The Dentist

(this may be a bit dark, but hell, why not, right? A wee bit of dragon, but not too terrible…just a bit…proddy, as we say in Dragon-speak ~n~)

She stood looking at the careworn building. It was a bit neglected…and then some. The whole place had a somewhat…malevolent look to it. Then again, her imagination often got the better of her. A hard gust of wind up her skirt had her shivering, and with a sigh, she ran up the steps and pressed the buzzer marked “3”. The brass plate was horribly tarnished, but by straining she could barely make out the words “Dr. Abernathy”. There was a click and she grabbed at the handle. It took a hard tug to open it. The hallway was lit by dim bulbs, and the faint tang of musty air hit her. It smelled of dust, mildew, and old French fries. Ewww.

She made her way down to a door marked three, and entered.

The waiting room was more like a living room, one that resembled a sitcom show from the 70’s. Dark tweedy furniture, overstuffed chairs, unattractive end tables. This was not the sleek and modern dentist she had hoped for. Yet, her friend at work, Janice, had recommended him. New to the area, she had to rely on the testimonials of new-found companions to help guide her. Life in the city was different, she mused, no receptionist at the door, and there hadn’t appeared to be anyone else in the building. She buried the sense of unease quickly, as the far door opened.

He didn’t look anything like a dentist.

More like a…mad scientist run amok, she thought with another shiver of dread. Maybe Janice had meant another Dr. Abernathy? But his had been the number she’d been given, this had been the address, and here she was. She tried to calm herself. Sudden nerves had her heart hammering, her palms sweaty. As if going to the denist wasn’t stressful enough. His white hair standing on end reminded her a bit of Einstein, too. Maybe he was a deep thinker. She held onto that thought, a fragile life raft, as he impatiently waved her towards him.

“Come along, come along girl. Haven’t got all day here, let’s move it out!”

She scurried across the room, and with a push to her shoulder indicating that she should preceed him, she led the way down yet another corridor. This place was a labyrinth maze! He pushed on her left shoulder, and she obligingly stopped in front of a door.

“Coat there,” he pointed a gnarled finger at the hook on the right side of the wall. “Then follow me.” Though this was a small room, there was nothing here but the hooks on the wall. The walls were covered in faded rosebuds, and smelled faintly of Chanel no. 9.  Someone else must have been here fairly recently then. She felt a little better knowing that.

Not many dentists kept such odd hours, she thought, but between her work schedule and trying to settle into her new apartment, and shuttling back home every weekend to get more of her stuff- finding time to get here had been crazy. That he was able to take a new patient on a Tuesday evening had been nothing short of a godsend. She needed a cleaning, to be sure, and hoped that there would be no cavities. She wondered if there was a hygienist on staff or if he did it all. She didn’t have time for any further musing, as he opened the door to the dental chamber.

It was the first word to come to mind. It was definitely a throwback to the 70’s here. The walls were dark wood paneling. The floor was old linoleum that had seen better days. And the chair. The chair was old, wasn’t it? Didn’t dental chairs have one solid surface, with that headrest? This one looked like it had been cabbaged from an ob-gyn’s office. Split legs, arm rests. There was a thick pad on it, that looked comfortable, but still, this was like nothing she’d ever seen in her lifetime.

“Up, up in the chair.”

Quickly she sat.

“Rinse this around your mouth, then swallow.” He thrust a small white disposable cup filled with amber liquid at her. Obligingly, and feeling a bit overwhelmed, she did as she was told. The entire time she swished, he watched her, arms folded, a somewhat cross look on his face.

“Swallow. Swallow.”

He was so impatient! Geeze, it wasn’t like there were 50 people in the waiting room clamoring for his services. She almost giggled aloud.

Suddenly she felt very relaxed.


HNT ~ Sari for Bein’ Sexah…(not!)

My much beloved Donna sent a care package that included this incredible turquoise/teal sari cloth. I knew immediately what it’s ultimate destination would be…my wee room, and a HNT picture!

Thank you Donna…for the gift of your friendship, the wisdom of your convoluted mind, and the incredible sweetness of your spirit.

I felt so sexy wearing this that I took a ton of pix…this one is my very favorite (Master has yet to pick His, so don’t be surprised if you see a different one next week!)


The Assistant (8)

His voice came from above her. It echoed around in her head. She could almost feel the words rumbling in the air between them, but she was having the hardest damn time catching them, holding them, understanding them.

“Little one,” His voice was suffused with warmth…and a dose of humor. “This is twice now that you have fainted after orgasming. How long, exactly, has it been since you’ve had sex?”


“How many months?”


“X? X months? Is that an algebraic formula?”

She giggled. She was flying, her heart and body light and free and ebullient.

“X is…an unknown number.”


She tacked that on at the end, after a faint pause. He liked to be called Sir. She remembered that. She wanted to get up and dance but a firm hand between her breasts pushed her back onto the floor. The cool wood under her ass was soothing. There was a burn there, for some odd reason.

Her hand moved, touching something wet and sticky on the floor. Ewww, what was that? She frowned. And it all came back in a rush of color and sensation. Heat, red-hot, from her ass. Electricity, the zing of the connection that she and He had begun to develop.

She paused there for a moment. Was he tolerating her? Was he like this every time some reporter came here, asking about the “50 shades” experience? Or was there really some connection here?

She opened her eyes, looked up to where he sat beside her.

“Is this real?” she asked. There was no carefully constructed query behind it. Her voice sounded small, timid. She wanted to pull it back, that question. Not wanting to hear the answer, she covered her face with her hand, shook her head no.

“no..don’t say it,” she murmured. His hand took her wrist, pushing her hand aside, while his fingers took her chin, shaking it a bit to make her look at him.

“Do not hide your reactions from me. They are precious, you see, and feed me in my own fashion. I like you. You’re serious, and lost, intelligent, and fearful. An interesting package. Do I think that this experience has surpassed your story? ”

He waited, watching her face. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his response.

“Yes.” His eyes sharpened, looking not at her, but into her. “This is way beyond what you needed to know for a story. The only story here now is you, and where–and how deeply– you wish to explore your new-found self. This isn’t an easy journey. Submission is …” He broke off, looking at her.

“It is a journey for which there is no destination.”

His smile did crazy things to her. She felt the warmth of it…of Him…a feeling much deeper and beyond the warmth that was throbbing in her rounded bottom. She paused at that thought. She was not a sweet young thing as were several of the girls she’d seen moving about the dungeon space during her time here. She was clad nearly as scantily as they, laying here on the floor in only a soft, skimpy tee-shirt, but she felt…like a ….a round, bobbly bobwhite compared to the svelte, pert girls. She was the drab bird, the one who hid in the underbrush, while flashier birds than her cavorted above; the cardinals, the jays, the mockingbirds. Sleek, bright, readily flaunting themselves, so carefree and …open. She envied them that. She was confident in who she was in her profession; a damned fine writer, with a great bio. But here? Here she was in a social aspect that was so foreign, so unknown to her that she felt lost, blown round about  in a sudden, life-altering wind.

He was the answer. The deeply rooted tree that she could cling to. And for whatever reason, he paid her more attention than any of those pretty birds.

“why?” It burst from her insecurity. Always the chubby girl. The not-quite-as-pert ‘n pretty girl.

He seemed, somehow, to understand where she was in her head. His finger slipped down her nose, around her lips. Pressed inside her mouth, exploring. Then around, down, cruising one tit, the other, and flicking at each nipple as it roused.

“Because I want you.”

There was an inherent honesty in his words. Sincerely spoken. That was one thing she deeply admired about this “lifestyle” as people who did it, lived it, called it. There was a high level of honesty between people. She was sure there were nutters out there; there were in any lifepath. But this man, sitting here with his honest face, and intense eyes, he touched her in ways that surpassed the ass-whooping he’d just given her.

With a slight smile, she reached up, touched his hand with her fingers.

“Thank you. I’m…just not sure what is the experience, the reactions to it…and what is you. This is all so ….strange to me. That what you did…”

He interrupted. “I like to call it spanking.”

The giggle escaped before she could capture it, hold it back. She didn’t giggle for gods sakes. She was a woman grown. Giggling was for…well, it wasn’t her. Yet…he made her feel…giggly. Girly. And so amazingly alive.

And turned on. She wasn’t sure what to make of it…she’d never been so affected by someone, and certainly not in the first day she’d met them.

Her blush spoke louder than her voice. His palm cupped her cheek, taking the heat away.

“It is all part of the experience, and it is all about me within that. We are connected through the play, through the trust you have already put into my hands, and through that secret unknowing source of connection that two people feel when things are just …right. Some may call it “connection”. ”

Again with the air quotes. It made her see Him as human, and not some supernatural uber-power that she cloaked him in when he was “Dom”.

“Some may call it “love at first sight” and some might call it a strong sexual connection. Of course, we have not had sex yet. You have not serviced me, and although you have had two orgasms, little one, they were more caused by a physical release than a sexual one. Certainly an orgasm can come with pain- you have indeed just proved it can happen. Twice.” He grinned at her, flicking her nipple again.

She bit her lip, nervous, excited, turned on.

“You are still my assistant today, yes?” At her quick nod, he took her hand and helped her up from the floor.

“Then please, assistant, clean up the mess you left behind here, wipe down the spanking bench, and meet me back in my office when you are done. And little one?”

At her look, he stared pointedly at her bare pussy.

“I expect you to remain attired just as you are. No one will play with you, as everyone here knows you are under my protection today. If you need help finding my office, one of the other sluts will guide you. And I’ll expect to see your pretty ass there soon, yes?”

She nodded. Then looked down at the mess on the floor. Cum and drool. All hers. Torn between a feeling of admiration~there was a lot of cum there~ and embarrassment, she wondered what she was supposed to clean the floor with.

“Your shirt will do nicely to get the goop off the floor. Slut lindsey?” He called across the room to a young woman wearing only a thickly spiked collar. The long silver spikes made her head stay up, giving her beautiful posture. Rather than shouting, she almost glided across the room to them.

“Yes Master?”

“Show my assistant where to find the sterile wipes for the equipment. Then show her where to find my office. No, don’t help her, just guide her.” With a nod to them, he strode away. For a big man, he made precious little noise, she noted. In minutes lindsey had shown her where the wipes were, and which door down the long corridor was His office.

She looked at the wet splots on the floor, and finally just doffed her tee-shirt. It seemed a shame to use it thus, but it was what He had requested. Once the floor was clean, it was onto the spanking bench. Careful to make it as clean as the floor, she was embarrassed to see cum streaks on one of the support rails as well. Quickly she wiped, then found the trash and disposed of the used things. Gross. What to do with the tee-shirt?

Figuring that she should ask Him, she bunched it up in her hand. But what was she supposed to cover up in on the way  to his office. Her nudity hadn’t mattered in here, but out there…well, anyone could see her. Finally deciding that she could lift the shirt up to cover her boobs should anyone come down the hallway, she scurried to his office, knocked on the door, and went inside.

He was typing on a computer, but glanced up as she came in.

And frowned.

“Did I not make my wishes abundantly clear?”

Her heart fell. Ohno. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

“One thing you will learn, little one, is to follow directions carefully. I don’t expect perfection, but most Masters want their sluts to be the best they can be. Tell me what I told you about your attire.”

“You told me not to dress any more than what I was wearing. But Sir…”

“Exactly. Nor did I tell you to arrive back here nude. Not that I mind your nakedness. It is very appealing. Yet, that is not the point here. I want you to put that tee-shirt on.”

“B-but…I cleaned the floor with it and….” she drew to a stuttering stop at his casual smile. She took a breath, then finished when he did not speak. “And it doesn’t matter what I did with the damned shirt, you still want me to put it on. That’s gross.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She looked at the sticky shirt balled up in her hands. Ewww. She pulled it over her head, trying to ignore the big wet spot on her left shoulder, and just above her belly button. There were streaks of wetness smeared across her left tit as well.

“Much better. You wear your juices well.”

It took everything in her to not roll her eyes.

He laughed. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, staring at her mutinous face. She glared, he laughed harder.

“Slut, you are making this almost too much fun,” he wheezed.

She wouldn’t admit it just then, but she wholeheartedly agreed.

And…It’s a Better Tuesday!

Just a short follow up to my gloomy post from last night. I am over the bad and pressing onward. You can’t keep a horny slut down.

Well…if you’re a dom, you could. 🙂

Anyway, things are better here. That’s all to the good. I’m O-less, but it is Like Day so there will be one in here somewhere.

And I got my 78 clit flicks done, and the 8 pussy grabs…and went to bed so fucking turned on…reporting to Him that my task was complete…and His response was “You put that pussy to bed now.”

And damned if He wasn’t right (again)…I desperately needed a good nights sleep. So, despite the horny, despite the throb, despite the shit day?

I slept like a rock.

This morning were more family errands, a doctor’s visit for a kiddo, and more errands. No time for being horny. When I got home He’d sent me a text.

“The video’s have been sent.”

Guess it’s horny time again… 🙂

Geebers but that Master makes me a squirmy bitch.


Shit Day

Some days are like this, I know. The kind of day that makes you want to draw on the walls with jello, and gurgle happily. La La La….

It was a wicked fuck of a day and …wait a moment here….. yanno… I’ve used that phrase before and suddenly…it seems wrong, doesn’t it? I mean, in *our* world, a wicked fuck is a good thing. Well, that leaves me with no good expression to describe my fu-…my rotten day. That sucks.

O wait.

I do that too.

Well, fu… *sigh*… when did my D/s start to ruin my wicked bad expressions, anyway? Need I use vanilla terms to describe my bad days???

“oh yes, nilla had such a miserable day.”

Oh, right. Like that says enough.


Shit Day is the best I can come up with.

And that made me think about anal sex.


Doesn’t everyone think about anal sex? You don’t? Really?

I’ll bet deep down you do. 🙂

Anyway. I was trying to decide if I like it or don’t. There are parts I don’t, to be sure. And HE knows them and uses them on me just to get a rise out of me. But I have wicked intense orgasms from anal sex so there you go. It’s a trade-off.

Now that I’ve diverted down this hopelessly convoluted path to here, I can tell you that I hadn’t meant to go there. Like…just not. Sometime I’ll sit down and we can have a lovely natter about butt fucking. But today is not that day, and tomorrow isn’t looking hopeful either.

What I really wanted to talk about was this task I have looming ahead of me, which is why I’m blogging and not doing it. I’ve not had an O since…….shit. Like Day. Tuesday, last. I lost an O for my snit, and another just because. And another because I was tired. And another because He wanted to get me all sexed up and have nowhere to go. And then there was today (Monday)…

And I got His text to start clit flicking at 11 (that’s 11 flicks at 11).  And later a text saying pussy grabs at 3 (those pussy grabs turn me on like wildfire.)

But I’ve had this shit day, you see. Where things came up and things happened and I had two jobs today and not one, and my kids were aliens and and and…it’s going on 10 pm.

There hasn’t been one fucking flick.

No pussy grabs.


I told Him. Sent Him a late-day text letting Him know there’d been a substantial delay. On my way home from work, while running errands (the fun in this day never ends)…I called Him. Told Him again that nothing had been done.

“Good thing you won’t get an O then…you’ll be far too busy catching up on those flicks” He says nonchalantly.


It’s another orgasm-free day. Sad but true. And all part of the Shit Day. All sexed up and no place to put it.

Except, of course, in His hands, where He can enjoy every moment of my turned on squirming.


“This is proof. I have zero doubt. You are a full-on Sadist.”

I write this to Him via text. I wonder what He will say. Will He smack me down for my temerity? He doesn’t unduly torment me in my day-to-day life, after all. He understands the mommy demands, the wifey demands, the living demands on my time and energy and ability to serve. He doesn’t want a wench to grovel and moan piteously unless He is there to hear it, He’s told me that in the past. So I wait, almost a bit nervously. After all, I’ve not been in top-10 communicating form with Him these last two weeks…and there was that wee snark on Saturday….and I check..and YES!

A text from Master. Nervously I open it. And giggle. Remember I told you He is a man of few words? Yeah. This sums Him up nicely. He wrote:

“Thank you.”

Master and nilla

For a while it looked like Master and nilla would not be able to match up schedules at all during this Thanksgiving weekend. I was busy. He was busy. I was working. He was working. I was busy. He was busy…it went on and on.

And then…He turned the magic Master dial and made it happen. 🙂

We hooked up for a bit over 90 minutes. Had tea, shared a cupcake, talked.

And He drew me up short with that look. You subbies, you know the look. The one that makes you sit up a bit straighter, pay attention harder, meet His eyes more earnestly.

“By the way, nilla,” He says, skewering me on that look of His, “if you ever send me a text like that again?”

I bite my lip. I am well aware of the three snarky texts I sent Him…it was last night (Saturday night), and I was at first, fretting that something was wrong since I’d not heard from Him in 8, 9 hours or more. And then I just…um…got mad. NOT wicked angry. But annoyed. And I was a bit…um… snarky bitch comes to mind. It was NOT disrespectful in the phrasing. I didn’t swear, or demean Him or anything like that…but it was snarky. I swallow hard under the weight of His eyes upon me. He isn’t frowning. His face is firm, as is His tone of voice. He is not angry, nor even annoyed. But firm is an apt description.

I look at Him, feeling a bit …guilty. And some trepidation. And I realize that, under the table? I’m wringing my hands in my lap. I mean…c’mon. That’s story-stuff, not real life! And yet, there I am, twisting my fingers up nervously.

Positive He has my undivided attention, He continues.

“I’ll drown you.”

Ah, so He was a bit…annoyed. Now, before you gasp and go “OMG nilla’s in DANGER…”

I’m not.

It’s part of the message. In Master-speak it means I crossed a line. I didn’t give Him full credit and didn’t merely jump to conclusions… I full-out LEAPT to them. And He was tired of that particular song and dance. So smarten up, slut.  He is a man of few words, and very attention-grabbing talking points.


So, yeah, nilla you dumbass. He wasn’t ignoring you. (He was, in point of fact, asleep, because He’d had to work on Friday, and did some extra stuff on Saturday and…my very hyperactive imagination had Him dead and buried…or tired of me, and no longer interested in responding to texts, calls etc.)

“By the way,” He says, His eyes spearing me now. “My kids have your number. If something happens? You’ll be called. Okay?”

Does He understand my paranoia or what?

I do think I’m in for a serious spanking come the end of December. Not a happy spanking, but a “gezuz but you’re a pain in the ass, nilla” spanking.


Once that was handled (and I love this about Him…) it was over, done. I love how He can just put it away like that. And we moved on. We had some catching up about things, and then He pulls out His blackberry, and I think He’s answering a text.

He hands me the phone.




It…it’s….omg…it’s me. um…and I’m sucking (attempting to) Sir P’s cock. And then He’s pushing me over the bed and fucking me hard and I’m grunting and moaning because it’s painful (remember?).

“Look at that slut,” Master says, shaking His head. But His eyes are dancing with amusement. I feel the blush growing through my skin. I’m so hot that I have to take off my vest. I feel like I’m sunburnt, I’m so red. That woman is making a hella lot of noise in that little phone. I try to muffle the sounds…there is a guy sitting not 8 feet away.

“Watch the video, nilla,” He says in that Dom voice.

I watch the video, and squirm. And get turned on. And blush. Through all 8 minutes of it. And then He goes back to talking like nothing untoward happened!

A few minutes later, another video. OMG. I’m so fucking embarrassed. I mean…that’s me on that fucking video. I don’t watch porn as a general rule. I may see snippets of it, but to sit and watch it? Not so much. Sometimes those snippets turn me on too much.

Like this one did.

And…yanno…it was ME! And…. um, it made me squirmy. And I was not looking for porn on my computer. Oh no.


I was looking online for fucking mops, for crissakes. For HIM, no less. So that video ends, and I say “Master, won’t you come over here (to my side of the table) so I can show You these? And I’m fanning my face trying to relieve the heat, and hiding behind my hair….so fucking embarrassed.

“Oh, okay. You want me to come over there and see?” He hands me His phone. “You watch this one. Watch the video nilla.”

I take the phone.

“Watch it.” His voice, steely, in my ear. I swallow hard and watch myself riding Sir P’s cock, cowgirl. I cannot look away, having been ordered to watch.

And then it was done. He took back his phone, sat down and the afternoon wore on. Soon it was time to go. He teased me a bit more about the video’s, but then we were at our separate cars, and it was freezing and we kissed, and parted ways.

Tonight I texted Him. And asked for an O.

“Nope. Not tonight. Don’t want you to hurt yourself after seeing all those videos today.”

That …Sadist!

Turns me on, gets me all heated up…and leaves me hanging. All part of the Master Plan, methinks.

The plan to drive me crazy with wanting…but He’ll tell you…it’s a short trip anyway!


The Assistant (7)

by reader request! The journey begins here with the first 6 chapters.

pain slut.


She shook her head.

“No?” His voice broke into her musing, confuddled thoughts.

“ah..not You…I…” her voice fell away. There weren’t words to explain how she felt…and she an “Ace Reporter”. Ha! She’d need a thesaurus and about a month to write this story.

“This sounds like one of those “it’s not you, it’s me,” kind of statements. Yet, I can see that you are …shocked, perhaps, at what your body is telling you. Sometimes it tells us things about ourselves that we aren’t fully ready to accept yet.”

He paused, stroked a finger across her cheek.

“You responded to pain. You responded to being dominated. I imagine that you spend a great deal of time managing yourself quite well…and now you are struggling with the idea of coming in here and letting me “boss you around”….and becoming very aroused in the process.”

That he waggled his fingers in air quotes at that last bit, with that sexy smile was another of those conundrums. She loathed when people did the air quote thing. It was just stupid. Yet on him? It was simply a means to making his point.

“But I’m not a submissive. And…dammit, when I stub my toe on the couch it doesn’t turn me on.”

“Is your couch commanding the incident, the scene?” His voice was rich with unfettered humor.

“Of course not,” she snapped, relieved to have found a bit of backbone, some of her spice, once more.

“Does your couch then tease your pussy, making you rub up against it in bondage?”

“For gosh sake,” she began, feeling huffy. Then caught a spark of the humor in his line of questions. Picturing her big butt humping her grandmothers couch almost made her giggle.

“It is the control that is affecting you. Judicious use of pain, the power resting in my hands, dominating you, as you willingly submit to me~that’s where the excitement lives. You understand…or understood during the scene, that I would let no lasting harm befall you. Hurt you? Of a certainty. So there is a foundation of safe feelings for the submissive…and you are a very submissive woman, little one, with lovely tits, in both the control and pain that is about to ensue.”

She blushed.

She hadn’t blushed since grade school, likely. Yet his almost offhand comment about her tits had thrown her off guard. Again. Gone was the feeling of satiety from that long-needed orgasm. In its place was a new throbbing. Just from his speaking.

It was his voice, most likely. Deep, sexy, confident. She’d always been drawn to confident men. It had nothing to do with what it was he was saying. She was not a submissive.


The lie of that statement rolled around in her head. She was here, dammit, to do a story on the D/s scene. She was not here on  some long-denied journey to submission. This was not Eat, Fuck, Beat. She shook her head again, scowling up at him.

He smiled that sensual half-grin that turned her inside out. Three and a half fucking hours she’d been here. And had committed the entire day. What the hell had she been thinking?

His hand moved so fast she never saw it. Grabbing a hunk of her tresses, he all but lifted her by that handle, and tugged her wordlessly across the room to the spanking bench she’d seen earlier. Flopping her top half over it, he made short work of attaching her wrists to the short …well it looked like a leash. The other end was locked securely to a ring in the floor.

His feet disappeared from view, but moments later she felt his hands around her ankles, felt cold metal tightening around her, the sharp snick  as a lock slid home. She hadn’t spoken a word.

Not in protest.

Not in agreement.

It seemed her original statement upon coming here, her naive and innocent “I want to try it all” was being tested.

And then she felt the unmistakable heat of him behind her, pressing against her upwards facing bottom and the backs of her thighs. His hands slid under her, and in moments, she felt her pants being slid down.

And her panties with them.

They moved down over her hips.

They slithered down her legs, laying in an accordian-pile around each tethered foot.

Her ample ass was on view. His hands stroked over it, tracking along a few of the lines that were left from the earlier beating.  His voice broke the tense silence growing between them.

“These were starters.”

She wanted to ask what he meant by that. A good reporter always asked questions when she didn’t understand.

She thought she understood.

She wanted to swallow the sudden wad of spit that filled her mouth but being upside down was not conducive to doing that easily. When the first whack from the paddle hit her rounded bottom, she yelped, and the spit fell from her mouth with an audible splat onto the floor. Some of her hair dragged through it, both grossing her out, and fascinating her.

It was disturbing, in some far-off corner of her mind, that this stranger was touching her ass. Was SPANKING her ass, she though, as he nailed her again, drawing another yelp from her.

It was far more disturbing to feel the seeping wetness slipping from between her legs, and sliding down her inner thigh. She understood. Those starter whacks had been some kind of warm-up. The paddle, some thick piece of wood, made a solid “thwack” sound with every impression against her flesh.

That he hit the same fucking spot over and over again added yet a new layer to the pain appetizer he was feeding her.



“FUCK!” She yelped.

“Most Dom’s require their subs to count, and thank their Master’s for each dose of pain. Let’s give that a try, shall we?”

“But I don’t remember how many you’ve given me!” she all but wailed.

“Oh, that’s okay, little one. We can start counting now.”

That he was smiling was more than obvious by the genial tone.



“No, one, that was one. Start again, little one.”


“Ow-ONE!” she burst out, panting.

“Good girl,” he praised her. “Now you must add your thanks to me, for gifting you with this pain. Let’s try that again.”

“We’re starting over again????” she wailed, even as he walloped on her butt again.

“You can do this, slut. See how wet you are already?” His fingers delved into her exposed folds. She’d forgotten he could see and feel her pussy as well as her naked ass. How …she wanted to say humiliating, but the first word that came into her head was not that one.

It was “erotic”.



Yes…that’s me, a happy nilla.

The holiday was wonderful–and now it is over. I don’t tell this to many people because I’m usually met with a gasp, as if I’d uttered some dire, sacrilegious statement…but…nilla is not a fan of Thanksgiving. I have never liked it, from the time I was a kid. It’s not so much the ode to gluttony (my table was groaning, as I’m sure many of yours were as well…) as to just the …I dunno. I can’t really put it to words. There was no major family drama, other than my dad threatening us kids if we broke the “special china” that we’d be out the door on our asses. I remember when I was about 15 or so turning to him, tired of the same old speil since I’d NEVER broken one of the damned dishes, and sassing him about “why don’t YOU do the damned dishes if you’re so worried about US breaking them, which WE’VE never done?!” Pretty sure I got the Sargent’s best glare, and maybe a pop on the ass with that cutesy remark. I still, btw, did the dishes that night.

But that’s not really the sort of thing that lends itself to “bad memory”…more just one of those family tales. My personal philosophy is to give thanks freely, and often. It’s one I think I do pretty go at, most times. I certainly appreciate it when I am thanked for a task…so I give it back to others as generously as possible.

But now it is done, the dishes are washed and stored away for another holiday, all the Harvest Decorations are stored up in the attic, and Yule has come to the nilla household, big time.

You might think that a Christmas factory just exploded here! Fifteen giant boxes of decorations, an 8 foot (fake) tree, 9 boxes of lights, and 34 years of assorted ornaments came from the attic downstairs. Six people scurried hither and yon singing carols at the top of lungs, and the entire mood of the day was cheerful, despite the long day.

(This is SUCH a vanilla post…but I’m in a very good vanilla mood tonight, so suck it up sunshine…there’ll be porn aplenty soon!)

My wife has been home on vacation almost the entire week, so my time for writing has been strictly curtailed. I’ve not even spoken to Master since Wednesday. I think He is actually asleep just now, as I’ve been texting for permission to have an orgasm (it IS Friday night fuck night, after all) …or He is ignoring me which I hate. More than likely He is sleeping tho…it’s late on Friday night, by old people standards anyway. 🙂

Oh gosh. I just made that sound like Master was old…and I really meant me! He’s usually quite the night owl…the other night He texted me at 1130 p.m….and I didn’t get it until I woke at 6 a.m. So you see who the “true” old person here is, right? ! LOL!

I’m not only behind on posting stories, but I am woefully past due on responding to all your comments. Thanks for all the congrats on the top 10 number….I’ve been pretty damned psyched about it myself! And Master is so proud of me, too. 🙂

So Monday life returns to normal, which is nice. A busy day, but normal schedules for us all…which means way more time for writing. I do need to finish my little drunken tale (hey, no hangover today, either 🙂 …) and then I’m thinking of cruising my archives to see what stories I need to finish…our girl with the “contract”…and gosh…somewhere I feel …dragons  beginning to stir…and there’s an alien in the Home Pond….I can see that I have a LOT on my plate…and it ain’t calamari (snikkers wildly)…

So, pervie friends…any votes for one of the unfinished tales that you’re wondering wtf happened next?

Enjoy your Saturday…I’ll be happily at work-for while I’ve had a GREAT time with my family…I’m craving a bit of quiet time, too. (What is it with 5-year-old girls? Do they have NO volume control at all? sheesh!)

And hey…if you’re going out shopping (or going out again)…let me just say “local, local, local”….

(that was not loco, loco, loco, you guys. Seriously. (giggles))


A Drunken Friday Post


yup. I are drunk. 🙂

I’ma happy drunk, mind you, full of giggles. And …I really do have a great idea for a story…but I’m too buzzed to write it. I think. I’ma gonna try. (who typo’s “try” as tri? um… a drunk nilla does, that’s who….*laughing*….)

okay, okay, let’s get serious.

Not sober, mind you…just…*giggling*…geeze.


She stood at the door…

wait. Should she be standing AT the door or just inside it? I…um… Okay.

She stood just inside the door. In her hand, a glass of champagne, handed to her as she’d entered the crowded room. The mass of people at the company party were a moving and twisting throng of color. Women bedecked in dazzling evening wear suitable to a company Holiday party. Nobody called it a Christmas party any more, she thought with an inward sigh. Not that she herself did either, but still. The music throbbed in the background, and in one corner, early drunks gyrated hips that were much more accustomed to hiding behind a desk, than wiggling on the dance floor. That Mr. Mackenzie was one of the dancers was more appalling than amusing.  Not that one “shouldn’t” dance when they were 400 pounds..and 70 years old……it just wasn’t something one saw often.

Thank god.

Shrugging her shoulders at her own politically incorrect thinking, she moved along the edges of the crowd, answering an occasional call from associates who managed to see her. With any luck she could make it to the stairs and up the rooftop to hide and read her Kindle, just as she’d done last year. She was half-way through 50 Shades, and she was anxious to find out what happened next. That the damned book kept her in suspense was killing her. She had so little time to read and the holiday party was a good way to get a few hours in. Later, as things wound down, she’d be able to sneak back downstairs and would make a few rounds, so that people would think she’d been there the entire time.

She was, after all, an affirmed anti-schmoozer. Quickly she made it to the far exit, where she knew there was a corridor to the bathrooms, and then the stairwell.

*********   *********

She’d stashed a blanket, some cushions, and a flashlight up on the roof two days ago. One of the benefits of being a go-pher was free run of the building. Prepping her little nest/hideout had been relatively simple. She was snuggled up in her little corner, where the sloped roof met a chimney and a second roof created this little almost hidden nook. The  roof overhung the area, which wouldn’t keep her totally dry if it rained, but that wasn’t an issue tonight. It was unseasonably warm, mid-60’s even now, at 7 p.m. Tucked into the corner, no one would easily find her. Opening her e-reader, she was quickly lost in the words, and world that spun out before her.

She was wrenched out of that sexy world when someone cleared his throat, loudly. She jolted, bobbled her flashlight, then shone it into the face of the ‘intruder’.

“What?!” she asked.

“What?” he replied.

“I asked first.” They spoke simultaneously. She couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

“Jinx!” He replied. “You owe me a Coke now!”

“I’ve not done that…since 6th grade,” she replied.

“Well, so?” He looked down at her, then without invitation, sat down next to her. “Nice. Cozy. See? You’re a sixth grader too! Up here hiding in your private tree house while the party rolls on downstairs. Whatcha reading?”

Quick as a snake he snatched the Kindle from her fingers.

“NO!” she yelped, trying to crawl across him to get it back. “Give it back!”

“Make me,” he laughed, holding it out of read and reading it. A long whistle escaped. “Oh, what a naughty girl! Reading porn on your kindle? Tsk tsk!”

He proceeded to read a particularly juicy paragraph aloud. She wrestled and wrangled him, but he held her off easily. In moments they were totally entangled. It was only when she realized that his thigh was pressing hard against her scantily clad pussy, that her tits were heaving out of her low-cut top and pressing against his chest, and that his arm was wrapped tightly around her holding her in place that she began to squirm to get off of him.

“hmmm, I think you’re reading too many naughty stories. Here we are all wrapped up together and I barely know you.” His laugh was sexy and deep. His eyes devoured her cleavage, her lips, then back to her eyes, making no apologies for the tour he took on his way there.

“Pretty, sexy,” his voice dropped, making her strain to hear. His lips brushed hers once, then pressed harder the second time.

The third time was a full scale invasion. He consumed her mouth, tasting texture and the flavor of champagne on her tongue. Her body stiffened against his, then went soft and supple as the kiss deepened. Somehow her shirt slid off her shoulder, her arms were out of the sleeves, and it was rolled down to her waist without her quite knowing how.

“You know that story is half-bullshit. I mean, it’s entertaining as shit, and sure as fuck got the vanilla world talking about kink in something just above a whisper. But the real thing? Oh, it’s so much better.”

He spoke to her as he tasted her flesh, licking along the tops of her tits, then back to her mouth. Her head spun with the delightful combination of sex and alcohol. She tried to clear it, a bit. Wait. Wasn’t sex and alcohol a bad combination? Yet what he was doing to her body was intoxicating. She saw her wineglass still sitting on the ledge where she’d left it when she’d come up here. It was nearly full.

It was he who was the intoxicating one. Not the wine. Her nipples were rock-hard against his palms. His mouth moved against her ear, and his voice drew her focus.

“Daring enough to try?”

“Try? There is no try. Only do—-or do not,” she ad libbed her favorite quote. That Yoda was a hell of a guy.

“Is that a yes?”

“yes…” her response was breathless. His mouth took hers again as his hands slid to her breasts, then move from a gentle touch to a firm grasp. There was some discomfort there. When he grabbed her nipples in his fingertips and squeezed, there was even more pain. And when he rolled them, still pinched tight, then twisted them like volume knobs?

Verrrrry painful.

She moaned, his mouth taking the cries, swallowing them. When his one hand released her tit, and slid between them, fingering aside her panties, and touching her clit, she came undone.

Arching and moaning, she was astonished by the orgasm. She’d never come from kissing, tit play, and a single touch on her clit! She came when she’d been fucked a long time…sometimes…if she were lucky and her lover, considerate enough to try. Trying to rub herself against his hand, she was dismayed to feel it slip away, move back onto her tit. It was wet; sticky, she realized, from her own pussy honey. She could smell it, the scent of herself, on his hand. It was erotic, and embarrassing, at the same time.

“Play with me Claire,” he spoke against her ear again, as he worked his fingers along her tit. “Let me show you what 50 shades missed…”

*********   *********

not bad for a pretty drunken start eh? want more? i need more wine. no. no i don’t. I need my bed. 🙂 *giggling*  g’nite all..I’ll catch you on the other side of today. Which is tomorrow. But is also ‘now’ as you read this. How’s that for a time conunumdrum.? don’t mind my spelling. I’m too drunk to give a fuck. 🙂 (sound of wild cackles, followed by giggles, then zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz)

HNT~Giving Thanks

I have much to be thankful for this year.

My family is healthy, and gathered close to share this meal together today. (Even when they drive me CRAZY I still love them wildly.)

I have friends in my vanilla life, and some that straddle the fence that separates the two halves of me, some that know the vanilla me…

as well as

the dark side

and like me anyway. 🙂 Not everyone can say they are friends, good friends, with someone who writes porn that features a lot of tentacle sex, right?

I have a beautiful home that has had a fair share of work from my own hands. (I *finally* got all of the paint out of my hair …..before Thanksgiving! Woot!).

Over and around all of this is my


So thank you, Spirit of Thanksgiving.

for the many, many blessings in my life.

Most especially my Master.

I would not be complete without Him.

This one is for You, beloved Master…

since You favor the ‘denim shots’…

i love You.