Questions? Step on Up coz I have Answers!

I’m wondering when I’m going to get my writing jones back? It’s on vacation. Must be the heat. The post-recovery let down…i’m not in the “doldrums” but the kids are fussy (too hot, too fast) today.

And dear goddess do  I ever need to color my roots! Whoa. Scared the crap out of myself once my eyes went back to normal and I could see clearly? *shudders*

Perhaps later this afternoon I’ll have writing time, coz for now I have jots of time to sit and reply to questions.

Amy asked:

Does your wife know about your Master?

And the answer is no. No. Which of course, leads to an entire post about cheating. And fidelity. And honesty. How can I be honest with my Master, do ttwd while lying to my wife?

There just comes this time in life when you realize…this is it. This is what I have. I’ve spent decades making my family happy, my friends happy, everyone happy. When does it get to be my happy time?

I don’t drink. I don’t go on lavish vacations. I don’t spend tons of money on myself. I get up and start working. It’s a big, old house, always projects, cleaning …you know the drill. There’s the kids….care, cooking, schooling. There’s my wife…cooking, cleaning, talking, empathizing (coz, yanno…she works and…i don’t. Yes. She said that.  For real)

I came painfully close to leaving, just before I started this blog. But….. I love my kids and want them to have a stable base. I don’t hate my wife.  I don’t hate my life. It’s been 33 years…that’s a long time investment.

But there was something missing.

Physical affection, to be sure. We’ve not had a sexual relationship in nearly a decade. I’ve tried to talk about it, but she is kid-focused not me focused. It can be very frustrating. Very annoying. Pisses me off. Yet…this is my house, too. My kids, too. My life, too.

So yes. I could have come clean (and I did, a little). I was told I was gross and disgusting for my liking of porn…for being submissive. We’ve worked toward a middle ground of acceptance….like don’t ask, don’t tell…as far as my blog goes (she knows I have one)…but if she knew I was having a relationship, real-time, with a Man?

I’d be kicked to the curb.

So…. I’m careful. Diligent. I don’t see my Master when there is any chance of  being seen. We meet at a very small Starbucks, which mostly serves a drive-through clientele in the morning, and the college crowd in the evenings. We talk when I’m alone in my bedroom at night (when my wife is either in her room at the other end of the house, or downstairs watching tv), or in the car alone.

I’m a Jezabel. A whore. A slut. All those things. A cheater. Yes. A liar. Yes. You can’t call me anything I haven’t called myself.  But a starving woman will do what she can to get fed.

He feeds me. Fills me. Gives me the balance and care that I’ve needed for so long. And pain. He gives great pain.

Thanks for asking the question Amy.

If It’s Tuesday, It Must Be Real…

Some people call this TMI Tuesday, but I don’t answer a set of proscribed questions so it’ s just real nilla day today!

I had every intention of writing. You know…something steamy and sexy and sensual and arousing.

But…

Mom Nature called; she had other plans for me! It was 82* here, sunny and HOT! It was a day to go through my closet, my dresser, and take away things I absolutely won’t wear again; we’re poised (as I write this) on the edge of the Vernal Equinox, and I just can’t see myself wearing my favorite fuzzy sweater again this season,  yanno?

Today was spent washing winter bedding and throwing everything on the clothes line to dry in the abundant sun, and in watching my kids ride their bikes and scooters, and making lemonade, clearing cobwebs, both mental and physical, from my house.

Tomorrow I will be ready, I think, to write. (Gosh, give a woman a week off to be sick and what does she do once she’s recovered? Fritter her writing time away on mundane chores???)

My great green goddess! What a greedy slut!

*grin*

I did do some “housework” here too…..if this is the first time you’ve come here since my spring “make-over” for Vanillamom, what do you think? I’ve chosen a different format, one that I hope is a bit easier to read and navigate. Do let me know what you feel…good and/or bad. Master will check it out and give me His feelings on the upgrade. . . but I welcome all thoughts.

How I adore that Man! You know he relented and gave me an orgasm Sunday night after all…I earned that, coincidentally, because we’d made a bet. He didn’t recall seeing my O report from Friday, yet I clearly remembered writing it. Trouble was,  had I actually sent it? He challenged me – if I stood by my claim that I had indeed sent it and he had just missed seeing it, and it really was in his “In” box…I would get a Sunday night O.

However.

If I was mistaken, and took the bet, and lost….I would forfeit ALL my O’s, even on our special day of the week when I always get a special message and at least one O. Giving up that O would be HUGE. Losing a week’s worth of O’s is always difficult….but I was really 99.99% certain that I had sent that report to Him.

I agreed to His terms.

And then after hanging up (I was driving to the City to get the teen)…I was in a mental quandary…Had I sent it? I was so medicine-fogged on Saturday…I didn’t remember what time of day I had sent it, although I remembered clearly telling him my thoughts about the glass dildo, which I got to use for the first time.

I got to church and pulled out my phone and logged into my email and YES! There it was. I’d not used the caption “O Report” like I usually do, I’d labeled it “So, Master….”

PHEW!

What a relief. And that is  how nilla bagged her Sunday Orgasm!

Of course, with our big D’s…nothing comes without a price. When I got home, He texted me.

oh, by the way, little girl…When you finally have that O…I want your electric vibe on your clit.

And.

I want you to climb the mountain 4 times before you come. Understood?

Four times.

FOUR times? He’s never made me climb the mountain four times before falling over. And the clit thing. Gods He loves to torture my poor clit. I was already very horny. Spent the day being horny after that epic Starbucks experience. When I touched my clit with my finger? Hard and swollen and sensitive….and this was *before* the fucking vibe.

However.

He did NOT mention at what speed to put the thing on, so I settled for 75% power… that’s enough zing to make it torturous…but not so bad that it is incredibly painful. And it’s not so low that if He asks later …. that he’ll think I lowballed it, and took advantage of his good nature.

I texted back an “okay Master,” finished working on my Sunday at Starbucks post, and sent that to Him for approval. Once approved, I set it up on the blog, and got busy with that “assignment.”

Now, four times up Fuck Mountain may not seem like that hard of an assignment, but trust me…I was so horny that I booted from “base camp” to the rocky edge in minutes….only to have to pull away the vibe and back my ass away before I fell over.

I lay, gasping, panting, heart racing.

I wanted, needed, to cum so badly. My whole body quivered with suppressed need. Eventually it calmed, and back to work I went…and in minutes was right back up there.

Master has trained me pretty well to get to three and LEAP out into the abyss of orgasm…

So stopping there had a certain…well…sadistic… twist.

It was so fucking hard to stop. And then to start again? My arm was tired from the vibe. My other arm was tired from fucking.

Stop laughing…they were very tired arms.

(I hear you giggling–this is serious stuff here (I know -who am I kidding, right?))

Anyway.

My body just kinda stopped.

There I was, vibing and fucking and all of a sudden,  my pussy went “HUH?”

“What, you think I’m fucking nuts? You’ve already pulled the football away three times, Lucy, and I’m not fucking Charlie Brown here. No. Not gonna fall for it…”

And she turns away.

From close to the top of the hill, I slid down a scree slope to about half-way down. What the fuck? There’s nothing for it than to turn the vibe up a wee notch. I can’t let it get to full power coz that will just send me into orbit, and naked astronauts don’t do so well up in space.

Besides….it would fucking hurt. My nipples were already screaming. I’d pegged them with two clothes pins each (He wanted pain, lots of pain, to go with this scene) and occasionally the throb from them would drown out the throb in my clit.

Turning up the vibe seemed to convince my pussy that I was serious about going up that hill once again. I could feel her distrust…her whine about getting there being too hard…blah blah…and then suddenly the heat just enveloped me…

I was right there.

Right fucking there…and I mashed down on my clit, and fucked with the vibe and when I came it was like breaking into atoms….

Wow, what a fucking fucking AMAZING rush that was.

Clit throbbing like it had been beaten (and well, it was kinda)

And my nipples screaming…and my lungs gasping for air…and my heart racing…..it was a wet wet wet orgasm, and I lay there, trembling for quite a few minutes, sweaty and with a tsunami of pussy honey leaking from me.

And when it was done, rather than being sleepy? I was turbo-charged. Yeah, it was one of those kind of O’s….

So I sent Master a sext.

And He replied.

And I sent another.

And it went back and forth like we were teenagers…until 1230 a.m. when He finally put His foot down and sent me to bed.

Tonight we talked as he drove home from a late meeting.

He gave me another orgasm tonight…but with another set of conditions…vibe on the clit. Four treks up the mountain. And that fucking vibe has to be set at 75% for the first three trips.

And.

(He pauses for effect here. I go nuts. In my head I’m going “andandandand fucking WHAT????” and He know’s I’m doing that, and yet he lets it goes on, that silence, that fucking “and” hanging there…baiting me…. and finally I can’t hold it back, it slips out and I say (in a begging voice)….)

And, Master? And?

He laughs. That rich and wicked, sinful laugh that I love.

For that last trip up the mountain, little girl….the vibe goes up to 100%.

I gasp. “Oh Master…that’s going to kill  me….so much torture!! OMG…Master….”

And he laughs again, and asks me if I know what the best part of that is. I think to myself…”not dying”….but say “no, Master.”

On all those other treks up the mountain? You’ll be thinking and fretting about the last one.

He knows me, knows me inside and out. Of course I’ll be thinking about that!  I may have whimpered, then.

And He laughs that wicked Sadist’s laugh once more.

Sundays at Starbucks….

Sunday morning brought a quick little meet with Master. OH, so lovely, to have this one window of time that is just us. And filled with good adult conversation…politics, and the state of the union and Presidential election politics… just good to have one on one grown up time.

And then there are the  sly little sexy things that pepper every meeting with Master. A kiss comes with a secret pinch…He grabs some bit of me and gives it a good jolt…and when I pull away, there’s that smile, that gleam in his eye. We both get a taste of what we crave, even in this vanillaville setting.

We arrived at almost the same time. I saw him walking in as I pulled into the lot. Consequently, he was still setting up his computer, and hadn’t gotten his coffee.  I love to do this little task for him;  fix it how he likes it, bring it to him…it is a ritual that I very much enjoy.  He always insists on paying (I’ve learned to not argue about that, though it’s hard!)  Those first few minutes are a flurry of pure vanilla, computers and coffee and settling in.  When I sat down across from him, I smiled. Gosh it is so good to be with him.

I also told him how “glad I was that we could meet this morning, because I couldn’t come tonight. ”

He looks up at me, eyes sparkling.  “How did you know that, nilla? Wow,  you really are psychic, aren’t you?”

(Did you catch that right away? or are you going back to reread that part again? Coz I’ll tell you true, it took me a minute to figure out what the fuck he meant! Slow, sometimes this slut is very slow….and it was so totally unexpected, and so out-of-context from *my* meaning….)

And when I *did* catch on?

“MASTER!!! no no no no please? OMG…”

He didn’t *really* mean that? Did he?

Then again, this Master of mine isn’t shy about throwing around his Domlyness.

For example, Saturday night, in the middle of  a series of short and  Master-ish texts, I get one that read:

“you know you aren’t having an orgasm tonight, right?”

And he would not refer to it again all night, no matter how many times I tweaked him. He would respond to any other text…but when I tried to slip in an O plea? Silence.  And last night I was so so so soooo horny.

Two ZNN’s in a row? I tried to not think about that, actually.

(yet throughout the day I kept thinking about it)

(and getting hornier and hornier)

(what *is* it about this whole control thing that is SUCH a freaking turn on??)

There was other fun to be had, despite the brevity of our time Sunday morning…..

There was the heart I slipped onto his knee, and one onto his shirt without him knowing.

Oh, funnah.

And then I realized he was wearing a dress shirt with his jeans.

“Master, are you going somewhere?”

He reminds me that he’d told me last night where he would be, and yes it was semi casual, but really in my heart of hearts, I knew it was not someplace he should be sauntering around –at least…not with  shiny prismatic pink hearts on his shirt and pants.

So, now…. I have to fess up.

“Um….”

“What?”

“you  (giggle)…um…might want to take the hearts off you then…” (insert more giggles)…

“you didn’t….” he looks at my face…”you did. You are so dead nilla.” I show him where I’d tagged him…oh. Yeah, I’m so dead. And laughing my ass off about it too…!!

*   ***   *

I got him a fun little critter with fake bunny ears that is wearing a collar which says “some Bunny loves you”…which He played with all morning. Making it peer over his laptop at me, sometimes the face,  sometimes the ‘butt’ and making “man jokes” (if you have boys, you know what i’m talking about!  If you don’t? think— burp or fart….)

This is one of the pictures he had me take..and right as I snapped it, He made the critter “fart”. Loudly.

(Frankly this makes me hysterical. Life with boys, yanno?!)

Isn’t it cute? He really did play with the funny thing…we talked later and he said the critter was getting to be a pain in the ass…kept insisting on driving… *grin*…I love that He loves the silly little things I get for him…

*   ***   *

You know, I’ve written plenty of stories, and read plenty as well, where the slave/slut/whore/cunt is made to get to her knees in a public venue. I’ve *always* believed that it was, frankly, stupid.

I mean, who would really really do that? Really?

I dropped my hair clip.

I scouted the floor around my feet. No clip. It’s a big thing, too, made to hold a lot of hair, so pretty hard to miss. And then I spot it. As does He.

And he laughs.

This wicked, dirty, nasty, lovely laugh.

It has landed on the floor …. between his feet. “Come and get it,” He says, all double-entendre. So I do. I have to get on my knees, and bend under the table.

He grabs a hunk of curls and pulls my head down. .. . and holds it there between his legs.

In STARBUCKS.

And ….

whoa.

What a fucking rush!

There were no people. Just Master, and his slut. There was no pain in my hair, only the sudden throbbing between my legs. There was no cold, hard floor under my knees, just the warmth of his leg under my cheek.

I’m not sure how long he held me there. Thirty seconds? Time stopped for me. “Pick it up,” he says at last, in this dark, hot voice. The Dom Voice. The one that tells me to get the fuck back on the wall. The one that orders me to “spread your legs. Wider.”

THAT Voice.

And I do, and slowly climb to my feet, sliding into my seat. It’s very hard to put words down that describe how I felt.

Utterly submissive, to be sure.

Humbled, but not ashamed.

Owned.  Oh, yes, so very owned.

Whatever happened in that moment, we both felt it. He may have known before, yet,  now He has empirical proof that I am his.  As he put it later, “you were inches away from the promised land there, slut. You could smell it. So close and yet so far.”

Yes. Oh yes.

I’m a hungry, horny, wanton slut, craving.

(with new-found respect and understanding of other sluts who have knelt before their Masters/Owners; it is a powerful and amazing experience to be  in that zone….)

And in case you’re wondering…He did finally relent…and gave me a Sunday night orgasm…

Coz you know…

He’s that kind of Dom.

Sometimes.

🙂

Ivy III

His name was Nash. She curled it over and around her tongue like a new taste. She had some knowledge of man-words, and knew his name was of forest origins.

His voice broke the stillness of the woods. The air was warm, the breeze gentle. The trees shivered their leaves as if in approving applause.

“I thought, as a boy, that I’d simply imagined you. I imagined that I tried to put a face on what I love most about the woods. The fluidity of streams that run silver-bright over moss covered rocks. The sweet sighs of the trees as they bend before the wind. The smells of death, reborn as life again, the loam of the earth, the tang of pine.

You are all that, and more.”

She froze against the bark of the tree she remained hidden behind. His words touched something deep and old inside of her. That a Man could feel all those things amazed her. She would not have believed it to be possible, that a Man…in all his destructive ways, could understand.

“Who are you, Nash-of-Man?” Her voice was like dappled sunlight, dancing on the forest floor.

His pencil stopped, poised over the paper on his bent knees. From her vantage point, she could see herself, peering out from behind a copse of trees. He’d added the rock wall ahead of them, and hinted at the sheen of dampness there, even the small niches where moss broke the granite into pebbles. He had captured life,  that implacable force which cannot be denied. He had captured…her. In his picture, her eyes smiled, though her face was solemn.

“I…” He paused. He felt, in that moment, as if everything he was, everything he would become in the future, was on the line with his answer. He took a deep breath.

“I am who you see. A man, besotted with nature. A man who has searched for many years for peace, for solace, and, sweet sprite, for you. I didn’t want to admit you existed anymore. I didn’t want to admit that you didn’t. I am a man who was caught in a terrible limbo, on the edge of the cliff that lies between what he thinks is truth, and what he desires to be real.”

He slowly reached for his water bottle, to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. She saw his head tilt back, heard the sound of his swallowing. His face was  precious to her. Even after all these seasons, something in him stirred her. He fed a need in her, and she would admit to dreaming of him while her hands were busy sating herself.  His words moved her from her hiding place. Quickly she scampered across the small glen, and sat on a rock across from him. She was high enough to escape him, if need be. But close enough to smell his scent, to watch his face and eyes as they spoke.

Slowly he lowered the bottle, staring at her in amazement. For long moments they looked into each others eyes.  Memories of their first meeting, when she was young, when he was young, deep in a shadowed tangle of brush, flowed through them both.

“You’re beautiful. More beautiful than I can capture here.” His hand.

At that word, she panicked, and fled from him again.

Q & A ~ and a story, too! (Don’t)

Thanks to faithful who asked a question:

is your Master married? Has he ever been?

Just so you all know, I have asked for and received permission to answer that.

Yes, Master was married, for a long time. He was divorced for 3 years when we met. There is no other woman in his life. He would tell you there is “no woman” in his life at all, just a pesky slut! It is a prime insult when He tells me I am being “womanish”. But that’s a whole other topic, right? *grin*

Thanks for asking us, faithful. And if anyone else has a question for Q & A month, there’s still time to ask me.  Don’t be shy. If you’re too personal I’ll tell you to fuck off.

*pauses for effect*

*giggle*

I won’t! I really won’t.

Okay. Maybe I would. But you guys know I am pretty much an open book, right? So…ask away. I promise to not bite you. How’s that for fair? *Laughing*

Okay, I’m feeling so. Much. Better. I wrote THREE stories today. I’m giddy with the happy of that. Get comfy, and enjoy the first one;

Don’t

She wanted to swallow the word.

Really wanted to pull it back, reverse time, suck the word back into her stupid mouth. He stared at her. His mouth wasn’t agape, but it may as well have been. It would be hard to imagine which of them was more shocked by the “don’t” that had slipped off her tongue, landing in the space between them like a black hole of doom.

“I…”

“Enough.”

He took a fistful of hair and pulled her to the corner. Whimpering, she put her face against the wall. She knew that being silent was her only hope at this point.

He used corner time as much to cool down his impressive temper as to teach her a lesson. They’d worked out much during their time together, but her mouth was still her worst enemy.

She felt him behind her, then the cold moistness of his finger pressing against her anus.

He was going to put the plug in anyway. “You’ve given me a wonderful idea, slut. I need a bit of time to set up, and then I’ll be back to collect you. Until then, hold onto this for me.”

She felt the pressure against her butthole, then the pop, as a bead went into her ass. Oh fuck! Each bead was bigger than the last. She wondered which one he’d stop at. They’d never made it past the third one.

Two.

He pressed hard and the third bead popped inside her. It felt like a fucking plum inserted in her ass! She whimpered again, shuddering as he pressed upwards.

“Take it. Stop fighting it, press down like you’re taking a shit.”

She didn’t want it. Didn’t. In her head she was whining “don’t, please don’t.” She knew it was her hangup and not any fear of true damage. He would hurt her, but never harm. She had such anal fear. It had become his challenge to break through the fear and into something better for them both. He took her to dark places at times, her Sir.

With one last hard push the fourth anal bead was up inside her rectum. She couldn’t stop the small moan of pain. He swatted her ass, a silent message to be a good girl and get over it. Not that he minded her tears, he’d told her many times.  Those glistening silver drops were like nectar to him, he’d said, licking a tear off her cheek. That had irked her…and turned her the fuck on. That she had so little control over his desires was one of the key reasons she embraced being a submissive in the first place.

She heard him rummage in the toybox, then his receding footfalls. She wondered what the fuck he was doing. Torn between curiosity and worry, she almost forgot about the beads in her butt.

The sound of his return made fear and lust coil in her belly.

He turned her around, and immediately clamped her nipples. The clamps were the thick heavy pair. They bit tight and made her cry. He usually liked to stick them right on the edge of her nipple so that any movement would make them pop off.

Which always felt like her nipple had been torn off.

This time the rubber teeth gripped tightly over her full nipples. It was painful, and set her clit to throbbing gently. She loved having her nipples clamped during sex play. The heavy chain swung between her tits like a silver smile. Hooking it in his finger, he pulled her out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into his office. Leading her to the far wall, he bid her to stay and not to fucking move.

She stared at the hook where he usually hung his suit coat when he was working in here. She wanted to turn around but she was already down for one huge mistake. Disobeying a direct order would get her ass whalloped for sure. She could hear something scraping on the floor behind her, and the curiosity was eating at her.

What the fuck was he doing?

“Up on your tiptoes.” His finger hooked into the chain, lifting it up and over the hook on the wall.

“Hands behind your back.” She didn’t want to. Didn’t want to give up that last bit of control, yet her hands settled at the small of her back almost without thought. She felt the roughness of the velcro against her skin as he wrapped the bondage wrap around her wrists.

She cried out as he tugged the anal beads from her ass. They hurt a lot more coming out!  In seconds, she felt something even bigger replace them.

“This is quite the predicament for you, slut. If you settle back onto your feet to give them a break, you’ll push more inches of this big rubber dick up your ass. You remember Fat Freddie…you had quite the giggles about it when I ordered it.”

She swallowed hard. She did indeed remember the dildo she’d nicknamed Fat Freddie. It looked like a man’s hand, ready to fist. He’d told her that someday that dildo would be in her ass or her pussy as he fucked her, double stuffing her.

“Of course, you’ll also increase the pull of the clamps. Eventually they will pull off of your nipples, and we both know how much you enjoy that, don’t we, slut?”

She shook her head. She did not like that, not at all. He laughed. The bastard. Her feet cramped and she lowered just a bit. Since he’d stuffed the first few inches in her ass, it didn’t seem that bad. Apparently she’d forgotten how wide the fucking dildo got. The pain in her tits and ass grew exponentially. She rose back to her tiptoes. The relief to her nipples and ass was compounded by the ache growing in her toes.

Oh fuck!

His hand reached around and she caught the flicker of movement, seconds before the vibrating massager pressed against her clit.

“Are we having fun yet, bad slut? Don’t tell me you’re not…” His voice tickled her ear.

Oh fuck, oh fuck! Yet, wisely, she chose not to answer.

Under the Weather, Still, and a Q for Q & A Month!

Oh, mah gawd. Being sick for an entire week sucks. I am tired, dragging my ass around the house, attending to my stuff…coz when you’re a stay at home mom, that’s what you do, right?

Master has issued ZNN for the foreseeable future, and lots of rest. I know I’m not getting enough, Sir, but I am trying! He sent me a note Thursday morning (He sends me a note every morning, but Thursday I got three…!) that said in part:

just get better–it’s no fun injecting pain on a slut who’s too weak to hurt…

Maybe that’s what I need…an injection of pain? But He’s right, I’m weak as a kitten and don’t think I could take it. Bummer. And it sucks that I *still* have no voice and cannot talk to Him…it’s all email and texts right now.  Maybe by Saturday.

STOP THE PRESSES!!!!

I, nilla, am finally of sound body. (Please note I did not say “mind”, as obviously, I am not!!) I wrote the bulk of today’s post on Thursday morning when I was still feverish and feeling yuk. But sometime later in the afternoon, the fever broke, the antibiotic that I’ve been on for days began to kick in, and WOWZA… I’m not quite ready to dance in the street singing “I Feel Good”… but dayam, I do!

I think I can even revise the next paragraph….hmmm…maybe not (giggle)….

And my mother-in-law is coming this weekend. Happy happy, joy joy. I love her but gods…it’s almost too much. At least I work on Saturday and will get a bit of a break. She drains me, and that’s the truth. The absolutely most negative person you’d ever meet…and a snarky mean bitch, often.

Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of snark  in me…but it’s a constant stream of it. Lack of filters? I don’t know.

(see why I had to leave that as it was? yeah. I do love her, she’s kinda been a surrogate  mom to me, but the last few years have not been her finest, as far as her outlook on life, I guess. And sometimes she’s mean to my kids, which ALWAYS makes me a double snarky bitch.)

Okay, let’s leave that path and get to the question part of today’s post. It’s  from Tyger…who asks if, before Master, I was only attracted to women.

I wrote Tyger a response in comments, but that hardly seems fair. I was  asked a question and it’s question month so here is my answer in a more public way!

My first sexual foray was with a guy, a few months after my family moved to a new City. Very shortly after that sexual foray, my new BFF and I had a wild summer of sex and debauchery.

Of course, it was while I was still seeing my steady guy, who was also her neighbor and friend, and a College Guy. (I had just graduated High School.) I’m not sure if he ever knew the depth of our friendship, she and I….but she knew I was with the guy.

Her mom forced us apart after she found out about our affair, and I broke up with the guy and started dating a creep. And was still very interested in my old BFF, who is now my wife.

For the first part of my relationship with my now-wife, she did date guys, while I didn’t. We had a semi-open relationship, I guess. I likely could have dated, but didn’t.

Until Master I’ve not been truly attracted to men…I mean Patrick Stewart, but no one IRL…It would not bother me a bit if my wife wanted to date, but she is more possessive and if i did, openly,  it would break up our marriage.

Now I know that there is a name for being attracted to both sexes, bisexual.

Tyger, I hope that answer your question!

Remember that there are still two weeks left in March, and if you have a q for me, you can post it in comments, OR you can email me at vanillmom4@gmail.com.

And for an even more positive note,  I’ve started having a LOT of sex dreams…D/s sex dreams. And I’m remembering them, so this enforced rest from creative writing has certainly helped with renewing my writing libido! Hopefully I will have enough energies to start capturing them….maybe even later today. Wouldn’t that be awesome?

Hope your Friday is as awesome as mine is shaping up to be!! Woot!

HNT 3/15/12 “Man-dated”

Last week Master was not feeling well. I couldn’t deliver chicken soup, rub his feet, nor do any of the things I wanted to do…so I did what I could to cheer Him up.

I sent Him Boobage.

Tit-pix.

We were talking the next day. The pix had done their work and He sounded pretty good. We chatted for a while, and then He said it.

Oh nilla….

“Yes Master?”

All those tit pic’s from yesterday? (He pauses a moment to let the tension build)

Bloggable.

I want every pic you sent me to be on your HNT this week.

Every.

Fucking.

One.

“Every one? ALL of them, Master?”

All your readers will get a bargain…six pics for the price of one.

So, dear pervie readers, on orders from my Master, here is this weeks ‘expanded’ HNT.

“good morning, Master- this is the slut-version of “morning wood”

Hey Master…I know I rarely wear nighties, but this morning I did…thought You might like a wee peek inside….

Hi Master…I’ve been busy writing, but didn’t want you to feel lonely….and see? there is still a wee bit of bruise on my left tit…

Hi Master….I call this one “concealed boobage”

Hey Master…this one will cheer You up…its a Fucking Heart!!! *giggling*

g’nite Master….

Enter the Sounds of Silence

Yeah.

I’m speechless, literally. NO voice. Urg. I hate that. And I’m on Dr. orders to be silent for 24 hours (omfg)…

I feel…well, sick.

Muddle headed, tired, yuk.

This will likely be my shortest blogpost, um, maybe ever.

Behind on comment replies.

Behind on Feliciations chapters (i know i promised…but circumstances alter cases…sorry guys…)

Behind on story writing in general.

And no O’s coz Master wants me to conserve my energies. A tired, very tired nilla, is off to bed. Antibiotics should kick in by tomorrow and have me feeling much better, but for now i’m taking my tired, sick, boring old ass to bed.

Catch ya’ll on the flip side…(and as i reread this i realize…um. You’re all going to be reading this in the morning…so …yeah, ya’ll are smart enough to figure it out. 🙂

And when the floodgates open when I’m feeling better…be warned; that’s often when the dragons come out to play… mwhahaha..koff koff..

And another thing.

I HATE BEING QUIET FOR SO LONG. It’s fucking impossible. Just sayin’.  *grumble*

Oh, and of course.

The one day. The ONE fucking day. I’m too yuk-feeling to put any make up on. NONE. I mean, I NEVER go out without make up on.

Dontcha know that I meet an old old friend of mine. She’s looking gorgeous. Tall, dressed in black with a colorful scarf…stunning. I squeeeek to her, she smiles at me. We “talk” for a minute.

I get my teabags (horrors, I was almost out!) and get into my car and see my red nose, swollen cheeks, blotchy face in the rear view.

Jeezuz.

I have some vanity here people.

I was embarrassed. . I admit it. I looked like I’d been dragged across a field or something. Face first.

Okay, maybe not that bad, but still.

Sheesh. Now, enough of this wretched self pity. I know it’s my blog and i can come here and whine and moan and complain…but that’s not the nilla you are used to seeing, and really? not the nilla i’m used to being.

So…

Tomorrow when I wake up I promise to be in a better mood.

AAA-choooo…

*giggle*

(and make up too!)

and yes, aisha, i am writing to keep my writing streak unbroken, lol, and because if i didn’t put something here? Someone would think i was dead or something. *nodding* Ya’ll would, too, wouldn’t ya?

And before I forget (again)..March is almost half over but it’s bloggers q and a month.

That means…. if you’ve  had a burning question that you’ve dying to ask and never quite dared….or if there is something about nilla that you have wondered about …now is your time to ask. I think I’m pretty much an open book, but this way the invitation is out there. I will do my utmost to answer your question(s) honestly.

(It’s almost publishing time and I’m still awake. . . I hate that. I’m so tired. So medicated. But there are thunderstorms right on the doorstep here (yes, Thunderstorms in New England on March 13 and at 1144 p.m. it is STILL 53 degrees outside. So. Fucking. Strange)

Okay, going shut down the puter before it gets blown up by tstorm energy, and try to sleep.

Whole Lotta Nothin’…

I am sitting here at nearly 10 p.m. Monday night with absolutely nothing in my head.

I have some version of the crud that is circulating around here, and it’s settled into my voice box. So, along with periods of having absolutely no voice (and don’t my kids love that?!), I alternately have this deep, bass voice.  Aisha will tell you that this is NOT my normal speaking voice!

So I kinda feel like crappola. Not terrible. But  not great. And my head is muzzy and my ear hurts and damn, don’t I hate sitting here and fucking whining?

And to top it all off, I have an anal plug in because the Master cares, yanno? Because I made some random statement last night at Starbucks about plugs, and now I have forgotten the context but it had NOTHING at all to do with sex or anal plugs. Oh! It was when I was saying that I’d “upgraded to a table with a plug” since when I first got there, it was PACKED and I had a table that had no electric plug handy. He got this look on his face of pleased fascination…and I start waving my hands frantically in that age-old “no-no-no” way….and shaking my head and stammering “no, no, NO! Master! I didn’t mean…” but He cuts me off with a single word, and that smile.

Yes, that smile.

The one that makes my tummy flip over (as in, OMG I am SO fucked). And that would be the same one that wakes up even the pussy of a sick woman, and makes her sit up and beg for more attention.

I knew it was just a matter of time before He stuffed something up my ass. *le sigh*  It does take my mind off my throat and ear…and at least it was the smaller of the two plugs, right? Not like one of those big old “njoy” metal plugs (I had a pic of one a few stories ago, and kaya uses one on a semi-regular basis (though it looks as though it may become way more than semi-regular…).

And the rule is that I only have to have the plug in while I am writing anything for the next three days. Of course, Tuesday is often the day I do a ton of writing, so that plug will see some more attention come tomorrow. And hopefully my head will be clearer, I’ll be feeling better, and won’t have a whole lotta nothin’ here for all my pervie friends.

Oh.

I do have one thing to share that is pervie good fun. I got my very first glass dildo today. Did you know that if you go to Eden Fantasies and do a search or such, and you’re logged in, that you get credit points? Over time those points add up…(btw this is NOT a commercial for Eden…it is just one of the things I happen to like about them, okay?) Anyway, I would say I go to their website a few times a month. I tend to use their site for “research” for stories…for toys and such..anyway, I’d saved up enough credit points to get $10 off….and I used it to buy my first glass dildo! Here it is, right beside the anal plug that is no longer on my blanket, but is still in a warm place *gigggles* gee. Do ya think my cough meds have kicked in? Yeah, me too.

So, it has these neat swirls around it that don’t seem to be too “much” …but a gently curved head that I hope will hit all the right spots. I can’t try it without permission from the Master…and last time I got a new toy it had to sit and wait for HIM to play with it on me, first. So. We shall see.

And gosh if that is it for “exciting news” here in nillaville?

Pretty fucking boring, eh?

Yeah, I thought so too.

So…I’m going to tuck my tired, stretched, ass into my bed, get a good nights sleep and wake up tomorrow ready to put some titillating words to virtual paper, and help ya’ll get off … on the right foot. Ha ha!

I feel all floaty…kinda like subspace without the fucking…which is kind of a shame, eh?

Okay, before I put YOU to sleep? I’m signing off. Happy Tuesday, pervie peeps of nilla!

 

Ignored

Halfway through the blowjob, the phone rang.

She could tell he was torn between her finishing, and picking up the call.  His phone was across the room on the other table, since she was currently tied to the coffee table. His strokes slowed, then picked up pace again when the phone quieted.

Immediately it began to ring again.

“fuck!” He pulled his cock from her mouth, and for a moment they were connected by a thin string of their mingled fluids.  Then he pulled away, the string broke and fell wetly against her cheek and nose. He picked up the phone, and she tried to ignore the tickle on her nose.

She could tell it was work, likely his overseas contact. Occasional Mandarin scattered through his conversation. With her head upside down, she watched him tuck his cock away, and seem to forget her, tied here.  He went into the kitchen and she heard the fridge open and close, heard him talking, then the slap of the backdoor, and his voice receding.

“Well, doesn’t that suck,” she said to no one. She tugged her left arm, her right, but she was tied tightly. Her legs didn’t so much as wiggle, her knees tied widely apart.  Her tits ached from the clamps pressing on her nipples, but he hadn’t tightened them and for now it was bearable.

But she was almost unbearably horny. She could see the Hitachi in the corner, plugged in and laying as ignored as she was. Her pussy clenched as her nipples throbbed.

“I need to be fucked.” Her neck was starting to ache just a bit. She felt warm breath on her inner thigh.

“What the? Barney? No. NO! Go…git outta here. Go see Daddy. Daddy is in the kitchen. Go. NO, Bad dog. NO!”

Yet the inquisitive pooch was sniffing her exposed and leaking cunt. He pressed his nose right at the top of her slit and sniffed. The sensation tickled and she wriggled. His tongue slipped out and tasted.

He stepped back a bit and angled his head. She raised hers and tried to stare the dumb mutt down.

“No Barney. Go kitchen. Go find Daddy. Daddy has cookies.”

He dropped his head and began lapping at her lower lips.

“Blood of KEERIST!” she yelped, “Sir? MASTER?  STEVEN QUINN MC DOUGLAS!!!!”

Yet nothing seemed to gain her husbands attention, nor dissuaded the pooch from his snack. When he hit her clit she moaned, jolted, and wished he’d do it again.

“OOOh. Ohhh. ogod…good dodoggg..”

She began moaning as his tongue delved deeper, slurping up the sudden rushing of her juices. It was obvious that he was enjoying what he was tasting. His licking grew more frenetic as her hips wiggled as much as she could, trying to help him hit the right spots.  She was moaning, eyes closed as his tongue scraped across her sensitive clit again.

She came, spurting juices, which made the dog lick frantically. It appeared he didn’t want to miss a drop of her nectar. He lapped the tender and ticklish skin of her inner thigh, making her giggle and try to shift away. Tied as she was, she was helpless to evade the brush of his breath, the ceaseless stroking of his tongue.

As the tremors from her orgasm faded, the pain in her nipples grew.  The dog lapped the last of the nectar from her thighs, and moved back into the folds. He used his nose to press deeper, and she felt the unmistakable upwelling of lust once again.

“Gods, Barney, you’re…gonna…oh god…god…” She dropped her head back and began panting. The dog found the entry to her hole and press his tongue into her. She squealed as the second orgasm rippled through her, and at the sudden onslaught of sensitivity. OH her clit was so sore after she came. Hurt, hurt, hurt…and gawd she was coming again, moaning, head thrashing as he drank from her.

“Oh, ohhhh” her voice rose several octaves as she felt more tremors shudder through her. “No no Barney, gods please please stop boy…” She wondered where her husband was. These calls from China often took hours. She would surely expire if someone didn’t call the fucking dog off of her pussy!

“Scat. Go!” Arching up painfully, she glared at the dog. He was paying her no mind. He glanced up as she hissed at him, then ignored her, going back to his snack.

Lapping at the creases between her pussy lips.

Lapping at the pussy honey leaking onto those plump lips.

Lapping at the cleft near the top, and slapping across her clit, once, twice, then again. She came from just that, and he seemed to know that presaged another onrushing of juices. His tongue slipped to the edge of her tunnel, the a long lick from her anus to her clit.

He nosed back to her thighs, and she giggled despite the painful sensitivity of her pussy.

“no. NO POOCH!”

Yelping, moaning, she came again.

A slow, steady clapping came from the doorway. Opening her eyes, she saw Him, leaning one shoulder against the door jamb, watching the scene.

Her voice was raw, husky.

“Master…please make him stop. Please.”

“Hurts, does it?” He well knew how sore, how hypersensitive she was after an orgasm.

She moaned. “yes, Master…hurts.”

“Good, very good slut. I was worried that you would feel that you were being ignored. I see Barney has taken up the slack for me…and you’ve not been ignored after all.”

The dog had stopped, looking up at as his Master had spoken.

“Oh, do carry on, Barney,” He made a gesture to the dog, who seemed to share a smile with his Master, before turning back to the dripping, exposed folds in front of him.

She watched, head upside down, as he walked towards them, and began unzipping his pants.