“Last night I masturbated. I pretended that her  His hand was touching my clit.”

Dru sighed. How fucking…..Boring.

All those other sex blogs she read had content.  And here she was, struggling to write all the dark and dastardly words down. On cyberpaper, fercrissakes. She looked at her blog header.


“Yeah. Right. Drusilla writes a whole lotta nuthin’!”

She was mad at herself. Every other sex blogger used those words. Cunt. Pussy, Dick. Asshole.

Taking a deep breath, she backed out the prior, lame-assed sentence, and  pounded out the words in her head…

“Why is this so fucking hard? I want to write the sexy stuff….but I’m struggling. I want this. I want to open up and let the dark stuff out. I’m NOT abnormal for feeling this way. Fuck!”

She sat and wrote what was really in her heart. Of lust and desire and wanting.

Frustrated, she hit what she thought was the “save” key. Instead, she published her very first post. Shutting her laptop without glancing at it, she went to bed and masturbated herself to sleep.


She woke, glad it was Saturday. The sun poured in through her window; she rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head. The robins outside her window had been busy, and cheerily called to one another.

Fucking birds.

She sat up, and slid off the side of her bed. Her thighs were sticky, her clit a bit tender. She’d had several O’s last night, all revolving around her fantasy man. Gods he turned her the fuck on.

Pee first, she thought, though she flicked on her computer as she went past it.

Relieved, she came back to the edge of the bed, pulling her laptop close. Well, time to see about finishing that very first blogpost. She couldn’t call herself a sex blogger if….

What the fuck?

She had a post up. She didn’t recall that. Not only that, but she had a comment, too.

Dear Dru… imagine my surprise finding you had a blog. I don’t think it a wise idea for you to post a blog with your name on it, on the internet. It’s far to easy to google people these days…which is how *I* found it. I can see we need to have a long and thoughtful conversation ASAP. Call me. Soon.  Nick.

She gasped.   Oh. My. Gawed. Her boss had found her one and only sex post.

And it was about him.

In Love with a Sadist

(this is  my 1100th post…wow! I’ve not forgotten about Camp, either…big home renov. project is taking almost all my time and energies…but it’s not been shelved, okay? ~nilla~)


Another Sunday, another meet at Starbucks….ah, t’was a lovely afternoon.

Master stayed a bit longer than He intended to…we do amuse one another. But eventually he needed to go. It was kind of funny, me walking Him out to the car for a change! I still had hours to kill…and a novel to work on (yes, it is not dead! It lives. It needs editing. I hate editing.)

We went out and talked beside his car for a few minutes. He’s been admiring the last lingering traces of the biting bruises on my upper arms. And doesn’t he fucking *poke* me in the middle of the still-kinda-sore one? Not once. Oh, no. Again. And again. And again.

I’m dancing and giggling, and there HE is, popping my upper arms with His wicked thumbs. O. OUCH!

By night, I have aching upper arms. Really. It hurts a lot. And the bruises that were fading?

OH. Not any more. Deeply purple by last night, they are…very very dark and painful today. And I will remember that I am an owned slut the entire time I work on painting my living room today, every time I lift my arm, every stroke of the paintbrush, every dip into the can of paint.

I smile as I write this, nearly 24 hours later..remembering Him  smiling, and laughing as He tormented me (okay, I was giggling too…but then again, I am a pain slut!), a Sadist at play.

And I’m glad, after 3 years, that this sort of thing is not mundane. There is always something fresh to be discovered with Him.

Or maybe He’s just fresh.


Whatever it is, I like it.

Bruised arm muscles and all.

Lazy Cunt

She’d been naughty.

Okay, perhaps worse than naughty. Disobedient. Mouthy.

He really hated the naughty. But he really, really disliked the mouthy. It had been a long week, with the house work, the…house work…the..house work.

She was bored, and edging for a fight.

But she hadn’t expected him to take her by the hair, and drag her down cellar. She moaned. It fucking hurt! She went down the steps quickly, head canted to the side. He was pissed; it was pouring off of him in waves.  They paused as he fumbled with the padlock to the dungeon. He pitched the lock on the long toy table as he pulled her into the room. It landed with a clatter on the stack of toys that she’d meant to put away.

And hadn’t.

“I’m gonna ream your fucking ass!”  he growled at her, swinging her around and showing her the mess. “Put things in their proper place, slut. How many times do I need to tell you? Put this shit away…or I will and it won’t be up on the wall. I’ll pound that whip handle so far up your ass you’ll be walking like a fucking duck. He picked up a cane, and pulling her head back, slapped at her tit. It stung, even through the tee-shirt.

“Lift it fucking up.”

She obeyed, hoisting it up to her chin.

“Wap! Fwap! fwap!”

Each stinging slap against her tit made her hiss in pain, and squirm. His hold on her hair was unrelenting. It was stand there and take it or get her hair ripped out by the roots.

Her right tit was throbbing like a toothache when he threw the cane back onto the cluttered table.

“Over,” He barked, pulling her top half over the short horse. Finally he released her hair; only a dozen or so pulled out of her head as he walked around behind her. She yelped, but cried out louder as his hand swatted her ass hard. He fumbled under her, unfastening her shorts, and tugged them down. He left her purple lace panties.  In  a moment he had affixed one of the ankle cuffs to her ankle, widening her stance as she hung over the frame. She felt very vulnerable. Her pussy and ass were popped up, as her head and hands hung low over the frame he had specially made for this sort of play.

His feet came into her view, standing by her head. He looped a rope around her wrists, rough and quick. Looping it through the U-ring bolted to the floor, she was now unable to rise, unable to stop the inevitable “reaming” what ever the fuck that meant.

She heard him dialing his cell phone. What the fuck?

No. No. Not Edward. Ed had long had fantasies about fucking her; they had often joked about it. He’d kept it in abeyance as a potential punishment. Or so he’d said. She had assumed he was joking.

It wasn’t more than 5 minutes later that their neighbor came clattering down the steps of the cellar.

“Call it.” There was a sound, the clatter of a coin against the floor. “Tails,” said Edward.

“Tails it is. And tail you will have, my friend.  There it is…have at it.”

She was mortified. Way beyond mortified. There was a sharp slap against her ass. Her head was lifted at the same time, by her hair. She whimpered. Master’s cock was in front of her. Another slap on her ass, then she could feel the crotch of her panties tugged aside.

“I can’t wait. Man, I just can’t wait to fuck this pussy!”

She would have made a sarcastic rejoinder, but as if He knew it, he shoved his cock between her lips.

She felt the press of a cock against her pussy lips, and shivered. In seconds he was cramming his hot hard pole deep inside her fuck tunnel, even as her Master was doing the same in her mouth.

“Wait till Ralph gets here,” her Master said quietly. He looked down into her eyes.   “And Andy, and Billy, Joe, and Pete.  I just sent a text out to all my poker buddies. You’re going to be a verrry busy girl tonight, slut. And when you’re done being fucked in every fucking hole, stretched and filled with cum…you’ll go upstairs, clean up, and then bring your damned pussy back downstairs and clean up down here. Of course, the guys will still be here; or if they leave, they’ll likely come back. My, won’t you be busy, fulfilling yourself. Just laying down here and being filled with cock. You see, slut,   I’m done with the fuck ups and excuses. It’s time you learned, cunt, about the consequences of being a fucking lazy slut. You want to lay around all day? You got it. You’ll spend all of tonight, and as much time as anyone wants  tomorrow laying around, open and available for whomever wants to fuck you. We’ll see if your attitude has improved by Monday.”

“Well, I hope not,” grunted Ed. “I won’t be the neighbor calling to borrow just your lawn mower anymore…”

Master’s laugh was echoed in the pulse of his cock as he fucked down into her throat.  She wondered if he made that up to scare  her. She didn’t know if she could handle it, being fucked by all his friends. He’d always said her ass was his. Ed was hammering into her pussy, grunting each time his pelvis hit her ass, burying his shaft deep into her soft belly.

Upstairs she heard the backdoor slap shut, and footsteps crossing the kitchen floor over her head, even as her Master’s cock began to pulse in her throat.

“Every drop in your belly, my little whore.” She swallowed, loving the taste of him. Then swallowed the nerves that were building in her throat as she heard the backdoor slam shut again.

He hadn’t been kidding, after all.

“Master? Please?”

“Yes, you will please…every one of them.”





Bound and Gagged

The slip loop for the first knot slid over the shiny heel of her stiletto.  He’d cuffed her to the heavy steel hook in the centerbeam of the dungeon. Her arms were feeling a bit thick, her fingers tingled.

“You keep that fucking heel on the floor, you grok?”

She grokked.

He tugged the rope taut as He wove it up and around her calf twice, then just under her knee. As He pulled the rope to the front of her leg, He kicked out that foot, bending her knee up and quickly looping the loose end around her bent leg. The heel of the stiletto almost poked her ass. She felt Him fiddling, then the sudden tightening as He drew the rope tight.

The coil behind her knee pressed against the tender flesh just behind there, and she moaned a little.

“Hmm, that’s going to be a huge pain the ass in a while, isn’t it?”

She heard the amusement in His voice. Like He cared if it was uncomfortable. She rolled her eyes, and flinched as He flicked one bare nipple.

“OW!” Balanced on one thin six-inch heel, she daren’t move too much, lest she wind up dangling by her cuffed wrists. He flicked like a whip with those talented fingers; it stung when He did it.

It felt like hours, but was no more than a quarter-hour before her second leg was tied up and out, exposing her pussy, and leaving her swinging from the harness He’d built around her with the rope. She felt the comforting bite of it, cocooning her as she swung gently.

Reaching into His tool bag, He pulled out a pair of clamps.

With bells.

Oh how fucking embarrassing.

“Sir…must You?”

His eyebrow raised.

“Now that you mention it, slut, yes. And since you’re such a smart-mouthed bitch today, let me add another. He dug back into the bag; sure enough there was a third. Crossing to her, He affixed a clamp on her nipple, sliding the lock-ring higher, and higher until she grunted with the stress of the bite. They were small, but intense fuckers.

He made the second one even a bit tighter. She whimpered.  He took her leg, pushed her around so He stood facing her ass, and squatted. His fingers pinched her pussy lips, her clit.  His thumb traced the wetness oozing from her hole.

“What a fucking slut you are. All tied up and ready for cock, aren’t you?!”

As He chuckled, He fixed the last jingling clamp on her clit. It wasn’t as tight as her nipples, but she felt it.  He slid the blindfold over her eyes, and slapped her ass., then gave a hard shove.  Jingling as she swayed back and forth, she grew disoriented fast. Grabbing her extended leg, He shoved her hard in the opposite direction. She squealed, losing her equilibrium, and getting dizzy, as the bells jingled happily.

She lost sense of where He was, where she was, and she cried out when He grabbed her legs, bringing her to an abrupt halt. She felt her head spinning, her heart racing, her clit and nipples throbbing.

And then His cock was at her lips. “You complain too much, slut. Time for your Master to shut you up. Now you’re just as I like you…bound…and gagged.”

The sound of the jangling bells rang as merrily as his laughter as he silenced her with his cock.


He has this laugh.

It’s sexy. It’s hawt. It comes on rare occasions, when I manage to surprise Him. There is more than a hint of danger in that laugh. It makes my toes curl, my heart flop over, and my pussy quiver.

I heard it Tuesday night.

We’ve been processing what happened Sunday. Talking a lot about it. He knows how very turned on I was/am/continue to be.

He read me the “report card” from the Guest Dom. He asked if I wanted to touch my clit.

um. yes.


So He gave permission. Doled out the report in bits and pieces. Discussed certain key points. Would stop in the middle of a sentence.

“How’s my clit? Is that pussy wet?”

I’d tell Him, and add that I was getting close.

“Well, I should hope so.” He says, and goes back to the report as if there had not been a break at all. My breathing gets more and more ragged. Fuck yoga…I was full-out sexed up…and it wasn’t long before I was begging for permission to cum.

Which, thankfully, He gave.

And then told me to keep playing with my (now very sensitive) clit.

Going back to the report, He gives His impressions, His grades to my performance. And lets me know that there could well be a follow-up in my future. (the guest Dom has asked about it, too).

“Are you ready to cum again?”

“Yes Master.”

“Oh, good. Then go ahead.”

And He laughs that wicked laugh as I cum again, hard. And even gives me permission to have another O after we hang up.


Did I mention how sexed up I was? Terribly. My pussy is still tender, just 48 hours after being well used, slapped, pinched, grabbed and fucked. But I have been so incredibly turned on…it’s been crazy.

But I have one more question to ask before we end our call for the night.


“Yes nilla?” His voice is a sexy almost-growl. I hear the answer of that call in my bitten shoulders, still throbby. And between my soaked thighs. It is the call of one mate to another, a visceral kind of thing.

“Next time…I want…would You…perhaps…” I stop nervously. Wary of topping from the bottom. Yet knowing He wants to know what’s in my head.

We’d talked about my liking His hurting me. I like when He hits me. I really like it. He’d said, laying with tangled limbs, that His challenge was in not hitting me too hard…He’d like more, but He needed to hold back, to keep from damaging me.

I lay in my little bed, pussy throbbing as I prepare to ask for more.

“Please,” I almost whisper, “please, Master, will You…hurt me more next time? Hit me harder, treat me harsher?”

There is a moment of silence. I wonder if He has led me here, or my very ownership of being a masochist has caused me to take this path. I assume the second…the first proposes a style that He is not comfortable with, a form of subterfuge. He is WAY more open about His plans with me, if only to continue to keep me simmering.

And then He laughs.

The laugh of hunger, and Dominance. The Lion, laughing before He consumes his prey. A laugh of delight, and want.

It only makes me crave Him more.

I am well and truly Mastered.



forced, pressured, nor tricked.


harmed, ignorant, nor unaware.

Not fantasy

~not any longer~

He spins a dirty tale

into reality.

He sets the stage, and finds


the One who will be his tool.


Not upset. Not unhappy.

I am ….happy

~ alive ~

so fucking alive!

The pictures roll through my mind,

not “me“…but

Master’s sex toy.

Sucking the dick

of this stranger, at the behest of my Master,

I am NOT less than before,

but wholly, completely, His.

This is my fantasy made real, Master’s gift to me, to U/us.

Eating the cock of a man whose face I do not know,

fulfilling the oft-dreamt desire

to be

so used~

this is me after all


a submissive slut.

A dirty girl.

A cunt.

And a sex toy!

Master, I love You

more than my words can ever say.

Thank You for this gift.

Act One

Time stands still.

She sits, hands in her lap as He has directed her. The blindfold snuffs out the daylight in the room beyond. The television across the room blares out its political drivel; it was on to drown out her cries, she knows. From before, when she first came into the room with Him, and He drove her ruthlessly over the edge and into orgasm. On loudly to drown out the moans and mewlings of pleasure, as His hand works between her slapped-apart thighs, her nose pressed to the wall.

It is loud to drown out her yelps of pain when He hits her. To drown out the sound of His hand striking the round white bottom of her, and the sounds she makes when His toys smack ruthlessly upon her exposed flesh…thighs and ass, arms and tits.

For now the only sound is the television, blaring across the room.

She measures each breath as she was taught in yoga, drawing slow, deep, purposeful inhalations to help quiet her racing heart. He’s gone. He’s been in and out several times, answering His phone where she cannot hear the conversation.

There is no time, only breath.

There is no fear; she trusts Him implicitly. There are nerves, and they well up, through her breathing, racing her heart and making her shiver. Her nipples bead into tight pearls, then relax again when her breath calms.

The sound of the key-card in the lock is loud. Or perhaps she is only attuned to it. The door opens, the sound of nearly silent feet. The pressure of air moving across her bare shoulders as the door opens, then closes.

Outside, she sits, poised and perfect as He has set her to be. Inside she is a morass of emotions. Fear rises, is suppressed.  Nerves make her skin feel sensitive. As He begins to speak, she swallows hard, trying to loosen the grip of emotions tying up her throat. She daren’t move; He has bid her to sit, to remain just so, and don’t fucking move.

His voice is firm. “This is my slut. Slut, this is Sir D.”

She cannot speak. It is real. The scene has moved from fantasy to reality. He wants her to speak, she can feel it. But there is that lump in her throat that prohibits speech. And the swirling roil of thoughts suddenly jangled in her head that prevents rational comment.  Yet, they are waiting. Weakly, her hand lifts from her thigh. “Hello Sir” she barely whispers.

She feels him approach. Which Him is it? The hands are gentle but firm on her head, pulling her forward. She can feel the heat of Him. But the smell of him is not that of her Master.

He directs her. “Put your hand here.”

“Unzip this.”

“Reach inside and take out my cock.”

“That’s a good girl. Take out my big cock.”

“mmmm. Put in in your mouth, slut.”

She obeys. She is excited, nervous. She’s being tested here, auditioned. There is  the worry that she will let down her Master in some way. And then…there is no time for anything except being in the moment, the moment that his girthy cock fills her mouth, stretches her ruby lips around the shaft, and gags her.

The hands continue to hold her head, driving his thick pole into the recesses of her mouth, her throat. She coughs around it, gags, which makes him moan. He holds her there for a minute. She doesn’t let herself pull away…or she hopes not.

The puddle grows between her legs, and she knows there will be a wet spot on the couch.

As if he could read her mind, he pulls her foward. “On your knees! Lick my balls! Suck them into your mouth. Yeah..yeah…good. Lick the shaft…good slut..”

She laps, licks, sucks. He is different in taste, size and texture from her Master. She can’t tell from her gloved hand, but her mouth knows.  His voice comes from long away, even as his hand presses her hard against his groin.

“Take out your tits. I wanna see your tits.” She obeys, tugging them from her bra. She feels the rub of the heavy black lace on the underside of her breasts, the pinching grab of his hands. As she sucks, he tugs. As she gags, he pulls.  Her knees ache, but she doesn’t feel it, not really. It’s just part of the now. Another layer to the sensation sandwich she is consuming.

When he bids her to rise, takes her hands and pulls her across the room, she knows there is more to come. Much, much more.



i dressed early, just a short while after arriving in the room. We’d driven together this time, something very out of the usual. He had his bags of toys, and I had mine. Remembering, i put the hairbrush on the counter next to my makeup bag.

i’m not stupid enough to put it out on the bed, you know! That fucking thing HURTS! So while i didn’t exactly hide  it…i didn’t put it out in open invitation.

He looks me over, nodding His approval.

. and…i feel…i feel alive, and special, slutty and beautiful. He puts the blindfold over my eyes, pushes me to the wall and starts. Denial of orgasms for 4 days is a lot for me. In seconds, His hand on my clit, his finger just pushing my lips apart, i cum, right into His cupped hand.  He laughs, calls me a slut. Lets me see the wad of cum in his hand.


He wipes it on my shoulder.

Next thing you know, my ass is getting whacked. Good, hard, firm swats. I never see the blows coming. He hits the same spot on my left cheek for like…100 times. Okay, He’ll tell you it was maybe 10. It only felt like 100 coz He hit so fucking hard! ON the right cheek? He hit all over the place. So now my ass is crooked. Usually I don’t mind blow-disparity. It’s a fucking turn on for me. But he managed to hit, on that poor left cheek, dead-on my “sit bone”…so I feel it every time my rump is in a chair.  Won’t that make yoga special?

There are tit clamps, and that fucking  hairbrush (yes, He found it!) , SFCT, and His bare hand. Hair pulling, breast pinching (and squeezing and biting). And poking. OMG. That Man pokes like…like …??? i’m at a loss for words! I have dozens (yes, dozens!) of  Master-finger-sized bruises all over my body from Him poking me. I’ve been sending Him texts for WEEKS that just said “poke”…usually when I hadn’t heard from Him in a while.

He’d promised retribution. I assumed He’d forget. Yeah. Right. You’re right, I know exactly what you are thinking now…”geeze nilla…you’re not usually that dumb a slut!”

Usually…no. But He’s been busy. And it was just a little thing. Not something He’d reallly, reallllly  remember. Right?

Payback, it is said, is a bitch. I’m here to tell you, payback is really a Dom. *nodding* A Dom with an extremely strong “poke”.

It was a good day. There were MANY adventures I don’t have my wits about me to fully tell. But some really big things happened. And lots of little ones too. He is a big, mean-assed Dom sometimes. And others? Sweet. Kind.  He kissed my mouth so tenderly.  And then He bit the shit out of my shoulder! Deeeeeep bites that will stay bruised for a week or more. The kind that hurt for days coz He got deep in the muscle. The kind that will make me whimper when I do a plank in yoga class. The kind that make me remember His mouth and teeth on my body with every arm movement…and make me wet all over again.

18 hours later….

This may sound funny, but overall, he was gentle with me. OH, i am plenty bruised. PLENTY sore. There are events that are yet to be processed, and approved by him for sharing. Stories and pictures to share…but all in good time.

I know, I feel your impatience! You’ll just have to add your voice to the chorus of pleas to get Him to allow me to tell you more…though I suspect He will allow much of the tale to be spoken…eventually.

(how’s that for a teaser, eh?!)

Lust Dance

You’re reading. Maybe lifting your coffee or tea mug to your lips as you tune in to see what devious story nilla has spun today?

Ah, but today is not a devious story created by me, but for me.

Today, I am with my Master.

Not just tea at Starbucks, but behind-the-door with Him.  His fist in my hair, His body on mine, with my Master.  Absolutely Fucking- A-awesome! I’ll be flying high tonight, drunk on pain and sex. I’ll be weak and shaking-handed tomorrow, and likely unable to think coherently (unless I have time to pre-write for ya’ll…if not, I know you’ll understand my hazed condition!)

Master spends time the week before a meet…preparing me. Mind fucks abound. Teasing. Hints of torture. Little ….things He says. Things He does. Sexing me up with His words, and texts, only to leave me hanging…shaking with wanton desire. The rampant need to cum only surpassed by my unrelenting admiration for the pure deviousness of this Master of mine.

I’ll let you in on a behind the scenes, during the week scenario He spins for me.

You know I’m not allowed to orgasm on Thursday. (ZNN Day) Which  usually runs into late  Friday evening, until He either has phone sex with me and allows me to cum, or gives me permission to masturbate. This depends on his schedule, primarily. So, most weeks, no Orgasms for about 48-50 hours.

Thursday, I’m slogging through vanilla stuff. A mandatory meeting. Helping a friend out with a ride. Yada, yada. And some house renovation preparations.  He texts me.

BTW…might have a guest DOM cock for you to suck on Sunday.

That was it. Right there in the middle of  ZNN.  A commingled rush of lust and fear and nerves.

Later He says “no promises….” because He isn’t sure of this other D’s availability. But once more, that rush of lust and fear and …submission.  I’m so turned on. And I tell Him. And it’s torture, to be so turned on, and have it be ZNN.

He loves hearing that.


He’s ramped up the “torment” this week. Sunday night? I ask and receive permission for an O.  He says he’ll generously increase that. Coz my care is His responsibility. I get an O…and a half.

The half MUST be taken last.

Then no O on Monday, just that constant state of arousal.

On Tuesday He gives me two O’s. But since He really, really likes me on Tuesdays… He’ll bump that up to 2…and a half. The half to be taken …last.  Then ….He amends it further.

I get a choice!

(He says that in the same tone of voice that announces the WINNER!)

I  may take just one single O. No halfies at all. But only ONE orgasm.

Orrrrrrr…I can take two Orgasms…plus the half O, which must be taken at the end.

We chat. He tells me to take my hand off my nipple and listen up.  How He knew? I’ll never know. I don’t play with my nipples that much. I don’t.  Between that little “gotcha”…and the CHOICE….when He hangs up the phone, I can hear  the smug in His voice. So sure I’ll bite for the bigger number. So certain  that I’ll self-torture myself so that I get that extra Orgasm.

No. Won’t.

I’m not gonna. Nope. Not me.

I peg and clamp and…soon it’s apparent.  Oh hell.  I’m going to go for it. I HAVE to. …I know one O won’t be enough. I’ve been in a constant state of arousal for almost 49 hours. I’m desperate enough to take the sucker deal.

Whoa. The two O’s come smack dab back to back. I know there is another just laying under the surface….yet I have to jerk away at the last second, crying and moaning with my own need, and my bargain with the Devil.

Wednesday I’m given another O.


And a half.

See the pattern here? He is making me nearly insensate with lust. You’d not believe the number of typo’s I’ve corrected in this, already. It’s amazing. It’s frustrating. He knows me so frikking well.

So, as sub-sis aisha says, I’ve been “holding the tension” all this week. Slipping and sliding down that slippery slope that is the lust I feel for this Man. Wet, throbbing, wanting…I am a wanton, craven whore. He doesn’t MAKE me that…I do it all on my own.

But He knows *exactly* which buttons to push, which knobs to turn, to ratchet me up to a level that is almost unbearable…then eases me back down…then sends me flying back up. It is the most excruciatingly amazing, exacting dance that we do.

And I have absolutely no doubt as to which of us is Leading.