True-Life Tuesday

“goodnight Master”

you get some good sleep, little girl

“i have to write my blog entry…”

wait…didn’t you tell everyone in blogland that you’d be taking vacation days? That you weren’t going to be caught up in it? Didn’t sin tell you “it’s not a job”? Didn’t you say you needed a break?



“But Master, i kind of am taking a break…writing micro-fiction…”


Yes, Master. You know…I was writing 1500-1800 word posts before, and now the stories are short, like 300-400 words.


Yes Master?

micro fiction is …12 words. That’s all you get. Twelve words. Then go the fuck to bed.


And that is the genesis of yesterday’s mini post. And today I have more words from the Man.

We were talking about orgasms, just at the very end of the blog part of the conversation. I was being reminded that He’d taken my Monday O…because He can…and that even if I stayed awake until midnight,on our “Like” day…i was still out of luck.

you can’t have it until *I* give it back to you. Not even if it’s 12:01:01, but when I decide to hand it back to you. Then, and only then, may you have an O.

It’s one of those  little things that He does, that just stirs me up and makes me crazy horny…

and of course He knows it.

(i’m such a lucky slut!)

He Hurt Me….

We met at “Our” Starbucks.  The weather today was gorgeous. Gorgeous. We met early, and it was warm enough to wear a tee-shirt and summer skirt. I got his coffee, my tea, and sat and read email while I awaited his arrival.

I was reading aisha’s post when I felt something in my hair.

Warmth in New England in April presages the dreaded black flies. Just a millisecond before I flicked it away, I turned.

Thank gawd.

It was Master! Not a black fly at all! (thank gawd I didn’t swat HIM!)

We kissed, and talked, and we did computer work together.

I showed him some shoes I’ve been oogling (none passed his discerning, one might be tempted to say “picky” point of view.) He rises from his chair and comes to stand behind me,

and pinches my under arm flesh so hard it made my eyes tear. Not only did he pinch


he did the fucking twist too!!


All the while calmly telling me this wouldn’t do, because of this, and that. I think that first pinch went on for 45 seconds or more. I kind of stopped breathing in the middle, as if that was gonna help.

The more prominent top bruise was from that first pinching.

There were others. Always shielding what he was doing to  me by using his body to block customers view. Once he was breathing against my neck and it looked like so much “cooing and billing”….


It was fucking awesome.

Painful, oy yes.

Verrah Verrah VERRAH painful.

My arms still hurt, and I wonder what they will look like tomorrow. I should have them still on me when I go to NYC on the weekend…and that will give me something to remember Him by, which was his plan.

It worked.

Now, I’d love to stay and chat…

but I have a masturbation to attend to and it’s “get it done by midnight or tis lost!”

I have no intention of losing this Orgasm…I’ve been hot n horny all day !!


(I know, hard to picture, right?)




It is, So Deal.

I know the phrase “It is what it is” strikes resonance with some…and rabid hatred with others.

Yet today?

It really is what it is.

It is not something I can change. I have no power over this…this “is”. I can only deal with the repercussions of “it”.

I had hoped that today would be a play-day for Master and I.


It’s not.

We’re catching a bit of time to be together at Starbucks…time for a cup of tea, that sort of thing. It was to be the first time behind closed doors since early February.

But it doesn’t work for Him, ergo…it can’t happen.

And I’m pulling up my big girl panties and dealing with it. It comes on the heels of two weeks totally apart, since last weekend we didn’t hook up at all due to Easter.  So I’m feeling particularly vulnerable and needy just now.

And I know it will help immensely just to see Him. To smell Him. To kiss Him. All the tangibles that make each of us unique individuals.

No playtime for nilla.


That’s not exactly a pout. Nor a scowl. It’s me dealing. And sad.


Why wouldn’t I be sad, right? I *fucking* miss  Him.

I miss His hands on me, the pain, the pleasure. The gliding of skin on skin. The ritual of dressing for Him. The Wall. The beating. The fucking. The tender kisses as we lay entwined.

It will be June before we get any playtime. Every weekend is spoken for from here on out, until then. That sucks, eh?

It is what it is.

I can’t change it, I can only (submissively) accept it, and move forward.

It’ll be two weeks after today before we can have face time again, as I have an obligation next weekend.

Am I moaning here?



I’m entitled to moan. I miss my Man. I miss my Master.

And lest any of you think He’s neglecting me…oh, He isn’t. He’s still holding my orgasms in His pocket. He deals them out when He deems it appropriate. I got nothin’ last night.

He knows I’m tired. It’s been a crazy week for me. And I’d have orgasms if He let me…but He wants me in bed. And working on sleeping.

He teases me with thoughts of things to come someday…the rimming story earlier this week was borne from that….my coping with understanding the whole idea of of rimming.

Understanding the submission of it.

Understanding my extremely confusing reaction to it.



Grossed out.

But still…turned on.

He … manages me.

So…even when I feel alone? I really never am. Master is there…in every orgasm I get…or am denied…in the food choices I make, and even how late I stay up.

I guess…I can deal with the sadness of not “being” with Him…because really? I’m never fully without Him at all.




His hand reached out to caress her tit.

She rose to her toes with a squeal as the caress became a meaty squeeze, crushing her tender flesh in his large hand.

He laughed.

“You make the cutest noises.”

She danced on her toes as the squeeze became more, a vise-grip on her breast, the nipple cleverly caught between two fingers, low, near his palm. The squeal became a gutteral moan, then a cry of pain.

“Please! OW! Oh Please Sir…”

With a last firm pulse of his hand, he released the tit, and sought its mate.

A New Task


she leaned closer to him

“Get your mouth over here. CLOSER I said, dammit!”

she leaned forward. Trying to reach his balls in this position,  as he lay on his belly, legs spread wasn’t their usual way of cock worship.

“Stick out that little pink tongue.”

She did.

“Now, into my ass, slut.”




How’s that for short ‘n sweet…(okay perhaps sweet isn’t the *right* word in this instance? !!)  54 words makes that extreme micro-fiction. But. In this case…although I like the shock of the spare form of this…I decided to make this a wee bit longer.



Version Two


She fell to her knees, eyes looking up as she had been taught. Hands cuffed behind her, she sank as gracefully as possible, hoping to please Him.  He looked down at her, his face serious. She wondered what she had done wrong.

Or maybe she was just presuming.


She heard the buckle of his belt coming undone, yet never broke contact with His eyes.  She hated that. It made her feel particularly vulnerable when He held her eyes that way. As if He was looking deep inside of her into a part of her that she barely knew.

He broke the contact, bending to remove his slacks, folding them carefully. He crossed the room to lay them on the dresser for her to deal with later. She watched him, silent, back straight, sitting back on her heels. She ignored the stretch in her hamstrings, and the ache in her left knee. She accepted these small aches as part of her service to Him.

He had the greatest ass. It was tight, and compact in his gray briefs. They clung to him in a way that made her mouth water with hunger. She couldn’t see his cock from here, but she imagined the bulging bulk of it under the front of the tight-fitting underwear.

Her nipples tightened, even as her pussy loosened and moistened.

He slipped off his socks, shirt, and finally the underpants. Nude, He was glorious. His belly was slightly rounded, but his arms were tight and strong. His hair was short-cropped, a hold-over from his youthful days in the military.  His eyes were watchful, and expressive, conveying so much with a single glance.

He watched her, the way a fox eyes a chipmunk, as he crossed the room towards her. His cock sprang from the nest of hair, a weapon half-drawn.  With a half-smile, he climbed up on the bed, and lay belly down.
“A new task, tonight, slut.”

“yes Master.” Her voice was soft, agreeable.

“come closer.” He peered over his shoulder. Braced on his forearms, he watched her move until her torso pressed into the bed. He scooted down, a leg pressing against each side of her head. The position allowed him the ability to lock her head in place with his powerful thighs, if he so chose.

“Stick your nose into my asscrack and sniff.”

She …


“NOW” He barked at her. Then smiled to himself as he felt her warm little nose pressing into his crack.   Felt the soft snuffling inhalations.

“Good. Now, get that tongue out and start lapping. Make your way down to my rosebud and  make it good.”

Instantly she complied. Inwardly she shuddered.

Submission was where the rubber met the road, she thought. And where she accepted His treatment of her wasn’t always what she wanted.

But was always what she needed.

She stuck out her tongue, and tasted his ass, and felt the juice of her pussy run down the inside of her thigh.

HNT 4/12/12 Naughty, Under it All

I sat in church on Easter Sunday. My faith tradition does not carry the burden of  “original sin”, nor guilts us into hating ourselves for what we are.

We are accepted as “humans”…with human emotions, feelings, needs and desires.


Not sure if anyone understands the full desires of the Vanillamom down front in her lace top and skirt.

Because underneath all the “nice”….

……………………….there is a very naughty slut, dressed in black lace,

for her Master.

from Master of nilla! Tuesday Texts..

Dateline: Tuesday night

I was at a loss as to what to write.

During our evening phone call, He suggested sharing “A Day of Texts” between Himself and His slut nilla. My texts are obvious…and His return texts are in the quotes under each of mine.

I’d say more about this, but I’ll get you started with the first of many of Master’s words to me….

nilla, shut up!

Tuesday Texts

Sneak peak at bulbous cleavage hiding under Jean jacket-yeaaaaaaaaa!

Just hanin' out...

Major bulbous nipple show-yeaaaaaaaaa!

Bulbous cleavage straining purple support nets poorly hidden behind red hair draperies-Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

OMG – run bulbous cleavage sans nipple peak-a-boo – you’re almost free of the purple harness – run!


(Last text of the day from nilla to her Master)



From Master:  Miss tomorrow’s HNT at your own peril…..!


Her skin was sheened with sweat. Hair hung in matted clumps. Red welts competed with blue bruises on her body.

It had been a savage encounter.

Her breath heaved in and out, as she hung there at His whim. The dull thud of her pulse in her wrists and ankles was drowned by the roar in her ass and back. He’d beaten her hard.

She’d cum hard, too.

He stood close enough that she felt the heat of him. A fine welter of goosebumps rose along her shoulder where His breath tickled. Her breath drew in sharply at the whisper of touch as His tongue tasted of her salty dew.

It tickled her shoulder, and aroused her.

His hand gathered her hair and pulled her head back and away, baring the side of her neck to His mouth. He sucked tender flesh through His hungering lips, nipping gently along the racing pulse-line. The sharp sting of pain as His mouth moved down the slender column heightened the sharp tug of desire there at the juncture of her splayed legs.

She felt the wetness slicking her inner thighs.

His mouth, ravaging now, tasted of the sweat He’d born out of her body. The sudden change, from gentle nips to intense grip made her arch, moaning. His teeth sank deep into that tender spot where neck and shoulder met.

She whimpered as she came.


Here’s an Original Title for a Blogpost: Monday!


It’s Sunday night. I’m in a funny sort of mood. A bit of sad, melancholy.  It has been a good day here in Vanillaville. Egg hunts and spiffy dressed kids for church.

A  spiritual leader for paganism around these parts came to church today. He isn’t that much older than I am; he is now wheelchair bound, and seems to be losing his 3 year battle with cancer. It shocked me to see how much He has changed.

All day I’ve been on this fast-moving pendulum. I am horny and want/need an orgasm. And on the other side of this is S, dying.

I spent time today feeling guilty about feeling so horny. And in my head is S, frail of body but still, so robust of spirit. Will he die soon? I don’t know. But it came to me over the last hour or so that S embraces all forms of life in his life.

And being sexual is definitely a part of that life.

And really it doesn’t matter if my form of sexual may be considered by some as “deviant” …right now I consider many right-wing Republicans as deviant, so that just evens the playing field, yanno?

I won’t answer all your beautiful responses to my posts this weekend, just now. The weekend has been full to bursting with my vanilla life, and I’ve only had odd moments to even check email. I will respond to each and every one tomorrow (Monday). And that’s kind of what this blogcation thing is all about, right?

I have stories to write, already I’m feeling an upsurge there, and have even captured the essence of several of them on paper. This week I hope to have time to finish a few of them (including Felicitations!)…but I’m not putting pressure on myself. It’s very early on Sunday night. I won’t get an O tonight, per Master. We might (cross your fingers!) get to spend time together behind closed doors next Sunday. I’m expecting a nearly O-less week.

So…I’ve decided that  I’m going to bed.

Happy New Week, my pervie friends.

(ps in case you all wondered…I did get FIVE orgasms from Master on part two of FNF!!)

(sneaky Bastard that He is!)

(Anonymous? Thank You.)