Dateline: Somewhen on Sunday.
I was blindfolded early, early.
I was beaten, early.
I was (thank you Goddess) finger fucked into my first several orgasms.
But under the blindfold, time doesn’t move. I exist outside of time, in a dark bubble with Him.
Everything is intensified, not knowing what is coming next, pleasure or pain?
At some one of those “whens”, His lips met mine in the first kiss of our time together. It was soft, gentle, tender.
His lips nudged at mine, parting me, slipping His tongue into my mouth, my tongue gliding along His as we tasted one another. So intensely erotic.
And then the sharp, shockingly painful pinch as His finger took my erect nipple and pinched it firmly. I yelp into His mouth, and He deepens the kiss, not letting me break away to cry out, as His finger tortures my nipple. Just the nipple, just the very sensitive point of me, incredible pain, while His mouth loves mine, tender, deep, gentle.
The contrast is indelibly etched in my memory.
Later there was some tit squeezing, slapping, beating with a variety of toys…He did a lot of titty torture, which I still feel two days later as I move around. Today I am braless as being contained in a tit-sling is just a bit too much. 🙂
There was a point of quiet.
I was laying on the bed, spaced out. Orgasms, pain, all mixed up in my head now, all in random order.
I don’t know, really, how it happened.
He was across the room, tapping away on His computer, doing some work. I knew He was going to do it, and I came aware of the sound of it gradually.
It was peaceful, just two people being together. One of them semi-conscious, but still … *grin*
I dunno how…
My fingers were stroking my slit.
I was wearing long black satin gloves. and still had my panties on, also black, lace on the front, satin at the crotch.
Satin on satin.
Soft, gentle strokes, warmth against warmth.
I must have been smiling, thinking about Him for certain, and feeling my pussy oozing sex juice. I’d *had* orgasms, and *had* some pain, and was just laying there, gently coming back to my body from…whereever I was…
And the stroking became just a bit harder…rubbing over and over on my clit.
And I was verrrry close to cumming.
Smiling, and almost there…..
“What the fuck?”
My finger stills…uh…oh…
“Are you….are you….”
His voice is incredulous. I smile just from the tone of it.
“Are you …. masturbating?”
“You little fucking whore! You’re masturbating? While I’m across the room, working my ass off, you’re fingering your clit? You little whore, you!”
The bed shifts, as He lies beside me. I snuggle against His warmth. (I was seriously underdressed for the chill of the room)
I’m smiling and languid and He’s …. it’s funny…He was amazed, somewhat appalled, and somewhat bemused, I think.
“Well, get on with it then and finish…” He says.
Immediately I’m embarrassed. He’s right fucking there. Next to me. Watching, and I can’t see Him. How unfair. How humiliating. How…arousing.
I rubbed, and got closer. Clit tingling, nipples puckering, I was *there* in seconds, I think.
I came in a little whimper of pleasure and embarrassment. He’s never, ever done that before, watched me pleasure myself.
“That was a bit fast nilla,” He says, as if doubting me. I think, though I’m not sure, that He checked.
I was wet…I did indeed cum…I just rarely come explosively on my own, and never without toys. It was a gentle lovely cresting of pleasure on my already sensitized clit.
It was erotic, and naughty, and immediately sent my head spinning into subspace all over again. 🙂 Which is really a lovely place to be, isn’t it?
I should, right now, be attending to my obligation of writing back to everyone who has responded to a variety of prior posts.
But I’m not.
I’m sitting here on Monday morning, a bit dazed and frankly? Lost in euphoria.
That’s not a word I use a lot.
But it is exceedingly apt to describe exactly my headspace just now.
My body is buzzing and painful. It hurts to move arms, legs, even shifting in my chair. My ass hurts and my pussy throbs.
It’s a funny kind of throb.
An overused-oh-please-don’t-touch-me- throb.
And an aroused, oh-PLEASE-touch-me ache.
Yes, both, simultaneously.
He made me wait a long while for that first, oh-so needed orgasm, when that door closed behind us.
I told Him, in the parking lot.
I bit my lip, nodded, and whispered “yes.”
And I was.
It’s been months since major pain. It’d been nearly a week since an orgasm (I know, I see some of you rolling your eyes…’not even a full week, nilla and you’re already whining?’).
I wanted, needed and craved Him.
He didn’t disappoint.
He let me slide into the bathroom and prepare. But I’d left my makeup bag in my purse on the outside.
In the Danger Zone.
Where He was.
I tried to duck out and grab it.
He gave me the once over, and a long, low “n-iiii-ce” and I felt (i know, i know) “safe”. The wall featured a mirrored glass door for the closet, and I felt safe enough to put on my eyeliner there.
Peering at what I was doing.
Not realizing that He had snuck up on me with the fucking pink hairbrush.
Right there, out of the blue, nilla climbs the wall…
He timed it precisely. Timed it so that the eyeliner wasn’t at my eye, but just as I had pulled it away to see if I’d covered the area…
and again, another WHAP! Fast, terribly fast, and hard on the same spot. And then the other cheek. Whap, Whap…
Waves of pain.
Waves of ache.
Waves of it.
I couldn’t even yell. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t….just hung there on my tippytoes, mouth open, in a silent yelp…
and He laughed.
Just the opening salvo in a day of pain and joyful sex.
So much laughing.
So much joy.
Tears, a few, from the fucking silver cake thingy on my tits…and the fucking pink brush.
Bruises, already blooming even before it was time to go our separate ways.
Many, many squirty, wet, soak-the-bed orgasms that leave one’s pussy throbbing.
In that please don’t…and …please PLEASE do…touch me again way.
Just another subspace Monday…. in Euphoria.
Her glare said it all, as he stared her down.
Their eyes did a silent, deadly war, until at last, hers fell. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke.
He did not reply, merely crossed his arms over his chest and watched. Her hands rose, slowly to unbutton her blouse. His guest, whom she had no idea would be there, watched avidly as her fingers fumbled over the buttons. She was nervous, clumsy, yet both men continued to watch until she finished. The two edges of the shirt parted, as her hands fell to her sides.
Her breasts swelled above the cups of her demi-bra, her cleavage centered within that gap, enticing both Doms. Her flesh was pale, her shirt the red of ripe pomegranates, a beautiful and compelling contrast.
Her Master continued to stare at her, and, obviously not happy, she shrugged the blouse off one shoulder, then the other, allowing it to cascade down her arms, pooling for a moment around her wrists, until it fluttered to the floor behind her.
He rose from the bed in one fluid motion, startling her. She watched him with wary eyes, as her Master continued to watch her. Circling her, she felt the barest whisper of a touch along the top of one shoulder, cupping one buttock, slipping over her hip, until he stood directly in front of her and traced the very edge were tit met satin. She shivered at the touch, his finger was warm and rough-a working-man’s hand.
He pressed against her, guiding her with his body, until she was turned around, the back of her legs hitting the edge of the mattress. Palm to her chest, he pushed once, hard, and she fell back. Her hair cascaded in an aura around her head, her hands fisted in the coverlet, as he straddled her.
Hooking a finger in the bra, he tugged, lifting it away from her body, then pulling it over the tops of her breasts, leaving it laying near her throat. His hand gathered her tits, pressing them together, kneading them and pinching the round nipples.
The gasp and moan came as a surprise. Until today, only her Master had touched her. Until today, His was the only cock she had seen as a submissive. Until this moment, when His guest tugged his hard shaft out of his jeans, and let it lay upon her belly.
“I’m gonna fuck this,” He said. His voice was raspy, with a bit of a Boston accent. Not the Kennedy kind, but the Southie kind. Why that even mattered, she had no idea. Her brain noticed the oddest things during these scenes. As if it had to put rational things in there to balance out all the BD and SM things she fed it.
He pressed her tits tightly together, and it was then that she realized that he was planning a titty-fuck…she’d assumed that she’d be sucking this strangers dick, but no, or at least, not now.
“Lube?” he turned his head, questioning her Master, who reached into his bag ‘o tricks and pulled out a bottle. Opening it, he crossed the room and squirted a thick stream of it into the valley between her tits.
She gasped…so cold! Fucking bastard! He grinned down at her.
“Want me to move her back some?”
In moments, she was tugged across the mattress, head hanging off the side. Her Master filled her mouth with his semi-hard cock, even as their guest began pressing her tits and fucking that deep and warm cleft.
She lost all sense of time, her entire being focused on pleasuring her Master. There was a growing need between her own legs, though she knew that wasn’t something she should worry about. There had been times when He’d not given her a single orgasm, only spankings and pinching and had her blow him.
She hated that, but it sure ramped up the hotness for her. Being a submissive slut was a curious thing at times.
He pulled out of her mouth, hard and rigid, stepping away as the Guest began to moan and spurt. Thick rivers of cum landed between her breasts, further greasing that pathway as he pressed forward, pressed deeply between those mashed orbs. His fingers clenched around her, painfully tight, as his cock shooting cum onto her throat, her chin. Still hanging head upside-down, she felt one tickling rivulet sliding up towards her nose. Shaking her head she tried to change the trajectory, but it only made it slip faster. It entered her nose, that stray bit of man-juice, and she sneezed mightily, making both men laugh.
She hadn’t been told to move, so she lay there, a bit dizzy, disoriented, listening to their voices buzz but not understanding a word. The sound of the door closing confused her, then there were hands round her ankles, tugging her back up to the bed. She blinked, and saw Master, pressing her ankles ceilingward, his big cock moving towards the juncture of her splayed open thighs.
“What is this for?”
He slapped her pussy hard, making a wet splashing sound. She was so wet that if she were standing upright, she’d have wet shoes. She hated when he made her talk dirty. It embarrassed her still.
He slapped her again, harder, making her jolt with the sharp pain.
“Don’t make me ask again, slut.”
Her voice was tiny, whisper-thin as she spoke.
“For you to fuck, Sir.”
“Louder. I want you to tell me what this wet hole is for?”
She wanted to close her eyes as her cheeks bloomed fiery red.
“For your cock to fuck, Sir.”
“You think I’m going to fuck this?”
She nodded, even as she spoke. “Yes, Sir.”
“Yes Sir, you’re going to fuck my….” she paused, taking a breath, as his compelling gaze drew the words from her resisting mouth, “cunt.”
“You’re right, slut. You are exactly right.”
Drawing her legs over his shoulders, he tugged her to the edge of the bed.
“I am definitely going to fuck this.”
Lookit what my writing friend Will Crimson found for me on the interwebs… now I want one. LOL! Isn’t it charming? It sends creepy yet erotic shivers right up my spine…
It’s a doorstop, of all things.
You may remember that Will has my absolute favorite-of-all-time Tentacles series…if you’ve never read it, I highly recommend all of the series. Let’s see if I can find you a link…ah…here you go… 🙂
Will has several chapters to this story, so do yourself a favor, have your best vibe nearby, curl up and get comfy, and read them all at once…guaranteed, once you try one of His tentacle stories on …you’ll be hooked (yeah, pun intended)…!
Another “oh my”…….? While YOU are sitting and reading me here, *I* am sitting or laying or standing…being beat, fucked, head-to-the-wall, and other various and sundry tortures.
Like “piggie tickling”.
Like whallops with the fucking pink hairbrush.
Funny aside here…I got myself a *new* hairbrush. It was time. But *Master* loves the old hairbrush, so I’ve put it into my bag for work, where I wear my hair up. That way I have it accessible for brushing out, right? We met at Starbucks a week ago…remember the story of His “new best friend” that I wasn’t quite sure *who* he was?
Well, I forget why now, but I was pawing through my work tote while Master was talking to the guy…and I pulled out my pink brush, and a few other things…and then stuffed everything back in.
On MLK night, He and I were talking. He was NOT in a good mood, and I was cheering Him up, some, and then out of the blue He asks me why I had my pink brush with me.
“You saw that?” I said, astonished. I was certain that 100% of His attention had been focused on his “best buddy”…. yet obviously not.
The Man is simply amazing that way.
“Of course I saw it…” He says, almost exasperated. “That brush and I have a cosmic connection, nilla.”
I snort, then giggle.
“Of course You do,” I mutter around giggles.
“He is my favorite, and after all, nilla, you introduced us…”
Yeah. Right. My (stupid) innocent bad.
Oh my (gawd)!
There is yet another “Oh My”…sometime today (I think, or maybe Monday?)….and …. maybe it will be YOU who did it to me…
My blog will surpass 400,000 hits!
So…. thank you…it’s truly awesome to watch those numbers go up and up…You did that…coming here, reading what I have to say, commenting…all of you have been part of this journey with me…some a long time, some new…but whomever you are…thank you. I am truly blessed to have such a loyal and horny fan-base! 🙂
Saturday evening on my drive home from work, I was talking to the Man. Well, He was talking, I was listening. A bit of banter, a bit of whining…oh, okay, a LOT of whining.
You see, I’ve been on worse than O-restriction this last week. I had one orgasm, Tuesday. Feels like a lifetime ago.
And rather than just leave me feeling sexually “dead”, He decided to leave me sexually aware.
Half-way-there orgasms suck. You get almost to the brink of explosion…and pull back and stop.
It’s torture. It’s arousing. It’s incredibly frustrating.
It leaves one feeling constantly needy, constantly wanton.
He loves it, LOVES doing this to me.
Tonight (Saturday as I write this) He ramps it up even more, and ever so casually.
So tonight when you’re having your two half-o’s….
“Wha–wha–wat?? MASTER? Wha-th-huh?”
He laughs, the brute, and then continues.
Why nilla, you’re all flustered. Yes, you lucky slut you get two half o’s tonight! Six minutes apart. Have one, rest, then the next at the 6 minute mark.
He doesn’t even tell me not to fuck it up, no “oops”…because He knows I won’t. I’ve texted him after ever fucking torture session, each one worse than the last.
And you’d best be aware of the time, slut. This needs to be done by 10. I’ll watch for your text. I won’t read it…just the time stamp.
At 10, If you are not done, you’ll need to give me a third half-orgasm.
Oh, and full chicklet outfit…including the ass plug. Capiche?
Well…it’s ten past nine already. I desperately need to get my ass upstairs and get to it. Adios mi amigo’s…(do continue reading however, as I’ve written this post all during the past week, just so you’d have some titillating (? really?? Seriously, my life just isn’t that titillating — no, it’s not — really! But you all are curious so, …well….I try to accommodate!)
My vanilla week was kind of crappy…no one could go out in the cold and burn off energy – ergo child wars that erupted over the least things… sigh…an angsty teen, monotonous chores…just everything seemed blah.
But it’s midweek as I write this now, and I’m trying to remember what it feels like to be with Him. Behind closed doors with Him. What it feels like to have His fist in my hair in a place where no one can see Him push me across the room with it, or bend me over His knee. Where no one is there to witness Him slapping my cheek, or pinching me, or putting clamps on my nipples.
What does that feel like, again?
At home, I can put the pegs on so that they cause pain–but I control it. Too tight? Oh, move it here. Too loose? Oh, just fix it there. Sure I’ll do it to the best of my ability…and there are many nights that I’ve sat with tears in my eyes as that fucking chicklet outfit hangs down between my legs, weights pulling my nipples to the floor (or so it seems) because it hurts so much, because I swear my tits are on fire from the searing pain of it.
But for Him to do it means His way. Too far up the nipple so it bites a ton? Too frikkin bad, slut.
Oh, don’t want my finger in your asshole?
Suck it up sunshine. They’re His holes and He will do as He chooses.
My choices are not merely mitigated, but abrogated. Gone. *poof* dust in the wind. My choice is to go into that room with Him, and remember what it feels like to be a fully submissive pain slut.
Is there dread?
Maybe a little. The oh-my-gawd stinging, deep pain of that fucking pink hairbrush is a remembered pain. It takes my breath away. It leaves one hell of a mark. It hurts.
It sure as fuck-all hurts.
Mr. Belt might show up…and if he does, it will be after FPH has thwapped me a bit…so rather than being a lovely stingy pain…it will hurt like holy fuck-all.
Who knows what else will happen? Not me. Not even Him, I would bet. He’s had a shit week, a really shit week…and while He wouldn’t make me bear the full brunt of it…I’m sure I’ll get some of it.
That pleases me, btw.
To be His tool of release? Yeah, there’s a pleasure for me in that.
In the end, I’ll be bruised, and achy, and sore, and tired, and well-fucked and orgasmed out…until then, a long rest-of-the-week of partial orgasms lays ahead…(if I had any doubt the Man was a sadist…He has well and truly laid that to rest!)
So as you sit with your Sunday coffee, that week of partial o’s lays behind me, and He lays ahead of me.
What a lovely “Oh, My!” that is to anticipate.
There are many Saturday evenings when Master and I are able to hook up for a brief kiss, pinch and then I head on home, on my way from work. This week I got to have a “starbucks dinner” while with him.
Unfortunately, He’d “picked up” a “new best friend”…some guy who was hanging there while his wife and daughter were shopping.
Because I didn’t know the back story when I came in, I played it cool, didn’t call him Master (or anything), just sat, ate, joked with Him–I wasn’t sure if it was Master’s son, until He made a comment (for my benefit, I think) that took that out of the way …but it still could have been a client or a coworker…I had no idea.
So I ate, and read the paper, and sat across the table and not beside him and it was all proper and vanilla and…
and it’s always good to be with Him. He walked me out to my car and I had a few pinchy-tickles, a kiss or two, and then I was on my way. It would be dishonest to say that I wasn’t disappointed to only have had that little bit of time to be with Him, but not be “with Him.” I told him later that I would have gone the whole sub-route had I known the guy was just a stranger making conversation. I’d have slid to my knees at His feet, kissed His palm…the whole nine yards.
Self-restraint is an amazing thing for this slut, after all! Yet—I wasn’t sure until He walked me to my car, just what was up with “that guy”.
So ….imagine my surprise to get a text Sunday (the very next day!) morning asking how my day was shaping up…this is Master code for “are you available to meet at all”. (Yes Master, I’ve clued into that!)
And I made it work.
And we spent just over 90 minutes together, getting “properly” tortured by Him…hair pulled, pinched, tickled.
He’s amazingly good at sucking me into complacency, before I’m very surprisingly (to me, anyway) slammed back into the reality of life with a Dominant Master.
He is a shoe guy-that’s His fetish. I’m not. I could give a fuck about shoes, most of the time. I recently got a decent pair of boots. They’re cute, brown slouchy boots.
They have a little demi-zipper on the inside so that one can slide one’s foot into the base of the boot.
He tips his head, looks at my feet.
“Nice boots,” He says. He signals me to lift my foot up so He can better inspect the material, the construction. Taps the heel, feels the suede. Nods sagely.
“Nice boots,” says He once more, and I’m pleased that He approves.
“What’s the zipper for?” He asks.
“So I can get my foot in. It’s got a narrow neck.”
“No it doesn’t. I don’t get that?” He says. He measures around my ankle with His two hands, a somewhat quizzical look on His face.
(I don’t feel the sharp bite of the hook in my mouth, not even here. I’m a good little fishie and swim right up and swallow the fucking thing whole.)
(and He has an immensely good poker face)
I slide the zipper up and down.
“Yeah, but you should still be able to get your foot out zipped up…” and He wiggles the boot on my foot.
“no Master, like this,” I say, unzipping my boot, and tugging it off my foot.
He takes the boot, and my foot….and I, gullible wench that I am, expect Him to put it back on.
Instead, He drops the boot to the floor, peels off my sock and attacks my toes! Holding my ankle in a firm grip, he tickles, he tugs, the slides his finger up and down the bottom of my foot.
He laughs, He shakes His head, He chortles to Himself about my absolute naiveté.
I’m nilla, and I am one gullible slut. He is constantly amazed that I’m still as gullible as I am. So of course, this little scenario became instantly “bloggable stuff, nilla!” He smiles, shaking His head.
He’s takin’ bets to see which of you will try to sell me a certain NYC bridge….
The building gleamed in the rising sun, tones of pink and orange washing over the face of it as the new day burst with joy onto the horizon.
“It looks good, even from here, doesn’t it?”
The princess turned from the window to look at her prince, smiling as she watched him playing with their son in the middle of their very rumpled sheets, in their very comfortable bed. Later she could attribute the wet spot to diaper leak…maybe.
“You’ve been looking at it for months-overseen every possible part of construction, searched the lands for tomes of all types- do you think it could be anything other than magnificent?”
He rubbed the soft red curls of Joslyn, his son.
“What do you say little prince? Did your momma do a fine job?”
The young prince looked up at his poppa with sparkling eyes, and a radiant smile. He bounced a little on the bed, then leaned forward and planted a wet, juicy kiss on his daddy’s mouth. Plopping back onto his rump, hands curled into tiny fists, he answered succinctly.
He didn’t have many words, but that had been one of his first.
His momma flew across the room, scooping him up and covering his face with kisses. He put up with it – she laughed at all the faces that he made as she did so – and he loved to make her laugh.
“Smart boy! Aren’t you momma’s smart little prince?”
There was a short knock on the door of their room, and his nurse came in, curtsying to the prince and princess.
“I’ll get him ready for the big day, Ma’am,” she said, taking him from the princess.
In moments, the prince and princess were alone.
It doesn’t take a lot of skill to imagine what happened next, the two randy young people alone, with a big, big bed, does it?
I forgot. You do like all those sort of details, don’t you? Well, you know, I’ve already spoken of the Princes’ mighty sword, the Princess’s large, round breasts. I needn’t go into all that again, need I?
I didn’t think so.
Now, where was I?
Ah, yes…one moment, the princess was standing, watching the nurse move into the nursery with her son, and the next, was tugged backwards onto the bed.
“I believe you mentioned that all type of books would fill your library…yet you have left one out.”
“That is not a book,” giggled the princess, grasping his cock and rubbing it with her warm hand. “Besides, I do indeed have a section on bedsports, so there!” Bowing her head, she blew a soft raspberry against the head of his shaft, making him moan.
“Vixen! I mean you have left out our book, the story of the Princess and the Pea, the story of us.”
“Oh, someday I’ll get around to writing that history down for our children, worry not!”
She dissolved into giggles as the prince licked and blew against her soft belly, the two of them little realizing that I was still in the room. I’ve seen more of those encounters than I could recount even in these pages!
Eventually the prince rolled her to her belly, and lifted her hips. This is a position that I enjoy very much, and judging from the sounds the princess made, so does she! In and out his fat cock slid, gleaming wetly as he moved between her thighs, hands tight on her hips. When she was nearing her climax, he would stop, either fully inside or fully withdrawn, and make her beg.
“You beast! I’m … please. Oh goddess…I need…”
And he would laugh, a deep and wicked laugh.
“Bliss prolonged is deeper bliss, my fair princess.” And he would slowly enter, or withdraw, and ever so slowly reverse. She attempted to buck him, but he held her steady and fast, not allowing her to move an inch.
To further her torment, he would reach under, and flick one hanging tit, pinch one distended nipple. Whimpers and moans, grunts and groans would ensue, until finally he would relent and begin to thrust with hard, long strokes.
When she exploded, he held still, his jaw clenched with the effort of not joining her in release; as she began to ebb, he began fucking hard, stroking into and out of her body, making them both grunt with the force of it.
When he came, she too clenched, fingers grabbing at the silken sheets, her mouth open, eyes shut at the delightful sensations. At long last he was done, pulling his spent shaft from her with a wet sucking sound.
Flopping beside her, he gathered her close, and they slept for a time. A bell tolling the hour off in the distance roused her first. Rolling to face him, she kissed his nose, his cheeks, and finally his mouth, all while he slept.
Or feigned sleep…for when her lips met his, he rolled her to her back, one hand in her hair, the other lifting her leg as he slipped between them.
I do believe it possible that the Prince must have alley-cat in his lineage, but I digress.
She may have tried to protest, there was some mumbling happening, but in moments, the only sounds in the room were soft moans, wet splashes, and the slap of flesh against flesh. At some point her heel went up over his shoulder, her ankle hooking over his neck, as he drove deep inside of her, his mouth still attached to hers. They swallowed each others moans as they stiffened in harmony.
In moments, he had tugged her to her feet. Slapping her bottom, he directed her to the bathing room.
“Go, wench, or I will spend all day here rutting with you.” His cock, still stiff, bobbled up and down as he turned her, pushing her across the room.
“Want, want…” she tried to grab for his cock, missed, and fell to her knees.
He moved to scoop her up, but she grabbed around his thighs, and slid her tongue up and over his cock, suckling and giggling until she captured the head, and took it between her kiss-swollen lips.
“You little bi—” his moan caught him, before he could finish, his cock gobbled the full depth into her hungry mouth. Her small nails dug half-moons into the back of his thighs as she worked his aching rod, sucking, licking, massaging him until he felt the tell-tale tightening of his balls. He knew she loved to swallow him, but he wanted her belly filled, another child growing inside of her.
Taking a quick step forward, he caused her to fall backwards toward the floor, her mouth slipping off his throbbing shaft. She caught herself on the downward slide, her hands slipping down his thighs, his calves, until she lay back on the floor with him straddling her. He looked down at her with a fierce expression, his cock huge with his hunger for her.
In seconds, he mounted her, thrusting hard and deep for the third time into her tight and wet pussy (pardon the expression). When he began to spurt, he pressed deep into her, until his balls were squeezed between their bodies, as they emptied deep inside of her.
She wondered at the almost feral way he had taken her, his face fierce and serious and demanding. How that excited, thrilled, enticed her.
Placing her hand on her full-of-him belly, she wondered if some of his essence would catch with her and quicken a child inside her. She was ready-more than ready-to fill the royal nursery with another babe.
Arm in arm, the Prince and Princess walked up the 13 steps to the front of the library. In front of the long expanse of columns running the left-side length of the front portico, were 13 boys-to-men standing shoulder to shoulder. The youngest was all of 2, the eldest was 80 if he was a day. Linking arms with the old man in the center was an old woman, and the line of 13 females progressed down the right side, and down in age to the last little girl, who was not much older than the Crown Prince. The long fan of them blocked entry to the building, which featured multiple doors from the wide front portico.
The princess stood, glowing as bright as a candle, her dream at long last fulfilled. Within the building were many rooms, each meant to attract learners of all ages, all interests. As her husband opened the ceremonies, as she looked out to the sea of smiling faces, she saw her brother, her parents, her brother and sisters in law, her husbands parents, and everyone who had helped her to bring her long-held dream to fruition. From here forward in time, books and reading would be open to all who chose to walk through these doors. She thought for a moment of the librarian in her parents kingdom, and silently thanked him for strengthening her resolve to move forward on this project. Standing on the solid reality of that dream gave her an immense thrill. Smiling, she returned her attention to her husband, who was finishing his introduction to his wife.
In bringing her to our kingdom, we have brought a dream to life, and life to a dream. My beloved, mother of your crown prince, and keeper of my heart, my princess, to you I offer blessings on this day of wonder.
He stepped away from the podium, urging her forward. She had no speech prepared, yet knew exactly what she wanted to say. Her hands shook just a bit as she saw the expectant faces looking at her from all over the place! The courtyard was full, the steps were full, the garden was full…as far as she could see, there were people!
Turning, she pushed apart the linking arms of the old couple, and the two lines parted on queue.
“Let me tell you a story….”
She turned back, gesturing that age-old sweep of arm that meant “come in,” inviting the crowd to move up the steps and into their new library. Her husband hugged her tight, as blessings and smiles were bestowed upon her. And then the crowd surged into the lovely building, to learn, to explore, and to dream.
And now, you curious creatures, much as I’d love to sit and be petted by you, I have kittens to attend to. Fare thee well.
…..with that, the narrator stalks off, stopping to scratch her ear, and look back to see if you’re still watching her stride off, her tail swishing from side to side. After a moment, a large tabby male slides out from behind a sweetly flowering bush, and stealthily moves to follow her. Since two of her kittens have similar markings to him, I am more than certain that she knows very well that he’s there, don’t you? 🙂 After all, we both know that she’s a very sexy little pussy. The end!
Yes…this is…or will be…a HNT post. But I have to start at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start, right?
It starts with a box of hair color.
See…I’ve been a bit unhappy with my color of late. And the color that I really liked a ton was one Master didn’t like all that much AND it was very hard on my hair, AND it bled out like I was in Psycho with each and every shower. (Trust me, I tried *everything* to get it to stop weeping red…nothing worked but switching to a different hue, different maker.)
And they didn’t make my old favorite copper-y color (dunno where it went but one day it was gone.)
And there I was in the department store holding a “NEW SUPER RED” color in my hands. Neat! It was “cherry” red and promised to add “zing” and “luster” to my hair.
Oh, it did. My hair was delightfully shiny…but less delightfully? It was purple-red. My most hated red tone of all!
(This is where the Dom’s stop reading because under their Dom clothing, they are MEN, my subsisters, and MEN could give a rat’s ass about colorants. I’m guessing my Master won’t get even this far when He does his proofreading of this post… 🙂 )
My hair didn’t take the color evenly, so it was BLOTCHY and purple-red.
(heh…at 5’1″….I do everything “short”… )
It was beyond disgusting. It was terrible. It was horrible. I wanted it gone.
I did what I could, the condition, wrap, hot towel thing did lighten it a bit, but not enough.
And strangely enough? When I got up the next morning? It was still fugly. Really. I thought the Hair Fairy would show and fix it while I slept. Huh. That cunt. Skipped *my* house. (Maybe because I had wicked insomnia and was laying awake until 3 a.m.? I don’t think the fairies come if you’re still awake, so that could be all my fault…!)
I decided to talk to my friends and they recommended that I call my hairdresser PRONTO and she would likely fit me in. They were right! And she did. And over the course of the next THREE (yes, Three-!) hours, I had my hair highlighted in the worst “streak areas” to pull the color out, and then recolored. It is still in the cherry red colorway but so so SO much better.
Yet…I wonder if Master will hate it?
He might not even notice.
I’m not sure which is worse, actually.
little update Sat. night–He saw it and didn’t hate it. “At least,” He said, “it is dark. Dark is nice, I prefer it in the darker red tones.” So yay…
The one true blessing about red is that it fades dramatically fast. Now, I’ve been doing it myself for a LONG time…but it’s only the second fuck-up that I’ve had, though the first one quite this bad. The color I see in my mirror doesn’t come out well in pictures…but here’s a go….
It’s not horrible, but definitely not what I’m used to, to be sure.
So on my way home from work, I was telling Master about it. He’s adamant about not getting highlights, He HATES them…and I had to recount the entire day with the hairdresser to Him, reassuring Him that yes there are technically highlights, but no, you cannot really tell.
At the end He asks me how much I spent.
“$80.00” I say.
He kind of yelps the way men do when they find out how much women spend on such things. (which is why I usually do it myself).
“Well, actually it was $70…but I gave her a $15 tip,” I clarify.
A heavy sigh through the phone.
“nilla, 70 + 15 is 85. Not 80.”
“Oh, right. 85. That’s what I paid her.”
“You suck at math.”
And then he gives me a freaking assignment. I have to write that little math problem. One-fucking-hundred times. And then I have to take a picture of it. And post it here.
There ya go…100 lines of 70 + 15= 85….. additionally (oh! a math word!) I was *required* to write this post, you see. Oh, I mighta told you all about the Great Hair Saga someday, if I didn’t have a story done or something…but this was a *demand* by that Master ‘o mine.
I think He wants you to know about the torture and torment I put HIM through…(the whole hair thing makes him nuts–such a guy–)…and to let you know that in reality…I really DO suck at math. 🙂
Since I was “stuck” having to do a post about hair and math, AND because I had that serialized Princess story running, I had to think quick about the how/when/what of posting it.
So I asked Him…. “Master, can it be a HNT?”
He sighs. “I don’t give a fuck what it is, nilla. I want those problems written and posted within a week, got it?”
“Oh, Yes Sir!” I said, kind of giggling. Got it indeed…and got a great idea about how to make it work, too…!
This then, will be the last of this tale. Should I reveal to you that it is a happily ever after tale, or did you surmise that already? You did? Excellent. One appreciates talking to an attentive and intelligent audience, after all.
Now where were we? Allow me a moment to stretch…ah, that’s better. I believe we finished talking about the giant feast? The roasted turkeys, the bowls of roasted vegetables, the fatted cow turning on the hearth? Oh, and the cake was a visual delight…layers of tall, rich cake, thick and delicate frosting. Goodness, but the King’s kitchens worked many laborious hours to prepare for the festivities. Kings and courtiers, hangers-on and friends gathered at groaning tables, and ate, and drank and joked bawdy toasts to the couple.
Ah, but again, I’ve talked about all that before didn’t I? You don’t care overmuch of the scent of roasting meat, the sweet smell of honeyed mead, do you?
Fine, fine, be that way, then.
The prince did indeed carry the princess all the way to the royal mating chamber. It was not the princes’ private rooms, but a special place set aside for the new wed couple to get to know one another. Tradition, that tricky mistress, declared that they would stay within the rooms here for a full week. Food would be brought to them, and slid into a special compartment in the wall, that could be accessed via a clever sliding door on each side of it.
The doors would be locked by the guard that stood outside, waiting for the arrival of the couple, and a second doorway leading to this hallway, would also be locked. The room was constructed of thick marble, a gleaming mini-palace inside the main palace, complete with private balcony, private garden, private baths.
They were followed all the way to those outer doors, where the onlookers were denied entry by the guard there. Ahead was the entry to the room, with that guard as well. She didn’t fight there, no, she had enough pride to stay quiescent in his arms while anyone else could see them.
Once the doors closed, however, she began to wriggle and writhe, and he had to grab onto her ever tighter to hold her. A few quick steps and he dropped her to the bed, and fell atop her.
“There is nowhere to go, you know.” He looked down into her stormy eyes, smiling. He would have said more, but he felt the racing of her heart between two very succulent breasts, and understood the fear within her.
“Let me up, you randy beast!” She pressed on his chest, her palms feeling the heat of him. Damn, he smelled good. She shook her head.
“You tell me to let you up, then shake your head no. Which is it, my queen? Shall I let you up, or shall I kiss you again?”
Without waiting for her answer, his lips lowered and brushed her mouth with his, once, twice, a third time, before pressing firmly, tenderly.
His hands began to roam, exploring his wife’s body. Fingers traced her shoulders, her arms, her hip. He wanted to feel those tits but didn’t want to frighten her.
“You are too tense. Let me rub your back for you.”
He spoke against her soft cheek, knowing touch could gentle where words might fail. Lifting himself from her, just for a moment, he helped her turn her belly to the mattress. He felt, too, the tiny tremor and felt a rush of caring for her.
Poor thing was frightened of him!
She trembled as she moved over, her still tender breasts brushing past his body, then pressing against the mattress. She didn’t want to be excited by this.
Yet something remained from her experience yesterday – lust. She wanted to feel those feelings again…the surge and thrust of a man’s cock within her belly, the feel and weight of a man on her, taking her to places she’d never read about in any book.
She felt his fingers in her hair, unfastening her braid, combing through her curly tresses. The warmth of his knees along her sides, of his bottom settling over hers was arousing her.
She felt the bottom of her shift tugged upwards, and couldn’t stop the small gasp as his hands spread along her bare flesh, just at the curve where her buttocks met her back.
“shhhhh,” he whispered, still believing fear was coursing through her, rather than a rising tide of need.
Thumbs rubbed that tender spot along the edges of her spine, rising higher.
“You really are a princess,” he murmured. “You’ve bruises all over your back here…”
His hands pushed the chemise further and further up her back, baring her skin to his touch. She was melting, her back receiving his touch, even as her woman-folds grew wet with the wanting his touch engendered there.
Yet she had a moment of lucid thought. The bite-bruise on her shoulder! But just at that moment, he pushed her chemise up and over her head.
There was a moment of utter stillness.
She felt the sudden tautness of tension in his thighs. Oh, goddess, how would she explain…
Her thoughts were interrupted as he all but leapt to one side of her, spinning her onto her back.
She struggled to pull the chemise from where it had tangled around her head and arms. Yet his hand landed on her face, clutching a wad of fabric and hair, and holding her captive.
Her breasts were fully exposed to his view, and she felt the flick against one gently bruised nipple.
“Remember this, princess ?”
There was something in his voice. A tone. A pitch. Humor, and in moments, passion, as his mouth landed on her protuberant bud, sucking and nipping at her flesh.
Pleasure coursing from nipple to breast to her woman-folds, as his mouth tugged at her. And shock as she realized how familiar the touch of his mouth on her body was.
His hand released the hold on her chemise, moving to fondle and knead her heavy breasts. His fingers teased those peaks to utter hardness, his mouth moved from one to another, kissing, nipping, suckling, rousing her with the pain and stimulation as he worked her tender, bruised flesh.
She moaned, she thrashed, yet still he teased with his touch. Finally, she threw off the chemise, leaving her fully naked. Aroused, her eyes flashed sapphire flames at him, blue eyes clashing with his green ones.
“My little stablemate,” he murmured, as he moved off of her, and began stripping off his own clothing. Their eyes held, until her curiosity got the better of her. After all, she’d never seen his shaft, only tasted it, touched it.
It was amazing.
Long, thick, and rigid, it jutted straight from his body, reminding her of a divining rod as it sensed water. In fact, the tip oozed a dash of liquid, and pointed right at her folds. In seconds, he was atop her with a leap, cushioning his fall with knees and elbows; yet his throbbing cock found its home between her thighs, pressing towards that warm, wet tunnel.
With a smile, his mouth lowered to hers.
“Much better than hay, wouldn’t you agree?”
She never giggled.
But the discovery that her mystery lover was, in reality, her husband made her giddy with delight. Who would have guessed that such miracles could occur?
As they began the ancient mating dance, I left the room, lightly leaping upon the balcony railing, flipping my tail. There are some things a cat just doesn’t need to see.
~ The End ~
So, yer back for the last bit of the tale, are ye? Well, we’ll finish this up, then I shall go and have my morning nap, agreed? Good.
Traditions are funny things. They often have their roots in the simplest of beginnings, yet are carried forward through time as if they were the most necessary thing in the world.
Such was the case with the princess. Early in the morning, she was roused from a dream of the man she had tumbled with the day before. Her shoulder throbbed, her bottom ached, and her breasts and woman-folds were tender. In her dream, he held her still, his cock pressing into her from behind ~ oh how she had enjoyed that ~ filling her, as his hands twisted and pinched at her breasts. She woke when her nurse rubbed her shoulder, bidding her to “wake, my pretty.”
She’d woken to that very greeting every day of her life, and there was more than a tinge of sadness between the two women, as they realized that today would be the last. Nurse would be retired, and set up in her own household, well taken care of by the King and Queen, as the princess began her new life as the wife of the Randy-Cock Prince. She wasn’t happy about that, yet the memory of her unexpected encounter yesterday filled her mind enough to push away her trepidation, at least for the nonce.
A simple outfit was laid out, a plain cotton chemise, a white shift, a delicate shawl. There were thin slippers, and a veil as well.
“Tradition at your Princes’ homeland is for you to arrive as a traveler, claiming to be a princess. They will tell you more when you arrive, but you will dress as a common woman, and on the morrow, you will be accepted into the family as the mate for their son the Prince.”
The nurse bustled around her as she disgorged information. In short order, she was prepared, and brought to her parents.
After tear-filled fare-thee-wells, she was placed on a plain horse. Of course it was her old friend, Sandy, who looked at the princess sheepishly, as if embarrassed about throwing her into the river. Yet, if not for that, she might never have met and mated with the delightful stranger, who’s bruises branded her body. She patted the pony on the nose, and kissed her velvety muzzle.
She would be led to the Prince’s castle grounds by a small entourage of guards, then left to enter alone. Her family would arrive on the morrow to celebrate the nuptials. There was much bustling and hubbub in the outer bailey as the princess mounted her mare, and clucked her to move. The faster she got on with it, the faster this nightmare would be over. Hopefully the prince would have little to do with her, and she’d be allowed to begin planning the library of her dreams.
The prince rolled his eyes at his father. Though he was well away from the years when such was only marginally accepted, this newest edict by his parents was so ridiculous that there was no other response.
“It is the way it has been done.”
“Your mother is expecting the tradition to continue, as it did when she arrived here to wed me. Do not scoff at her, lest she begin to cry. Again. I do not like to see your mother so overcome. You will make yourself scarce for today, but remain within the castle proper. You will meet your bride in the morning, as has been done for generations.”
When he would have protested more, his father raised his hand and spoke a single terse word.
The prince shut his mouth, yet his eyes flashed. He should at least be able to meet the woman he’d be shackled to for the rest of his days. Yet this stupid tradition said that she and he would not meet until they stood beside one another, standing before the priest who would bind them together.
“Here. This is the bridal ring that has been given on Joining day. You will use it in the ceremony, but will need to create your own to present to your bride later.”
“It is already attended to Father. I know the tradition. Just because I don’t agree with it, doesn’t mean I’m not prepared for it.” With a terse nod, he strode from the room, trying to not sulk. Parents! Would that they could see that he was a man grown and leave him be.
They’d left in the morning, and arrived late in the evening. Darkness had closed around them, as stars winked on above. The scent of loamy earth rose to tease at her nostrils. Ah, the last smell of freedom, she thought, as the lit walls of the castle came into view ahead. Just outside of the drawbridge, which was up, her entourage stopped.
Duncan dismounted, and helped her off her pony.
“Good blessings to you, little one,” he murmured, giving her a brief hug. He felt the little quivers of fear from her, but, wanting her to be the strong woman he knew her to be, gave her a small shake, and a smile.
“Show them what you are made of, princess.”
Turning Duncan walked away, leading her mare.
She stood, looking rather forlorn, as the jingle of harnesses faded away. She knew the men would pull back a mile or so and camp for the night.
Tipping her head back, she stared up and up the tall walls.
“Hello?” Her voice was tiny, and sounded…forlorn. Well, that would never do.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Open up. Tis a chill in the air!”
“Who goes there?”
“A princess, and I’m cold and tired.”
There, the tradition had been upheld. She shook her head in the dark. Such ridiculousness. Her daughter would never…that thought drew her up short, even as the creaking and clanking signalled the lowering of the large drawbridge. Her hand moved to her belly, and she wondered…had he planted a seed inside her? Oh, the thought of that both thrilled and worried her.
With a thunk that made her jump, the bridge dropped full into place. A woman stood there.
“A princess, you say?”
“Yes, Majesty,” she replied, again according to tradition. She recognized Queen Margaret immediately and smiled. Her godmother frowned at her. More tradition.
“You will need to prove that before you can wed my son.”
“How shall I prove this to you?”
“Come with me, we shall see.”
The princess moved forward, and the Queen linked arms with her.
“There, now, tradition has been satisfied for now. I have food being kept warm for you, child, thinking you may not have eaten much today. Am I correct?”
She understood! How Margaret needed that just now. Of course, she remembered, her future mother-in-law had been through this very scene when she had come here to wed her Prince Leo. At least she came here, knowing King Leo and Queen Margaret. How much harder it must have been for Queen Margaret, when she came here for the first time, never having met anyone in King Leo’s family.
After a light meal, and lively conversation, the scene was once more taken up.
“Come, girl,” bid the queen. She was led to a small chamber filled with a single bed…piled high with feather mattresses.
“You will sleep here on our most comfortable guest bed,” bid the Queen, and then she was left alone.
She smiled. Silly traditions. Taking up the brush on the table, she tended to her hair before braiding it for the night, put her simple valise on the table, and shed her clothing.
Wearing just a simple shift, she clambered up the bed-ladder, and lay down. The bed was soft, dreamy. She fell asleep quickly, more tired by the events of the last few days than she had imagined.
In the morning, she was wakened by the Queen.
“And how did you sleep?”
She knew her part well, by now.
“Simply terrible, Majesty. The bed was …unexpectedly lumpy. Why, I’m bruised from head to toe!”
Reaching between the lowest two mattresses, the Queen withdrew a single dry pea. Holding it aloft for all to see and bear witness to, she then turned the girl, and tugged down the left shoulder of her gown. There was indeed a series of small bruises on her left shoulder…and the princess was very glad that the queen had not revealed her right shoulder where the bruise there looked suspiciously like …teeth.
The queen threw her arms around the princess, exclaiming to all gathered outside “Tis true, tis true! A princess has arrived to wed my son, at long last!”
The princess barely contained her urge to roll her eyes and exclaim, “oh, glory,” in her drollest tone. None there knew that the queen had gently pinched the princess on this same shoulder as she had led the girl to the guest room the night before. She plastered a smile on her face, as she was turned to face the queen.
But it was not the queen who stood there. It was Prince Randy-Cock himself. He was a handsome devil, to be sure, but she had never doubted that, having met several of his siblings. The queen and king bred beautiful children.
The prince was shocked.
Rather than a horse-faced lass, he found a beautiful young woman. Yes, her hair was red; tied back in her bed-braid he couldn’t tell much about it, really. Her features were sweet, her nose tiny and upturned, her eyes the deepest blue of mid-summer skies. Her lips were pink and full, and he felt a quick punch of lust in his gut.
She glared at him, yet held her tongue, seeing the group of people congregated outside the door watching their first meeting with avid curiosity.
Standing on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek.
Except that he turned his head at the last moment, and captured her lips with his own. Taking her head in his hand, he kissed her deeply and thoroughly, shocking them both with the sense of familiarity.
The princess was annoyed, and oddly, excited, by the stolen kiss.
“I greet you…my betrothed.”
“I greet you, my beauty.”
At that she did roll her eyes.
“Really?” She whispered at him. “Really? Are you so cock crazed that this is the only important thing?” She pointed at her face, frowning.
He smiled at her, and took her by that hand, leading her out of the room. His hand grasped hers firmly, sensing the struggle to come, as he tugged her through the crowd who called blessings to them as he strode with her to the family chapel.
In moments it was done.
Her family was there, though they’d been but a blur as he’d pulled her into the small space. She had seen the Priest, clad in the deep ruby cloak of his office, representing the blood of the Mother who had birthed them all. She saw the hundred candles, lit and gleaming, symbolizing the hundred years wished upon them for a long life together. She smelled the scent of orange blossoms, and perfume, everything a whirling assault on her senses.
She hadn’t expected to be so overcome. Yet she felt tears gather as the ancient words were spoken.
We are birthed of the Mother, and spend our lives in search for the spirit of the One she has planned for us to be with. Today we gather to join one such pairing.
Well, our princess was a bit skeptical of that statement, knowing the hand of men had more to do with her joining to the prince…but the moment was ripe with emotion. I saw tears in her parents eyes, too, as I looked on from the sidelines. It was a lovely ceremony, if you enjoy those sorts of things.
Yes, I know, you likely do enjoy them, don’t you?
Well, eventually, all the words were spoken, and the ring was pressed onto her finger, and they kissed and held hands, and moved out of the chapel, and into the Great Room, where a huge feast, days in the making began. This is always my favorite part, really.
The prince and princess ate, talked to people around them, danced, and spent the rest of the day entertaining the crowd as he kissed her hand, her fingers, her nose, and she would smile, grimace, or roll her eyes depending on whether she thought someone was watching.
Well, I was watching…and if you’d been there you’d have smiled about it too.
At long last, the party quieted, and the King uttered the words that the Prince had been yearning for, for quite some time. I’m not as certain about the princess, however.
“My son, the Prince, and my newest daughter, the Princess, may adjourn to their chambers, and set about the task of providing heirs for the kingdom.”
That, by the way, was more of that traditional talk. The princess turned bright red, as obviously, no one had told her of that part. The prince laughed, and scooped her up, and strode from the room.
“So she won’t run away,” He called over his shoulder to the assorted cat-calls from the watchers, who likely would slink off in assorted groupings for their own post-wedding matings.
I know I did.
And yes, I did promise that this tale would be done today. But I think, just looking at you, that you’re the kind that wants all the details. I speak rightly, do I not?
Yes, I rather thought so. Now, as I said at the start, I need to bathe, and then curl in the sun and rest. This tale-telling is exhausting work. I shall see you on the new day. Now, off with you.