One More “just nilla” post before the writing deluge begins..

So…Sunday at Starbucks.


I was laughing and giggling and giddy. It’s been two weeks since we had any time together. We talked and shared and I drank a frappachino and we sat in the hot sun.

He pinched my arm so fucking hard.





Yeah. About that hard. He does this thing where He can catch just a wee bit of flesh…He starts with a bit of meat from my under upper arm (doesn’t that sound strange?) and pinches, and slowly pulls His hand away until only this tiny little bit of skin is being held…not quite by his fingernails…but almost…and it hurts so much that I’m gasping and speechless and totally unaware that He is steering me towards a seat by this “micro-grip”…and as He pushes me down into the seat, He lets His fucking fingers pop off..

LOUD groan.

And He does it so sneakily that no one really sees what the fuck He is doing. It merely looks like He is assisting me to my seat, such a gentleman. Clever. He is sneaky and clever, that Master of mine!!   And the bruise is up under my arm where no one will see, but where I feel it with every movement of my arm. Gods, He pinches so hard!!

I know, I said it already. Trust me, it bears repeating.

So, there we sit on the Starbucks patio, and He says…”when you drove here, you drove past the place where I went to that car show a few weeks ago.”

I nod, remembering seeing the sign, and He smiles up at me, and says “You want to see the car slide show?”

Boys and cars…I do not grok the fascination of it. A car takes a person ¬†from point A to point B. We use them to shuttle stuff from the hardware store, the grocery, whatever. They have no status to me. ¬†Not coz I’m a girl but because I could give a shit. I’m just not a “car” girl.

It’s a fucking car.

He hands me His Blackberry. There’s a picture of a “Cobra”…*shrug* what-th-fuck-evah…and the slideshow doesn’t work.

I hand it back to Him, He fiddles some more, telling me more about the car, the cost, the retrofitting…I dunno what all.

It’s a fucking box on 4 wheels, right?


So…He fixes the slide show and shows me the thing again. I nod and smile and try to act a little interested. The picture slides into the next. ¬†O. More boxes on wheels. Neat. ¬†Blue.

I try to find something nice to say, when the picture changes again.

I look. ¬†I blink. What? What the fuck kind of car….I turn the Blackberry in my hand so I ¬†can try to figure out what it is…






A picture of me, blindfolded and kneeling,  with cum on my tits.  The photo slides off, and a new one appears.  Another of me, a  fat, black cock between my lips. Then, another, my head tilted as I lick His balls. And another, my tongue out, lapping his shaft.

It spins out through the entire adventure with Guest Dom, Sir P.  Master is leaning back in His seat,  watching me like a hawk, laughing at my face, my mouth a big round O of surprise, and my face flushed from a very different kind of heat.

Hand shaking, I hand it back to Him after the scene resets to the cars.

We “chat” about that for a while, as He tweaks me about the “show”….He laughs, sitting back, the King in His throne, ¬†totally at ease. No…really? He is the Lion with the mouse caught in its claws…He’s got me, He knows it. He’s stirred me up, turned me on, surprised me, to be sure. I’ve seen all those pics before, but to have them roll out like that? No, that was a surprise.

“Master? How did you…I mean…I had no idea you knew how to do this sort of thing…” My voice trails off before I accidentally insult Him, in my shock.

“I’ve been practicing with my Blackberry, ” ¬†He says with a rouge-ish grin on His face. “It even takes…video…” and He waggles His eyebrows at me, and smiles.

There is a moment, a pause.  You know, the one you feel building as you wait for the other shoe to drop? Yeah, that one. His twinkling eyes transfix me, a moth to the flame.  He leans forward a bit, looking deep into my eyes.

“You know, nilla, for the¬†next¬† time a guest Dom shows up…”