CLOSED FOR RECONSTRUCTION

here be dragons. ¬†Maybe not enough to go on Dark Fantasies…but dragons nonetheless…and …it’s long. ūüôā ~nilla

She was in the back room. It was empty now, but would make a great office space.  She leaned on her broom, imagining things bright and clean, fresh paint on the walls, perhaps a bright area rug on the floor. Shaking her head she got back to work. There was a lot of work to get to before that vision came to reality.

The former small restaurant was a hole-in-the-wall, to be sure. The new owners were looking for more atmosphere. An “ambiance” ¬†Stella had been told, complete with air quotes. She applauded their passion, but some clients were…demanding. And okay. Annoying.

Over the last two weeks, her crew had pulled out the old 50’s era booth seats, the scarred tables, and broken tabletop juke boxes. Out went the old counter, the floor-mounted stools. The place was an empty husk, waiting. ¬†On Monday, the new floor would go down, a lovely reclaimed wood that was costing the new owners a bundle, but would be an awesome statement, and look good in her growing portfolio.

The sharp knocking on the back door startled her. She made her way  through the old kitchen, down the narrow corridor and turned into the delivery area.

She opened the door a crack. “Sorry, closed for reconstruction.”

He pushed through the door, all six-feet-plus of him. “Don’t give a fuck if you’re closed or open. I got a load of wood to drop off. Manifest says to drop it in here. I’m dropping it in here.” He stared down at her, making her very aware that she was here and alone. She put on her best professional attitude.

“The wood stays outside.”

“The manifest says it goes inside.”

“I’m the one who ordered it, and I want it stored outside.”

He stepped into her personal space. “I’d be careful with that uppity attitude, little girl.” She stared up at him, eyes wide. ¬†She didn’t see his hand snake behind him to lock the door, nor when it slapped up and grabbed her by her hair.

She let out a yelp, but his mouth covered hers. She tried to break away but he backed her up until her back hit the wall. His lips brushed hers as he spoke. “If you scream, it will be bad for you. If you bite me, you’ll pay for it. You can’t really afford my fee, so be a good girl. There’s no one around the area, got it?”

She stared up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Her heart was thundering, and panic made her breath come in short gasps. The fist in her hair drew tight. “Open your fucking mouth. I wanna see if my cock is gonna fit.”

She didn’t want to.

Gods she didn’t want to.

Yet the fist tightened inexorably, painfully, in her hair. Her mouth opened.

He peered inside like he was inspecting a horse. And then he spat into her mouth. Saliva hit her tongue and the back of her throat. His other hand shot up and cupped her chin, pressing her mouth shut.

“Swallow it.”

His hand covered her mouth, and pinched her nose shut.

“I said to fucking swallow, you cunt!”

She trembled at the tone of his voice, and ¬†what she had to do. She swallowed, gagging. ¬†“Good slut.” He slapped her cheek. His hands slid down her shoulders to mash at her tits through her tee-shirt. She’d not bothered with a bra today, knowing that she was doing grunge work. His hands mangled her tits, finding and pinching the sensitive tips between his thumb and middle fingers. ¬†He took a big step backwards, leaning towards her, and suddenly tugged her towards him ¬†by her nipples, making her gasp and jump forward. He stepped and tugged again.

And laughed when she again leapt forward. Her nipples were screaming. After a few more steps around the room, he tired of the game, and hooking his leg around her ankle, pushed her to the dirty floor. In seconds he had her shirt around her neck, and began  slapping her tits. Pinching a rosy nipple, he backhanded it, only to repeat the move on her other breast. She whimpered and moaned under the assault.

“On your belly. Now!”

She flipped over, feeling the grit of the dirt she’d yet to clear from the floor. She’d given her crew an extended weekend, knowing the wood wouldn’t be delivered until later today. Her head banged against the floor as he roughly pulled her tee-shirt free. ¬†In moments he’d tied her wrists behind her with the shirt, and then grabbing her ankles, he wrapped one into the same tie.

“Three-quarter hog tie will hold you. Be right back, sunshine!” She watched his feet move towards the door. He left it slightly ajar; she heard a truck door open. She tried to roll to her knee, and wound up on her hip. She tugged and pulled, but her wrists and ankle were tied tightly. ¬†She hitched along, hoping she could get into the storage room, and lock the door. ¬† Yet, only moments passed before she heard the slam of the truck door, and ¬†his bootsteps against the concrete steps.

“Well, well, where did you think you were going, slut?”

She whimpered, and tried to wriggle faster, but his boots were in front of her face in seconds. “I don’t remember telling you to move, sunshine. What a bad girl you are.” He paused, and she felt his hands releasing her from the tie. “Then again, I do very much enjoy ‘bad’ girls.” He laughed at his own joke. He pulled her to her feet, fist in his hair again. She whimpered and mewled ‘ow ow ow’, which only made his hand tighten more. He pushed her away, and she fell against the wall.

“Get those clothes off.” His finger waved to her jeans and shoes. “Now!” he barked at her.

She shook her head, no. “I won’t.”

He stepped forward, and slapped her hard against her left tit. He hit hard, and she felt the burn of it through her breast, through her nipple. It felt like she was bruising, but she stared up at him, defiant. ¬†He hit her tit again, and she winced. “I’m gonna hit your tit until you decide to strip for me. ¬†As for me? I enjoy hitting your tit. You go ahead and take your time deciding.”

He slapped her tit again. It felt like this blow was harder than the prior ones. She felt heat, a deep searing pain. He seemed to be hitting in almost the exact same spot. Yet she could outlast him. She tried to move away, tried to cover her tit.

“Oh, so you’re not tough, and you can’t take it and you’re thinking I’m just gonna let you slide away?” He laughed. Grabbing a hunk of hair, he pulled her across the room. He’d hung a coil of rope on the doorknob. ¬†It only took him moments to tie her hands together at the wrist. He took the end of the rope and pulled her deeper into the building. In the kitchen he found a thick hook over the door. Quickly he made a loop ¬†and hoisted it into the hook. It pulled her to her tiptoes.

“That’ll keep you.” He nodded, satisfied, then pulled his belt from his pants. It made a hissing noise that sounded ominous.

“Please…” she whined. “Please…not…”

The belt was folded in half and slapped across her tit before she could finish. ¬†“Beg,” he said with a sinister smile. “Beg some more, pretty girl…” He continued, striking hard across her jutting bosom. Her breath grew ragged, she bit her lip. Tears swelled and dripped as he rained blows onto her throbbing tits. They were crisscrossed in welts, red and blue bruises. Her nipples were engorged, throbbing. Dancing on her toes, she tried to get the words out, but only sobs sounded.

The belt hit the floor with the clink of the metal buckle on the old underlayment. She cried, soft whispers of sound. Tears blinded her; his fingers against her belly were a shock. In seconds her jeans were released, and he tugged them down her legs. His finger hooked into her panties, pulling them up into her slit and making her moan through the tears. He sawed them up and down a few times, reaching out to finger one swollen nipple.

Stepping away, he pulled  a knife from his pocket and sawed through her panties. The caress of the cold metal against her belly made her shudder in fear. He had a knife. He read the fear in her eyes, and traced the sharp tip around her nipple, pressing it gently into the flesh.  Sliding the blade away, he sucked the nipple into his mouth, biting firmly. His fingers slid between her thighs, pinching the soft skin there.

And found her wet when he touched her outer folds.

“Fucking whore! Your pussy tells me that you are enjoying every fucking minute of this. You little cunt!” He jabbed his finger up into her hole, feeling the heat and wet there. With a groan, he pulled it out, wiping the digit across her belly. He unzipped his jeans, letting his cock spring free. Even strung up as she was, he had to lift her hips to slid his thick tool into her pussy. She was so wet. So hot. He slid home easily.

“You fucking dirty whore, I’m gonna fuck you so hard your head is going to explode!” ¬†Driving his mouth across her abused tits, biting and sucking, his fingers dug into her ass as he began pumping his rigid dick into her fuckhole.

The room was quiet, but for the wet sucking sounds of a cock sliding in and out of a soaked cunt.

His roar shattered the silence as his balls boiled his hot juice, spurting up into her belly. His fingers left marks on her round white ass, as he ground his pelvis against her, as his cock filled her with his semen. She rocked on the fullness inside of her, crying as his teeth bit into her tit. She  pulled against the restraint, as her body began to shake with her own orgasm.

He pulled out of her with a wet sound. He slapped her pussy, then tucking his spent cock into his pants, he zipped up, and bent to retrieve his belt.  She hung, toes cramping as she tried to keep herself from swinging as he passed by her. Moments later she heard the sound of the door opening,  then the sound of boards hitting the floor in the other room.

He was unloading the fucking truck.

She felt cum running down her legs, saw the pool of it on the floor between her feet. ¬†Time stopped and started with every hollow thunk of lumber. ¬†She didn’t know how long it was before he returned. Lifting her from behind, her arms felt thick and heavy as they fell forward.

He untied her wrists, laying her on the floor. “You can recover here, slut. But something to remember me by.” His hands were busy at her breast. In a moment, she felt the biting pain. “These are what we in the wood business call ¬†‘C’ clamps…use them all the time in the shop. This small pair makes perfect nipple clamps. I wouldn’t whine too much, slut. They can go tighter, and the appeal for that…stirs me. You have yourself a good day, slut. I left a copy of the delivery in with the wood.”

She saw his feet moving away, heard the back door open, then shut with a thud. In moments the sound of an engine running came to her, then moved away. ¬†She sat up, body throbbing. It had been a long time since anyone had used her this way. Or perhaps she’d never been used this hard. ¬†With shaking hands, she released the clamp on her left nipple. ¬†Oh, gods it hurt as much coming off as it had going on. Maybe worse. She whimpered a little. Perhaps she’d wait to take off the other one. But it hurt to be on there, too.

Her cell phone chimed that she’d received text. Getting to her feet, she staggered over to her jeans, pulling the phone from her pocket. With a shaking hand, she looked at the screen.

“Next time you need some more “wood” be sure to give me a call.”

Dom Daniel had always had a warped sense of humor.

Altered States (2)

He didn’t say a word on the drive to the club. She drove carefully, weaving through the city streets, until they were on the outskirts of town. She pulled into the parking lot, and parked at the first available space.

Turning towards him, she spoke softly. “I brought some rope. Nothing fancy. But it’s in the back. May I bring it?”

He grunted. He’d not made anything with rope since being “Over There”… when he had created a hanger for the shower. That had been before, before his life was altered so abruptly. With a fierce tug, he opened the car door and hauled himself out.

He’d gotten used to the feel of the fake leg against his stump. He’d never thought that would have been possible. And part of him had embraced the pain. At times, he almost missed it. ¬†It was the one thing that seemed to tether him to his body.

She pulled the chair from the back, and wheeled it up to him, the hank of black rope coiled on the seat. The sight of it there stirred something in him; for a moment he could see the rope laced around her tits, snaking between her thighs and disappearing into that wet cleft.
“Hey goodlookin’…wanna ride?” ¬†She wiggled her shoulders, making her tits jiggle. Shaking himself out of the reverie the rope had cast on him, ¬†he looked at the bounty before him. He might be disabled, ¬†but by Jesus, ¬†he wasn’t dead yet.

“I’ll walk.”

Turning from her, trying to ignore the sudden insistent tremor in his balls, he headed towards the club. She rolled her eyes at his back, but smiled, too. That was the stubborn Dom she had met long ago. With a little dashing jog, she caught up to him.

“Nice to see you got your “Dom” back..at least a teeny-weeny bit.”

“More than enough for you, pipsqueak,” He shot back. ¬†Hell if she wasn’t a pistol. She might annoy the piss out of him some days, but she was cute, as well as stacked. ¬†And while there were many days that he wished he could avoid her, he ¬†looked forward to her knocking on his door almost as often. ¬†He watched her tits bounce as they made their way across the parking lot.

“Now, when we go inside, are you going to sit in this chair, and pout in the corner? And ¬†should I address you as ¬†Sir Cripple or something? To, yanno, maximize your visibility?”

He stopped and stared at her, mouth agape.

She figured shock ¬†would stir some reaction in him. ¬†She wondered if she’d gone too far. Yet pussyfooting around it hadn’t helped at all. ¬†And hell, she could always sell her house and move if she truly pissed him off.

“Slut.” He said finally. There was shock in his voice. “If you¬†ever call me cripple, Sir or otherwise?” He paused, gathering his thoughts.

She raised her eyebrow.  Not quite mocking, but very much challenging.  It was a habit that most of her previous   play companions found rude enough to warrant a stern spanking.  In a flash, his hand reached out and pinched the top of one breast, twisting it. She moaned, gripping the rubber handles of the chair tightly. Apparently he felt it was out of line, too.

” You’re crossing lines all over the place here, slut! You will most sincerely regret it. I’ll spank you so hard you won’t sit for a month. And that will be just the start of it. ¬†Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” she gasped as he continued to torque the tender tissue of her tit. He gave it one last pinching twist, before releasing her.

“You….absolute shit.” He shook his head. “Cripple.” His voice dripped sarcasm. ¬†“You’re crippled in the head if you think you can talk to a Dom that way. You know…” He stopped walking again, and she stopped with him.

“You know, I think some time on the cross for you to repent your snotty little attitude might be a good start to your re-education. Obviously you’ve not been playing regularly…either that or you’ve managed to alienate every fucking Dom here. Jeesus.” He shook his head, almost stomping up the steps. When she would have wheeled the chair up the ramp, he gestured her to lift it up the steps. She was huffing a bit as she made the top, as he stood leaning against the top railing.

“I might make you push that thing around all night, slut.”

He was smiling as he opened the door. She wheeled the chair in behind him, but he didn’t see the sly, and very happy, ¬†smile on her face.

Mission, accomplished, she thought. She’d gotten him out of the house, and back into the one place where he would fully accepted, no matter what. ¬†It was a beginning.

***

This is a story that has been plaguing me to be written for a few weeks. The words have come together and here my story ends…for while I could weave the sexploits of these two together…I want YOU to picture it. And perhaps someday we’ll return to this tale…and see how life has unfolded for our Hero, and his rescuer.

with thanks and deep appreciation towards all the men and women who have given, and continue to give, of themselves in service to their country. ~nilla~

HNT 3/29/12 Bulbous

Master’s word of the week this week has been “bulbous”….i’ve sent him titpix, and His response, though varied, contains the word bulbous. ¬†I wasn’t sure I loved the word, not that it mattered whether I loved it or not…and yet, when it came to captioning this pic? That was the only word that came to mind. ¬†Snort. That Man. He’s so in my head.

Pussypissy

She sent the text at the last moment.

i know you want me to call in a minute, but may i pee first?

On the verge of heading out of her room to go, since He never controlled that part of her, the chime of the text drew her back. She really needed to pee, but she was as obedient to the text chime as a Pavlovian dog to its bell.

No. Call now.

She blinked. Really? Now? Geeze, how had she let the time slip away like that? Proofreading her blog took time, but she’d not realized she’d gone into the story for that long.

Sliding up onto her bed, she dialed.

So, you need to take a piss.

Hell of a way to start a conversation, she thought. “Yes, Master, I do need to pee.” She felt the blush come, and was glad that He couldn’t see her. While she had once fantasized about someone owning her enough to control every aspect of her life, she understood the impracticality¬†of it.

And yet.

Every now and then He threw her a curve ball, and she found herself bending to His implacable will to catch it.

“So, slut, you were going to fob me off and be late for our ‘date’ because you needed to take a piss?”

The tone was mild, yet there was a small rebuke in there.

“I’m sorry, Master. I was working on the blog and time slipped away and then…”

“Excuses, excuses, slut.” He cut through her reasons quickly. He was not interested in “why’s”…but in results. She wondered what the penalty would be for this, minor though it was.

“So, my slut has to pee, and yet…it’s time to fuck.”

She blinked. He was going to ….and not let her…..

“Yes Master,” she answered hastily.

“Gosh, I hope you don’t piss on your sheets. That would be uncomfortable for sleeping in, wouldn’t it?”

She cleared her throat. Tried to swallow down the embarrassment.

“Well, Master, you know…sometimes a full bladder can …um…enhance the feelings from masturbating.”

There was a pause.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Get your powerful vibe. And that dildo with the curve in it.”

She loved that combination. Yet…that curved dildo that pressed so nicely against her g-spot, would also press up towards her bladder. How fucking devious was that? Add the vibe pressing against her and she’d be hard pressed to ‘hold it’….the Bastard!

**********

Somehow, lord knew how, she’d managed to hold onto her throbbing bladder. Through the pegging of her nipples. And her belly. And the slapping of those tight-grasping clothes pins. How the pain turned her on, how the full load of her bladder turned her on, how Him taking all the power, all the control turned her on.

When it was over, when three orgasms had painted her sheets with a dousing of sex juice (and not a drop of urine!), she lay back against the pillows, spent. Yet, her nipples and belly, still clamped, throbbed firmly.

And her bladder was yelling.

“Master?”

“Yes, slut? What now? What could you possibly need now? Three orgasms and you’re still asking for things?”

She heard the humor there. He was going to make her beg, she just knew it. But first things first.

“Um, the pegs, Master…?”

“Yes? What about them?”

“uh…they’re still on my nipples and belly, Master.”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“Oh, are you asking a question, little girl?”

Her toes curled against the sheets. The casual way He wielded His power over her was a thrill. ¬†“Yes, Sir. May I take the pegs off my nipples and belly?”

“Hit them again for me.”

She did, moaning.

“One would think that it hurt to obey me, little girl.”

She giggled, despite the pulling pain from the pegs. ¬†“Yes Master, it does indeed.”

“Very well, you may take them off…tonight I’m being so indulgent with you, letting you open them to take them off. Another night, I’m just going to have you pull them.”

She moaned, thinking of the pain of that, and could feel her pussy clench. She was so close to another orgasm…His voice, His will, the pain, the promise of future pain…and the unceasing throb from her bladder.

One last thing, little girl, and then I’ll let you go take a piss. Starting now, and until further notice, I want you to text me each and every time you pee. Not for permission, just informing me.

Understood?

And…I want you to text a specific word…”pussypissy”…because I can imagine ¬†your piss streaming down onto your pussy, washing all that cum into the toilet. What a picture!

*******

At long last she got to the bathroom, releasing her full bladder. She could feel cum dripping, just as He’d imagined. Returning to her room, she sent the first required text:

pissypussy

Snuggling into her blankets, she was surprised when her text chimed.

PussyPissy is an activity;  PissyPussy is an attitude! Get it right next time.

With a smile, she slid under the blankets, and off to sleep.

Altered States

She wouldn’t take no for an answer, and that really pissed him off. ¬†So to shut the yammering off, he finally nodded.

Damn her.

“I’ll be back around 6. We’ll go to the club, stay for a while. It will be fun. It’s time, Lucas. It’s just time.”

He didn’t respond. These days his replies were rare. He waged a constant battle with himself. He wasn’t who he wanted to be anymore. He’d given his life for his country, in a far-away land, in a war that had no meaning to him anymore.

He had a prosthetic leg, a cane, and a bad attitude. Mostly, he sat in his wheelchair waiting to die.

Caroline would not let him. Always popping over from next door with food, or to nag him to go for an outing. ¬†She was one of the few that he actually let in the door. Then again, he didn’t think they’d built a door able to keep her out.

*****************************

She parked her car out front, and gripped the wheel. She offered a quick prayer to the goddess that this would work. Not many who knew Lucas understood that before the war, he had lived in two worlds. They had played together from time to time, and it had been fun.

Once she had hoped it would have led to more, but war had changed him. Well, dammit, life changed everyone! ¬†“If onlies” were for fairy tales, and she was way more into real life. ¬†It was time, past time, for her to make her move. She was determined to reach into his chest and pull out his heart, if it was the last thing she did. He was alone in the world; his parents had died before he’d left for overseas, ¬†and he’d been an only child.

She understood being alone. She too had been alone for a long while. She planned to end that that emptiness, tonight.

For a moment she felt the weight of the task weighing her down.  Nothing ever came of pouting, fretting, or delaying.  Drawing a deep breath, she slid from the car. As she came up the front walk the door opened.

“I’m only doing this because it’s the only way to shut you up.”

“Hello to you too, Captain Sunshine.”

They glared at each other for a moment. Then his eyes slid down her body. His cock twitched. No fucking way. No. He hadn’t had a sexual arousal since god knew when.

She cocked out a hip, deepened her breath so her rack almost popped free of the constraining corset. She wondered if he knew his eyes were huge just now.

“Do you want me to push you down the sidewalk?”

She hadn’t meant it as challenging. Really. But he rose from the chair, and walked towards her car. He had a limp, but he was mobile.

“Shall I bring this, Sir?” ¬†She had moved up and taken the handles of his chair.

There was a moment of shocked, charged silence. It was hard to say which of them were more surprised  by his reply.

“Bring it…..” Another long pause. ¬†“Slut.”

Last Week of Q and A!

Last week, aisha asked me a question, and I’ve put off answering it because I wanted to really think about it. She wondered:

What is your favorite BDSM activity or concept?

It was that last word that really captured my attention. The first part brings up a virtual laundry list of ¬†“wants”….and I guess the second part does too, though in a somewhat different way.

The list of ¬†“What i Like” is ¬†…….really? Just about everything. ¬†Nipple clamps, and spanking. Biting. Blindfolds and rough sex. Forced orgasms and orgasm denial. (there’s an oxymoron, eh?!) Face fucking. Golden showers. Anal sex. Butt plugs and vibrators. Being slapped in the face. Hair pulling and pussy spanking. Oh did I say spanking already? Silly (greedy) nilla!

Of everything though, to narrow it down to my absolute favorite activity? I love being subdued, physically controlled. Master will grab me, and hold me down while he “contains” me.

It’s¬†vulnerability, isn’t it? I like to feel vulnerable to His desires.

Concepts are bigger D/s choices, i think. ¬†Do I want to be a slave? Do I want to be His whore? Concepts, as relates to BDSM, ¬†are things I think about as ¬†“what-if things” … things that in reality I am not always sure if I would/could ¬†do, yet ¬†the idea of them …turns me on.

Concept:     Being a fuck-toy.

And it’s true, I do get off on the idea of multiple usage. ¬†Would I really, really, really submit to someone that completely? Or is it just a fairy tale? At the very least, it’s a hot and wicked ¬†masturbation fantasy!

Concept:  Slavery.

I am rather fascinated with the idea of sexual slavery. ¬†But the fact is, that it won’t work in my situation, so why dwell on it. ¬†That’s not to say if Master and I lived together that it wouldn’t work then. But the reality is, it doesn’t work for now. In many ways we practice a form of sexual slavery, despite the distance between our homes. I don’t cum without His permission. I don’t do many things without His permission, and perform other tasks at His behest. He doesn’t, can’t, control every element of my day-to-day…but what control He does exercise? I savor.

One last one now…

Concept:   Pain-slut

I’ve chosen to put this as a concept… but in my case, it really is more than just a concept. It is something I fantasize about all the time. And it is something that He delivers whenever we are together. This is one Concept, that for me is also a reality. If He and I were together all the time? I’d be perpetually bruised, perpetually poked and prodded by Him (we’ve talked about it in an offhand way from time to time)…and I would *love* that. ¬†For me pain is becoming more of a lifestyle thing. Even my every day pains are not unpleasant to me. ¬†I stub my toe, or hurt my finger, and there I am pushing and tweaking it days later.

Pain is definitely something that gets my motor humming. I will squeak and wiggle and moan and whimper…but.

My pussy always gets so wet.

My need grows and grows.

And I have, on several occasions, cum just from the pain alone. It’s a powerful thing, to have an orgasm because (not despite) someone is hurting you.

Is this sane and safe?

Maybe not.

I walk around in a pain-haze for days after a playdate. Moving my arms, or sitting, or any one of a hundred little movements bring pain. Sometimes enough to bring me near to tears.

And is that sane?

ūüôā

I dunno.

I do know that ¬†it feeds me. Fills me. Makes me wet and warm and wanton. And…my need for pain dovetails so perfectly with His need to deliver it.

To control it.

To control me.

With this consensual mutualism…well that’s not exactly the right word, as we are the same species…but the idea is there…

We need each other—and because of our mutual, opposite needs…. Master and I are a perfect fit.

He needs to control. He needs to hurt someone. He needs to be in charge.

I need to be controlled. I need to be hurt. I need to give up my controls to someone who will…

You see how this feeds, one into the other?

This is the best part of BDSM for me…that we feed each other perfectly…yin and yang, light and dark, pain and pleasure.

Phew!

aisha. I hope that answers your question! (Maybe more than you ever wanted to know, eh?!)

********************************

Master has tasked me for the last few days with …a task that i am not at liberty to explain. Not one word may I tell of it until Wednesday.

pussypissy

************************************

This is the last week of ¬†Question Month…but you know if ever you have one, feel free to shout it out!

 

 

Irate (1)

**dragonwarning**

She was so angry that she visualized smoke pouring out her ears. How the movers had managed to miss this one last box while packing every other fucking thing in the house was beyond her. There it sat, smack dab in the middle of her old bedroom. If she had not decided to stop by one final time, she would be three states away before she noticed that a chunk of her clothing and all of her bed linens had been left behind.

She’d made the not-at-all nice call to the movers, but was told that the truck was long gone, and about half-way to her new home.

She’d gotten more¬†pissed, if that was possible. She drove a little two-seater, there was no fucking way this box would fit in her car, which was why she’d called a moving agency in the first place.

The secretary that she’d spoken to had gotten huffy herself, not appreciating being ‘badgered’ and had transferred the call to her manager. Now he was on his way here.

The doorbell chimed, and she stalked downstairs.

“About fucking time,” she muttered as she crossed the foyer and opened the door.

“Mz. Tucker?”

He was tall, muscular. She could see the minivan in the drive behind her car.

“You’re alone? How are you going to …”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that now. We’ve gotcha covered. She heard the roll of a door, and noted another man opening the back of the van.

“Where’s your box?” he asked.

She pointed up the stairs. “Second door on the right. You can’t miss it…well, then again, apparently you…or someone…could.”

His smile grew a little tighter.

“Mz. Tucker, I’m here to help you out. I’m sorry that the¬†other crew did make that mistake but people are people, right?”

“I’m paying your company far too much to worry about you being “people”…I want the job done right. I’m already behind now. ” She waved her hand to shoo him away as the other man came in. Following them upstairs, she watched as they lifted the box between them.

“Hopefully you two can actually get it out the door, into the van, and to the correct state? Or will I have to worry that I’ll get to Oklahoma and you are headed to Louisiana?”

The two men looked at each other, but said nothing.

She continued to berate them, their company, the misfortune of being at the mercy of idiots all the way to the front door. She watched for a minute as they carried the large carton towards the van, then shut the door, and walked through the house.  She locked the back door, and without a backward glance, headed out the front.

The two idiots were standing at the back of the van as she locked up the front, and headed down the walkway towards them.

“Mz. Tucker? It seems we have a problem here.” It was the big guy, and he was holding a roll of duct tape, and worried expression.

“Oh, no, you didn’t break the box, did you? Did all my clothes get all over your filthy truck? Jesus, you people are fucking imbeciles….”

That was as far as she got.

As she came up to the back of the van, the wiry man grabbed her, and shoved a cloth into her mouth, while the second man slapped a strip of tape across her mouth. Her wrists were bound in front of her, and something went around her throat.  In seconds,  she was lifted up into the van and heaved unceremoniously into the back. She watched, panic-stricken as they searched her purse.

“Got the keys. I’ll meet you at the place.”

The back of the van was slammed shut. Seconds later, the big guy climbed into the driver’s seat of the van. She heard her car motor start, and screamed around the gag. All that came out was a muffled sound. She thumped her feet on the floor of the van, but the carpet was thick and muffled sound.

“Floor’s padded, Mz. Tucker, to protect all our¬†valuable items. Kick away if it makes your feel better, but your feet sure will get sore after a while. By the way, you can call me Boss. We’re gonna have a different sort of trip down to your new house. My helper, Will, he’s gonna drive your car as the lead, and we’ll follow behind. We’ll stop for a break after a few hours, and then we’ll work on paying the extra fee for all this.”

He fell quiet for a bit, to let her absorb it.

She kicked and thrashed and moaned. Her hair tangled around her face, and she was hot and sweaty. It occurred to her that she was not contained here, just her hands were bound. She could get up. Move towards the bastard. Knock him out with her fists, maybe.

“Mz. Tucker, you seem to have calmed down now, so let’s talk. You might think you’re free and easy back there, but that collar you have around your throat? If you come too far forward, you’ll pass into the barrier field and get a terrible jolt. Later we’ll put that on your pussy so you can see what it feels like. ¬†But I really hope you don’t try it just because you’re a stubborn, mean cunt. ¬†Then again…maybe I do.”

He laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. Not at all.

She whimpered low in her throat.

stay tuned for part two…

His Slut No More

“It’s been a while”

She nodded, watching him pace around her. She knew better than to talk. Yet, the sudden slap against her tit made her cry out and almost break position.

“Yes, definitely a long while. Well, slut, it’s time to get back to basic’s wouldn’t you say?”

She paused a moment, rolling his words around her head, then nodded her agreement after a moment.

“Hands behind your back.”

She complied a moment too slow and this time, he struck her tit with that little crop she’d given him for Yule two or three years ago. He’d not used it but that one time, either.

She felt the welt pop up.

His finger caressed the painful mark, as he ‘hmmmed’ low in his throat. The beast, apparently, was liking this sudden return to power, too. She wondered, for a moment, how long it had been since she had seen the beast in his eyes.

Too long.

He stepped behind her and she heard the jingle of the cuffs. Cold metal circled her wrists. The click of the device as it held her, now at his full whim, made her want to shiver.

Fear, delight, lust, nerves…they all danced through her in a complex tangle.

He reached around and slapped her tit with the crop again.

She gasped.

“I know,” he crooned at her. “That really hurt, didn’t it?”

She nodded, trying to catch her breath. He’d struck straight across her nipple. His hands grasped her head, pressing the back of her head against his crotch, his hand covering her face. He leaned over her and struck her tit again.

Her mouth opened against his palm as she moaned.

“Poor slut. So out of practice. Well, that’s on my head…and I’ll make that up to you.”

It was the Beast talking now. She heard the hunger in the growling voice. He let her head go and she struggled for a moment, to not fall flat on her face. She looked up at him as he moved to stand in front of her.  She was pleased to see the bulge in his pants as well as the gleam in his eye.

He took his time releasing his belt, unfastening his pants, as she looked up at him, her longing shining in her face. She ceased to notice the wetness coating her thighs, her attention focused on those big hands as they unbuttoned the fly of his jeans.

She waited, anticipating the taste of him.

The jeans slid down and he kicked them away. His boxers were tented in the front; he peeled them down and away as well. His cock curved gently upwards, the head purple and gleaming with wet. She watched it, mesmerized by the gentle pulsing she saw there.

He held his cock and slapped her cheek with it. The smell of musk and sex filled her nostrils. There was no pain behind the blows, yet he garnered her full attention.

“Catch it if you can..” And he proceeded to slap each cheek with his hot thickness, as her mouth swiveled from side to side, trying to catch a taste.

Tiring of the game, he grabbed her hair.

“Finally” she thought, opening her mouth wide.

He pressed her forward towards the floor, controlling her fall by her hair, until her face was pressed against the brown carpet. It tickled, it itched. Had she vacuumed in here this week?

“I want cunt.”

He paused for a moment, his foot on her head.

“I want cunt.”

“Yes Sir,” she mumbled. It was, apparently what he wanted to hear. Her hands clenched behind her as she lay in this awkward pose, ass up, knees tucked under her belly, tits and face mashed into the irritating rug.

His cock slipped into her hole easily. His hands grasped her hips as he began hammering his pelvis against her upturned ass, as his cock delved into the hot wet hole offered up to him.

The sounds of fucking filled the room, the sucking sounds of moist flesh yielding to the cock filling her belly, the slap of body against body, the grunts from him, the soft whooshes as breath was repeatedly pressed from her.

Her welted tits were rubbed against the rug, stinging her eyes with unshed tears. Yet the pounding of her pussy was making her hotter than she’d been in such a long time.

She muttered her need to cum.

” So soon?”

“Yes, Sir…I need to cum”

“I thought your pussy was dry and dusty from lack of use?”

His cock was buried to the hilt. She could feel her pussy rippling around it, feel the answering response in the turgid hardness of him.

“W-what?”

“Isn’t that what I read on ‘His slut no more’? Or did I misquote you?”

Ice ran cold through her, even with the hotness of her pussy. He’d found her blog?

“I…I…”

“slut, you’ve suddenly developed this annoying stutter.” He ground his hips into hers forcing his cock another inch into her belly. She moaned, not feeling the harsh carpet under her cheek, not feeling anything but the thrill and fear of discovery, and the need to cum building in her cunt.

He ground against her.

“Cum. cum now you fucking slut!”

She poured herself around his cock, felt it ooze from her filled pussy, felt his juices join with hers, sluicing down her legs, roll in an upside-down stream from her cunt, up her mons, up her belly.

When they were done, recovered, he uncuffed her, and pulled her from the floor with one firm tug, only to shove her down on the floor between his feet.

“Sit.”

It was time to talk.

 

nilla sez: it just occurred to me that some people would gasp when they saw the title to this story, especially after yesterdays retelling of my fuck up with Master. Things between us are GREAT…I actually wrote this story Wednesday morning before any of the big fuck up occurred… Fiction! Yay, nilla is back to writing fiction once more!

Fuck Up!

Wednesday night, driving home from the City (and my yoga class), I called Master. I’d had a bit of a stressful day…nothing ginormous, mind you, but the kind of ¬†“water over granite” ¬†day that wears you down in subtle increments.

So, there I was, ¬†talking to Master…asking Him a question.

And He didn’t answer me right away, and …

um.

I ¬†snapped . ¬†And what I said was rude, definitely not submissive, AND… (hangs head) ¬† it was even *said* in a snarky voice:

“I just want to know if You want to meet in the morning or the evening Master, it’s a simple question.”

There was an immediate  response to that.

Whoa…what did I just hear? Was that¬†nilla?

I tried to backpedal, but obviously way way WAY too late. He told me it was the kind of voice a man hears when he has to bring home milk and bread.

And He let that hang there.

I am not his wife.

I am not his partner.

I am not his equal.

I am not in charge.

I am nilla, and boy am I  a stupid slut.

We worked it out… he was…surprised. Startled. Put-off. Not mad. In 2.5 years, I have¬†never spoken to Him like that. Ever.

He called me an Assertive. Salacious. Slut.

So I have a new acronym that I must use every Wednesday in texts and emails for infinity.

A.S.S.

*blush* Talk about a lesson on manners.

Now, on Wednesday night, sometimes I get an O, and sometimes…not. ¬†I figured, mega fuck up, no O. I didn’t want to ask. But He kind of led me up to it as our conversation began to wind down, as I got closer to home. And I got that He wanted me to ask. I figured He wanted me to ask so that He could gleefully deny me, and I said as much to Him.

Oh, no, nilla. I want you to have an O. As a thank-you gift.

I pondered that for a bit. ¬†“A thank you Master?” ¬†I say at last.

Yes, nilla. I owe you a big thank you. ¬†You see, nilla, I have a list. I keep ¬†all your little …infractions…on it. ¬†That way, if ¬†someday I feel …guilty? No not guilty….If I ¬†need motivation when I beat you, I can go to that ¬†list, and read of your misadventures, and use that as inspiration. Ah yes. ¬†Inspiration.

Of course today’s little episode is not the first thing on my list.

The first thing on my list is:   Because I can.

But this new thing? This ASS thing? That’s a big number two reason. I’m going to hit your ass so hard it’ll bruise in seconds.

I’m think about using ¬†SCFT – blade side up on your well spanked ass to bring about immediate welts which I will then crush back into whence they came with SCFT flat/curved as it is intended to be used under Normal Torturous Conditions (NTC). But then again, thanks to your impromptu A.S.S move, NTC’s don’t really exist anymore – do they – n’est pas?

So, tonight’s O is a thank you for adding to the motivation to smack your ass.

I kind of giggle. I mean, this was somewhat amusing to me. Don’t ask me why, i have no idea. It just was. ¬†I know, it’s weird. I allay it all to the stress of fucking up, to the dastardly thought of the FSCT being used on the thin side edge on my ass. He interrupts my puzzled musing and small giggles.

Oh, and nilla?

About that O…

Here it comes, I think. NOW He’s going to take it away. Ha. As if. When He’s on a roll? He’s amazing.

It must have pain. It must have LOTS and LOTS of pain. You’ll climb that mountain four times again…but with so much more pain. Tell me, little girl, what hurts you the most while you fuck your pussy? Hmmm?

I stutter a bit.

“Um…if I use two pegs on each nipple…that hurts a lot.

“Good, use that.” ¬†He pauses. “What else, little girl?”

I swallow hard. He wants more?

“Really Master? More?”

Really.   More.   Much more. Tell me.

He growls that last part. I can’t help it…it turns me on, even while my knees are shaking. “P-pegs on my belly. Those hurt like fuck, Master.”

“Good. Do it. What else?”

OMG, I think …he wants MORE?

“Oh Master”…I’m almost near tears now.

Tell Me.

His voice is demanding. He *knows* –I know He knows what I don’t want to say next…My voice drops lower.

“The vibe, Master.” I whimper.

“Ohhh, the vibe, that’s¬†right. HOW bad is it?”

“It’s bad when the power is up there.”

“Good. Do it. DO IT.”

I whimper, thinking 75-80 % power is gonna be tough for four treks up that mountain. Again He interrupts my musing.

Nuclear! I want it fucking turbo-nuclear!!

His voice is gleeful and gutteral and growly and so fucking turning me on…And…it makes me shudder.
“Master!” I gasp, I plead with Him……”no..no really? Not..not…”

FULL POWER, slut. For all four trips That fucking vibe stays ON your clit the WHOLE time.”

When He laughs, it’s with satisfied glee. “Yes, that’s perfect.” He reiterates:

Double pegs on your nipples. Pegs on your belly. Vibe on full high, on your clit,  for the entire time.

“Yes Master.”

The call ends, and I know He is satisfied. He’s taught me a very valuable lesson in controlling my mouth.

HNT A Tale of Two Titties…

I know, that was a terrible thing to do to Shakespeare, wasn’t it? Yet I laugh.

Master had asked me to share this pic on HNT because it amused him. It is from two weeks ago when I was still wearing His bruises from our last playdate. And I admit I forgot about it, and then he asked me to post all those other pix last week….so here it is now…a morning tit pic for Master, and he likes it coz it looks like my nipple is giving him the finger…(go figure)

And then there is this second pic which I sent to Him from work last Saturday. Yes, my name is nilla and i do sexting… Hey, the Master was tied up all day and i figured a pretty tit shot would cheer him up.

It did.

ūüôā

He loves those cleavage shots, and he immediately texted me back “Bloggable”….

So there you go. Shakespeare, I hope you like tits….