Stuff and a Reprint

Today is TMI Tuesday.

Of course, i prefer to do things in my own fashion…so rather than following along with a series of predetermined questions, i thought i’d share a little nilla stuff with you all, especially since i didn’t do it on Sunday.

Master and i got together Sunday morning for a wee bit of face time at Starbucks. I was silly and giggly and just so glad to see Him after not being able to connect  last week. I just love the way His bearded face feels under my palms as i lean in to kiss Him, the soft touch of His lips on mine. Then too, there is the fast and unexpected thrust of His tongue spearing into my mouth, and the very subtle, painful pinch on my side.  How lovely to belong to someone who feeds me those little gifts! Sweet, and sexy and ouchie, right there in Starbucks. To outsiders, i’m sure we looked like a ‘normal’ couple greeting one another. But between us? Fire and pain and Dom,  joy and pain and submission.

I was the first to arrive there.  Picking the only open table, i sat down and settled in, prepared to pass the time until Master arrived, reading. The story is one that i am deeply enjoying,  A Walk for Sunshine. It’s a true story, about a guy who hiked the Appalachian Trail, from end to end, which is something i used to dream about doing. Now it’s there on my bucket list. Anyway,  i was content, reading, sipping my tea. Master wasn’t expected for another 20 minutes or so, and i settled into my chair, opened my kindle, and was instantly on the AT, hiking along.

I catch something out of the corner of my eye. Turning, i see Him. Standing just slightly behind where i was sitting, and watching me.

It’s as though someone has turned on a switch. Suddenly, i am filled with a rush of happy…some of it is lust, to be sure, and some of it is desire, for i want Him continuously. But so much of it is just pure joy at seeing Him. Gosh, but i love that Man.

I pop up for the hug and kiss described above, and then sit, glowing, so happy to be with him. Boy is “happy” an inadequate word, but then again,  you don’t read here to get a thesaurus of words, do you? Just imagine yourself, insanely happy…and that’s me, with Him.

We chat a bit, and i offer to fetch His coffee for Him,  and then He says it. This little thing that begins to make me …thrum. He is like a musician with an instrument (me)….and He knows exactly, exactly,  how to play me and make my body sing.

“In a while, a little while, I’m going to tell you a little story. A story that will make you smile, then laugh….and later…will be the instrument of bringing you great pain, little girl.”

There is a flutter in my heart AND my pubes…and you will never know……the amount of control i showed by NOT bugging the shit out of Him for the tale. Okay, aisha will know, Donna will know, now that they’ve met me IRL and know how impatient and un-shut-upable i can be… self restraint is NOT my forte!

It is not by happenstance that He calls me a 4-year old.

Sunday, i was, for that moment, 52, and mature. But i yearned to know the tale of humor…and later woe for my ass…

Finally He begins talking. He…gets this gleam in his eyes. They glint like polished agate under the sun… twinkling and so gorgeous. And i know— this — is the story. Leaning forward, i’m soaking in every word.

He was at the gym. Had a terrific work out. Perhaps, even, a great workout. He was torn between heading home in his sweats, or going out to His local coffee shop to get some work done. It was Saturday night, and He’d had a busy week, as he went back and forth on this, he decided, at the very least, to hit the showers at the gym.

guess what I saw then, little girl?

I sat there, still mesmerized by His voice, wracking my brain. “Soap?” i say, in my best stupid voice, and making Him laugh.  I shake my head slowly, from side to side, totally clue-less.

Freshly showered, and towel-wrapped, he sauntered to his locker. Finally deciding to head home, He reaches for His good jeans, which were hanging on the open locker door. They were hung by the right hip, so that the pocket part was on the inside of the locker.


Can you guess?

For a moment, i couldn’t figure out why He had risen from His chair, and moved to stand in front of me. Turning, He pulled the pocket away from His butt, and there it was, the little heart i’d snuck on there, many weeks before.

Remember the coup i pulled at Starbucks, getting a heart on his throat? Guess He’d never found the second one i’d stuck just inside His back pocket…and He hadn’t worn those jeans more than once or twice since then.

*crazy mad giggles*

oh, how sweet! How FUNNAH…!!!

I’d stuck a heart sticker on His ass. And He never even knew it was there until this Saturday night, at the gym!

He told me that His first response was:

That fucking cunt….

Mwahahahahahahahaha…oh GODS!!!

i erupted in laughter. People around us stopped and looked at me, at us, and smiled at my out-and-out guffaws, as He returns to His chair and sits.

As my hilarity dies down, he pulls out His phone, and replays that laughing message i left Him the first time that i counted coup on His ass…telling Him to not be a “heart-ass” and the rest is giggles… and raises His brow suggestively.

He knows i remember Him beating the fuck out of my ass the last time i listened to that recording. Over His lap, ass up, being smacked repeatedly with His hand, as He hit replay over and over.  (His hand should be registered as a Weapon of Ass Destruction, just sayin’…) After He’d turned my ass into Dom Mush, He’d said, “How funnay was *that* little girl? eh?” (and we all know the story about He who laughs last, now don’t we?)

He leans forward, and says in this dark, sexy, soft voice, eyes glittering…

you’ll pay for that, nilla.

in pain, you will indeed pay for that fucking heart!

And then He sits back in His seat and smiles that particularly wolfish grin that lets me know i will truly be in for it when next we meet…that this has gone into His long-term “things to do to/with nilla” agenda…

That smile puts nervous willies all the way down to my toes.

i’m torn between “i cain’t hardly wait…”  and “omg, i’ve got things to do straight through until next Christmas…”


He gives me another look, and leans forward again.

and I know you are sitting there right now, wet as can be. little slut.

I’m still kind of surprised i didn’t gurgle like i was holding a fish tank between my thighs  on my way out to my car, i was that wet….funny how He knew that, eh?  🙂


After Master spun His own little tale of darkness that made me laugh, we spent some time talking about His toys. There are two that i absolutely unequivocally HATE…

You never, ever take the Marine out of a guy who’s walked in that lifepath…and He watched me like a hawk as we talked. He knows when i avoid things, he knows my body language when i try to stay “neutral”…and it didn’t take Him…10 seconds to figure out the two hated tools….my pink hairbrush and His cane. FSCT is right up there, too…that thing packs a whallop.

The hairbrush is all my own stupid fault. I’d stopped at the store a few months ago on the way to meeting him, and found this awesome hairbrush. My hair (as you saw in one of those HNT pics) often gets bird-nest tangles, and i had these stupid mini brushes that took forever to get through the tangles. This brush is kind of like the one i have, but my handle has a ….?? gelly like covering that moulds to your hand. It is comfortable for my fingers to grasp, and the large paddle top gets through the tangles in half the time.

He fucking LOVES this brush. The sound of it, people. It is like thunder as it hits my flesh, and it marks me immediately. Not just red…it goes straight to purple.

It seems He too loves the cushy handle. It is one of His new favorite tools.

The cane just started to visit in the late fall. That thing hurts. Hurts like crazycake….omfg. There is an awesome post on Discerning Dom about canes. There is such pin-point pain  there…and like one commentor said DDoms site…the cane is way better in retrospect…

i grok that!


Okay, here’s another “stuff” item on the agenda for today. I think i’ve mentioned in comments but never in a “Stuff” post that there is a blog for those of you who are fans of my Darker Dragons….

I decided to separate the really dark stuff from here, because i often forget my tags …and different things ook out different people. Yet i like to air out the dragons, so to speak…

So, if you’ve wondered where the darker pieces are, look in the blogroll to the right over there —> and look for Dark Fantasies. I don’t publish there every day (but of course, if you subscribe to that, you’ll get the new posts right in your email box immediately after i hit the “publish” button…).

I tried to take the name Dark Dragons, but it was already taken…*pout*… I think there are about a dozen posts over there now.


and moving right along….and back to coffee houses…starting to visit with Master at Starbucks way back last summer, fed this little story,  resurrected from my  now sleeping “Snow” blog…

I don’t think i’ve ever done a reprint in all the time I’ve been blogging…but i hope if you’ve read it before, that you like it….and if you haven’t…kewl.

Tomorrow, back to our chicka with a dick…but for now, i present to you (pretend i’m waving my arm in a flourish of welcome!)….


I see you, watching me.

I wait in line for my turn at the counter. To pay the price for my items, head back to my car, my life.

My money is in my hand. Four people in front of me. And yet, your eyes dance over my form. Pause at my tits, rising and falling with my breathing.

Will they spill over the low edge of my slinky top? You watch to see, take the money from the next, ring the sale, pass the change.

But i see you are blind. Blind to all but me.

It arouses me. Amuses me. I feel my cunt respond to the message in your eyes. You want to put your hard cock between my tits and bang my chin with every hot, forceful thrust. You want to spew your cum onto my ruby lips, as you smile down at me.

You want to squeeze these tits hard together, pinching the nipples cruelly, while i moan and pant beneath you, begging for your hardness between my weeping legs.

One more customer gets your disattention, gives you money, asks for their change, as your gaze is locked on mine.

I smile, lick my lips. Your eyes follow my teasing tongue. I can’t see below your waist from where i stand, next in line, but i know you are hard. I see the pulse beating below your Adam’s apple, jolting mine to dance in sync.

I step to the counter. Show you my items. You see only my tits, my eyes, my needs. I give you the money. You glance down.

Seeing this Washington makes You smile.


right on old Georges forehead.

Keep the change, i say.