to feel the grasp of His fingers tangled in my hair. To feel the pull of His desires molding me to His needs.

to feel the rush and surge of adrenaline as the mask slides over my eyes, as I am touched by His hands, His toys.

to feel.

to be.

I dream

of Him pressing me into the corner of the room, squeezing my breast, tugging my nipple.  And of His mouth…on mine, on that nipple, on my neck. Of His teeth, biting into that tender spot on my shoulder….

I dream of the liquid heat of U/us…sweat, and sex juice, tears and saliva; of the silken glide of His body over mine.

A streaming series of vignettes:

Hand in hair, head back, throat exposed, teeth nipping along it

His fist on my tit, while His other hand pinches my arm, guiding me to the bed with both hand holds leaving His mark

His voice, rich and Dommish, as He tells me He will hurt me; that He will stretch my ass and fuck it hard. That I can shake my head no, but that doesn’t matter a whit to Him…He knows me. Knows what a little cunt I am, what a little pain slut I am.

The press of His body on mine as He pins me to the bed, His hand casually holding both my wrists, while His other hand is torturing my clit and pussy…making me cum again and again.

I’ve tried not to think of these things for so long. And now we’re heading closer to the day that I am almost *positive* will work for us…and the dreams begin.

Dreams of lust.

Of sex.

Of dirty, indecent acts, performed with love and dominance and wild sexual abandon.


I lust…


caution…RANT WARNING…..lotta cussing ahead….

Had to do a ‘thing’ in Boston tonight.

nilla does NOT like to drive in Boston. NOT NOT NOT!!!

and when wifey is being a mean wicked bitch? Worser and worser.

grrrrrr fucking asshole bitch.

She didn’t know which way to go??? LIKE HOW THE FUCK WOULD *I* FUCKING KNOW???

(sensing some anger there? yup)

She was holding the fucking directions.  SHE was. Not me, the driver. And no, we don’t have a fucking gps. And she whines coz she doesn’t know how to use her smartphone yet.

That’s not my fault, either, that the phone is smarter than her. So -fucking- there!


So we get lost. Wicked lost.


There’s a fucking Red Sox game and we went ’round Fenway park.

Fucking twice.

Holy fucking hell on earth, people.

Thank god we found a nice cop man, (oooh, sexy man in uniform!) who sent us on the right path…

AFTER 90 fucking minutes lost in Towne.

AFTER my wife yells at me for not knowing which fucking way on Boyalston STreet to fucking go.

How the fuckity fuck fuck should *I* fucking know? I don’t drive into Boston.

So the nice and sexy cop guy, who will give me fantasy fodder for a while (see ? always a silver lining!), got us directed correctly, we found our destination and enjoyed what we went there for.

And came home.

Driving into an intense line of thunderstorms (that had carried a Tornado warning as it came through Vermont and the Berkshires)…

Taking us from 70 mph to around 50 mph…and adding an extra 30 minutes onto our drive home. So here it is, nearly 11 pm and I’ve not had my fucking like day orgasm.

And I’m really hurt by my wife yelling at me. Made me cry. Saying that I was driving crazy…like WTF? I was in the wrong lane. Yes.  I put on my directional and didn’t move out of the lane i was in until i got flagged to go by the guy behind me.  I made a U-turn on a street that wasn’t marked “no U turn” with no oncoming traffic.

How was either of those two things crazy?

We got home and got the kiddo’s to bed, and then I just stopped talking. Told her I was going to bed.

“What? No kiss goodnight?” She says.

“Not feeling very kissy. You were mean to me. Very mean.”

“Well, I was scared.”

“So was I. Didn’t give you free reign to be mean to me, and make me cry, and put me down in front of our children.”

“You talked to me all the way home. And *now* you’re all mad at me again?”

(this said with incredulity)

“I didn’t want to fight in front of the kids. Yes, I ‘m still angry with you.”

(what? she thought it was okay to do that to me, not apologize, and things would be hunky fucking dory?)




Thank you for letting me vent. Or reading my vent. I rarely get that mad. Rarely. Afraid to let that wild thing go, really. But tonight? I’m fucking royally pissed the fuck off.

PS Master has just texted me that I may have an O. I might just call Him to say thanks!


Been a very busy weekend in nilla-ville. They kept sayin’ maybe rain, maybe thunderstorms up here, but never did they materialize…which meant that  a ton of yard and garden work was tackled this weekend.

My back is sore, kinda achy. I have dirt under my toe nails, under my fingernails. I’ve got scrapes and bruises from sticks poking up in the field where our community garden lies, all from gardening. Who knew that planting tomatoes would be an outdoor D/s activity courtesy of Mom Nature? 🙂

And there are pumpkins, and soon, basil and hot peppers, and Indian corn. There was no room in the car this trip to do the last few things…but I got my tomatoes in. I planted the seeds in the house  in March and a second set in early April…and we’ll see. Did less plants than last year, only 13.

Saw Master for 90 minutes Sunday morning. That always lifts my spirits, even though it’s not a “play date”…it’s time to connect and touch and be silly together. And heart wars…of course. (this time? He got me! Hid one in my armpit when He was ticking me. . . funny Man!)

And…I’m on a diet.  I even hate saying it, let alone type it.  But …it needed to happen. Master is overseeing it…He’s said He’s let it go long enough…He loves me no matter my size or shape…and loves playing with all my soft and tender bits…but it was a concern for my health.  So here we go. So far, so good. Good food, whole foods. Lots of good healthy stuff that I’ve been avoiding for a while.

NO more ice cream every night…(yes, that was a not-so-muffled sob in there!)…but I may have one treat a week, and if I get clearance FIRST, and have been good, I *could* earn ice cream. Or a Starbucks vanilla bean frappachino.

Family obligations continue to pile up…but I am hoping for some time to write. I had a wicked idea for a story while driving home from Maine …just about rubbing my hands together in glee over it.

Thanks for reading. For coming back to drivel. For coming back hoping for some GOOD stuff and not all this vanilla-snizzle.  More sexy stuff coming soon.




What were we saying about “out of contact” Panic?

Gosh, we’ve had this discussion before. Aisha has talked about it, just last week.  I’ve talked about it, Andi, and mouse, and…(sorry, tired nilla can’t remember everyone who commented to this thread!) ….so many others….

If we don’t hear from “Them”…we panic. Or feel slightly off-kilter. Or feel…just bad.  Maybe scared. Or disoriented.

Or even, all of the above.

And when it’s our own danged fault? It’s even worse, isn’t it?

I bought a new phone. Not a fancy-dancy thing…this is my cheater phone, after all. And it’s nice, a wee upgrade from the one that is GREAT for texting, but terrible for talking. I read reviews and did all the right stuff before I bought it…trying to make sure that the new phone is good for texting…but ALSO for talking…reception matters when one is having phone sex and you have 5 dropped calls (He was so not happy about that last week!). (a funny aside here…last Friday, after torturing me about not cumming for 20 minutes …just as He gives permission and I *explode*…the phone call drops…and He misses the orgasm.  He was a very unhappy Master about that (‘nilla? I HATE your fucking phone!”)….hence the new phone purchase.)

And then…..when I went to swap the phone, something went horribly wrong and the danged thing didn’t work. Ta-da! Instantly, nilla has NO phone. NO way to contact Master (okay I have the vanilla cell phone but 1. it’s way worse than my cheater phone and 2. it’s just fucking dangerous…not that anyone in my family ever uses or tries to use it…but what if He sent me a text in the car? The fucking thing always vibes or chirps.  (Yeah, I know, I could have turned it off…but what’s the point in that? The text would still be there if I turned the phone on!) That would be the time my wife decides to grab my purse and look for a hankie or something. (Tho she is pretty well-trained to stay out of my purse…that was early on in our relationship….we stay out of each others purses.

Anyway, I digress…

Of course, I do this on a Friday night around 1030 p.m. No tech support (no way to call anyway!), no way to fix it, and can’t transfer back to my other, not-so-good-but-i-could-still-use-it phone. Only allowed one transfer in a 24 hour period.

I use my vanilla phone to text my (required) morning text. Read His reply. Ah, at least there is this very light “touch”…and then I delete them.

And head to Maine, phoneless.

Extremely limited morning contact (5 words), no emails, , nada since Friday night. Nothing coming in during the day.

I’m alone.



Yes, I was sweating. Pacing my room. I couldn’t sleep. I was awake until 130 a.m. fretting about it.

I have felt so…apart and alone today…talk about dependent. Oh, I had a great time in Maine, a nice time with family…but no Master time.  It’s a cruel dichotomy that I was surrounded by people I love, and who love me…and still felt an aching loss.

It’s addiction, isn’t it?


Here it is, very very very late Saturday night and I finally switched back phones….I’ll figure out how to deal with the new phone later in the week when wifey is not around and i have more time.

It’s been an exhausting day, 5 hours of driving (round trip)…thankfully not much traffic…then the Visit with MIL, then home to do stuff around the house.  I don’t like driving as much as I used to, at least not with my wife in the car. She gasps every time I pull into the passing lane. We’re talking, not taking off the cruise control to pass these pokey peeps… within the speed limit. She tells me she just slows down and follows at their pace.

Oh for fucks sake! It’d take forever to get home!! It’s a 3-lane highway. Just typing that irks me. So after she told me that she was “nervous” (I have never had a traffic accident…the one time I was involved in one, they ran a stop sign and plowed into me.) Of course I point that out to her, and then I announce from that point on (the last hour of the drive), “I’m about to change lanes”…which tweeked her a bit … such is life, right?

Underlying all the vanilla stuff was the knowledge that I would not be able to text Him when I got home. I tried with the vanilla phone but coz it was cloudy and humid (and I live in a valley surrounded by granite hills) i had zero reception on that phone…I’d have to go outside to use it. That wasn’t going to happen.

But I’ve gotten the old phone up and running. And sent my text. (and okay, i tried to call but He’s likely in bed by now)

And although I’ve not heard from Him, there is no longer a sense of incipient panic. I have the ability to “reach out and touch”.

These connections have many different connotations, don’t they?


Holiday Weekend…

Memorial Day is always an incredibly busy weekend in my vanilla life. So you won’t see much from me here unless the weather is terrible (it’s not supposed to be).

Lots and lots of gardening, and a flash trek to Maine to visit the MIL (my seasonal complaint…5+ round-trip hours of driving for a 90 minute visit. Sigh.)

But we might hit the beach on the way home, since it is supposed to be HOT!

Then more gardening when we get home.

And…Master and i decided to put our plans for this weekend on hold since we’re both trying to put a lot of vanilla stuff in there too…and it wouldn’t have been a relaxing (relaxing? where the fuck do I come up with those adjectives??! LOL!) time for us. I don’t know about Him, but I don’t want our first time together since FEBRUARY to be a hurried, rushed, frantic affair. If it’s hurried and rushed and frantic and crazed because we can’t keep our hands off each other, that’s one thing, right? But if it’s that way because we’re trying to rush off to other obligations…not so good.

So there’s a dash of sadness in there, which will be replaced by happy in a few weeks when we can be together and have a good time and enjoy one another.

I have stories swirling in my head…and just zero time and opportunity just now to write them…hopefully I’ll grab some time Friday evening, Sat. night …we’ll see how that shakes out.

If I don’t get back here, have a good, safe weekend.

I salute you, Veteran’s, and  those currently serving. Your sacrifice allows me the freedom to write what I write.

Blessed be.



Dominus Litus II

She sat in the Queen Anne chair outside a room that bore a brass plaque with the words “Profundum Officium”. The large double doors were heavily carved, with large brass handles.  She’d been sent an email with this day, this time. It was perfunctory, as if the sender knew she’d show up.

And here she was.

It was a fucking summer camp, after all. Why the preponderance of scene setting, she wondered? Someone took themselves far, far to seriously. And if this was the tenor of the camp, she wasn’t at all certain that it was for her.

She was looking to some scene play, role-playing, fucking, sucking, being beat…the sort of things she might touch on at a Fuck ‘n Munch.  Not that she attended them often. She didn’t really fit with a clique. She was shy on the surface, but underneath? A veritable cauldron of simmering hot needs.

She was, first and foremost, a slut. No, a submissive  slut, she amended. And while she had no issues with being one, she also wasn’t ready to commit to a week of posturing bullshit.

Not her style.

Just. Not.

She figured they were keeping her waiting, hoping to make her edgy and uncomfortable. Maybe even weeding out the faint of heart. Wasn’t going to work with her. Once she decided on a course of action, it was hard to stop her. That included this bullshit routine of keeping her waiting, staring at those imposing doors, making her wonder (with a nervous flutter in her belly) what the fuck lay beyond.

The seat under her ass vibrated. Actually. It jolted. She jumped to her feet with a squeal, and whipped around to  stare accusingly at the plump red velvet cushion as she rubbed her ass.

The chuckle came from behind her, and she turned back to see the doors standing open. A middle-aged man stood there. He looked…normal. Like he could sell insurance or something. Not at all imposing or Domish.

“Well, that certainly got your attention, slut!” His smile was broad. And as he stepped closer, she could see it. Oh, he may not have been a Dom from the stories she liked to read, but there was a look there, deep in his eyes. Pleasure at her distress, however minor.

He waved his hand toward the open doorway.

“Please, do come in.” There was just the smallest hint of sarcasm under what was, undeniably, an order.  She scooted through the doors and he followed her. She wondered if he was staring at her ample ass. Whatever.

**   ***  **

He gestured her to a chair in front of a heavy desk.  She had to admit, she’d half-expected to be ushered to a pillow and be made to kneel. That would have pissed her off.

He sat and picked up a sheaf of papers. She thought she saw her name on the front page. Her application forms.

“your paperwork is in order. You have read and agreed to all the initial terms. I am here to talk with you, face to face, to be certain that you understand.”

“I’m not an idiot!” She almost rose to her feet.

“Don’t interrupt.” His tone was mild, but again, that underlying tone of “order”.  She bristled, but held her tongue…for now.

“It is all well and good to read the paper and sign your name with a flourish at the end, in a ‘fuck you’ kind of gesture.” He paused, looking over the top of his glasses.

It pretty well summed up how she’d felt after printing off 11 pages of forms. Sign this, initial that. Yada yada.

She met his gaze steadily. And finally dropped her eyes to her fingers, clenched in her lap. Quickly her baby-blues flashed back up to him. He had a soft little smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Fucking funny, indeed. Damned arrogant bastard, that’s what he was.

“At camp there are no councilors. There is no “I’m outta here”…for your safety as well as ours.  You will have a safeword in case you have unanticipated issues. In case it is too overwhelming. You’d be escorted to your room, and held there securely until you are able to rejoin the activities.”

“If you are accepted into Dominus Litus, you will do so with a full, working knowledge of what you are getting yourself into…without any specific details. After all, we wouldn’t want to mess up a good fantasy, would we?”

His eyes were hazelnut brown, she saw. In them she saw sincerity…and an odd sort of hunger.

“How do I know if I can even afford this? So far you’ve said nothing about rates or board or…”

He walked over her words.

“Sliding scale, based on your income. Some submissives can afford to pay more. Dominants, the same.  It helps subsidize the camp for those like you, Marissa, who cannot afford an expensive camp experience. “

“I …I don’t see how you make a profit on an arrangement like that. How you pay a staff…pay for food…”

He smiled. “Little manager.” He shook his head, looking at her.

“You won’t be happy until I explain a bit about how this works, I can see.  I own the land. I own a lot of land.  There are no camp councilors…only people who pay for the privilege of attending. The roster will be small, and there will be a perfect balance of Tops and Bottoms….but it will not be robust with people. Think of it as an …”

He paused, smiling at her.

“….an intimate adventure.”


Dominus Litis

Dominus Litis, a kink-camp for submissives! Be watching this space for news and information about enrollment; don’t be left out in the cold…(unless that’s your kink!)

She read the email. How the hell had someone even known to send this to her? Oh, maybe someone was perusing blogsites again. She sent it to the trash.

She awoke in the middle of the night. She dreamed often and vividly. This was a wild dream. A place, in the woods. She was naked. She was being chased. Just as she felt a hand tangle in her hair, she woke up.

She wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad about that. She was, however, wet. Rolling over, she pulled her toybox out and grabbed the blue vibe. It only took a few minutes for her pussy to explode. Tired again, she dropped the toy into the box and flopped over, falling deeply asleep.

In the morning, another email in her box from Dominus Litis. Whoever the fuck DL was, persistent was one keyword. She thought about sending the email, unread, to the trash. Shifting in her seat, she felt the soft rush of pleasure against her sore pussy. And she thought, “what the hell”.

She clicked the link.

Dominus Litis

Cumming soon? Don’t mind my punny ways…if you’re a submissive, you’ll want to think about coming to our camp.

Here, submissives enroll in role-play events that will unfold over the length of your stay.  Stay a weekend, a week, or longer.

Edge-play at it’s best. It isn’t always safe, but isn’t that what makes it fun?

Pre-contracts insure that you will fully express what you can live with after you leave here. Tattoo’s? Body piercings? Rape play?

What do you dream about? Let us weave your fantasy into reality.

She read it again.

Her finger hovered over the delete button, then slid away. A fantasy camp just for submissives? Not a camp where she’d go and see all these other happy couples and feel left out and left wanting. But a real place where she would be played with, and her fantasies played out?

It bore thinking about.


Clothespins on.  Nine of them, across my belly. Wicked ouch. Tit clamps on the nips. Roll to get the dildo. NO Vibe allowed. None.

fucking like crazy, trying to get that orgasm…which kept running away.

ordered to climb the mountain three times and get close but not go over until the third time.

fucking like crazy, trying to capture it, that fucking elusive orgasm.



closer…here little orgasm…come to nilla…yes…closer…closer…seeing spots in my eyes from breathing so hard.

wrist cramps from fucking for so long.

want my viiiiiiibe.

want it.

need it.

how can i cum without it?

fucking, fucking, humping, clenching moaning whining

so close so close.

nipples rise despite the pincering clamps as rain-cold breeze blows in through the fan, pain catchs me unaware and slaps me hard.

fucking fucking fucking so fucking close yes…can…almost…almost….

and it fades.

my pussy was wet.



but it was poised just there on the verge…and would not, could not, fall over.


it’s only happened once or twice before to me. once had to stop coz of Orgasm migraine.  (ever had that…it’s tremendously painful, like getting an axe in your head…)

And once when i first started masturbating a few years ago…i fell asleep with the dildo in my pussy and woke up incredibly turned on at 4 a.m. (when I finished the job!).

Never ever had a “fail” while under Master’s care.

How depressing.

He, on the other hand, is ecstatic. He loves that this happened. That He could orchestrate a fail that left me so physically frustrated…i’m so horny, so turned on i’d…hump a chair. I’ve not sat much today coz that only makes it worse. So I’m done typing here.

I’m not allowed to get off…despite it being Like Day…not until He allows.

Until then I guess I’ll go chew the rug or something.