It was a thing that she had never dared to do. The monthly munch often had contests, and she had thought from time to time of trying them. But she didn’t have a regular Dom, she didn’t have a big “exhibitionist” fetish, and she wasn’t at all into public play.

She could blame it on the drinking, maybe. The weather was cold and raw and wet, the week had been long and frustrating and busy. Here, at last, was a chance to unwind and just be. Not the good little office machine…but just a woman.

Okay, a slut, but still a woman.

The sign on the door had made her roll her eyes.

“A Tip for a Tit”

Tit Contest Tonight!

Are you “sub” enough to submit to titty torment? Are you Dom enough to make them squeal?

Sign up at the bar!

(all proceeds donated to Breast Cancer Research:

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month!)

She’d had a drink. And another. And the fine print under the sign read “all proceeds to go to breast cancer research”.  And somehow her name and a $20 bill had gone across the bar to Mick, who had collected both with a smile and a “good luck, lass!”

Which explained why she was standing here, hands tied behind her back and her shirt neatly folded over them. A Domme paced before the group,  gearing them up. She’d flick a nipple here, encourage good posture there.  Twelve women, all the same as her, wrists bound, tits thrust forward. A crowd had gathered, and Jess didn’t know if it was the giggles and pointing, or the drinks, but she felt a rush of lust between her legs that shocked her.

She was not an exhibitionist!

The Master of Ceremonies, Sir Malcolm, came to the front of the stage to face the twelve women.

“You have chosen of your own free will to submit?”

Twelve heads nodded nearly simultaneously.

“You have all paid the price of admission, and I thank you for your donations. Soon you will pay an even dearer price,” and he turned to the audience with a snicker. They laughed.

“Bids have been taken from Masters and Mistresses who have chosen to winnow you down from the twelve, to the one. The One will receive a special prize, but I won’t go into detail now. You have chosen to submit…and so you shall.”

He paused a moment, looking at each woman carefully.

“The safeword for tonight’s contest is RED. R-E-D. Got it? When you’ve had enough, bow out by saying the safeword. You can safeword at any point in the contest. The contest is over when the last of the two safewords. Understood, subgirls?”

Again, all twelve heads nodded, nearly at the same time.  She almost rolled her eyes, a dozen dumb sluts- it was the makings of a joke, somewhere.  Yet there she was, smiling and nodding along with the rest of them.

Okay, it was more of a grimace. What the fuck had she been thinking? Geezuz. Blame it on the alcohol, but when she saw the first Dom step up with the wicked-looking riding crop, it shocked her sober.

He went down the line, smacking each tit firmly. Twelve girls, 24 quick slaps of the quirt. And He paced back, hitting a bit faster, a bit harder. Two girls down from her, a tiny-breasted brunette gasped as He hit her nipple and yelped “RED!” loud enough to be heard in Wisconsin.

Clarissa almost rolled her eyes. Yet, everyone’s pain was different. Mistress Nyte released the sub, catching Clarissa’s half-frown and winking at her, out of view of the audience. The crowd had doubled, avid eyes staring at the women bound on the stage. All of them had pink slashes on their tits. The Master was allowed one more forward and return trek across the stage. She hissed a terse ‘fuck’ as he struck her nipple firmly, and felt the answering jolt in her pussy.

She’d always been turned on by nipple pain.

Each Dom or Mistress had paid for a chance to titty-whip the volunteers on stage. One by one they dropped subs, some trying valiantly to not cry, others holding their beaten boobs as they went off-stage, drooling snot and tears down their faces.

Clarissa hissed as a Domme hit her hard, cross-hatching over her first pass. There was no rule as to which tit, or how many blows they could land as they moved down the line, and this Domme had hit her quite a few extra times.

The proof of that lay, not only in the red cords of welts, but in the trail of sex juice that was leaking from her in a steady stream. She’d had two orgasms already. The Domme leaned close to speak into her ear.

“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? Cumming like a slut all over the stage floor? Tsk.” With a smile, she struck hard across Clarissa’s left nipple, rousing a surge of lust and a loud yelp from her. Blessedly, she moved on, finishing her pass on the stage.  A loud moan at the far end of the group made her look down there. She was surprised to see that there were only four girls left, including herself, and one was even now safewording out.

“REally?” drawled the Domme? “Say it again so all can hear you, girl.”

“Red.” Her voice faint with pain, the blonde at the end with what had to be triple E knockers gave up. There was a rousing cheer for her effort, as she was escorted from the stage.

“And then there were three.” Sir Malcolm faced the audience, waving at the three girls with a flourish.

“Shall we take bids on which one leaves first? Silent bids please, and the girls will now be blindfolded.” At his words, three of the participants slid blindfolds over the remaining sluts, blinding them to the proceedings.

Clarissa hated blindfolds, she much preferred to see what was coming at her. But she wasn’t writing the rulebook here. There was assorted shuffling up on stage, and the sudden and shocking feeling of a fiery explosion on her right tit.

She yelped, even as she was struck again.

“Fucking ass!” She hollered. There was a second of shocked silence, then hilarity as her words were repeated. She heard feet, and another girl yelling. And the third girl, once struck, crying “Red, RED, RED!”

How was it even possible that she was one of the two finalists? The thought came and went as a series of slashes against her thrust out tits took her breath away.

The orgasm was vibrant, and vocal. She was lost in sensation, even as fingers came to touch her.

“What a slut you are! Dirty girl…cumming all over my stage?” He spoke quietly, but she recognized Sir Malcolm.  Another sharp blow made her cry out in a sharp ululation of pain. Then he moved off and she heard the other girl cry as well. She wasn’t sure what the fuck he was using, but it fucking A hurt!

And suddenly, the other girl cried out “RED! FUcking RED!”

The crowd was wildly chanting, and hands came and tangled in her hair as her mouth was resoundingly kissed. A hand rubbed at her pussy as a tongue claimed her mouth, and she came, hard against the probing fingers. That hand rubbed her wetness on her tits, making the welts sting.

Her hands were freed, and her blindfold removed.

“Congratulate our winning slut! Thank you for your generous donations; we’ve raised $1000 for breast cancer research. A portion of that is going to buy wax for several of the whips used tonight…”

The crowd laughed. Sir Malcolm had a way of making everyone happy.

“and you, my dear little slut,” He looked down at her, “have won an evening with me as your boon companion.”

She swallowed hard. Sir Malcolm was a very  popular fixture at these events. And he was going to stay with her? And here she’d been thinking about leaving soon…

“Your obligations for tomorrow?”

She blinked. Tomorrow?

“I..uh…” Geezes, she sounded like a stupid teeny bopper. She was dazzled. And pain-high. And horny as fuck-all. Her brain had fallen out somewhere. She shook her head.

“I have no idea. I…”

He smiled down at her, tolerant.

“It was brave of you to come out of your shell that way and try something new. I’ve been watching you for quite a while. I would never have guessed that tonight would be your blossoming, but you did good, girl.”

“I’d like to take you home. Or to your home. Get to know you better. You never stay long at the play parties, or the munches, but I would like you to be my companion. That is your reward, little one. For coming out of your shell. For baring far more than your tits.”

Dazzled, she nodded up at him. Who would have thought that showing her boobs, and getting titty-beaten would have brought her to this place?

This she no longer “blamed” on the alcohol.

He pinched one bruised nipple, and lead her across the floor to the bar. Pushing her into a stool, he stood looking down at her as the bartender offered two glasses of wine.

“To new adventures, little one,” he said, his eyes intense. She smiled, tipped her glass to his, and sipped.

“And to fucking good times ahead, Sir,” she said impudently.

“Indeed,” He replied with a grin.

And pinched her nipple until she squealed.

The Sleeping Sadist

There was a time, quite awhile ago now, when I believed my Master was not a Sadist. It was a bad time for us, for me. In my head, I wanted all my fantasies to play out….and they weren’t.

Yet, given time, healing, and a forward progression of our relationship, things have evolved and changed…and from time to time I catch a glimpse of the Sadist that He keeps tightly in control.

We’ll go along for a while, and I’ll get lulled into a false sense of vanilla. We’ll talk for a long while, for days and days, about His day, my day, about life, and our families, and the chances for nilla to get an O that day…or not. That’s about the extent of the BD/sm . Last night was no exception.

“How are you really nilla? On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the best?”

I pondered that for a heartbeat. “Well, Master, it’s got to be a 10…because I’m talking to You. That always perks me up.”

There is a moment, and then He probes deeper. “And if we weren’t talking?”

“a 4, Master,” I say.

We talk about why, and what I can do to manage my stress, and that “touch”, His nurturing and caring,  helps me.

And then out of the blue comes the Sadist.

“Okay, how about a….chance, then? A nice opportunity for the tired little girl?”

I can hear the change in His voice. There is heat suddenly, and all my senses go on high alert. Sure, He cares about my stress. But something has awoken the Beast, and I know that the “opportunity” will do several things…it will remind me of my place, and it will reinforce His hold on me. And it will be some kind of sadistic thing to take my mind off my troubles, and focus on the “troubles” that He creates.

“Okay, Master, what kind of deal?” I can almost see Him rubbing His hands together in glee.

“You’ve been doing clit-flicks all day on the hour.”

“oh, YES, Sir, I have indeed!” I’d texted Him several times how fucking aroused I was. I’d missed the chance for an orgasm with a wrong guess on Wednesday night (and now as I write this I’m all kinds of horny and turned on…poor little slut!), and the clit flicking was just ratcheting up the game. By the time I got halfway through the noon flicks (12 at noon) I was hitting wetness…which He found delightful.

“Here are your choices. And it’s entirely, entirely,  up to you to decide, nilla. It’s almost 10 now. You can choose to do your 10, 11, and midnight flicks all at 10:00, or you can stay up until 11, and just do the 11 and midnight flicks, or you can stay up until midnight and just do each on the hour, which gives you a bit of recovery time. You KNOW I want these end of the day flicks to be HARD and intentional. RIGHT on the clit. No cheating (I never do cheat…if I miss, I re-flick).”

“Oh Master,” I kind of moan, “there is no way I could stay up to 11:00 let alone midnight. I have to be up early Friday, and up early Saturday…”

“So, you’ll do 33 flicks at 10?”

I wince.


“Yes, Master.  Thirty-fucking-three flicks at 10.”

“Well, get with it, and go, slut. It’s 10:10 now. Goodnight slut!”

“Yanno, Master,” I say before we say our final good nights, “I used to doubt that You were a sadist. A Dom, sure….but a sadist? Not so much.”

“I take it you’ve revised that opinion?” He says, amused.

“oh, YEESSS, Master, I have indeed,” I say vehemently.

“Good.” There is a brief pause.

“Because you know nilla, we’ve barely just begun….”


HNT Embarrassment

Part of me does NOT want to do this. But there is the other part of me that is a bit turned on by the embarrassment. It’s not quite humiliation, perhaps a wee step away from that.

Master and I took very few pics during our last playday. This was one of the (unfortunate) ones that did, and is one of His favorites….did I mention that He is a sick, sick Man? :). You’ll note there is quite a bit of pink on my butt even at this early part of our playtime….

M says: “Gives a “hole” new meaning to channel surfing”

Fucking Asshole

some dragon for today…..tastes good with…your favorite topping…~nilla~, laughing evilly…..

The ropes bit into her wrists and ankles. She could always count on Andy to secure her well, but this was fucking ridiculous. As she’d stepped from the kitchen to the bedroom, He’d grabbed her from behind, scaring the shit out of her, blindfolded her with that fucking hood, and thrown her on the bed. Things got a bit hazy then, as she struggled with Him, but also for breath.

It was hard to feel excited and turned on over the annoyance factor. She had a shit day, her boss was a fucking asshole. She’d said that about him in the break room, ranting about what a jerk-off he was. Nitpicking her work to death, it was like working for a cranky 2-year-old sometimes. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like that. All she wanted now was a glass of wine, to kick off her heels and peel down her hose and unwind a bit. Yet, here she was, tied down and unable to vent to her lover about her crapper of a day.  She couldn’t complain because he’d used the ball gag over the fucking hood. Mostly, she had to concentrate on breathing. She tugged her wrist.

Not going to budge.

She took another breath, slowly through the cloth over her face. Something tickled the bottom of her foot. He’d taken off her shoes? She hadn’t realized that. She tried to kick it away. Fruitless. She hated being tickled.

She’d told him that innumerable times. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered. She wasn’t feeling submissive, she was feeling pissed.

She tried to say “leave me the fuck alone, you prick” but all that came out was a muffled “woh woh a-woh”. There was no verbal answer but she felt his presence. She really hated when he did that. Totally ignored her until she wanted to shriek.

Oh, she was in no mood for this today. She tossed her head, and tugged her arms and legs furiously for thirty seconds, a minute. Nothing. He’d tied her securely. She growled, screeched, scrubbed her head around.


She lay, unable to pant, out of breath. She trembled. She shook with a rage that rose in her belly. There was a press between her splayed thighs. She shook her head, no. She was angry, annoyed, frustrated. How dared he do this to her. The fucking bastard!


He watched her struggle on the bed, arms crossed. Oh, she was truly pissed.

This was going to be some fun.


She had no idea how long she fought before exhaustion, and futility made her relax.  She felt the hood sticking to her cheeks where tears had dampened them.

There was the sound of snipping from across the room. He wouldn’t. But now she wasn’t at all sure that he wouldn’t. The floorboard creaked under his weight as he crossed the room towards her. She felt the faint vibration of the scissors as he snipped the front of her blouse. It cut through the thin fabric like a hot knife passed through butter.  There was the cold touch of the back of the blade against her belly, then it was gone, and her shirt was peeled away. A warm finger slid under her bra, between her tits, and in seconds, the snick of the scissors and the sudden release as her bra was severed, and the weight of her tits popped sideways.  The cooler air of the room teased her nipples hard, as he tugged her skirt up around her waist.

He had yet to speak a single word, and she was surprised that arousal was fluttering its way through her annoyance. He’d never treated her this way before.

It was strangely erotic. A bit of fear, a lot of anger, and total helplessness was mixing her up. She was mad. She was turned on. She was annoyed. She was wet.

The fucking scissors were employed to cut away her hose and panties at the crotch.  There was the touch of fingers as he grabbed the sides of the slit he’d cut, and then the tug and sound of ripping as he opened a larger portal.

In moments, she felt the press of a cock against her folds, and the sudden jolt as he slid inside her.

This was not her boyfriend’s cock.

She inhaled sharply as the long fat shaft filled her. It was…uncomfortably large. She felt stretched, and very full. She tossed her head, and tried to jolt him off of her, but he only chuckled and pressed his torso harder against the opening of her hole, thrusting another inch or two into her. She grunted at the size of him filling her. Over-filling her. She winced under the hood, trying to will her body to relax. She wondered who the fuck this was.

Was this one of Andy’s games?

They’d “double-teamed” her before, he and his best friend. But this wasn’t Seth’s cock either. Thought fled as he pulled out, then battered deeply inside her warm belly. She grunted around the gag. Fingers found her tits, kneading them like bread dough.  There was a pinch on her left nipple, then the hot wetness of a mouth. The sucking of his mouth and the pistoning of his hips sent waves of sensation through her.

She felt the orgasm building, building. Fingers slid down her body, squeezing between their joined bodies, to rub at her clit. She came apart, body arching, fingers curling into fists as the climax roared through her. The mouth on her tit sucked hard, as his teeth worked around her flesh, nipping and biting. The finger continued to rub her clit furiously, painfully. She tried to breathe, to gasp, to say noooooo, it was ohtoo sensitive…but another orgasm ripped through her.

And then his hands were on her hips as he pounded into her, withdrew and pounded again. The third orgasm drained her, made her see stars.

He pulled out with a wet sucking sound.

Fingers spread her wetness down, and around her asshole. One finger, then another circled and played around that tight hole. She squeezed her eyes shut, and whimpered.

Noooo…the thought of that giant cock filling her ass had her struggling again, but the fingers continued to move in and out of her rectum, stretching her, loosening her. Three fingers, then four and her body began pressing down, urging them deeper. His free hand circled her clit, never quite rubbing that spot, until he jabbed those four fingers deeply into her asshole, making her groan around the gag.

Her clit was attacked, rubbed roughly.

The orgasm made her faint, but she roused quickly as the head of his swollen rod pressed inside the tightest of her holes.  He pressed into her, relentless. She growled, but the gag muffled it. He shoved his dick into her helpless ass, and slid home. Whimpers and tears came, but her clit throbbed. His fingers played with her clit, her nipples. He slapped her pussy, then withdrew, and thrust inside. She felt her body stretch and relax, and felt another orgasm building inside her.


But the hard cock in her ass pressed on, building speed, becoming rougher, greedier as it dug deeply into her tight hole. Her head jolted as her body was taken, used.

He was rough at the end, brutally fucking into her bum. He was close, almost there. His fingers bit into her tits, leaving bruises, pinching moans from her as he grabbed her nipples, tugging her tits together, pressing his face into them and biting the tender flesh. His rough crotch hairs rubbed along her pussy, and she came, a flooding orgasm like she’d never experienced before.


He lay on top of her, and reached around to unfasten her gag, and tug the hood off her face. She was a mess, snot and tears and drool over her face. Her mascara had run, black rubs along her cheeks. Her eyes, red and puffy, stared up at her boss.

“Now you know the truth; I am  a fucking asshole. Or rather, I was fucking your asshole. And…you certainly enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

She, for once, had nothing to say.


His cell phone rang as he pulled into the garage at his condo.  He smiled when he saw who was calling.

“Hey Andy. Yes. Oh, hell yes. She was a fucking animal. Yes. We’ll have to do it again sometime. Soon.”



“Fucking asshole bastard!”

Her head was yanked back by her ponytail.

“Were you talking to me, slut?” His voice was soft, dangerously soft, and amused. He was always most scary to her then. When he was in full control. When she wasn’t. Her heart raced, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes stared into his, as his eyebrow quirked up a notch at her hesitation.

“So, I’m an asshole bastard now, am I?”  There was a pause, and she distinctly felt the soft heat of pussy juice trickle down the inside of her thigh. The heat of his breath against her cheek, the weight of his hand at her throat. Her wrists throbbed, wrapped tightly in the leather ties, but she didn’t dare to move. Her heart skipped a beat as his other hand pinched her nipple. He did it slowly, crushing the tiny bud between his fingers as if it were an insect. Her eyes closed as she moaned.

“Am I?” he asked again, a hint of impatience in his voice.

“Yes,” she whispered, “you are.”

“Good girl.” He stepped out of her viewpoint, but she heard the snap of  his whip as he chuckled.

“Fucking asshole bastard. Has a nice ring to it, actually, slut.”

She didn’t, couldn’t reply. The stinging blow on her ass stole her breath, and though her mouth opened and closed,  nothing came out but a puff of breath.

story writing has taken a backseat to real life lately. I have a bunch of things in my head, and Master’s tale to write (He wants it done well, not raced through to get it done, and has given me another extension…but not for too long), and some old things to finish up…and there just hasn’t been a moment to do anything. This little vignette was born from something aisha wrote about on Monday, about the physical manifestations of arousal when we’re faced with our Top. It’s not too long, and we don’t know much of their story, but I wanted to capture the images before they slipped into the ether. 

Forced Orgasm Blog


That’s how someone searches for me, if not daily, then pretty often. Is it you? I don’t mind at all, you know. So don’t feel you need to out yourself here. I think it’s cute. And hot. Hawt.

You all are reading and wondering where is the story I need to write for Master, aren’t you? I have a one day reprieve. I accomplished a MAJOR milestone today in my renovation project, and I was tired. Psyched, but tired. Sometimes, in my head, I forget I’m not in my 20’s anymore. Doing big projects tires me out. Not that I’m complaining about my age…I am loving my 50’s. Just don’t have the stamina I had back in the day. So, major accomplishments come with a bucketful of tired.

And the Patriot’s are playing …or attempting to…I came to bed at half-time because I’m tired and I was stressing too much. But I know Master is glued to the screen. He may not yell much, but He gets pretty invested in the game. *I* yell a ton, and that’s not good with the kids in bed. Best for me to be up here, and talking to you guys.

So what’s up?

I got to be with Master for a bit tonight. It was something we’d planned on, not a play day, just a wee bit of face time. I was going to meet Him at the gym, but as I was driving, I had a feeling. At a stop light, I checked my phone. Yes, there was a text from Him. A “Change In Plans” text, that makes me feel all fretful, worried.

There, I didn’t even know what it was about and I was already feeling crestfallen.  Jump the gun much, nilla? uh huh.

I called Him. And immediately am relieved. He still wants to meet.


I needed to go to Starbucks now, and He’d be there waiting for me. And He was. As soon as I got there, He ordered me into His car. “Change in plans” He says, and that is all. We chat about this and that as He drives.

He’s taking back roads, beautiful area where He lives. And we pull up in front of a farmstand.

An Ice Cream stand.

He’s taken me on an outing to get an ice cream cone!! He’d told me that one day He would…and this was the day. It was a chilly evening, and we stood and licked our ice creams, and looked at the cows. He has such a dirty mind. I do love that about Him. And we were talking about cows fucking (which made me laugh aisha, and Donna, regarding our prior emails about animal fucking….) (won’t people get to wondering about that, eh? LOL!), and I was just giggling. It was fun. We didn’t stay terribly long, just long enough to munch them down to nubbins, and then got in the car because we were both chilled to the marrow.

And He drove me back to my car, and we kissed, and He tickled me, the fucking brute. 🙂 I do hate being tickled. Kinda. Sorta. Okay, not by Him. But kinda. It’s confusing, and I don’t feel like pondering on that tonight.

We’re sitting in His car and I’m about to go.

“Oh, Master! You know what I really, really  want to do?”

I lean against Him and bat my eyelashes at Him. He sighs, rolls His eyes.

“What, nilla?” He says at last.

“I want to write You an orgasm report tomorrow,” I say, my voice chipper and hopeful.

He laughs.

“Clever slut. To write that report, you’d have to have an O tonight…” to which I nod and smile encouragingly.

“I know,” He says, His eyes dancing. Rut roe. “How about you write the report as IF you had the O…and don’t?”

Oh, He doesn’t like being manipulated. And I so was trying to (yes, I can admit to it!). And I laughed, and pleaded.

And then He had me tell Him my O report from last night, since He hadn’t had time to read the one I sent Him this morning. I’ve not missed sending even ONE!. Talking the report is something I have a hard time doing. I had to explain that my masturbation was short and frenetic, for two reasons. I didn’t even have time to build a proper fantasy! First, I was racing the clock. It was getting ever closer to midnight and that is the end of my opportunity to cum for that day. AND….it was lightning outside. And who whats to die with a vibe (a plug-in vibe) in their pussy? That’s the kind of stuff they put on Fox news, yanno?

So I told Him straight up. No fantasy Master, just this fucking-fucking-fucking, get that vibe going, and hanging. I had to hang and hang and hang…and I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it and there was this wicked flash of lighting and I thought, I’m gonna die doing this, and then I pictured YOU there saying “for fucks sake nilla, cum NOW” and I did.

He nods sagely.

And yes, I said it just like I typed it, one giantly long run-on sentence. And it was hard enough to get it out. Talking my masturbation is painfully hard for me.

Writing them is way easier.

“Well, tonight you’ll have plenty of time for your orgasm, slut.”

I jump in and thank Him immediately. And then wonder about the long time part.

“Because, you’ll have the small plug up your ass. Clamps on your nipples. No vibe. NO vibe, got it?”  I nod, yes. “And finger fucking. It will take you a good, long time to get there tonight nilla. Fingerfuck.”

I sigh.

Truly, fingerfucking is not fun for me. I have short arms. It’s difficult. And frustrating.  Forced orgasm? Forced fingerfucking. Forced to do it HIS way.  And it takes for-fucking-ever to cum.

He knows.

He just likes it that way.



Thank You…and Blessed Be

Lots of feedback about my ponderings the other day, and I wanted to say thank you. Glad to know I am not alone having these midnight mental ramblings.

I promise to respond to all of your delightful comments at some point soon…weekends are always fairly frenetic around here, and I have a writing assignment for Sunday that Master has told me must be done by tomorrow, a work of fiction to be posted here before midnight.

I love when He does that to me. 🙂

I wanted to wish you all a blessed Autumn (or Spring for those of you living other side of the equatorial line!). For us living in the Northern Hemisphere, this is the season for change. Some are subtle, like the days growing incrementally shorter. Some are more obvious. Cold snaps that mean the heat has to pop on, even just for the morning. Trees begin to pop with color.  There’s already a lot of color in the Northeast, a wee bit earlier than in the last few years. And so many other things that bespeak Fall–raking, and pumpkins and hay bales on the front step…and those assortment of odd-looking gourds that we’d never think about eating, yet put decoratively around the house or yard. Who thought that  putting weird shiny vegetables with warts on them was “decorative”? Hmmm? *shudders* They look like aliens to me. *nods* Well, they do!

I’ve had change too…lost 10 pounds, and cut my hair dramatically. (Yes, I did!)

Wishing you dry air and plentiful sunshine (well, not at night mind you…else we’ll be back to the whole “sun going supernova” thought from the other night, won’t we? *grin*), and a bountiful harvest, whatever you have sown this summer.

As for me, I’ve counted my blessings and they are profuse. There’s you all, and my heartsisters, and my subsisters. There is my family, of course, that almost goes without saying.

And woven through the fabric of everything is Master. He is part of every inhalation I take, a part of every pulse of blood that slips through my veins. He fills me, takes me to new places, dares me, challenges me, makes me sweat, makes me tremble, fills me with joy.

Blessed Mabon, one and all.



Wow, what a week.

I think I finally have my head out of subspace. Although I do still tend to float off into my memories from time to time. Kinda sounds like an old lady sitting on her porch shelling peas, rather than a slut recalling a beating, doesn’t it?

Last night I had a wicked bout of insomnia (tea at 10:30 is never a good idea) and I was thinking deep thoughts. About the meaning of life. My life. About the sun exploding and snuffing us all out. About the Mayan calendar. About *my* impact in both worlds that I straddle.

I give good story here, I think. I’ve helped with orgasms, and ideas. I’ve shared my story with you all. The ups and downs of my journey as a submissive. I hope it has amused and entertained you, because I’ve certainly enjoyed thinking aloud here.

Where am I going with this? Not sure, since I never sit down with a plan. Just rolling with things. Bear with me!

I’m a fretter. I’ll bet you knew that, right? I fret over small stuff sometimes, but I’ve worked really hard at letting the inconsequentials go. There are a lot of them, clamoring to get in.  I don’t care if people remember me 20 years from now…”oh remember that slut who wrote all that smut?” or 100 years from now. I never wanted to be a famous person because I really like solitude. I miss that quiet time in my life.

I started a new job in the evenings, and that’s helped. I work by myself, and get to putter around a beautiful old building. I have my Saturday job, and love that one too. I have a good life. A lot of working time, and not so much down time, but really I like to be busy. My free time is spent working on a home renovation project that may not be finished in my lifetime (although the two contractors who are coming to do technical stuff have promised to come next week to finish their part so I can finish my part…but I’m not holding my breath). Actually, it’s coming together really well, and the hardest part of the task is behind me. Already the space is better than it’s been all summer, and I am really trying to get it done before Thanksgiving.

And things with Master are good. Better than good. As we roll into October we have our anniversary, tho neither of us remembers the day we started “talking” online. It was likely at the end of September because we’d tried to meet in October, and November and December.  Three years under our belt. Well, under His belt, LOL!

I guess I was thinking about how lucky I am, too, as I lay there in the dark, knowing all the people I love were sleeping soundly. My kids snoring at the other side of the house, my Master went to bed early, my sub-sisters were involved with their significant others,  and there I was thinking of all these blessings. Family, Master, friends, home, pets.

We’re standing on the cusp of Autumn here in the northeast, a time of shifting weather, shifting seasons. And this is way more introspective of  a post than I’m sure you all are used to seeing here.  Soon there will be stories to write (Master has me “on orders” to create something for this weekend), and naughty tales to tickle your tastebuds.

Or your …whatevers. 🙂

Maybe after the energy surge of a season shifting my head will quiet down a bit, and I’ll worry a bit less about the world ending. 🙂

But for now?

Just a quiet nilla, pondering.

Header Toys HNT

Most of you may recall that wordwitch and her Dom, Wolf, sent me…or rather, my Master, a care package. The header picture shows them, ranked in order of my curiosity about them.

Master had me think about them, touch them, then arrange them in the order that made sense to me.

Right after dinner, I ran upstairs and got donned out in my slut outfit, and zipped back downstairs.  But before I zipped down, I laid out all the “goodie bag” stuff in the order of curiosity upon my bed. You read yesterday of the “warm up” spanking, while He watched football, and I got paddled.

I didn’t mention Him pulling me roughly to the floor, fingering me, and leaving me gasping on the edge of an orgasm, as He stepped away and laughed at my dishabille.

“you’re a mess, girl,” He says, shaking with laughter.


Why do they like to mess us up like that? *sigh*

Eventually He shuts off the tv and we go upstairs. He sees the bed and smiles. My room is very tiny, with slanted walls. Not much “swing space” so to speak.

I thank the Goddess for that.

He grabs me by my hair and orders me onto the bed. There’s been some tit pinching and some tit slapping, and ass pinching between things, but now He is all business.

And He’s dressed. His shoes are shiny. His pants are neatly pressed. His polo shirt is immaculate. He looks…like a man of business. It is a huge fucking turn on.

In point of fact, our evening together was mostly focused on pain. He finger fucked me, He used His double-insertion vibe on me, but He didn’t fuck me.

Didn’t have me suck His cock.

It was like a fantasy I’d read some time ago.

The Professional Dom. (Or somesuch like that.)

He took the first whip up into His hand. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Him checking it out. Running the falls through His fingers.  Telling me how nice it….


was constructed. How soft the….


falls were. Aren’t they, nilla?

I can’t breathe. I guess I looked like a red-headed carp. My mouth opened and closed. And then? Then? The bloody bastard took up the next one. The only real difference?

He hit me three times with that one.


That was…dunno. He doesn’t play “gentle”. We’re rough and hard and i like it that way. There was no dancing caress of whips on my ass. Oh no, it was full-force Master.

Each thing made me gasp or whimper.

I tried to get to the last two before Him, but He’s quick. Long, long falls of rubber “thread”. The kind that wrap around your hip and leave a bunch of thin red marks that persist days later. Hard to say which one I hated more, that one, or the one with the fat “s” shaped falls.

Prob’ly the Ssssssss one…. that bit into my ass like a dragon’s teeth.

He passed the lot of them to me, told me to hold them. If one fell off the bed He’d use it until His arm got tired. I cuddled them close like they were my children and it was the end of the world. Seriously.

He play “tried” to take them from me from time to time, using the opportunity to pinch my tits, or tickle me. Fucking Dom!

And then there was the game. I had to figure out the answer or He would swat me with a toy. Of His choosing. He gave me many clues. Eventually I got it (ginger snaps)…but i thought it was unfair because…well, i HATE ginger. The smell of it, the taste of it. Ugh. Shudder. Ugh. I always have, too.  I remember making ginger snaps for my grandfather when I was in high school taking Home Ec. He adored them and it was all I could do to make them for him. Ugh.

Anyway, I got it just before the deadline. Or maybe He did hit me some after that…that’s about the time things got fuzzy.

And about the time He flipped me onto my back and started seriously fucking with my brain. And my pussy. Oh yeah. Pussy grabs, and intense finger fucking have a way of throwing me way out into sub space.

Way way out into subspace. And far, far away from those header toys.  Yes, those are safely tucked away until next time. When, He tells me, that we must continue our research.

“Don’t forget, nilla, I owe Wolf a report about your “fear order” …and we just didn’t have time to delve into that this time. So, yes, those toys will *definitely* come to our next playtime.”

And then He laughs, that deep Dom laugh.

Gee, thanks, Wolf.

Pain and Sex

There are a ton of images floating in my head. Upstairs. Downstairs. In the kitchen, in my room. So much that I am still processing. So much I want to hold close. So much I want to say.

I want to start here, though. At the junction of pain and sex. Where blows to my body make me leak. Early on, right after dinner, He spanked me, bare hands on my ass. His touch turns me on, lights my internal slut engine. Is it the beating? Or is the feeling of Him touching me?  Some cosmic pairing of His pain and my lust seem to slam together with every blow, sending searing jolts of sex between my legs, with every slap of His hand on my throbbing ass.

And oh! The feeling of His skin touching mine. A caress, then a slap.  His hands are strong. He pinches me,  as if sizing up my butt for more. And then it comes. Another slap. Then a thud. He has this way of striking me with the heel of His hand in a painful punchy-esque slap.  My butt goes from shock at the initial blows, to a tingle, to a throb. I feel the heat burning up towards him, and down to my sex.

Which do I crave more in that moment, pain or touch?

Don’t know. All I know is that there is need, one that is  deep, burning, intense.  Need for more more more of the slaps. Need for the touch, for the brutal blows to keep coming. Need for His Beast, need for Him.

He makes me wanton, makes me moan and grunt. Every slap makes me whimper just a bit. Yet I remain, face pushed into the couch, ass up and available to Him. Do I try to rise up? I think I did. I remember His hand pushing me back down, His voice telling me not to move.

My hair is a tangled mess. My ass throbs. My pussy leaks.

And I remain, face-first on the couch, kneeling on the floor. He’s slapping me. It hurts, but it’s good, too. There is no rhyme, no pattern. He hits when He wants to, where He wants to, how hard He wants to.

And then He stops.

His fingers slip down my asscrack, and I hear Him “Hmmmmm” as He finds my lower folds.

He leans over my back, growls into my ear.

“You’re wet.”

That’s all. He says nothing else, just a Master’s comment on His property. And that makes me wetter. More wanton. I want Him to fuck me.

Instead, the couch moves as He shifts.

And sits on my back to watch the football game on the television. And to spank. To spank. To drum-beat spank upon my bottom.

Turning me on with the disharmony of His strikes, the warmth of His ass on me, the weight and  presence of Him, using me as His chair.

“The couch,” His voice comes from far away, “is far too soft. You, slut, are just right.”

He’s correct (as usual)…everything, everything, is “just right.”