Masturbation Fantasy

 It was Tuesday, our “Like” Day…a special day in our week when we connect. This one was tainted by my fuck up over the weekend, and I simply was not certain what would come of the day that has been “ours” for nearly 2 years. But once again, Master surprised me. It was the day we made up, when things were settled. When we texted each other and resolved the biggest issue. Later, as the dust settled, He allowed me an orgasm…I always get an orgasm on Like Day…but there were parameters. I had to create a fantasy to masturbate to that would include ice cream…part of my punishment is that I can no longer have any without His express permission…which will be a long time coming. So the fantasy had to have ice cream in it. I crafted it in my head, then lay in bed and began it. It was a powerful orgasm, since I’d not had  any in many, many days; it was also a cathartic release of all the emotions that were still floating through my red head. 

Wednesday I wrote it down, exactly as it played out in my fantasy, exactly as I had done in in my bed (albeit substituting clothes pins for Masters mouth on my nipples). He liked it enough that He told me it is “bloggable” …High praise from my Master, indeed.  ~nilla~

You stood over me.


Hands tied over my head, feet apart.

“I could get twenty guys in here to fuck you. Use every hole, use it well. I could beat you, pound you into a pile of goo.”

I swallow hard. You’re not angry, you’re calm, firm, resolved.

I wonder what the fuck You’re going to do to me for my fuck up.

“Instead, I’ve brought just a few guests.”

You open the door and a woman stands there, holding a large ice cream cone. You go to your bag and pull out  two vibes. You cover one in a condom, squirt lube on my pussy.

“The lube carries the vibrations a lot more intensely” You say, almost to yourself.

“She will let the ice cream drip. All over you. ON your face, your hair, your tits. And she will lick it off you. You can smell it, feel it, do everything except taste it. This will be the last ice cream that your body will see, feel, experience until next summer…and only then if you are a good, very good, slut.”

She takes the dripping cone and holds it over me. where she stands, she blocks my view of You…but in moments I feel the pressure of one vibe on my clit. The second one roars to life and is gently inserted into my pussy.

“By the way. No fucking. You’ll have orgasms all right…but not one single bit of fucking. Bad girl.”

There is ice cream dripping on my cheek, my tit, my belly. She passes the cone over and over me. I feel You, taking a lick along the side of my tit, sucking hard on my nipple, then biting. I whimper, but not much sound comes from my duct-taped mouth. You have made certain that not one molecule of ice cream will pass my lips.

You play the second vibe over and around my clit and as I squirm, You press it hard against my tender bud…I’m moaning and trying to move and You bite my nipple as you torture my clit. There is pain and pleasure on both ends of my body.

Finally Your mouth leaves my nipple; You continue to play the vibe on my pussy, making sure the one firmly inside is still planted deep, while mauling my clit with the other. You whisper in my ear, as her mouth licks and laps the dripping ice cream on my body. It is torture AND a turn on , her warm mouth, the cold ice cream.

“nilla was a very, very naughty sub, yes?”

I nod, whimpering behind the sticky gag.

“nilla won’t make this mistake again, will she?”

I shake my head, vehemently,..NO no, I won’t.”

Your voice continues, the honeyed whisky of your tones at odds with the mean Dom things You say. “Maybe I’ll let Sir P fuck your ass next time. That would be some punishment, wouldn’t it? Or maybe a whole string of guys. One after another, using your ass, your pussy, your mouth…how ’bout that, huh?”

I whimper, shaking my head NO NO NO…this is NOT something that I want. Sir P’s cock already hurts my pussy…the thought of that…in my ass…. no…not a pleasant picture.

There is a plop and I arch up in shock…that bitch has dropped the rest of the ice cream onto my belly and is sucking and lapping it. I can smell it, and my mouth waters. I must swallow hard and fast so I don’t drown in my own juice. You had spoken of drowning me, after all….and it’s cold, so fucking cold. The dual vibes on and in me are making me come so close to cumming. My nipple hurts where You bit it, and I’m shivering with cold and lust…my clit throbs, painfully reminding me that i’m that close to orgasm…time to take away the stimulation…but you’ll have none of it…


When I cum, it is intense, very wet…and I almost pass out with the force of it.

nilla was a very bad slut, Master.

Thank You for allowing me an orgasm on Like Day.

Desire (2)

She researched. It was what she did best. It was her career, her hobby, her solace. The stinging remark he had made just before he’d pushed the elevator button, sending her away had burned in her mind.

“I don’t date vanilla women.”

What the fuck did that mean, anyway. She swiped angry tears away with the back of her hand. That her hand was shaking, she ignored. She wanted to play the role of the dismissed-as-wanting female…it looked that way from her perspective, and sure as hell felt that way, too.

“Vanilla this, fucker,” she muttered, giving the finger to the garage ceiling, imagined waving it in Mr. Stephen Howard’s fucking fine face.

The bastard. The….fucking bastard.

She got into her car, and drove home, flushing with embarrassment as she remembered her preparations for seduction. Her bedroom resembled the scene of some horrible attack. She, the neatness queen, had things strewn hither and yon. Stalking through the room, she ruthlessly folded tops, bra’s, panties, putting everything away with a snap and a bang.

When there was nothing left, she sat, panting, on the edge of her bed. Why? What was she lacking, that he found unpalatable? She’d been hit on constantly in her life. She wasn’t stunning, drop dead gorgeous, but she was sexy. Attractive. Fun to be with.

“Stop it.”

Her voice brooked no argument. With a sigh, she rose and got a facecloth. Blotting her tear-smudged eyes, she tried to put him out of her mind.

“Unattainable, like Prince Harry,” she muttered into the washcloth. Except. He wasn’t.

“I don’t date vanilla women.”

The facecloth fell into the sink with a plop. As if on autopilot, she went into her office, and booted up her computer. First, a google search. Which led her to wiki. Which lead to articles about BDSM, fetish, and other sexual deviancy.

She sat back, stunned. Her mouth opened and closed for a moment. Surely, BDSM, Dominance, submission…that was a twisted darkness. And, okay, perhaps she had fantasies that wouldn’t be classified as “nice” …but.

She shook her head. Her fantasies hadn’t gone this way. Not really. She bent over her computer and read.


Blinking, her eyes refocused on her office. It was dark, except for the glow from her computer, currently illuminated by the video of a man beating a bound woman. She paused the player, and rose as if coming out of a pool of hot water. Her body trembled, her nipples were hard pebbles, and her panties were soaked.

She had seen several of her darker fantasies played out before her. She’d been researching for hours. And as always, got lost in it. It was deep into the night, nearly midnight. She arched her back and stretched up to the ceiling, then bent slowly to touch her toes. The smell of her own sex was intense. Clit tingling, pussy slippery, she knew she could have an orgasm in minutes.

But she needed to think, not get lost in more physical sensations.

He was a dominant. It explained a lot. The assessing looks he gave most people, as if he was looking into them, not just at them.  He exuded a confidence that was almost off-putting. And God, he made her so turned on.  Torn between desire for a cup of tea, which would guarantee insomnia, and the need for sleep, she headed for bed.

And dreamt of him, beating her.


For a week, she didn’t see him at work. Her department was currently doing a huge R & D project, which meant a lot of runs to the management offices. Files, print-outs, flow charts, demo’s.

When she wasn’t at work, she was on her computer at home. Blogs, stories, movies, stills. First-hand accounts of submissives, of dominants. She began to understand a darker side of her own sexual leanings that she’ always tamped down. The one guy she’d dated who’d held her immobile when he fucked her brains out…she’d been full of passion for him, and had been bereft when his contract had run out and he’d headed back to Liverpool. The guys she’d been with after him had paled in comparison. She had no idea. She didn’t feel submissive…but the idea of being taken, used, made to do things sexually that she would never in a million years give voice to?

That was all fantasy, wasn’t it?

Where had all this come from, she wondered. She’d had a great childhood, never been hit or abused in any way. She’d always felt that people into kink…well, she didn’t really suppose that she’d believed it was more than a farce that was on television for effect.

It was real.

It was raw, and explicit and.

And she hated to admit how much she was attracted to it.

She had never been hit, never been bitten or tied up. Only Liverpool Larry had come close to enacting her dark dreams. She slept little, during the week of learning. On Friday, she was exhausted. She paid little attention to the dark circles under her eyes, and her general fatigue. She was caught up in the two worlds…work and BDSM culture and wasn’t sure where to put her feet.


The day was finally over. Friday, at long, long last had ended, taking the last of her energy with it. In the parking garage, trying to work up the energy to go home, she leaned her forehead against her car door and just breathed. The coolness of the glass calmed her, as she fumbled with the key in the door lock.

“Let me.”

His voice, like warm chocolate over ice cream, came from behind her. She turned, resting her rump on her door. The lethargy fell from her like a coat, shrugged away with a surge of temper.

“Why?” She all but snarled.

“Because you’re obviously …”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, a stomp of her foot.

“No! Why did you say that to me?”

He smiled a gentle smile, then pushed off the car he was leaning on. His finger pushed a fall of hair from her cheek, then slipped under her chin. The warm puff of air from his mouth tickled her ear.

“Because, little one, I saw your ghosts.”