…

Those of us who write blogs enjoy what we do. It’s a place to give creative birth to words, to vent feelings, to share things we are moved by, for good or bad.

It is the voice of our inner minds, in a place where we can be free and open and vocal in ways we cannot in our full vanilla lives.

It’s great to get comments…positive ones feed the creativity. Negative ones help to guide us towards self-examination. But what Dave has done on multiple occasions is not done as a critique…i read it more as a “you should do this” because it is what will ring his bell.

I get that not all of my stories will hit every pervy button. But my stories are overwhelmingly Male Dominant, female submissive, with a strong bend towards romantic.

Yes there are exceptions. Tentacle sex, alien sex, pure-on nasty sexcapdes…

but overall the vast percentage are M/f. Dave, when you write “you could have her hit him in the nuts and then beat him…” it changes several things.

it changes the dynamics of the story i am writing (or attempts to)…it puts the story a way that YOU want it to go…and i’m not writing your story, but mine.

There is a widget in the sidebar for people to send me kinky ideas. If you want me to write a story like that, send me a note and ask. But putting it in comment after comment insults the storyline as i’ve got it mapped out. I write things to tingle my own kinks, for the most part…and i don’t have those same needs to smack a guy in his nuts and make him grovel on the floor for me. Not my groove, not my kink.

I could write it, of course i could.  But mostly you won’t see that here.

Dave, you might see this as a public remonstrating and in some ways perhaps it is…but i’m trying really to make you see that what you want isn’t to be found here.

If you are looking for stories that float your groove, than search for them…there are TONS of fem-dom sites. Ximena over at Erotic Writers writes glorious stories of femdom (link in my blogroll). Suzanne (blogroll) is a fem-dom wife, IRL…and writes of her exploits with her sissy husband Tammy there.  Her blog roll as well as Mick and Molly’s have lots and lots of cuckold/Fem-dom bloglinks.

i am not a dominant. i write about domination because i know what i like, what i want, what i crave.

When i run out of ideas, i’ll be happy to throw open the doors and beg for some…but in two years i’ve not really been at a loss for words.

if you think i’m a bitch for this …so be it. But i hope you consider opening your own blog and giving vent to those feelings and needs that are building up in you.

Give them a place to “be”….and let me write my own stories, in a way that pleases me.

Thanks for listening.


The Maid (version 2)

She let herself into the house, juggling her buckets. She was a master of concise, economical movements, and was well choreographed in the fast in-and-out her tasks required.  She moved quickly into the kitchen, filling the largest bucket with warm water. At the last moment, she squirted in cleanser.  In a few moments she was sweeping the floor, then mopping it. When she was done, she moved from the kitchen area, hefting the bucket and mop.

She jogged up the stairs, intent on starting the laundry, and then cleaning and mopping the en-suite Master bathroom. She paused on the threshold. In the dimly lit room, she could see the bed was rumpled, clothing tossed on the floor. That was rather out of character for Thomas, she thought.

She put her bucket in the bathroom, then went over to throw open the blinds and curtains.

“What the fuck?!”

A voice from the bed yelped as sunlight streamed into the room. Whirling, she stared.

“Who are you? What are you doing in here?” She grabbed her cell from her pocket, intending to call the cops, then Thomas.
“Wait, wait,” he waved his hands at her. “I’m Tom’s friend,  just got in this morning. He’s letting me bunk with him today; I’ll be gone later to a conference.”

She lifted the phone and direct-dialed Thomas. While she waited for him to pick up, she pointed at the bare-chested man in the bed.


He smiled at her in a crooked-toothed way that made her belly flop. His chest was bare and hairy, the dark curls making her mouth water. How she loved rubbing her pussy on a hirsute man, feeling the rough texture smoothing over her cuntlips, while marking him with her scent.

In a moment, Thomas answered; after a brief conversation, she hung up.

“Okay, he vouches for you. Late arrival  or not, get your ass out of bed.” He blinked. It was obvious that he needed to be taken in hand. Crossing to the side of the bed, she took a hank of hair in her hand and tugged.

“Up. Now.”

He winced, and crawled towards her. She was pleased that he didn’t fight back. She liked a strong man, one strong enough to harm her, yet smart enough to understand his own submissive needs. She saw his cock swinging between his legs. He had a bit of a paunch, but that was okay. He wasn’t a boy, but a man.

And oh, did she did like a man! She pulled him off the bed to her feet.

“Looks like I get the bonus today.” She reached up and released her ponytail. Her hair fell in a chestnut wave, and he watched it catch the light, like silk.

“Up.” She tugged his hair, ungently, and he rose quickly. She noted that his cock was more than half-hard. Yum. Quickly, she doubled the elastic, then placed it on the head of his cock. Hmmm. Too loose and she would lose control of him. Too tight and she might harm. Experimentally, she twisted the tie into thirds. Yes, tight, pretty tight indeed. It would certainly get his attention. And keep him nice and hard. Throughout, he stood, quiet and complaisant. What a good slut he was going to be!

She knelt, and began pushing the elastic over the head of his cock. His hand came to her head and pushed her forward.

She slapped his cock, hard, with her hand.

“Hands down by your sides, boy.” Her words were terse. He didn’t immediately drop his hand, and she slapped his cock again, then grabbed his left ball, fisting her hand around it tightly, and pulling it down, slowly.

The pressure built. Her hand grew tighter on his nut, and the pull increased almost simultaneously. He groaned, then dropped his hand. She kept squeezing, making her point. She watched his left knee buckle and heard his quiet ‘please’…

Satisfied that she’d made her point, she released him, and continued to roll the elastic down his cock. She wasn’t terribly gentle about it now. Time for this boy to understand who was in control here.  He was groaning by the time the elastic band was snuggled around the base of his shaft. For a moment she toyed with the idea of taking one loop and securing his balls, but she decided to break him gently to her will.

If things went well, there would be time aplenty for some good, ball-busting fun.

“While you wait for me, I want you to go into the bathroom, take the clothing out of the hamper, and put it in the washer, which is just outside in the hallway, next door down. Don’t dally, I’ll be back up here in just a moment.

She watched as he moved quickly to do her bidding. Oh, what a delicious treat this was! While he moved to the washroom, she went downstairs, looking in the kitchen drawers. Gathering her booty, she headed upstairs.

He was standing in the bedroom looking a bit lost. Time to help him find himself, she mused with an inward smile.

“Bend over, hands on the bed, and keep that ass up. Comprende?” He nodded. The first smack caught him unaware.  He jolted upright.

“Hands on the bed, boy,” and she delivered another smack with the wooden spoon. He moaned as she systematically covered his ass with round welts. The wooden spoon was warm  when she was satisfied.

The coil of lust that was in her belly from the moment she’d wrapped his cock had begun to slither down her pussy. Her clit throbbed, her cunt dripped. She could feel the slick wetness on her panties.  Her hands rubbed against his ass. She wasn’t sure what it was about a mans ass that moved her so. So different from a womans ass. Tighter. Less round, more muscled.  Her finger traced down his crack, over his anus, rubbing his perineum, then along the underside of his balls. His dick was fully hard now.

She saw his fingers clench and unclench on the bed sheets as she touched him lightly. She blew breath lightly on the red welts, and watched as goose-flesh chased up his ass. She pulled his cheeks apart and spat against the winking brown hole there. Pressing firmly, he yelped when her finger intruded into that tight passage.

“Oh, what a tight little bung-hole my boy has,” she crooned at him. “And what a sweet ass this is.”

His moan was long and low, and reached straight through her clothing to harden her nipples and thrum her clit.

“I’m going to fuck your ass, and if you are a very good boy, I will let you suck my pussy when I’m done.”

She took the ice cream scoop in her left hand, pressing against his hole with the cold metal handle, even as her finger popped out. For that one second his anus relaxed and she pressed the handle clear up to the scoop head.

His back arched, his cock pulsed, and she saw a long silver string of pre-cum drool from his cocktip to the bed below. She pulled the handle out, then fucked it back inside of him. Despite his gasp of pain, he pressed his ass back towards her. She fucked his newly broached ass slowly and gently, while watching his cock harden, redden and thicken.

She pulled the handle from his ass, dropping it on the bed between his splayed hands. His head was hanging and he was gasping and moaning, and she knew he was inches away from releasing his load.

“No cumming, boy, you’d best control it, or I’ll have to punish you.”

She let the threat hang while she slipped out of her clothing. This was always the telling part, in starting with a new boy. Would he hold in submission, and do what he was told? Or break and try to fuck her when he saw how wet and swollen her cunt was?

“Come kiss me, my boy.”

She tapped her clit, her meaning clear. His eyes almost glazed with lust, He stepped forward and fell to his knees between her spread thighs.


hoped He and i could hook up tonight but that is not gonna happen. weather outside is frightful (rain). i’m only in the City for a short while, and He is far away.

and i left a comment on a sub sis’s blog that made me sad to say. and i wonder why sometimes i just can’t  STFU and nod and walk away?

and i’m just feeling a bit blue.