Orgasmic Stranger (8) + HNT (required)

She couldn’t seem to remember exactly what she was doing. She was a bit dazed, a little confused. Her bottom hurt, her pussy pulsed, and her thoughts were all over the place. She felt perplexed.

One minute she was bent over, having her ass beaten, and having one hell of an orgasm, and the next she was on the floor “to have some time to recover”, he’d said. And then he’d walked away.  She blinked, trying to clear her head,  to organize events, when a  young woman approached. Crouching down, she offered Ebony an open bottle of juice.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help.”


“He sent it for you.” The woman smiled.

Ebony sighed. He was gone, and she hadn’t had the energy to look at him. She had no idea what he looked like- would never recognize him in a crowd. Still, the memory of his touch would linger. Sitting, holding the juice bottle, she tried to recall the sensations. How he made her feel, the things he’d done, how he’d touched her- and most importantly- how she would ever be able to write this.  Could she, she wondered,  ever capture the moments, the moods, her emotions?

“You okay?” The younger woman’s soft voice broke into her musings. “You know…you’ve been sitting and staring for about 10 minutes.” She continued. “And you really should drink the juice. It will help.”

Mentally shaking herself, she sipped. The juice was like nectar on her tongue, and she drank, suddenly greedy for it. And then the girls words registered. Slowly she lowered the bottle, staring at her.

“Ten? Ten minutes?” It felt like only seconds had passed.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of subspace!” The girl laughed, setting a pair of bells ringing. They were affixed to her nipples, Ebony noticed, trying not to notice. Such things were matter of fact here, she imagined.

“Oh, do you like my bells? My owner just gave them to me a few days ago.”

The woman was young, and obviously happy. She cupped her small breasts, wagging them so that the tiny silver bells jingled merrily. For a moment, Ebony envied her that joy.

“What …if you don’t mind me asking…what do you get out of this?”

Ebony waved her hand, encompassing the huge room.

“Well-you know, you’re sitting in some of what we get here…” She pointed at the sticky puddle of cum, giggling.

Ebony blushed profusely.

“So yes…sex..the sex is good. Even when it’s hard and rough. Maybe especially then. It feels good to belong. It makes me feel…whole, I guess, to serve Him. To be looked at by him and others. It…gives me purpose.”

A soft chime went off and the girl sprang to her feet.

“Gotta go! Don’t forget to drink that juice! Your Sir ordered it for you!” And she was off,  quickly but so gracefully.

Ebony wondered which man claimed her. And tried to suppress the tiny nugget of lust at the soft ringing sound as the girl moved away. Bells on her nipples? Imagine that. What a different world she’d fallen into. She felt a bit like Alice, on an adventure like none other.

She’d forged her own path, proud to be as independent and capable as she was. Divorced because the men she married said they liked that sort of woman, then decided that she made them feel like they were in a competition for supremacy, or so her last husband had stated.

This was so very different from anything else she’d ever experienced. She’d swum in the Nile, sat on an elephant, visited pyramids.  She’d gone on safari in Africa, and been to Mt. Ranier though she’d not attempted the high altitude climb.  She’d peered at volcanoes, and sailed the Pacific. She’d done bull riding and been thrown and bruised, but she hadn’t been nearly as affected as she was now, sitting here in a cool puddle of her own juice, after being spanked. No, she reflected not one prior experience in her life had ever had this much impact, no pun intended, she thought, smiling.

“You seem recovered.”

So lost in thought was she, that once more he’d managed to come up behind her.

“Are you disfigured?”

The words just flew out of her mouth, and she cringed. What the fuck was wrong with her? She, the suave and decorated reporter, letting things just fall out of her mouth like that.

Covering her face with her hand, she cringed.


But his laugh interrupted her momentary self-bashing episode. It was more than a laugh, it was a guffaw. Then his hand was in her hair, pulling her to her feet, even as he continued to laugh.

It wasn’t easy getting up quickly at her age, she muttered, even as the tug on her hair became relentless.

“FUCK!” she yelped, “I’m coming I’m coming!”

“I believe you’ve done that, too, little slut.”

“That’s not-”

“hush. Turn.”

He let go of her hair, nearly tipping her over. She hadn’t realized that he was holding her upright so firmly. And damned if he didn’t still take some strands when his fingers slid away.

“Oh fuck that hurts!”

“You’re just saying that to turn me on, aren’t you?” And he laughed again.

She turned, an unwilling smile on her face, and saw him for the first time. His face was full of stories. His eyes were a rich honey-brown, with flecks of gold. He gaze was sharp, even though his mouth smiled. He was taller than her, but not by much. His lips were sensual, and a well-kept beard hugged the borders of his face. She would describe him as ruggedly handsome, if she ever wrote of him. She noted that he didn’t boast six-pack abs, and was curiously relieved by it. Yet muscles bulged in his arms. And a certain other area bulged as well. She tried to not notice.

“Are you wondering about my cock?”

The total bluntness of these people caught her off-guard again and again. The blush erupted, and she stuttered, looking at her feet, his feet, anyplace but there.

His finger lifted her chin. “Well?”

“I. uh…I- this is… I – mean..”

“You weren’t so shy when I had my fingers in your cunt.”

She blinked, blushed deeper. His finger traced along her lips, pressing inside.

“You can still taste you on me.”

She tried to turn her face away, but his free hand came up and cupped her head, pressing those fingers more deeply into her mouth. In moments he was sawing them in and out, fucking her. Fucking her mouth. Fucking her mouth with his juice-covered fingers.

“Suck them nice and clean. Lick them, clean them, go on, slut. Clean your juice off of me.”

Something in his eyes made her obey. There was a fluttery thrill between her thighs that made her suck and lap and hungrily consume all the flavoring on his digits. He pulled them out of her mouth at last, sniffing them.

“I do believe you’ve done a good job. Good girl.”

He pointed to the gummy mess on the floor, on the spanking bench.

“Normally, a slut would be required to clean that up-”

“Oh, I will, Sir…”

His eyebrow raised, and she realized that she’d interrupted him.

“Sorry Sir…I’m…”

“Learning. Yes, I know. Still,I’m very close to giving you the same instructions that a seasoned girl would know. I would suggest working on your “subbus interruptus” issue.”

Their eyes met, clashed for the first time. She bit her lip, dropping her eyes for a moment, before flicking her gaze back to him. His smile was dangerous, and compelling. Just like one that a large cat would wear prior to pouncing on an antelope, she imagined.

“There are wipes over there.” He pointed across the room. “But next time, you’ll clean it up using that.” His finger poked into her mouth, prodding her tongue. She shivered. Lick the floor? Ewww.

Clad only in her white cotton bra, and no longer noticing that she was nearly naked, she felt the fresh slickness between her thighs as she crossed the room for the wipes. How did he manage to turn her on so quickly?


ya’ll know I am required to post an HNT shot each week, and this one just tied so perfectly with the ending of this chapter…how could I not? 🙂  ~nilla~

strip 1

Orgasmic Stranger (7)


“She marks beautifully.”

“Pretty fucking wet, too.”

“We’ve just begun to explore the possibilities of pain response.”

“Looks pretty fucking responsive to me!”

“That she does.”

“Making a helluva mess on the bench…for a newbie.”

“She’ll clean it up.”

*male laughter*

A hand runs up her left thigh. It is cool, and smaller than his. She knows it isn’t …him. The man she calls Sir for today. She is upside down, ass and pussy on display, and another stranger was touching her leg.

“Nice patterning. She welts well. Consider sharing?”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Some …dude…comes over, sees her fat ass over some bench thing and decides he wants some of it? She held her breath, torn between shock and fear.

“No, I’m afraid not.” He offered no further explanation, and she wondered if there’d be a tussle about it. And here she was, tied down like a lamb for the slaughter.

There was some more conversation that she didn’t hear, since her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She chose to believe it was from being upside down, and not nerves.

She wasn’t nervous.

Wait. He’d said to be totally honest. That sucked. She didn’t want to be…it was easier to hide the fear…but he’d made it a “rule” which made it seem even more important.

She was scared shitless.

A hard smack on her bum caught her off-guard and she yelped.

His body stood between her splayed thighs, the heat of him soaking into her and blending with the throbbing heat from her thighs. His hand stretched over her, grabbing her hair, arching her back.

“You didn’t really think I’d trade your services this early, did you?”

“I—I was—afraid.”

“You make the vanilla assumption that we just switch partners as the whim moves us, sharing with all and sundry?” She couldn’t see it, but pictured his head shaking in dismay.

“That will be a lesson for you to remember, then. Yes, if you are mine, you are my property. But you’re not my lawnmower…I’m not going to just blithely loan you out to my neighbor. If it happens, then it’s something we will have worked out long before. It might not mean that I’d tell you exactly when it would happen…but I would make sure that it was something of mutual benefit.”

This was his longest speech to date, and he’d managed to both calm and excite her. He was so matter-of-fact.

“Yes, Sir,” she managed to get out, his hold on her hair not lessening. He pulled back just a bit more, just to prove he could, she supposed, and she whimpered.

“That’s better. I do like those little mewlings you make. And our friend was right about one thing. You are soaked. I think it’s time for us to continue our experiment.”

He dropped her hair, again taking a few strands with him, making her cry out. As he moved away from her, she keenly felt the loss of his warmth. Cooler air swirled over her hot thighs, and she swore she could feel each individual welt.

“I think we can dispense with these. They’re soaked anyway…and I much prefer to spank bare bottoms.”

He made quick work of removing her panties, her last barrier of modesty. His words embarrassed her, and the flush of shame made her pussy quiver. So many conflicting sensations! She’d never been so abused, nor so turned on, in her life.

The floor creaked as he moved around behind her, yet suddenly he was in front of her.

“Open,” he said tersely, tapping her lips. Obediently, she opened her mouth. He stuffed her panties ~her soaked panties~ inside. She shook her head no, but he merely laughed.

“It will muffle the sound…and I like that you’ll taste yourself as I beat you.”

His hands beat a tattoo on her rump, the sounds of each quick flurry of blows echoing in the big room. Squeals, whimpers, moans sounded too,  softened by the padding in her mouth. She moved a bit, trying to change the fall pattern, but he hit where he wanted. Her entire ass was covered by his palms beating down on her. The blows got harder. And harder.

Then they -he- just…. stopped.

She heard him moving away and was relieved by the break. Her ass tingled and burned. If her hands hadn’t been tied down, she’d be rubbing her bum. Fucking owies!


Her head rose up, her back arched and she screamed. It wasn’t very loud with the gag in place. She had no idea what the fuck he was hitting her with but it was not his hand. GAWDS! It really fucking hurt! She felt tears burn, then soak the mask covering her eyes. Hurt..hurt…She screamed as her ass was struck again.


This one was even harder than the first. It felt like a plank of wood…and it hurt, hurt. And again he smacked her, blow after blow until she was lost in the swirl of pain, the heated burn of her bottom, the dizziness of being upside down.

When his fingers penetrated her, she came so hard that she heard the splat on the floor below her.

“As I thought.” His words were full of amusement.

She quivered and quaked through the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm. He’d only just slid his fingers into her and boom! She was up and over and through the most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced. Her head slumped; when he came around to release her hands, she was wrung out, totally drained.

Gently he lifted her, slowly bringing her up and over the bench, and helping her sit on the floor. She felt wetness under her hot cheeks, and realized that she was sitting in her own cum.

“Rest here a moment.” His hand pressed her head against her knees, and she felt the mask tugged away. She tried to focus on him, but once more he was walking away. Too tired to protest, to try to see him, her eyes closed as she recovered.



“I didn’t mean to forget…you know I’m a flake..” her voice trailed off at his stern look.

“I’ve gone over this a dozen times. Perhaps more. You’re not a child, Emmy. You’re a woman, a grown-up, a slut, my wife.”

She bit her lip. She truly hated disappointing him, breaking his rules. It wasn’t intentionally done. It was forgetfulness.

“I could brand them on your inner thigh, or tattoo them on your tits.”

She shook her head wildly. She was terrified by the very idea of branding, and while tattooing held a certain nervous titillation, she didn’t want her rules tattooed on her breasts!

“I could make you write lines, but we’ve done that a time or two or twenty and that hasn’t changed anything either. Has it?”

Solemnly she shook her head from side to side. He turned away, frowning. She was too damned cute. Yet, working towards a domestic obedience was important to them both. It bound them closer together, weaved them deeply into each others minds. And it pleased him to be in charge, just as it pleased her to follow directions. At least…when she remembered them. He almost sighed.

What to do to help remind her, that was the question. He looked out the window. The winds had dropped off at last. It was not so cold now, though the skies were gloomy with incipient snow. She sat just at the periphery of his vision, naked, palms on her thighs. He wanted nothing so much as to ram his cock into her penitent mouth, bend her backwards until her head was on the floor and he over her, driving his shaft deep down her willing throat.

That wouldn’t serve as discipline though. She would enjoy being used that way. As he gazed outside, pondering his options, the first fat snowflakes dropped from the sky. He watched as a large one fell, landing with a soggy splat on the back patio.

“Slut. Go fetch  your leash.” The sudden idea filled him with mirth. She feared the idea of branding, yet wasn’t overfond of cold. This would be the perfect solution.

In moments, she was back, her ass swaying side to side, leash in her mouth. She was obviously trying to seduce her way out of trouble, the little slut.

“Heel,” he said as he snapped the lead onto her collar, giving it a shake. He opened the kitchen door, led her down the steps.

“Master!” her voice rose in pitch as she encountered the wet flakes on her knees and palms. “It’s snowing out here!”

“I know.”

Leading her to the slumbering rose-bush at the side of the yard, he tied her leash to it, careful to not snag his skin on thorns. This time of year, they were hard as rock and seemed twice as sharp as a diamond blade.

“Stay. You’ll want to be verrrrry careful about moving around, slut. These thorns are prickly as hell.” He smiled down at her. She frowned, eyes furrowed. Good! He’d totally confused her.


“Stay. Perhaps this will help you be less of a ‘flake’ as you called yourself a bit ago,” he remonstrated her. Running his finger down her nose, giving her cheek a small slap, he turned and went back into the house. Standing just out of sight, he watched out the window as the snowflakes fell gently upon her.

Orgasmic Stranger (6)

In the darkness, pain was unexpected, unseen, unprepared for. His teeth clamped onto her shoulder, biting into the tender junction there. From between her lips came a moan, a gasp, a cry. Her body stiffened, even as his arm came around her holding her close. His hand on her breast, sliding inside the cup, found her nipple and pinched it, rolling it between his fingers, a sensual counterpoint to the hurting of his teeth.

It was over quickly. She gasped, feeling tears welling.

“Tell me.”


“Owww.” As his hand massaged the bitten skin.

“Fuck!”  As his mouth kisses the tender spot, then nips it again.


Her words were terse bullets. His chuckle vibrated down her spine as his lips pressed against her, a threat or a promise, she wasn’t sure which.

His cock was pressing against her, too.  The hardness of it against her ass was an affirmation of his earlier words. It was true then, that her pain excited him. That she was excited was equally strange. Thoughts running rampant, she tried to capture what it was that she was feeling.  How she would write it?  And would she ever write it for the public to see? Reporter goes for a off-beat tale, gets hooked into a lifest–

“What are you doing?”

His voice, soft against her hair,  raised chills across her bare shoulders, bringing her full attention back to him. His fingers continued to caress her nipple, seemingly mindlessly. She sincerely doubted that he did anything mindlessly. Before she could answer, he spoke again.

“You’re writing this, aren’t you?  Getting your images down,  correcting your punctuation, working on your grammar? But you can’t just write this, little one. That removes you from the experience. Some things are meant to be experienced.”

His hand pulled out of her bra, then unexpectedly fisted in her hair. Suddenly she was pushed forward, bent face-first over something. Something rounded and wide was under her belly as she hung there. For a moment she was afraid she’d continue to pitch forward and slide over the thing. It felt like a pommel horse, minus the pommels. His hand in her hair held her steady as he moved around to stand by her head.

Her cries of “OW” were ignored as his hand tugged away, strands of hair tugged right along with it. He was grabbing her wrists before she could move, or protest, or stop him, and tying them with some kind of rough rope, holding her in the bent position. Her toes were only just barely touching the ground on the other side. She didn’t really want to stop him, she realized, shocking herself.

He moved away, behind her. His hands moved under her belly, and she giggled. She’d always been woefully ticklish. He was…gawd.

“You won’t need these until you leave.” His nimble fingers unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped the fly, and tugged them down over her hips. He steadied her as he tugged them down her knees, to her ankles.

“Cute boots.”

One fell to the floor with a thunk, then the other, and in seconds the jeans were tugged away.

“Well well well.” There was amusement in his voice.

His hand cupped the vee between her thighs. It was warm, but she was warmer. Leaning against her, he reached down over her bowed back, taking up her hair and tugging backwards.

“Owwwwww!” she yipped.

“Good to know that I have your undivided attention, little girl. You are quite a little slut, aren’t you? Your panties are not merely wet, but saturated. The crotch of your jeans flaunts your wantonness.  Surely good girls don’t get wet pussies from having their nipples pinched while they are being bitten…do they? How would you write about this I wonder?”

The hand between her legs was squeezing against her folds. Her clit ached and throbbed, even as her head did where he was pulling her hair. She couldn’t move an inch…he could do anything to her. And great green goddess…she was beginning to pray that he would.

His finger twitched against the crotch of her wet panties, flicking ever so gently against her clit.

“You’re close again, aren’t you, little slut? You want to cum so badly. Your pussy is streaming fuck juice, and you’d like nothing more than for me to shove my dick right inside of you and fuck you brainless.”

She moaned, feeling something release in her at his carnal words.

“It isn’t that easy to get an orgasm from me, little slut. I don’t think you’re really ready enough.”

His hand left her crotch and she whimpered at the loss of him there.

“A little something else to experiment with, hmm?”

That was the only warning she received as she felt the soft rapping against the back of her thighs.

“A cane is a wonderful tool. It gives intense pain in a very proscribed space. It can be used correctively, or just for the fun of it. My fun, mostly. I suspect you are highly aroused by pain and have never explored that side of you. Yet, you’re here to find some answers, so I won’t be too brutal.”

She shivered at that word. Brutal.

And flushed guiltily as her pussy oozed her excitement onto her panties.

Perfectly Mean Master

He’s fierce. Firm. Usually unyielding.

It is next to impossible to make Him change His mind – if He says “no O tonight, little girl”? It really IS ‘no O tonight’.

This is *exactly* the kind of man, the sort of Dominant that I was searching for way back at the start of my journey. Back when I was first learning about submission.

And hell, I write all kinds of fairy tales, and happy-ever-afters where the Dom and submissive NEVER get into any serious conflict, and the action is all about what happens on their way to an orgasm, or twenty.

Or mostly that sort.

And I’m fine with that.

Just understand, if you’re new here, or a new submissive, that REAL submission just isn’t like a fairy tale. There are some bad days. Your Master, your Sir, your Dom? Not perfect. Perfect for you, maybe. But mostly?


He’ll have bad days that have *nothing* to do with  YOU..but you’ll have to bear the brunt of the mood. He’ll have days when the smallest thing will annoy Him.

YOU’ll have bad days when it seems like He hasn’t responded to a single text, and you KNOW He doesn’t love you anymore, because if he TRULY loved you, He’d respond INSTANTLY, within seconds of you sending that needy, heartfelt text.

Am I right?


Yeah, we’ve all been there. We’ve all walked a part of that journey. And sometimes, even having done it time and again? It still hurts, it still makes us feel those niggley little doubts. Even after 3 years, I tend to get a bit…well, He calls it “being womanish”, which is Master speak for an eyeroll. It annoys Him, I know, that I still have these flare-ups of doubt.

How many times have any of us longed for more than we were getting, staring with longing at someone else’s “perfect” relationship, wanting that very same thing?

Yeah. It happens with me, too.

And you know what I find out every damn time?

My relationship with Him is pretty near perfect…for us. I’m not looking, He’s not looking, at anyone other than each other. And if He can’t answer a text it isn’t because He doesn’t love me.

Sometimes I forget that He travels, often for hours at a shot, and in some areas of the northeast, you can’t talk on a cell while driving. Or He might just be in Boston and you all know that traffic in our hometown is terrifying on the best of days.

So back to what I was saying….

Master and i had a brief tiff last week. It was micro-short. And dammit, I thought I hid it so well.


That’s how many hours it had been since I’d last heard from Him. Ours is not a “true” LDR as we do get to see one another briefly every week or two…but most of our communication is text and calls. When that fails?

I fret.

You all know this, I’ve said it before. And I went through all the stages listed above, but I sent Him a very short, “understanding” sort of text.

He understood that I was being “womanish” again. I walked all around it, as carefully as could be…but He knew. He knew I was teetering on the edge of being pissy.

He’s begun, He told me later, to correlate these pissy moments to the amount of orgasms that He gives me. A lot of them? Longer times before I hit a womanish place. Less O’s? Less than 9 days.

This man is pretty fucking smart.

Wisely, (oh, so wisely) I refrained from pointing out the obvious. If He wants less womanish, then give me more O’s. Right?

Yet He (oh so wisely) understands that He is in control and I *like* that, as perverse as it is. Sure I’d love a hundred O’s a week. I’m not stupid. Yet even more than the orgasms,  I love the feeling of His controlling them even more than getting them.

And that is part of what makes our relationship work. He knows what feeds me,  He likes what He likes, and together we’ve welded our “likes” to match our “needs”.

We’re not perfect. But we are perfect for each other.

Orgasmic Stranger (5)

She had no idea where in the room they were. One moment her hand had been pressed against an impressively growing hard-on, the next she was back to being pushed across the room by his hand in her hair. They stopped again, and she had the feeling of something in front of her.

“I know I’ve said it before, but your acquiescence is assumed from this point on, unless you decide to throw a safe-word at me. I rarely use them with subs once we’ve played together for a while, but as we start it’s a good bench-mark for me. Do you understand a safeword?”

“Yes. Sir. It’s a word that I won’t forget no matter what’s going on. Like … pizza.”

“You want to yelp “pizza” to end a scene?” He laughed.

“Well…it’s one I won’t forget.” Her voice was defensive.

“Neither will I, little girl. Pizza it is. Now, you won’t be needing this anymore today.”

She felt his fingers working the buttons of her blouse. While she might have protested if she could see, putting her in darkness seemed to give her anonymity. Rather like a little kid hiding her eyes, she knew, and thinking that no one could see her.  Goosebumps dotted her shoulders. He’d taken her shirt, her shield. She couldn’t see, but she could feel. He had been right to note that she’d feel more with her eyes shuttered. Frowning, she realized that he’d been right about everything, so far.

She was unused to that. Then again, she was in unknown waters here. She shivered, feeling her nipples rise again. Where was he? She could hear other people moving around the room, the occasional moan, and once, the wet sounds of someone obviously fucking. It made her want. This whole scenario made her so aware of her body. Her nipples hurt they were so hard, and her pussy was wet.  Trying to remember the last time she was this turned on with virtually no foreplay, she was startled when she felt his fingers press onto her shoulders.

He was behind her.

Relief flooded her. Not certain why, exactly, but it helped to know where he was. Had he been staring at her? Her belly was round, her chin sagged a bit, and her tits were large and cumbersome; she was unlike those skinny girls in the porno flicks.  She swallowed nervously. He’d done nothing except touch her shoulders with his fingertips.

Lips moved along the base of her neck; another shiver wracked her.

“No holding back,” his voice warned, a moment before he bit her.

100 Words-

Her body

wet empty yearning


velvet hardness pulsing

wet pearl forming




bare her feet

standing pigeon-toed

back arching

arms high

white rope bound wrists

knots flowing through

old rusted ring


high over

doorway lintel.


bare foot


wet with pearl droplets.

body mind spirit




which is just




wood stroking flesh

red lines


aching intersections

lust and pain


her breath


moaning tears snot


her need dripping

down her thigh.

he moves plunges takes


seated deep.


head fallen




but never


you all know i’m a very “prosy” kind of writer. I give details, and answer questions and try really hard to paint word pictures with my stories. am going to try something different today. do let me know what you think. this is as far from “prosy” as roses are from crocus blossoms….it’s been a long while since I tried writing a story in 100 words….. ~n~


They met in a bar in a mutually convenient location. First dates were always fraught with tensions on both sides of the table. He wanted to run his finger down the curves of her little black neckline, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

She wanted to be loved. Nurtured. Stroked.

She wanted to be wanted.

He wanted with a ferocity that was mind-boggling. There was one goal here. Score!

So much rested on the end of the drink. Would she have another? Or be on her way.

Three hurricane cocktails later they were laughing, while under the table, the press of his dick against his pants was painful. He enjoyed the pain, the promise of pleasure. He noted her nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her dress, she noticed him noticing.

She might have blushed, or maybe it was just the flush of the rum, but what the hell. He took her hand as they walked to her car.

“Follow me home. Please?”

She bit her lip. Following him home meant that she would likely stay through morning. She nodded, biting her lip, then giggled as she almost fell over when she leaned into him for a drunken kiss. He grabbed her before she went over, steadying her.

“Wait a sec…I think you shouldn’t be driving. Come with me…” His voice was tender with concern, and she kissed him again before sliding around him. The rush of sex-need was intense.

“Hurry,” she whispered as she nibbled his earlobe. He put her into the passenger seat, then buckled himself into the driver seat. He shifted, trying to ease the ache in his groin. It had never been so intensely hard. She must be sending off some powerful pheromones. He waited while she stabbed the seatbelt into place.

It took three tries.

With a flourish, she finally sent it home, the click as loud as clapping.

“Did it!” she giggled.

“At last,” he thought as he turned the car on.  She wasn’t sure what they talked about but it was not all that long before they cruised into a driveway, the dark open maw of a garage before them. He drove in slowly, put it into park, then unbuckled both belts. Drawing her across the seat, he kissed her with a hunger that reignited her own rum-fueled passion.

Fumbling, stumbling, they made it up the three steps from the garage to the kitchen, into the house, down the hallway. A long line of discarded clothing, mostly hers, left a trail. He kissed and pinched and fondled her breasts. She must have liked it for in moments she stood naked, back to the wall, arms stretched over her head.

“Ravage me, you beast,” she half-slurred, arching her back and thrusting her ruby-tipped tits towards him. His fingers grabbed and twisted, but the rougher he handled her the more she arched and growled.

He could smell her arousal, see the silver glint of it trailing down her thighs. His hands grabbed handfuls of tit, kneading the fat roundness, rubbing his still sheathed cock against her belly.

“Do me,” she whispered, biting his earlobe. “Take me hard, rough. I love it rough. Fuck me brutally you beast!”

Grabbing her hair he almost threw her across the room to his large bed. He smacked her ass as she landed on her side giggling. She moaned deeper as he battered at her bottom, her back arching, ass rising into each slap.

The heat from her ass cheeks, now a bright cherry red, excited him and he began to pant with need.

“I want to tie you, rape you, fuck you like you deserve,” he grunted.

‘Yes, yes, hurry. Tie me, fuck me, take me, you demon. Use me like a fucking whore…”

“Yesssss,” he moaned, dragging her up the bed to wrap her wrists painfully tight with the rope that he’d put there earlier, hopeful.

She growled as the rope bit into her flesh, hurting and exciting her simultaneously. In moments he was tying her ankle just as tight, stretching her leg wide. She’d never been tied so tightly before. She felt her nipples clench tight, her pussy so wet, so needy.

“Fucking hurrrrry. I’m dying for your cock.”

He turned and slapped her pussy hard, striking repeatedly. She cried, she kicked at the mattress, at him, with her free ankle. He grabbed it with one hand, while continuing the assault on her pussy.

“Come,” he demanded, slapping hard and hitting her clit. With a scream, she arched, whimpering prayers to nameless deities as she came again.

“That’ll hold you at least for a minute, you greedy slut!”

Hurriedly he tied her other ankle as her pussy pulsed and drooled.

Rising from the bed he shut the light and finished undressing.

“Hit me again you fucker!” she yelled, tugging at her restraints, thrashing her head. It was hard to see him in the room now, with the only light coming from the hallway. He moved towards her, mounting the bed, crawling between her thighs. His cock slid across her leg.

“What was that, you bastard? HIT me!” she demanded.

“My cock wants your wet holes, you little slut. Just as much as your holes want my cock.”

“Not my ass!”

“Oh yes, all your holes. Every one, mine!”

He laughed, then leaned forward and slapped her tits. He admired the bounce with every blow, the red imprint of his hand, the tight crinkle of her nipple. He laid atop her, and she felt his cock between her thighs.

Growling, she wanted it in her, dammit, she still rose as his mouth latched onto her breast, sucking and biting. The probing at her cunt made her freeze. Several somethings were probing. She felt a poke at her asshole, her pussy. Something fat and flexible probed at her, and he grunted around a mouthful of tit.

“Wha…what the…fuuuuck….” 

Her head arched back as she was suddenly full, both holes, with twisting, twining somethings.

He pressed his lower body closer, grinding his pelvis against her, moaning.

The fullness moved deeper, into her pussy, probing against her cervix, a painful excitement building there.

“Oh…oh fuck…” she drew a deep breath as the thing in her ass shoved deeply into her bowels. Past caring what it was, the sensations of dual-fullness, of pain in breast and belly ground her into an intense orgasm.

“Yessssssss!” He moaned, the first hard spurt shooting through and filling her belly with his seed. He filled her, filled her, filled her to overflowing, as dick in her ass and pussy pulsed hot jism into her.

Arching, receiving, feeling bloated and full of him. So full of him. He bit her nipple, bit her tit, and she welcomed it, reveled in it. Orgasms wracked her body, as she absorbed his juice, until spent, she slept.

She woke.

He stood beside the bed, and she stared at the place where his cock should have been. A small nubbin was there. Just that.

“Wh-what?” Feeling like she’d woken from a stupor, she stretched. Her body felt languid.

“They fall off after I cum, then grow back. The longer I go before I have sex, the more of them grow. Last night I had two. You seemed to enjoy them.”

He smiled at her.

Reaching out to fondle the nubbin, that was almost visibly growing, she smiled up at him.

“How long does it take to grow back?”

“Depends on the inspiration,” he replied with a wink.

“Beat me, you fucking bastard!” Dropping the empty juice glass onto the night stand, she thrust her finger at him.

His cock grew an inch when he slapped her inner thigh.

* Yes, there really is a drink called a Hurricane Cocktail: 1 oz dark rum, 2 teaspoons lime juice, 1 tablespoon passion-fruit syrup. Shake in a cocktail shaker with ice, strain into a cocktail glass.  url here: Hurricane Cocktail

** with special thanks to Donna, my scientific guru, who provided invaluable data to me about a species of sea creature that does indeed shed its penis after copulating, only to regrow another quickly. Some of these incredible creatures can thus copulate 3-4 times in 24 hours. Horny little devils. (my kind of creature!)

and yeah. blog vacation. fail. again. 🙂 The idea of it seems to be inspiring a lot of these “interesting” stories, however.  ~n~


She woke, cold.


Unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to see.

“There you are, sweet slut. I can tell by your struggles that you’re finally awake. I didn’t think you would react to the drug so strongly.”

Drug? He’d drugged her.

Fog clouded her brain.

Who was he?

Where was she?

A finger stroked down her cheek, the nail scratching a thin line.  She felt something on her chest, a breath of air. The sound of feet on the floor. Moving away, then closer.

Arching, muffled noises of protest against the wadded gag in her mouth.

Cold mist of water sprayed on her body.

The click and whirr of a camera.

“Gorgeous. Your nipples are so tight. The water beading your flesh, the rising of goosebumps.”

He muttered almost under his breath.

Another squirt, trying to twist away, tensing as the icy cold water cascaded over her.

Footsteps moving away, then the sound of scrabbling of something. Familiar. But…what?

Footsteps moving closer, another scream as his hand pressed against her lower lips, pressing something freezing against her warm core.

Pressing it into her cunt.

Head shaking, wrists tugged, protesting.

Legs unable to bend, tied to something hard and straight, keeping her open.

Feeling of fucking, fucking, the shocking cold thing moving in and out of her making her shiver violently.

Pushed home, inside of her, whimpers, moans, tears under the mask.

So cold.

So fucking cold.





Spray of cold attacking her flesh like needles, each drop a piercing painful bite of cold.



“Gorgeous, yes, arch, just like that…oh baby, so fucking gorgeous. Yes, it hurts, it’s cold and you hate that I know. You told me you hated cold and I saw this picture in my head at that moment. Such a beautiful moment…”



“Good girl, get your reward,”

The click and hummm of a vibe, the weight of it, pushed against her throbbing clit.

Arching, cumming, exploding, pushing the ice dildo out of her with her paroxysms, melting the ice inside her with her hot juices, feeling the release in every cold-tormented fold.

Click, click…the sound of an air conditioner, its chill breath spewing into the room, freezing her tears as he picks up the bottle and sprays her again.

“The making of the Ice Maiden, that’s what we shall call it,” he murmurs, as he pumps the water over her.

She shivers violently, crying harder.