For Master….thanks for the inspirational pic that birthed this one!   Love, nilla

No one paid much attention to meteorites that slid through Earth’s atmosphere anymore. It happened, now and again, that some erstwhile stargazer would see one streak through the skies, and jot it down somewhere, perhaps on the NOAA website, or in a personal blog. And some lone hiker may find an interesting rock while hiking and bring it home.

In the wee hours of  July 22nd, not many were out and about to see the single light flash across the sky, and fizzle out. It was too soon to go out and look for the Persieds…they didn’t stream across the sky until August 11th. That it landed with a small splash in a forgotten lake in the uplands of New England drew no special attention, except for a few curious fish.

The meteorite was quite small by then, of course, after surviving the heated descent through the blue-black skies of the third planet of Sol. It settled into the debris of the lake, not far from where the main current carried fresh water out to a lower series of lakes, and eventually, the reservoir. In the dark, cold depths of the mountain-fed lake, water began to permeate through the oddly shaped space debris; its warmth, compared to the deep chill of space, began to stir the first frissions of life from within. In the same way that a pine cone releases seeds after a forest fire,  a single fertile seed  within the chunk of  riddled stone was awakened by the heat from the meteorites fall. It began, after eons adrift in the dry and frozen outer skies, to grow.


Sarah pulled her overalls over her workout bra.  It was hot as hell today, too hot for a tee-shirt. This was just not a normal course of events here in the hills of western Massachusetts. Usually the rolling uplands were unaffected by the heat that plagued the mid-west, and any that bubbled north from the southern states tended to hang in the Connecticut River valley. It was going to be hell to head out to the verdant corn field that needed to be harvested. Winter had been mild, the ground had warmed early, and this first-of-the-season harvest was much-anticipated in the town below. Usually Pittsfield residents had to wait until August for their first taste of  “summer gold” as corn was jokingly referred to here.

She pulled her hair into a fast ponytail, then coiled the thick mass up into a hair clamp. Pulling on cotton socks and her battered sneakers, she slipped out of her room as the sun slipped up over the horizon to mark the new day.

“Hey Moma!” she leaned in and kissed her grandmothers weathered cheek. No matter how early she herself got up, her grandmother was always up before her.

“Get yourself some food, there, little girl.” It didn’t matter that Sarah was almost 30. Her Moma still called her little girl. She smiled, then served up some tender pancakes, crispy bacon strips, and a spoonful of scrambled eggs.

“Moma, you shouldn’t have done all this in this heat. You should be staying down at the senior center while we’re steaming. Go on down today and drive those boys wild with your fancy dance moves! I can drive you down, or I can send Larry back  to the house to take you in. I mean it. Don’t shake your head at me, Bettina Carmichael.” She gave her Moma the “hairy eyeball”, which made them both giggle.

“I won’t be responsible if Mr. Jim Donaldson falls dead with a heart attack when I get up to boogie.”

“Nope, won’t be your fault at all.” She smiled into her coffee. Mr. Donaldson was 80 if he was a day, and had a sweet spot for her grandmother. She figured out that they’d had a blazing affair some years ago, but her grandmother was not a “keeping” kind of woman, and she’d dumped the poor man. He continued to pine for her, which amused her Moma no end.

She finished up, pointing a finger at her Moma. “Senor center. All day. If it’s hot tonight, then stay in town. Macy will put up with you, unless you find yourself some frisky thing to play with.

Her grandmother giggled, a sweet, girlish sound. Shaking her head, she grabbed her work gloves, and headed out. Her grandma was a regular slut sometimes! Gods knew, Moma had more sex than she herself was able to find time for! She headed out to the barn, and found Larry just starting up the tractor for her.

“You got fucking ESP or what?” she hollered over the rumbling roar. Larry’s head popped up, his cracked front tooth gleaming.

“Mornin’  Ma’am!”

Sarah rolled her eyes. Larry was from Texas, and 5 years in the Berkshires of Massachusetts could not take the “ma’am” from him.  She hopped up on the seat, and told him to be sure to take Moma into town. Soon. She knew that the mannerly farm hand would do exactly as told, making sure her grandmother wouldn’t swelter in the heat. She wondered if Larry and Moma had…no. She wasn’t going to even think that. But she cast a glance at his retreating figure as he crossed the yard towards the house.


The July sun blazed down. She was pissed as hell that she’d forgotten her ball cap this morning.  Drinking the last of her water, she swung down from the seat of the tractor, and headed towards the bank of  Farm Pond 3.  Crouching, she scooped water and dashed her heat-ruddy face with it. Damn! She could feel the burn on her nose already. Rising, she looked around. Her family land went on for acres; there was no one around. Quickly she stripped from her sweaty pants and peeled herself out of the sports bra. Shoes and sox went next, and naked, she stood for a moment, letting the hot breeze caress her sweaty skin.

Turning, she walked into the pond. In the middle there was a faint current where the stream from the higher peaks ran through. Although there was a  half-dam to contain the water “just in case”,  they rarely used the farm ponds these days. The overflow continued downstream to Farm Pond 2, and a bit closer to the house, Farm Pond 1. She let herself sink into the cool depths, slowly landing on the bottom. Here was a bit of muck from leaves decomposing, and the gentle, cooler tug from the current, trying to push her downstream. Miles away, her ponds slid into a series of larger ponds, which emptied into the reservoir. She stood, her head breaking the water. There was a very startled water skater in front of her nose, who scuttled away with his “rowing” legs, across the top skin of the water. In seconds he was snatched up into the sky by a hungry dragonfly.

She watched the short fight until the dragonfly was out of sight. Gods, this felt so good. She let herself sink again into the depths. She felt a fish nibbling at her belly, and pushed it away. Another bumped her calf. Fucking fish. They tickled. She rose up and walked towards shore. Her hair dripped into her face from her bun.  Her nose felt better. All of her felt better. She scooped up her water bottle, and carried it back to the pond, filling it.  She’d pour that over her head when she got hot again

With a sigh of regret, she dressed quickly, remounted the tractor, and putted back to the fields of corn.


It was small, in the brackish water it now called home. It had moved upstream, resisting the current, and growing stronger. In its larval stage it was nearly transparent, aiding it in hiding from the predators hiding in the ponds and streams.  If one looked closely, there was a faint shimmer in the water where its heart beat strongly. It swam around growing acquainted with every new place until it knew it, and then moved on.


Sarah parked the tractor behind the barn. The truck was here, which meant Larry could tow out the cart with today’s harvest.  She decided to take a short swim. Bowing to decency, and not wanting to unduly shock the older farm hand, she headed into the house, shucking her coveralls as she went. In her room, she grabbed a pair of shorts, and a towel, and headed back out behind the barn. Passing the tractor, she saw she’d left her cell phone and her water bottle behind. She snagged both as she passed, her stride long yet unhurried. Checking for any messages, she was pleased to find none. She left her towel and phone on the bank of the pond, and dove in. This main pond was a bit deeper, and a bit cooler. The stream ran in via an underground pipe that her father had  installed before she was born. The outflow stream ran fast as well, burbling over a stone slow-down, which created a small waterfall. The sound was cheery in the early evening. The sun was hovering at the tops of the trees, and bats were starting to slip out and gobble the first of the mosquitoes. The clouds turned pink overhead, as she dove and bobbled in the refreshing pond. No hot tub for her, nosiree! Nothing beat a cool down like this after a hard day.  A good day, with the corn in the upper fields gathered in, and ready for Larry to take down to town. She played a short game of “retrieve the water bottle” throwing it across the pond and swimming over to fetch it, stretching tired muscles. Finally, she opened it, pouring out the contents, then headed out. Refreshed, she was finally ready to head in and start her accounts.

She rapped on Larry’s door.


“Corn’s in. Can you take it in and see if Moma is ready to come home, or if she’s going to spend the night? Then your clock is done, ‘kay?”

He nodded, then, picking up his hat from the peg next to the door, slapped it down, and headed out for town. No one but Larry would wear a 10-gallon hat up here in the north, when it was 90-plus degrees. She smiled to herself as she let herself into the house.


This pond was the coolest of any it had lived in. There was much to eat, and it grew fast; faster than the lifecyles of those native to this planet. In a day it doubled in size. In three, it was even larger. By weeks end, it was nearly full grown. It was beginning to lose its translucence. The blood of it was a muddy red-brown color and was clearly visible through its nearly clear arms.  It had nine thick tentacles, with a bulbous, rounded head. It’s single eye could see many spectrum’s of light.  The bottom of the muddy pond was as clear as day; moonless nights were just as bright.  It lay on the bottom of the pond when the bipeds were about during the yellow time of the day. And at night, it left the pond, and roamed. 


A Guest Redux?

Remember back in the “some time in the past” when Master had a guest Dom visit with us?  There’s a post somewhen about it, with pics of me giving him a blowjob, and later, being fucked silly by him. Sir P, I think I referenced him as.

Saturday night Master mentioned him. Sir P, I mean. We were talking a bit about the submissive that is coming to our playtime. I asked a few questions, He dodged them. Well, he did tell me that I can’t talk to her. 🙂 He did mention that He’s known her for a long time, anyway. . . and then there was that little comment.

“Oh nilla, by the way….”

Master let drop that Sir P has been invited to our playday.

I’ll let that thought hang with you a moment…I wonder if your mouth is hanging open like mine was on Saturday night when Master informed me that Sir P might put in an appearance. It’s contingent upon his schedule, but as I understand it, he is eager to see me again.

That’s  a thrill that also creates more of those silly nerves that dance up and down my submissive spine. It was so intense. And good. Now, I don’t spend tons of time going back over it in my head…some of it was lost to subspace, but really I don’t dwell on these other encounters.   I spend time thinking of my Master,  hoping that I have served Him, and His purpose in loaning me out, to the best of my ability as His submissive slut.

I guess I kind of think of it like …a job.

That’s unsexy sounding…but it is a job, isn’t it? He asks me to perform a service, and I provide that service. My “payment” is my Master’s pleasure in having me complete the task well.

Heh. Job well done, as it were.

And hell, it’s exciting as hell to be a sex object. To be objectified, and used. To be fucked and to suck another, to be a good little cock whore? It’s all wicked. And exciting. And a turn-on. He is there, Master, watching all. A voyeuristic pleasure for Him, and the pleasure of His control of the dynamics that are unfolding.

But I don’t think about it all the time. Don’t think about it in any way shape or form the way I do about Master. I hope I did good. It was a wild experience. I know it could (and likely will) occur again some day, but I don’t focus on that. Maybe because I was objectified. I was blindfolded, and focused on the actions of service. There is no “connection” between the Guest Dom and I other than the fact that I was there to be used.

Am I weird for not thinking about it a lot? I haven’t fretted about it, haven’t lusted for it, haven’t not wanted it again. It just is something that happened. *shrugs* I’m very blaise about the memories of it. Like I say…it was a fantasy to live out, but it doesn’t change, diminish, or increase my affections for my Master.

Then again, perhaps I’m just wired verrrry differently.

I know there are some of you who say ‘I could never do that, be whored out for another”…and if that works for you, that’s fine. This is a judgement free zone here in nilla land…it is a kink of mine to be treated like a sex toy…and Master brought that to fruition for me…and for His pleasure too.

The only repercussion from that event was *my* worry that Master would feel upset about another using me after He thought about it. I guess that He wouldn’t want me, or would have bad, jealous feelings about it. That was my fret, and as it turned out, a pointless one. He got what He wanted from the event, and is willing to make it happen again.

It is, so it’s said, what it is.

I’m here to serve. And, apparently, to suck cock.

And let’s not forget about that mystery pussy…but then, that’s a tale for another day.


And Then There’s the One With the Lady in the Parking Lot

I got so busy writing stories this past week that I forgot to tell you all this story from last weekend with Master…my bad! I’m trying to write as much as possible and set to auto-post since no one is certain whether or not we’ll lose power here in New England or not. (It seems likely, as I edit this Sunday night, that we will be powerless by Monday evening…then again I’m all about being powerless, right?! :))

This will be the week leading up to Master and I having a playtime meeting, and there are many, many, many tales to tell of that…(as well as much anticipation and nerves!)…and what is a Master-nilla meet without some kind of natural disaster sticking its fingers into the mix. That’s happened more times than I care to remember, actually! So, without further ado, this is the tale from our time together, a week ago!

Master and I had a brief bit of face time last Saturday after I got out of work. I bring Him a treat, and He pokes, and pinches and generally tortures me.

We meet in a parking lot in a public place. It gets a fair amount of traffic, but it’s not like a grocery story or a mall. On a dead-end street, the only traffic going there is meant to be going to the gym. We’ve been meeting there for weeks, and park at the farthest spot away from the building, in the back corner. Some days I go sit in His vehicle, if the weather is inclement. Most days we stand outside and play. He tickles me ferociously, and I laugh hysterically. I have a loud laugh (ask aisha)…and He reaalllly is wicked to me. Tickling is torture, guys. Seriously.

But last Saturday, He wouldn’t let me out of my car. He reaches in and pinches my belly, my tits…and then He tickles me. I’m gasping and laughing and yelping…and then He grabs my ponytail (despite the haircut He still has a long handle to grab) and thrusts my head down beside my door, so I’m bent in half, my head almost on my knees.

And He pinches me so fucking hard I’m crying and gasping, only to be laughing hysterically moments later as He reaches up and attacks my armpit.

Finally He lets me up, and I slap at Him, and He pokes me, stepping back as I reach out to pinch at Him.

And a young woman in a car we didn’t notice pulls up behind us (but not too close) and yells..”OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY?”

And I’m laughing hysterically and jump out of the car and tell her I am *fine*, that we were playing, and He was tickling me, the Brute. And then I go to Him and hug Him and kiss Him soundly.

“Oh god! I was soooo scared. I almost called the police. I…I’m shaking,” she admitted, still kind of nervous. Master handles things with aplomb, and soon she is on her way again, relieved that these two old farts were actually not involved in a domestic event.

And yanno? It was funny…and also a warning. Be careful what is happening around you. She could have decided to not ask. If I hadn’t looked up just then, pretending to swipe at Him, if she hadn’t seen my face, laughing, she might just have called the cops on us.

That would have been sticky, eh?

We met again this past Sunday evening, both of our schedules clearing to allow us a small window of time to be with one another, having tea and sharing some cheesecake. I’ve been ordered to write a blogpost about my “despicable behavior while out in public with Master” (this is tongue in cheek!) so I won’t go into much detail. But I will say that we were a bit more circumspect while in the funky little coffee spot we’re meeting at now.

Or at least…I tried.

More on that part of the tale, later!


Is It Mindfuck? oooOOOh my…

Dateline: Friday

We have been texting sporadically during the day. He was teasing me and I was teasing back…

So when I got the text that said “well, better stock up on the red lipstick because you’ll be sucking cock and licking pussy on the 4th” …




That should say *BLINK*

If only I knew how to make that font bigger, it would fill the front of your computer screen.

Oh. My. Gawd. Did I just read what I *thought* I did? I read it again. And again. Yes. It said exactly that. So I ponder that for a few minutes…and then text back.

“I thought this next time together would be just Master and nilla.”

And then I went outside to play with my kids. But when I came in and checked a while later? He’d already responded.

“Well…I guess you thought wrong, n’est pas?”

I’m feeling…fluttery. Nervous. Aware, suddenly that this isn’t a vanilla affair, but a true D/s dynamic. This could be a total mind fuck…or it could be His way of giving me a bit of warning that things will be verrah different next weekend.

This is not, by the way, on my “forbidden” list. There’s only one thing there and I’d guess most of you know what that “thing that can not be mentioned” is….and this…challenge? This…whatever you want to call it that He says will be happening…makes me nervous.

And hot.

And…yes. I’ll admit it here. This is a D/s Blog, is it not? I’m wet. Wet and throbbing with that incredible balance of nerves and …whatever it is about being a submissive that is such a turn on.

Well, that and not having had an orgasm in days and days.

The bottom line here is that I know He will be alert to my safety…he won’t let me be maimed, or injured beyond the …well, I was going to say reasonable, but sometimes after being just with HIM it seems like it’s not “reasonable” doesn’t it?!  Okay, so I won’t be injured beyond what would be appropriate  to allowing me to continue living my vanilla life normally…ie not armless, legless, titless or brain-dead, or incapacitated… or any of those type nature of extremes.

And if I trust Him implicitly ~and I do~  then I can allow the other feelings…the submissive feelings, the lust feelings, the nervous feelings…to rise up and be part of the experience that awaits me next weekend.

There was one last text from Him  Friday…after I had expressed my “nervous” state of mind to Him…

Don’t fret – she’ll be eating you at the same time.


Geebers! Now all I can say is …strap in for the ride boys n gals…coz it for sure will be a bumpy (and interesting) week ahead!

Admit it….

admit it- ZNN makes you feel alive! A slut resurgence.

This is the text I found waiting for me when I finally made it upstairs to bed on Thursday night. I’ve regaled you with many tales of ZNN~ His required day of abstinence for me, the day where there is Zero touching, Nothing, Nada. There is no whisper of fingers on flesh, except at His discretion.

And on ZNN day, when the “whisper of fingers on flesh” happens…its only purpose is to fan the flames of lust, and discomfort and sometimes, disgruntlement from His now hornier-than-ever slut.

Of late, He’s enjoyed playing the game of Hours. The game starts at 11:00 a.m. and continues hourly throughout the day, where a corresponding amount of some type of touching (though usually clit flicking) happens for the matching count. Ergo, at 11 there are 11 clit flicks.

And I’ll admit that I was less than enthused. I was, after all, denied an orgasm on Wednesday night. Why? Because. Because He’s in charge. Because He knows that nothing catches my attention, and refocuses me more than Him issuing orders, denying orgasms, and torturing me on ZNN. And while we didn’t have that Fight that I wrote about a few days ago, there was a feeling of being adrift that I complained about.

Yeah. I gotta watch my mouth around Him. Because He sure knows how to screw me down so I don’t feel like I’m freefalling. And I do feel alive.

Alive, and extremely horny, thank you Master. (yes, that was said with a pout) It is Thursday night. And every so often, He will deny me an orgasm on Friday night as well as ZNN day. That would be 3 days without orgasms, but with sensual turning on. Sensual, sexual torture.

“Yes, Master, I admit that there is truth there. But it’s not ZNN…or only ZNN…it’s You, Master, who rekindles that spark.”

He’s not the kind of Master, of Dom, who enjoys begging. So begging or whining for an Orgasm just won’t work. Likely, it will only annoy Him and make Him say no because I pestered Him. It’s funny, isn’t it? The Doms I write about and several that I know all seem to like begging. But not Master.  He likes to MAKE me whimper. And moan. And yelp.

But thats for when we are together, not apart. Apart, well, it’s just different. He still holds all the cards, but he plays them differently. And the biggest card in His deck is the giving or taking of orgasms.

I wanted to cheat. Wednesday night I was so horny. So very disgruntled that I was denied. So needy. But …I went to bed. Was sent to bed. Ordered to “go to bed, nilla.”

“Master,” I said, shocked. “That…that sounded like …an order.”

There was a moment of silence, and then “Well, perhaps it sounded like an order because it was an order.”

oh. heh. duh.

And despite the “horny” rolling through my nether regions like thunder on the horizon, I fell fast and deeply asleep.  He knows what I need, even when I sometimes don’t seem to.


It’s Friday night, and He has moved on to bigger, better mind fucks. But when He growls “what do  you want, nilla”…I am quick to answer, “an Orgasm, Master!”

“Okay,” He agrees. “You can have one, free-form O.” Then He pauses.

“Except, you must wear the big anal plug.”

“And,” I swear I can hear Him saying “hmmm” although He didn’t. “And clamps on the nipples. And…”

“Geeze Master!” I interject, kind of yelping a bit.

“Shut up, nilla.” (makes me giggle)

“…and clothes pins on the kitties!”

“Oh MASTERRrrrrrrrr.”

“Shut up nilla.”

“And nilla?”

“Yes Master?”  My voice is soft and “in that headspace” once more.

“If you decide to use the vibe? It must be on high.”

At this I really do whimper. When I use the vibe, it’s always on low, working to medium. If I go up to “high”…it’s for a few seconds, for impact. Not for the whole fucking time I’m using it, pun intended.

“Masterrrrr…” I whimper.

He laughs. One short little smug laugh. He knows He’s got me right where He wants me….right between a rock and hard place.

Heading to bed now. I have a lot of prep to do. You know, for a “free-form orgasm”. (she snorts)

free form my ass.

heh. Sometimes I crack myself up. 🙂

Happy Saturday, and hey….. if you’re in the path of Sandy…do be safe. And I’ll promise to do the same.

Dark Storms


Madeline tugged her hood back over her head, even as the wind fought to toss it away again. She tried holding the front partially closed with one hand, but the wind-maddened rain ran down inside her sleeve, soaking her to the elbow. Fucking grand.

Her coworkers had warned her, each stopping by her office on their way out into the dark and stormy night. Like some novel of old, she’d thought to herself wryly, as each one uttered words of dread.

“It’s realllly coming down out there, Maddie.”

“You shouldn’t stay here alone, you know the power could go out at any moment.”

“Maddie, come with us…there’s strength in numbers you know!” This from Cat, her best friend at work. She’d looked up from the computer at that one.

“Strength in numbers…from rain? Cat…really?”  and she’d laughed.

“Well, you know, it’s pouring out. And it’s windy as hell. And you have a long ride home. You could come home with me…”

“Right, and watch you and Evan coo and cuddle each other.”

Cat had smiled unrepentantly at her. “I could have his brother come over…?”

To which Maddie had shook her head vehemently. Michael was a piece of work. Too danged bossy. She’d only met him once, but that was enough. She’d shooed Cat out.

“Look, I’m almost done. If you all will stop bugging me, I’ll be out of here in 20 minutes. Tops.”

Two hours and 20 minutes later, with the storm howling up a gale outside, and rattling her windows, the lights had blinked, then gone out. She’d gotten two worried texts from Cat, the last one just before she left. She’d texted back “going, worry wort, sheesh”, and closed down her computer. Deciding that the better part of valor was traveling light, she left everything except her purse in her desk, and headed down the stairs.

In the lobby, she stopped for a minute, catching her breath. Phew! She’d gotten way too spoiled using the elevator. The rain pelted the front windows, sounding like beebee pellets.

“Not a good night out there, Miss.”

“No, Charlie, not at all. Have a good night.” With a backward wave, she’d stepped out into the fray.

No one else braved the streets, and she wished she’d had the forethought to call for a taxi. The odds of catching one now were slim.  To maybe, none. Turning, she headed uptown. Within two steps, she had puddles in her shoes, and began muttering “fuck” every other step. Her toes curled, her heels rubbed, her elbow was dripping, and a wild gust of wind threw itself at her like an enraged harpie. Her hood whipped off her head, her neat bun was torn to shreds, her long hair blowing and blinding her. It was all she could do to stand upright. Grabbing for the nearest light pole she held on for dear life.

“You fucking idiot!” Arms came around her and supported her. She knew that voice…it was unforgettable. “What the fuck posessed you to go out walking in this?”

She looked up, rain streaming down onto her face, nearly blinding her.

“I don’t need your help, you know,” she shouted up at Michael Cox. He looked down at her, scowling as dark as the weather. He tugged her off the pole and all but stuffed her into his burly SUV. It was parked just behind the pole she had been anchored to; she’d never even heard him drive up behind her.


His door slammed shut. She cast a sidelong look at him, through dripping tendrils of hair. The shiver caught her by surprise, shaking drops of water onto her hands, which were clenched in her lap. Quickly she unclenched them. No point in letting him know he was getting to her already.

He sat and looked at her a moment, before he started the engine, and moved the purring beast out into the storm. Wind still threw buckets of water at them, but was unable to break into the dry and warm interior. Vainly she tried to finger comb her tangled hair into some semblance of order.

“You look like a drowned rat.”

She gritted her teeth, then decided to fight fire with simpering simpleton, which she knew would grate on his nerves.

“You always say the sweetest things,” she purred. Fuck him! Rather than glaring at him, she gave him a saccharine-sweet smile, one that slid away as she turned and looked out her side window. Better to look at the storm than him, the handsome devil. She tried to not recall the rain-slicked dark hair, the full lips that were curved into a faint sneer. Nor would she remember the feel of the strong hands that had muscled her in here, the same ones that were gripping the wheel expertly, guiding them safely through the storm. She remembered that he was special forces or something like that. Cock-sure bastard.

His brief laugh made her glance at him. Immediately she looked back at her hands. Damn, they were clenched in her lap again. He was too fucking handsome for his own good. And damned if he didn’t know it. Compressing her lips together tightly, she was determined to not say another word until he dropped her off at her apartment. Yet, peering out the window, she realized they were not going the right way. At least, she didn’t think so. It was hard to see much beyond the arc of the headlamps. The sheeting rain was silvered by the light. All else was lost in the gloomy darkness.

Seconds later, her guess was confirmed. A sharp right, and the sudden cessation of rain and wind made her blink in surprise. The silence was deafening after the cacophony of the raging weather. There were in a parking garage, lit only by his headlights. He pulled into an open space. A sign saying “Occupant only” was her first clue.

“Wait. Wait just a minute, bucco…”

His voice walked over the protest.

“I rescued you, but there is no way I’m putting us at risk by driving all the way to where Cat said you live. Deal with it. Or sleep in here. On second thought, you’re wet enough that you’d damage my seats. Grab your stuff and come with me.”

It sounded like an order. She wanted to balk, but that submissive streak she kept locked down in her deepest depths  responded to it. Responded to him. Unfortunately. She wanted to roll her eyes, to protest, to argue, even as she opened her door, and slid out of the SUV. Her feet hit the garage floor with an audible squish. Oh fuck. Her favorite pumps were ruined. She took a deep breath, and turned. He was right fucking there. In her face, in her space. ‘Challenge, much?,’ she thought to herself. Oh, he pushed her buttons. Made her mad as hell. That was it. Mad. She kept her eyes on the middle of his shirt. One that was soaked through and clung to his taut frame like a second skin.

“If you move I can…” Her words were cut off as his hand gripped her chin, as his lips came down and savaged hers. His tongue pierced her lips, slamming into her mouth, and tasting her. He stole her breath, her brains, even. She shivered again, as a gust of wind cut through the concrete garage, and drove up and under her skirt. He tugged her closer, the heat of him branding her as her chest pressed against his. He was hard, and hot and strong; she was soft, and wet, and lost.

As quickly as he had begun, it ended.

She stood there, almost panting, as he stepped away. He spoke, not of the kiss, that searing, branding of his mouth on hers, but instead, called for her to follow him. Like a dog. Like a servant. Like…a slave. Swallowing down the burst of savage lust that nearly boiled her blood, she took a step. And another.

He took her arm and led her up the steps to his apartment. The emergency lighting cast a green and eerie glow over his features. Yet she continued to move with him, caught in a spell woven so fast, so intensely, that she could do nothing else.


There was a rattle of keys, the creak of a door, and his terse “wait here” as he let them into his dark apartment. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, but she heard him move away.  Yet in moments, a soft glow became a strong beam as he returned carrying a safety lantern. He took her by the arm and led her down a hallway. She caught ghostly outlines of artworks without any idea of what she was seeing. They could be Picasso’s, or cartoons, she couldn’t tell. Still affected by his kiss, she mutely trailed him, her fingers locked in his hand. He tugged her into a bathroom, setting the lamp on the back of the toilet. His hands went to work, pulling her skirt down over her hips until it plopped with a wet splooshy sound onto the floor. Those clever fingers unfastened her coat, then her blouse. The pile at her feet grew, until she was standing in bra and panties before him. Gooseflesh erupted along her wet skin, then suddenly a thick towel was draped around her. He rubbed her body vigorously, arms, legs, belly, back. Her bra fell to the pile, then her ruined hose and panties joined it. Tugging the towel around her tightly, moving her hand up to hold it closed,  he began to remove his own wet clothing.

Her lips tingled. Was it the remembered kiss, or the baring of his skin that was waking the need in her? This was a new feeling for her, the animal craving that made her blood boil. She felt like that storm outside, something raging and wild just under her skin.

Without thought, her hands rose to his buckle, as he tugged the sodden shirt out of his pants. Trembling a bit, whether at her temerity, or the chill, she released his belt, then the fasteners of his slacks. Her thumbs slid inside the waistband, and tugged off his pants and his boxers simultaneously. Lower they slid, over his slim hips. The towel fell away, leaving her as naked as he, and kneeling at his feet.  His hand moved to her head as he stepped one leg, then the other, free of the clinging fabric. His cock bounced, just at face height, and already thick and half-hardened. In the strange illumination from the camp lamp, his prick cast a massive shadow on the far wall. She tilted her head back, then rose up just a bit to lick the tip of it. His hand curled around her head, pulling her forward onto his shaft, as he sank into her mouth. She choked a bit, gagging for breath as his hand forced her onto him relentlessly.

He wasn’t going to ease up on her, she realized. She swallowed, taking him deeper into her mouth, relaxing into the moment, accepting that she had given the control to him. Her nipples tightened, the skin of her breasts growing taut as they hardened into little beads of lust. She moaned, deep in her throat, vibing along the head of his cock. He pulled out, then slid back in, fucking her mouth quickly.

He pulled away, his cock slick with saliva. One thread of precum attached them for a moment, a silver strand of sex juice that stretched from the head of his raging dick, to her swollen lower lip. And then he moved back, pulling her by her hair.


‘As if she had a choice,’ his fingers tangled tightly against her scalp, she thought.  Her pussy throbbed. How many fantasies had she had about this kind of dominance? She had known he’d be trouble. Deep in her pussy she had known that he could be just this way.

Pulling his hand free, he reached for her nipples. Despite the darkness, he found them immediately, pinching them between his fingers and rolling them this way and that. She gasped, would have fallen to her knees, if he hadn’t pushed her up against the bed.



“OH! Ow! Ow!”

“I notice you don’t say ‘stop’…” his voice was amused, dry. Popping one hand free of the torment on her tits, it coursed down her body, to cup her pussy. Those long fingers found the slit and followed it to the hot wet place between her legs. The other arm released her, then tugged her close, holding her with his arm around her neck. Her nose pressed into his chest, the mat of hair there tickling her nose.

Gods, he smelled divine. Hot, masculine sweat. A faint tendril of cologne applied hours ago. And rain. The temptation was too great; her tongue slipped out and began to lick. He was stirring a dark storm inside of her- the tempest outside was nothing in comparison to what was happening in here. His fingers probed deeper into her slit, her tongue slid hotly on his skin.

“You’re so fucking wet.” His voice was a low dark murmur against her head as the probing fingers found her weeping hole and began to tease. Groaning, she felt her hips sway to ancient rhythms, pulsing with the beat of her heart, and the pulsing of need. His cock pressed between them; the hard length of him was a promise in the dark. She swore she could feel him throb against her belly.

His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her backwards, and she fell onto his bed, feet still on the floor. His hands cascaded down her body like a waterfall, until they caught behind her knees and lifted. Her legs slid over his shoulders as the head of his cock bumped against her slickness, and without a second of hesitation, he banged into her.  Arching, she took him deep, her ankles crossing and pulling him closer. Hands on her hips biting deep as he tugged her down the bed, down onto his cock, her ass hanging in space. Withdrawing a bit, it took only a heartbeat for him to screw his cock into her cunt again. It was a rough brutal fucking, banging hard into her, his balls a slap on her ass with every beating stroke, her hands fisted in the comforter, her ass rising in invitation for him to come deeper, deeply into her belly. She welcomed the brutality, welcomed the animal mating, his hands bruising her hips, then rising to tug himself deeper into her fuckhole, by holding her tits like guide ropes. There in the darkness, storms raging inside and out, they came together, a fusion of need and power.


Sunlight sluiced across the floor, casting questing beams across the bottom of the bed. She stirred, feeling like she’d been run over by a bus. She tried to ignore the sun, burying herself under the heavy dark blanket. It wouldn’t budge. She came awake trying to figure out why her blanket was stuck, until she turned and remembered every fucking moment of last night.

He was looking at her with that smile on his face. The smug one. The annoying one.  Frowning, she pushed up on her elbows. She was not a morning person, not by a longshot.

“What’s so funny?” She tried hard not to glare. She settled for squinting. It was pretty damned sunny in here.

“You look like you just went through a hurricane.” He laughed, then ran a hand over the tangle of her hair.

“Hurricane Michael, so, yeah. I guess I did.” She gasped as the hand against her hair tugged. She moved up his body, fast, until she was plastered against him, and still he tugged on her hair. His lips slid over her throat, biting softly, making her gasp at the discomfort and the fast stab of lust.

“Lookout, it’s going to blow!” He murmured against her collarbone, before rolling her over and letting the storm carry them away.


**storms, even impending ones, do something primal to me…I wrote this in one (two-hour!) sitting, including edits…I guess the storm swirled through me and released this one! I don’t think I’ve ever written a story this long so quickly…it virtually wrote itself! ~n~**

HNT Nuthin’ sez “Beat me” more than…

….a wifebeater tee!

I must credit aisha with the idea of this weeks HNT. The name for this type of tank top in the US is a “wifebeater” (I know you know it, but there are quite a few readers here from abroad these days!). Aisha mentioned to me the other day the irony of her Sir wearing such a thing. (I’m not certain He did wear it, mind you, we were just giggling about it)

So thanks, sis, for the great idea.

The Fight that Wasn’t One

OH, how I hate it when circumstance keep us out of communication. I wrote a little tweet about it, but really…there were some very intense feelings from my end at least.

I was mad.

I was frustrated.

I was scared.

How dare he do this to me?


I talked with friends about it…coz I for sure wasn’t feeling submissive…I was scared…well, see the list above. And it was shockingly intense. I’m not prone to lots of moodiness, though I am a victim of SADD. Which usually means I’m moody because of shorter daylight hours. It passes, because life gets busy and really, I can’t stay mad for weeks on end.

Sometimes you just gotta pull up the panties and deal. I’ve been working on that.

And then there was no”goodnight” text.

No “good morning nilla” text.

OMG, I think. He’s had a horrible accident and is laying unconscious in the hospital.

OMG I think. He’s had a heart attack.

OMG I think. I’m fucking nuts.

Yeah. He’d agree with that last one.

He doesn’t put up with pouting. He does not yell, or remonstrate, but is the voice of reason. I said  much of the above to Him, about my scenario’s and He was just quiet. And while He didn’t laugh at me, He did sigh. In response to my panic response, I have a new task. I have to, should the occasion arise again, sending me into “nilla fret mode”, come up with a POSITIVE thought that will carry me through until He can text. As in “Maybe He’s getting extra sleep.” or “Maybe He’s out dancing” or whatever the fuck I think of…but it has to be a positive, not a fret.

This is not an easy task for one who sees the glass as half-empty, let me tell you.

So, it was never a fight. More of a pout. And a fret. And it’s gone.

The bastard.

He made me giggle.

Then He made me fucking laugh.

The Man has a killer sense of humor and a sense of the ridiculous and I was laughing so hard at the end of our conversation that I was crying.

It’s so annoying.

And endearing.


He drives me fucking nuts.

And I’m fucking nuts about Him.

Happy Ever After

She typed furiously, caught in the grip of a story so compelling that it seemed to flow from brain to fingers to her blog in seconds. Yet, she felt those seconds piling up. Her timer beeped as she finished the last word, and stashed it for proofing later. She closed her laptop and slid it into the bag. Slinging it over her head and onto her shoulder, she took her iced tea and walked the path through the park, back to her office. Lunch break was almost over.


There were no meetings scheduled, and he’d been slaving since 7 a.m. when he’d gotten in. Finding the Miller file on his desk, and all the notes from his partner had been more than a shock. The second was in finding out that said partner was sitting on a Jamaican beach with his girl of the hour.

The fucking prick!

Yet, he’d pushed away his irritation, prepared to shoulder the burden of finishing the presentation that he would be giving, apparently solo, on Friday. He muttered a few choice curse words as he thought of Jake on the beach. Hopefully the idiot would get a sunburn on his ass as he fucked his girl. That’d serve the bastard!

He slid his personal laptop out of his bottom drawer, took a swig from his morning coffee mug, and found it empty. Fuck! His stomach growled at him as he booted up. As his wifi connected, he sank back in his chair and began reading.  He settled into his chair as his cock roused to life.

Her tits wobbled as he fucked her hard, her legs bent at the knee and held open as wide as possible. He slid out of her cunt, his cock dripping with her juice. He was breathing hard, as she lay looking up at him. The black ball gag was smeared with her copper lipstick. Mascara smeared under her eyes, dark dredges where pain had come to play. He looked down at her tits, at the nipples held tightly in the grip of the clamps he’d applied. She begged for pain, cried so pretty when He fed it to her.

Her ass hole winked at him, clenching and relaxing. He decided to take it up on its unspoken invitation to spear her here, and ravage her shit pipe…


This was crazy sexy stuff. It’d been a long month of Sunday’s since he’d had a decent fuck. The vanilla dating shit was going to bore him to death.  He needed an opportunity to let his dragons out to play. Stress eased away as he read on, smiling as he pictured the scene that the story spun out, that aroused him.


On Thursday, it rained.

Figured. She’d published yesterday’s story, but had a great lead going with the newest one.  He was the hero…he often was the unknowing model. He was sexy and …had an aura about him that made her dream of being his. That he was also the hero/demon of her masturbation fantasies was something to keep tucked away. Definitely NOT blog material….that was way more “private stock” than open market!

She needed privacy. She needed to write.  She vaguely remembered something about an atrium on the roof. It had a sitting area that would keep her dry. She didn’t mind having to wear a sweater, but rain and laptops were not a good combination. She had never ventured up, preferring the anonymity of the park to any chance encounter with a coworker. Writing porn at work wasn’t illegal…but it did border on the immoral. And who knew what would happen, not to mention the rumors it would start.

She took the elevator to the 11th floor.  She stepped out, and looked around. She had never been up here- the gals who worked in the clerical department rarely if ever went above the 4th.  The pale marble floor gleamed, lush plants lined the corridor, and the walls were all glass. She felt like an intruder, for a moment. Then, squaring her shoulders, she marched down the hall to the door marked “ATRIUM STAIRS” and pushed through. A short flight of stairs took her to the roof.

There was more than a roof…there was a sweet glass house on the top. It looked as though the walls could be slid on a rail system, opening it so that the plants inside wouldn’t bake on warm summer days. It was cozy now, with the rain pattering down. In the corner was a small koi pool, with a little burbling fountain. She settled into one of the chairs, set up her laptop and began typing quickly.


He’d seen her go past. The red hair was a beacon. Maybe he’d been thinking too much about sex. About sex stories. About the blog that was his favorite, whose author purported to have red hair. Something caught at him, and drew him from his office to see where she went.

Ah, the atrium. He wouldn’t choose to sit in the dreary rain on his lunch break.  Today was his last day to prepare for his presentation to his most important client. He should sit back down, and go over his work one more time. Yet he opened the door, climbed the steps. He stood for a moment at the top, looking for her.

She was half-hidden by the flora inside. He made his way to the door, hearing her typing away on her computer. Yet he backed away, when he saw how engrossed she was. It wasn’t fair of him to disturb her. And for what reason.

“Hi, your hair reminded me of this slutty blogger I read.”

Yeah, that was an opening line that guaranteed a date. Not. He walked around the plants that made the glass house so comfortable and secluded, here in the middle of downtown. From here he could almost see…

He recognized the blog header. He saw her switching back and forth between screens. She wasn’t reading that blog…she was….proofing it.

He stepped back, as his cock shot to attention. He had no idea of her identity here at work. What her name was, her position, nothing. He’d never seen her before today.  Her blog was called Cassie Confesses. He decided to give it a shot.

Whipping open the door he spoke firmly.



She looked up, startled. The story was almost done. Now what?

“Yes? Can I help you Mr. Bosworth?”

“Cassie, what are you doing up here?”

Her eyes glimmered her frustration as she hit a few keys and her screen went fractal.

“I can’t wait.” He said, before she could respond to his question.

“Wait? For…” She cocked her head, staring at him and trying desperately not to blush.

“For tomorrows sordid little tale.”

For a moment her world tilted, and her cheeks turned cherry with embarrassment. How had he…?”

His words registered. She looked up at him, flushed, and nervous. He was holding his hand out to her.

“How about we think about trying some of those wonderful little fantasies, Cassie?”

“Ann, it’s Ann, Mr. Bosworth.”

“Ah. Well, I guess I’ll only call you Cassie…in private. And Cassie? I hope we get to be very, very private. Very, very soon.”

She gripped his hand hard, as her fantasy came to life. Somehow, she had a feeling that this was the beginning of her very own ‘happily ever after’.

The End


some tales are sordid little fantasies…and some are soft and romantic…today we’re in HEA mode…but you all know the “sordid” side will be coming out to play real soon, right? ~nilla~


Falling Out of the Groove?

It’s early, and another day of “busy” for nilla. As I read blogs around the neighborhood here, I find myself happy for my subsisters and brothers…but feeling a bit out of step. Tho…I do have one very funny tale to tell of Master and nilla on one of our brief Saturday face times.

But these last two weeks, aside from the 30 minutes or so we spend on Saturday night? There hasn’t been tons of contact. We’ve spoken on the phone and texted but…

….i dunno.

It’s been a long time since our last play time, and I think it wears on me after a while. It’s not exactly a disconnect with Him…He wouldn’t let that happen.

I’ve fallen, a bit, out of the groove.

Last night I couldn’t reach Him, and our contact was limited to a brief noon phone call and a few texts. He’s busy. I’m busy. That’s life. But I fell asleep a bit…um…yes I’ll say it…sullen. I wanted an Orgasm, haven’t had but one since Friday…and I was a bit pissy about it. NOT to Him, but in my head, you see.

And then I started fretting because play time is coming…two more weeks. Can I do this? I know He’s gonna fuck my ass…can I do it? I’m out of practice. I’m not used to being with Him for 8 hours, 9 hours straight.

I won’t be able to take it.



(insert sound of screetching tires here)

I sit here and poke at the new bruises He gave me Saturday. I like them. And I always adapt to Him fucking me, beating me.  It’s the nervous jitters that I always get before we meet….I’m just getting them earlier than normal.

Because I need it…need Him…so badly.

Next weekend He’ll be away, so our meet time will be after skipping a week. And I’ll need Him even more desperately. I’m a big girl and can survive a week without…barely, but I can.


Rereading this, I can see the obvious.

I’m not really falling out of the groove, but only deeper into my need for Him.