Princess (2)

She swam to the cove where she had first seen the humans mating. Her heart beat fast as she thought one last time about what she was doing.  Her life seemed to be focused at getting here, to this point. How long she had yearned and longed to travel to the Edge, to see what the Other side was all about, and once she had, hadn’t she known that she needed to be here?

She’d sung for the Sea Witch, sang until her throat was tired and aching. Sang into the conch shell all the music she knew, hoping to please the witch with her voice. At last Drunada had held up her hand, and spoken a single word.


She’d drunk some tea from the witches abalone set, her voice hoarse and raw. She had no idea how long she’d been singing, but she was exhausted.

“You’ll be tired, so swim carefully. Wouldn’t want to get hauled up by a fishing ship and transform in front of all those men. That would be an experience,” the witch had chortled, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound at all. She made rude gestures with her tentacles, that wouldn’t have made sense to Ari if she’d not seen the humans mating the day before. She blushed as Drunada laughed suggestively again.

Another tentacle appeared before Ari. It held a beautiful vase with a glass stopper. Inside was an inky blue-black liquid.

“When you get to the Edge, drink this. It’s going to hurt, girl, when your flippers peel off and legs are made. This kind of rebirth isn’t meant to be pretty, but, for what it’s worth? I think you’re strong enough to bear it. If not, return to the sea, and in a few hours your fins will regenerate. It won’t feel good when that happens, either. But there is always a price to be paid for transformation. You paid part of it with your music; the rest must come from your inner strength…and your heart.”

Ari had turned to go then, thanking the witch, kissing her inky face. For a moment she was embraced by a tangled mass of tentacles.

“Good luck, girl.” The witches voice was gruff, but kind.


Holding onto the same rocky outcropping that had hidden her from the lovers days before, she took a few deep breaths. She wasn’t afraid of pain, exactly. Well, perhaps a little. In her heart, excitement warred with fear, twisted with desire. She wanted.

Moving to the very edge of the sea, where water kissed against the sand, she unstoppered the bottle and drank the potion in one long gulp. It tasted like guppy piss and barracuda blood. It was vile. It was disgusting. Her stomach flopped, flipped, like a beached fish. She coughed, then screamed once, a loud, sharp cry as she felt a stab of pain from her belly to her flippers. It was as if razors scraped away her scales, as if fire had bled along the length of her. She continued to scream, yet no sound emerged. Her last conscious thought was that the witch had tricked her after all, and had poisoned her.


“She’s coming around.” The voice came from far away, and just above her. The sun beat down on her, making her hot. Sand scratched under her back, and the sea was cold where it splashed on her skin.

A dark head blotted out the sun as her eyes half-opened.

“That’s it, little one, open your eyes,” the voice crooned.

“You should just pick her up, Mudge. Tides coming in and we’ll all drown here. This part of the beach gets cut off fast.”

She felt arms under her body, and the strange feeling of flying. Then she was pulled tight against a strong, warm body. She shivered.

“If I ever find the person who did this to you, I’ll pull ’em apart with my bare hands,” growled the person carrying her. It must be a male, with the scraggle of hair on his face. He was enormous.

She smiled, snuggling closer, and slept.


She woke, stretching and yawning widely. She felt, with her whole body, in a way she never had before. Something scratched under her, something rough, but warm. She moved, to sit, quickly, and threw back the blanket that covered her.

She had long, long legs the color of whitefish, and feet with wiggly things at the ends…toes, she remembered. At the juncture of her legs, was a split, where there was warmth and moistness. The sea witch had told her that her body would retain a “memory of the sea” in her own dark, wet chasm. She touched herself, exploring. A bevy of sensations confused and aroused her. A sound outside the door caught her attention.

“There you…whoops, you be nekkid as a jaybird, girl!” The large, hairy man who had rescued her stood there, staring in wonder at her large breasts. “Trey, get in here,” he half-whispered out the corner of his mouth. Moments later, a second man joined him. The two stared at her. She stared back. She was unused to being stared at this way.

She realized that they were captivated by her bosom. Her people always went around bare to the caress of the ocean, but above, she recalled, they put coverings over their skin. She tugged the blanket up around her.

It was as if they came out of a trance. They blinked, smiled, and stumbled into the room.

“How’re you feeling, girl?”

“We found you on the beach.”

“Who put you there?”

“Didja fall off the cliff?”

“Where are your parents?”

“Are ye married?”

She held up her hands, and spoke. Or tried to. She opened her mouth, yet not a sound escaped. She blinked, tried clearing her throat. Her lips moved, but again, no sound emerged.

“I’ll be fucked. She can’t speak, Trey.”

“I can see that for myself, Mudge.”

Her hands dropped the blanket and rose to her throat in disbelief.

The Sea Witch had stolen her voice.


She came of age in her father’s castle. The festivities went on forever, at least it seemed so to the restless Princess.  Ari moved  through the crowds,  stopped over and over again, was offered felicitations, titbits to eat, all the latest gossip. She nodded, smiled until her cheeks were numb.  On the outside she was the perfect princess….inside, the impatience boiled.

She just wanted to go!

Tonight was the night she had yearned for, dreamt of, for months. Tonight for the first time in her life,  she would leave her father’s castle, and journey to the far reaches of his realm.

At long last,  her father called her to his side, and quietly gave her leave to begin her journey. Kissing him hastily on his cheek, she was off like a shot.


She was at the shore. Rocks jutted around the harbor like dark spires. The sound of gulls was a harsh and lonely echo, the sound of the waves mournful counterpoint. The wind blew her long hair around her face, and she brushed it impatiently away. She had to see what was going on!

The cries of the woman had drawn her attention. She would have gone forward, given what aid she could, had not the woman’s cries of  “Yes! OH! YES!”  followed directly after her loud moans. They  stopped her in her tracks, but the sounds of moaning and groaning kept her hiding behind the rocks, as she stealthily peered around them, watching avidly.

He was large, and lay atop the woman sprawled there. She had thought he was a monster, as he pinned her, but the  woman was grasping his shoulders,  and crying out with a blissful joy that Ari had never heard before.  The woman arched, her hair fanning out on the sand of the beach, her arms weaving around his back, his neck, her breasts squashed flat against his chest.

His buttocks clenched, working  up and down in wild gyrations. His back gleamed with sweat, his hair, as dark as midnight, was all waves, like the sea at midnight, tossing about his head. When they both cried out, she jolted, and gasped. The sound of the waves crashing had surely buried the sound of it, or the two were so engaged as to not notice aught but each other.

She watched, ensnared in the drama unfolding before her.  The waves crashed, gulls screamed as they rode the wind, the sun painted the sand in golden hues, and still the lovers held to one another.

At long last they rolled apart. He helped her to rise, and Ari saw the truth of them. His legs were thickly muscled, and covered with dark hairs. He had a thicker mat of hair at the junction of his legs,  and a strange jumble of flesh hanging from that dense forest.  The woman was slender-waisted, hips flaring in a gentle curve, until they too split into two slender columns.  There was a deep cleft between her thighs, and the sheen of wetness there as well.

Ari watched as, hand in hand, the two lovers walked across the sand. She continued to watch,  hidden, as they dressed quickly, then climbed the hidden path up the stone-faced cliff.  With a sigh of longing, she turned in the water, and dove beneath the waves.


“You went to the edge, didn’t you?”

Her sister Coraline looked at her, reading her face before she could even reply.

“You did! Were you terrified? What did you see?”

“I….” She fell silent. How to express and explain what she had seen.

“Well? Arianna, tell me! I told you of the great ship that I saw on my first journey. It’s not fair of you to hold back.”

“The youngest is always spoilt.” This from their sister, Shelly. She tossed her dark hair, watching it undulate on the current.  She had 4 children of her own, and she understood the nature of ‘spoiling’…by the time the last one came around, you just didn’t feel like fighting.  Her view on this was pragmatic, and certainly necessary…or she would have skinned all her offspring by now! Mermen! They were the same headstrong lot the world over.

“I’m not spoiled…I…just don’t have words. Their clothing was so beautiful.”

“It would hurt to wear all those things on your body!”

“They had NO tails.”

“Poor creatures!”

“They were….mating…on the beach.”

“You saw them fucking??!” Shelly flopped over to stare at Ari. “How do they???  I …” she waved a hand in front of her face, fanning the water where her flushed cheeks had warmed it. “Tell us, Ari.”

That was the older sister Ari knew. So bossy.

“He has a worm between his…stubs.”

“Legs, Ari, they’re called legs, not stubs.” Coraline giggled.

“A worm? How could he keep a worm there?”

The girls giggled, thinking of the sea worms that moved sluggishly across the sea bottom.

“It wasn’t a real worm, it just looked that way. It stuck out at first, but after he…pierced the girl with it, it just hung down.”

“You’re not making any sense.” Shelly tossed her hair again. “How could he be jutting out, and then limp? And pierced her? How? Like a swordfish?”

Ari showed them the split between the woman’s legs, explained about the hole there, and the ‘worm” that darted in and out of the hole.

The girls giggled merrily. It seemed so much more cumbersome than how mermen mated…spraying their semen into the water where their mate lay, as she rolled and swam through the cloudy fog. They would do this many times a day until she quickened with their offspring.

“The way he touched her…it was…” Ari trailed off, unable to explain the thrill it gave her, to see them touching. His hands on her body, touching her breasts, not just to receive milk, but to give pleasure. She tried to push away the envy.

It wasn’t easy.


Later, after her sisters had gone, she floated around her room. In her hands was a strand of the finest pearls. She had pearls aplenty. What she wanted, however, was not pearls. Her mind played back to the female on the beach, as she had walked with her lover to the cliff. There they had dressed, he in fine clothing, she in simpler garb, and hand-in-hand had climbed up and out of sight.

She wanted to be that female. But she had no legs with which to walk, no clothing to dress in. There was a way, but there would be a price to pay. Sighing, she moved stealthily out of her room, exited the royal palace.

The swim to the wizard woman’s lair grew darker, colder. Drunada the Sea Witch lived in eternal gloom, making the journey even more frightening. Not many came to see her, that was true, and what she knew of the witch and her powers was all here say.

With a shaking hand, Ari, touched the conch shell, which immediately sang out a shocking note.

In moments Drunada appeared. She was large, and inky black, with intense eyes.

“Come in, Ariana, do come in.” Her voice was thick and rich, and flowed through the water like summer-warmed water. Ari followed her, not certain of what exactly to ask for.

“You’ve been above, haven’t you my dear?” At Ari’s nod, she smiled. “And it tempts you, doesn’t it? Humans and boats and sand and sun? And I imagine, knowing you, gardens and birds and bees, too.”

How did the witch know so much about her already, Ari wondered.

Thick dark tentacles offered her delicacies.

“Why is it so dark here?” The question rose unbidden.

“My eyes, little one, see so much more than yours. The light hurts them, and impedes my true vision.  I’ve seen you, dancing at the castle on the edge of a cliff.”

Ari’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened to emit a beautiful “ooohh”.  Drunada smiled. “Your voice is as lovely as it ever was, girl.”

“I have these…” Ari thrust the packet of pearls towards the witch.

“What need have I for pearls? What I want Ariana is your voice. Sing for me, and I shall give you legs. You will have a month to try to capture the heart of your prince, for he is, indeed, a prince of the land above. But if you do not, you must return to the sea, or die. On the night of the full moon, 30 days hence, you must marry and kiss your love, or dive into the sea quickly. To do anything else, my dear, will end you.”

Her eyes widened, then shut briefly. Hope flared in her heart. He’d been so beautiful to look at, the prince. Whatever a prince was. She only knew that she had to do this, had to try.

“What shall I sing?”



Where the fuck?

Hey pervie friends…

I am reading your comments, I am. And I thank you all, always, for taking time to write to me. I’m on a 4-day 10-12 hour per day work schedule all weekend…and I simply may not be able to respond to your comments until after Christmas.

Please know that I value your thoughts…and it really bugs me when I fall behind on responding to you. I’ll keep hacking away at it in the evenings, at least until my energy gives out!

At work, when I get a moment to breathe, I check blog comments via my phone (but can’t respond on it, since it’s a Stupid Phone!)…and they always perk me up. So thank you for writing to me, even knowing I can’t get back to you right away.

Just wanted you all to know I haven’t disappeared!

Today I made the conscious choice to write stories rather than reply to comments so that I would have stories and such for your viewing …pleasure … (giggle).

Happy Holidays and blessed Solstice…didja feel that? The wheel of the year is just about ready to click into the next season!


nilla the almost-absentee-sex blogger.

(PS -Master is keeping me from overextending and staying up wicked late writing by mandating that I wear the chicklet outfit while blogging at night…there is no way I can stay up late with these fucking things on me! Clever, devious Bastard. Smart, too.)


“I’m gonna play with you until you cum.”

The voice filled her with dread. She couldn’t see, couldn’t move. She felt the cool air against her tits, her open legs, felt the tug and tension in her groin muscles that protested being opened so widely.

“Gonna play with your pussy until you fucking beg me for more.”

She shivered, trying to shift away, to close her legs, but however he’d tied her, there was no way…the moan escaped as the pressure of a vibrator pressed against her clit.

There was a shock of pain as something closed upon her left nipple.  The sound of moans filled the small space. The vibrations on her pussy were stirring something deep inside of her, making her twist her hips.

“You fucking love this, you cunt, your pussy is so fucking wet…”

The sound of glee in his voice unnerved her.

“I’ll never beg,” she thought to herself, even as her hips rolled, trying to snatch up the vibe and get it deep, deep into the place that longed to be filled.

“Beg for it, whore.”

She whimpered as there was another tug of pain on her other nipple. Her clit throbbed with it, the connection between nipples and pussy undeniable. The vibe was too intense to handle, the pressure making her squeak and moan and writhe.

Shaking her head ‘no’ her hips undulated with a will of their own. The darkness swirled with dazzling lights behind her tightly closed eyes, under the blindfold. The  needs of her body began to overtake her mind, even as his hand slapped hard on her throbbing cunt.



“Tell me you want my cock in your hole!”


Her hips arched upwards, seeking more, needing to be filled there. She didn’t talk dirty. She didn’t…

“Fuck me…please Sir, fuck my pussy. Please Sir, put your cock in my hole!”

With a triumphant laugh, he filled her.

The Chicklet Outfit

That’s what Master calls the set-up He concocted to make my nipples all sore. Or, maybe from His perspective, to show me who is da Boss. 🙂

And I’d mentioned that I’d shown you all a pic of a “chicklet nipple” the other day… here.

We were talking, as we are wont to do, on His late drive home from work. It’s a lovely time for us to connect, and for Him to tease me, and for me to giggle, and to beg for an O.

But tonight He jumped over any attempts at conversation, and went into Master-mode from the get go (as opposed to any hint of vanilla conversation).

He thinks tonight (Monday night) would be an excellent time for me to get all juicy and ramped up for tomorrow’s orgasm. It’s Tuesday, which means a “free” o for me…but He wanted me to really, really want/need/crave it.

“Chicklet outfit” He orders. “And I think this is bloggable, nilla.”

“I already did, Master. Showed them the pic of my poor, dented nipple.”

“Your what?”

“My chicklet, Master. (sigh)”

He laughs. He is very much enjoying this “tenderizing” of my nipples, and I can only…actually…I can’t  imagine how sensitive they will be by the end of the month when we meet. That’s more than a week a way people! And some of you have said, wow, nilla, amazing that you can write and be creative, and I have to admit that the pain really makes the creative sparks fly…but don’t tell HIM that, okay?! And I type REALLY fast as I work my way through a story or a blogpost like now.

Yes, now.

I’m wearing the damn outfit. And He thinks you should see it. The “ingredients” to His painful chicklet recipe, as it were.

Really? That’s something bloggable?


This is not an art shot. This is not careful lighting and pretty backgrounds and “learning the angles”. This is not next top model. It’s slightly muffin-topped nilla, and her abused (I just typo’d that as “abusted” LOL) nipples. Who knows …maybe they’ll be “abusted” by the time we meet!

Okay, okay. Here it is….the “Chicklet Outfit”:

Snapshot_20121217How much do those 6 weights on the bottom of the clamps weigh? I have no idea. I don’t *want* to know, either. So I’ll just say “enough” or “plenty” or “a ton”…and of course, it depends on when you ask me.

At the start? The first shock of the drag is like being slapped. It’s abrupt, and painful. Then the shock ebbs and you kind of adjust to it. And my mind goes into this other mode, and I’m not fully feeling it.

And then the flames begin to lick around my nipple. I become aware of my breathing becoming deeper, my arousal increasing, usually my clit starts to throb softly. My nipples and clit are quite sympatico.  And the very moment I begin to notice the lick of fire around my tit, the pain doubles. The fire surges, the nipples begin to moan, and any breath is like taking a drag from a cigarette burnt too close to the filter. It’s raw and smokey and visceral, with a sharp hard bite that makes the eyes sting and water.

And my pussy begins to swell, and become wetter.

It’s the strangest thing, really.

So I’m ready for this. Ready for the set up. Ready to take the pain.

But …

He isn’t done yet.

“And you know what’s missing nilla?”

I’m gonna say this, and really you won’t believe me but whatever (waves hand in air at you)….

We have this connection. It goes beyond love and into something…else. I’m not going to go all pagan or otherworldly on you, but…

I knew.

We’ve not had a half-o torture, a stand-alone one, in a long, long while. It’s like He’s put it up on the shelf and it got pushed to the back by other things and got all dust-covered.

But somehow, I knew *instantly* that He was going to do it. I wanted to deny that I knew…but the moment I said “what’s missing, Master?” I already knew the answer.

And He knew that I knew.

And it was funny in a twisted and perverse way (and isn’t that what we do best? ohhhh yeah…). But He kept needling me with it. Setting my mind rolling and making my body respond. His voice does lovely things to my pussy, making me all wet, every time we talk. But the content sent it to a whole new level.


By the time we get to my Tuesday Orgasm?

He’s right.

I’ll be more’n ready.

He added one more twist to the “take-it-to-the-edge-but-don’t-you-fucking-dare-go-over-it” scenario of the dreaded “half-o”….

He’s BEEN torturing my clit as well, having me put my vibe on HIGH for the last week.

This does two things.

It torments my clit something fierce.

And it makes the orgasm fast, rocket fast. No squirty O’s with this sort of cumming…just ramp up fastfastfast and BOOM you’re done fucker.

I hate that!

I want my lovely orgasms to kinda roll on out there. But it’s a very subtle and perfect kind of torture for a slut, isn’t it? Sure, give the cunt an orgasm…but it will be so quick…you’ll hardly know you had one.


So tonight, He paused in His thoughts.

“Now, you know nilla, we don’t want an “oops” tonight.”

“Of course not Master. No “oops”.” I agree. Falling over the edge and into a full-on orgasm is NOT the point of a half-orgasm.

“And with that vibe on high, well, you’ll go up and over so fast.”

This confirms what I said before about the fast, turbo fast, orgasms that He has been giving me the last few weeks. Double Bastard! Sneaky. So fucking sneaky. I didn’t figure it out right away, that it was a fucking double torture. Torture the clit AND just a hint of a hit of release. No wonder I’ve been waking up soaked.

“So tonight, nilla, on your way to the half-o place? Half-power on the vibe.”

“But Master…it takes so long to climb the mountain that way…” It was a half-hearted semi-protest…

He laughs, that rich, wonderful laugh of His.  His tone is mock-rueful, but I sensed how pleased he was with Himself, beneath the faux-“oh, I’m so sorry” tone as He replied….

“I know, nilla. I know.”




Why Write?

The world grieves.

Yet, here I sit, 10:17 p.m. Sunday night, writing.  I had a brief discussion via email with a fellow writer, who feels much as I do, like being done with a world that lets such cruelty stab us in our soft and fragile hearts.

Why write?

Because we also need to embrace life. To get through the grief, the rage, the unmitigated horror of the world. I do that in a variety of ways in my vanilla life…as an earthy pagan, by going out and standing in the sleet tonight, and feeling connected to something deeper than myself. Some forces at work, not for good nor for evil, but just energy, moving through the area, heading elsewhere.

There’s been a lot of negative energy hasn’t there…and deservedly so. We recoil at an act so heinous we cannot comprehend the why of it.

Where is the solace in this?

For me, it is sitting here at my keyboard, and writing. I’ve woken up several mornings with lovely story lines in my head, and because I’m so busy with work and family…they haven’t been written down, even as a quick “note to self” and have blown away, more energy moving through the area.

Why write?

Because my nipples are under stress. Because He dishes out a hit of pain to me, and no orgasm tonight -thank you very much, (not) Master.  And I am reminded that I am part of something deeper than my pain. I’m connected to Him.

And through Him, to love.

Love is a force that moves through space and time…and my pain….it connects me to Him, though we are miles apart. He tasks me to pull that connection tight so that there is no slack there, grounding me.  And through my pain, my physical pain, I am freed to give voice to the sexual thoughts that continue in my head.

It reminds me that though I grieve, I live.

I breathe.

I weep, but still, I am a sexual creature.

You may think this is terrible of me (though if I recall correctly, many times after tragedy people reconnect to life through sex, and many children are born 9 months after heinous events) and I’m sorry for you if you do.

I am a sensual, sexual, emotional creature.

Sure, I could sit in front of the television and become mesmerized by the facts, the faces, the statistics….but why do I need to know what caliber of bullets were used to murder? I couldn’t tell the difference between a bullet caliber and rabbit pellets….we are super-saturated with information and to protect my own sanity, I’m filtering it down, stopping the flow, and retaining my personhood.




So you will see more sexual stories here. I will be that place you can come to and escape the media hype (and it is all hype now, really) and remember that you, too, are a sensual, sexual creature.

I hope you find some solace here.

Love and peace,



(a small vignette is all I have time for tonight, dear pervy friends…but sometimes a wee touch is better than naught, eh?)

hands curled into fists

sweat beading her forehead, hair plastered in wild random abandon along her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, glued with tears, with perspiration, with cum

shivers running across her shoulders at the gentle touch along the curve of her ass, following the curling line of swollen welt

the rush of air against her skin, raising goosebumps as he steps away

the quiver of anticipation

the shock of sound in the silent room, the rush of air from a quick-drawn breath and the mewling cry as pain registers…

the flush of release as air expels in a whoosh, as flesh heats, and pain and lust collide


Sex and the Embrace of Pain

There’s been a discussion over at aisha’s blog regarding whether we (we being those on the “/s”  side of the slash 🙂 )  feel we “get enough” …enough sex, enough Dominance…or whether we are satisfied. As I recall, I answered then that really, I have a good balance of what I want, what I need, what He needs. I have a limited capacity for D/s in my life, being as I’m a slut on the side, which has to often take 2nd place to being a wife and mommy.

I loved reading about that. Aisha has a way of breaking down a topic  that explores it candidly, with a lightness of touch that I envy. She guides me to think, explore, and examine my role as a submissive.

The funny thing is, despite saying I’m content with how D/s plays out in my life, I always feel like an insatiable bitch. One of the things I’ve noted is that I may not feel “as sexual” if there’s been a few days without orgasms…but that Master stirs the pot, adds a bit of this, a dash of that…and it seems to ramp up the sex need for me, despite the lack of saity. It’s rare for me to feel “nothing” sexually, though you know it’s happened from time to time. Of course, if He’s upset with me, that is a true lust killer…but that so rarely happens.

Last week I had occasion to have two orgasms back to back (rare)…and the first one came so quickly…and the second one too, I remember laying there saying “what? REALLY?”….was my body so in need of release that it just blew up like that? Apparently!

Some of what Master feeds me is pain. I’m a masochist, remember, and pain makes me so fucking slutty…

And we’ve had these conversations before about toe-stubbing and whether that can make us horny…it has, several times for me, actually.

The other night at work, a door shut on me, the pull lever slamming into the back of my shoulder so hard I saw stars. It hit me *exactly* where Master had popped me 6 weeks ago…and along with the rush of pain was a rush of turn on. It was true, when I got home from work, that there was a sticky puddle in my panties.  The orgasm I got to have that night was fierce…He fed me TONS of pain…pleasure-pain from the vibe being on High…and pain from the nipple clamps with weights…and pain from many clothespins on my belly.

I craved the pain, needing some sort of focus to work through my emotional mire. Prior to talking to him, I CRAVED something. I didn’t let myself eat, and I don’t have alcohol in the house…though I briefly considered going to get some wine, I opted not to since I had to work a LONG shift on Saturday. Not a good day to have a hangover…and drinking was hiding from the emotions we’ve all been reeling from.

He focused me.

He fed me pain.  LOTS of pain, He emphasized to me. He knew what, exactly, to do to me to push me through the emotional mire I was stuck in. The orgasm itself is barely remembered. It was fast and hard…and it gave me the release I needed.

I fell fast asleep after my toys were away, and slept through the night. Remember I said earlier that He did little things to keep me focused, to keep me on edge when I’m in orgasm lock-down?

Tonight He was kind enough to give me another Orgasm…with lots of pain like last night. But He slipped me a small gift as we parted ways in front of our Starbucks. I recognized the little portable data device…I’d just bought one myself the other day for photo storage.

I knew what was on it.

My video’s.

The ones He took when Sir P and I were fucking. When I was sucking that too-big dick of his. When I was serving Master by servicing another Dom. *blushes*

I called Him later Saturday night, and He put some parameters around my watching these videos…no more than three a night, He said, or else I’d become *too* horny, and He didn’t think that was safe for the world.

You know, like Noah’s ark, ‘cept with pussy honey.


Where am I going with this? Who knows…I’m intrigued, I guess. That pain, something I used to fear, can apparently be transmuted into a source of pleasure. It hurts, don’t get me wrong. There’s a big-assed lump on my shoulder, and tonight I walked backwards into a door banging the other shoulder. I know, it takes talent to do these sorts of things. Trust me, I’m overloaded in the klutz talent department. But once more, my pussy is throbbing softly and ready for some action. Which reminds me, I need to go grab my clamps, my weights, and get some torture started here! It’s expected, it’s what my body is craving.

And of course, it’s been “special ordered” by the Man….no UPS driver  required. Batteries, however, are included.



Torture, Again

I’m not sure when YOU will read this. I’m a few days ahead on posts, thank the goddess, as soon I won’t have much time for writing …you guessed it, wife vacation. And the holidays and the like will keep all of us busy, I imagine. I’m not trying to go for a long unbroken spell here, though I believe it has been a few months since I skipped a day.

Master would roll his eyes here and say “what the fuck nilla?” if I told him. Not that he’d be mad about it, per se, but he’d wonder why I was back on the daily posting gig.

Mostly…I just have a lot to say 🙂

Stories to write, vignettes of my time with him …kind of like this post, except I’ve not gotten to the “good” part yet, and you’re saying…”c’mon nilla. WTF? You give us an intriguing title like “torture” and then you go off on a tangent that has nothing to do with torture. C’mon nilla, spill!”

You are, aren’t you? It’s okay, I grok. 🙂 I hate when other bloggers do that…just get to the part that will make me wet… *laughs*

Okay, so here I sit, on a Wednesday night. Master had hinted last night, when he gave me permission for not one, but TWO O’s that I might get a chance for another, tonight.

Which he nixed the moment I called him a while ago.


“Are you writing tonight nilla?”

“Yes Master.”

“Okay then, same as last night …clothespins on the nips, then the clamps on the pins, with the full weights.”

He pauses, as I absorb this. Third night in a row with this gig, and my nipples are getting pretty tender.

“Oh, and let’s add the small anal plug. You’ll be all warm and sore and turned the fuck on…and O-less…!”

He says this in this cheery voice like this is happy news. OMG. The Sadistic Bastard! I’m hurting as I type, my nipples feeling like they are pulled to my knees. The pain burns, you see. From the nipple to the curve of the tit, licks of fire from my aching nipples. And in my ass, the insistent feeling of poo. I need to poo.

Of course, I don’t. It’s the fucking plug. I’m sitting on it, pressing it hard into my rump, and not only do I feel the need to expunge the frigging thing, but it’s turning me on.


I said it out loud. The fucking plug in my ass that makes me feel like I need to take a poo…is also turning me on. My panties (yes, I’m wearing some just now) are wet. Nipples throb dully, and ass throbs too, and all of it serves to remind me that none of these parts are under my control, but His.

He told me He was gonna ramp things up.

HE was NOT kidding.


So….that’s as far as I got before the weights, the pins, the plug all merged together into some miasma of pain and lust that I just couldn’t bear anymore. After 30 minutes of it, I was done. I took the obligatory nipple shot afterwards ….. it’s not a rule, but He enjoys seeing my nipple all crunched up directly after…calls it a ‘dented chicklet’ (for those of you not US natives, a chiclet is a ….thin square of gum…wait, let me show you:


(and it’s pronounced “Chick-lit”)

So there you have it. Imagine a big dent in the center of one of those little “pillows” and you have nilla’s abused nipple.chicklet

Why did I ever doubt He was sadistic? *eyeroll*

The condition for removal of the “toys” is that I go to bed. Last night, trembling with pain and lust, I shut down my computer, then removed the plug from my ass, the weights (slowly, oh gosh don’t take them off fast!), then the pins. I have learned to take them off at the same exact moment, holding my breath and …..slowly squeezing the ends to release them and ….

You know…when I first take the weights off, the clothespins, which have been pointing at the ground, spring up…it’s a fast, hard shock of pain that makes me whimper.

And okay, get wet, too.

Breathing through that, to get to the next part, removal…ah, that’s a fine trick. But by taking them off simultaneously, I’m able to quickly put my toys away and crawl into bed and cuddle my poor aching tits.

Last night, after, I tossed and turned for fucking ever. Sore, and horny. Horny. HORNY!

And when I finally woke up this morning?

Still horny. Still held firmly in HIS control. Liking it. Liking it a lot. Nice to be held, from afar. Nice to be made to want so desperately. Nice to be hurt, nice to be turned on, nice, oh so much deeper than that….to be His.