Nattering on…

Wow, is life pulling you guys the way it is me? It’s CRAZY. Here I thought I’d have tons of time to write to you all who’ve left a week’s plus worth of comments and it turns out that, in my fevered state, when rescheduling an appointment for my kiddo…I bumped it to Thursday THIS week, not next. Whoops. Good thing they called to remind me!! And that shot more than half of Thursday for me.

Added to that I’ve got contractors at my home, and a big gardening project (finally) started, and it was so fucking hot today that I thought I’d fallen into Hell, which is amusing considering I don’t even believe in Hell!

Now, ordinarily, I can take a wee bit of heat. Okay, that is a bald-faced lie. I HATE it when it gets hot, especially when you add humidity to it. I’m a round gal, and I’m well insulated. 🙂  But in the northeast, heating up is usually a gradual thing. Take for instance, Sunday last. It was cold here. Never got out of the 40’s. Admittedly I had a fever so I was bundled up, but EVERYONE broke out their fleeces or flannels. It was raw and chilly and wet and blecch. And in parts of Vermont (about an hour from me) and northern New Hampshire? They got anywhere from 3-7.5 inches of snow. *blinks* Enough so that it shut down Santa’s Village.

I know, irony.

But the problem is all the trees are leafed out, and the wind was howling so hard that many limbs came down on rides, which of course made it unsafe for kids to be there (and for rides to even function–not many takers on a log-flume ride with a ginormous *splash* at the end when it’s 38 degrees outside!). And that, along with 4 inches of snow on the ground. Not ideal, to be sure. At least, not for Memorial Day weekend!

So we go from having heat on, bundled up and shivering, to dressing as close to nekkid as we can, drinking sports drinks and ice water, tepid showers and fans everywhere (no a/c in my old house…we rarely need it!) It’s part of the allure of living here. Really.

Geeze, get me talking about the weather and I go all off topic. What was I talking about?

Oh, just “time”. It’s running past at such an alarming rate. Good things are happening, to be sure. And summer is busy and fun and even though there are LOTS of obligations…most of them are the fun kind. And this weekend will be the start of June.  My gawd. That means that NEXT Sunday…the week after THIS Sunday, is Master-time.


How the fuck did that happen so fast? Wasn’t I *just* whining saying that it was going to be forever until we had play time? And it’s NEXT WEEK???

Oops, and I just sent Him a text that said “I’m half-mad at You.”

Maybe my timing is a bit off, at that.

But He’s been busy (I hope) and not answering my texts. Including the one I sent announcing my “mad”….and He’ll just let it slide in that way He does, which both annoys and astonishes me. He knows me SO fucking well that He knows I’ll boil down by morning. And I’m not SUPER mad, I just wanted…

and isn’t that the crux right there?


just wanted.

And really, it’s NOT all about ME.

Shocking I know.

I’d like to imagine it is. Maybe pretend. But just to be clear? In our version of D/s…He wins most of the time, and He gives me what I want.

And more importantly? He gives me exactly what I *need*…which isn’t always the same as what I *think* I want.

He knows when to ignore me, and when to poke me and when to soothe. He’s been very, very good to me this week while I was sick.  *hangs head*


Maybe it’s time for me to pay that back a bit.

*pauses to text an apology to Master*

And just like that it will be over and done between us over my little snit. He’s not the type of Master who will hold it over my head, or make me pay the next time we meet. He might *tweek* me about it later. But the quick apology is a step in the right direction. 🙂


Speaking of stepping, tomorrow/today when you read this/ I find out if my broken ankle is healed and if I can officially take off my ‘damned boot’…that thing makes me sound like a storm trooper when I walk in it (I don’t actually mind that, btw! Sometimes I even make the Darth Vader Breath sound. 🙂 ) But if I forget to wear a sneaker on the other foot? And kick the good ankle with it in that klutzy way I have?

Bruises and an ache that lasts for hours! Ha me, there I go attempting to fracture the *good* ankle with the boot meant to heal the *bad* one. *laughs* Yeah, I’m that good of a klutz.

Okay, Master has sent me to bed and away I go. Be well, pervies, and I promise that there will be some *real* juicy stuff back up here soon.


OMG I Forgot the HNT!

Blame it on the thunderous booms and zagging lightning. *nods sagely* That was some series of storms and they made me nervous…but thankfully I had Master to text with during the heart of it. We zinged witty messages back and forth at the speed of those bolts lighting the sky, making me giggle…until.

He sent me to bed. It was very bossy Dominant the way he ordered me to go to sleep. I liked it. 🙂 But as I was trying to close my eyes and ignore the newest rumblings in the distance, it occurred to me that I’d missed a few days this week and holy shit! Tomorrow…was HNT.


I’m *ordered* to put a tit picture on the blog every week which I comply with readily…it feeds my kink too, after all. And here I was for the first time in 2 years forgetting it?

I text Him urgently (I swear I could almost see Him roll His eyes as He got the chime from my incoming message.) about the matter. I’d sent Him two pix last week that I really like–but they show “too much face”.

“You know the rules. No face.” Sigh. I do know the rules.

“But Master it’s only my lips and part of my nose and my chin.”

“They’re on your face, right?”

At this point I give up because obviously I’m NOT going to win this one. 🙂 So instead I get a wicked naughty inspiration. I turn on my light and take this:cheeky

And I send it to Him saying “Look Master, NO nose, NO chin…but You can see my cheeks…”

(I also sent Him a frontal one with my hand between my thighs to which He did respond… “SLUT!”…!)

He didn’t deign to answer the first one. *grins like the naughty slut I am* That’s me, cheeky slut nilla. 🙂

Okay, so here’s the “real” HNT shot of Master’s tits. See, I’m always a good girl…in the end {refer to pic #1 for giggles}!


The Storm is a Wicked Pissah….

So for real, I can’t be on the ‘puter long tonight, it’s brewing up SUPER stormy just now, and I need to go hide under my covers. This storm looks like a wicked pissah (as we say here in New England). There could be hail, and there is already WICKED lightning and thunder, tho the storm is still 20 miles or more away. It’s lighting up the sky.


I do like Thunderstorms as a general rule, they are pure elemental force. But some nights, when I’m alone in my room, I’m more nervous about them.

This fast update is by way of saying that I’m feeling SO much better. I’ve eaten small portions of soup and a wee bit of white bread today and it all stayed where it’s meant to…which is both a blessing and an energy boost to my poor nutrient starved body.  I went to work tonight and I’m back on my game. It’ll take me a frigging WEEK to “teach” my body how to eat again. And I’m kind of hoping that by starting from scratch, I’ll eliminate…oh, bad choice of words there…I’ll turn around some bad habits and get back to eating better.

I’m planning to do some blog work tomorrow. Thanks to everyone who has left comments here for the last week with very little response from me…it cheered me up as I lay in bed moping. 🙂 You’ve all helped me get up and get going again. (And gosh I hope that once I am eating more, I’ll get my “sexy” back. I’m kind of missing it, yanno?)

Gotta fly before those zinging electrons get me!


An O in the Bank

Hey peeps…(waves weakly from my bed)…

It’s been a rough 4 days or so, with my uncontrollable gut running roughshod over my body. I’m starting to get hunger twinges, and holding my drinks down, so I think I’m mending at last. I’m done, too, pouting about my lost long weekend. I can’t change it so I have to roll with it (this is Master’s philosophy, He’s very Zen though HE doesn’t see it. 🙂  He’s not into organized religion.)

Today I got to spend the day in the guest room on the first floor to keep an eye out on my kiddo’s, a change of scenery that was nice. A bit more up and down time, too. Now it’s Like Day evening (Tuesday) and I’m back in my room and ready for bed. Of course I need to talk to my Master, and we chat about this and that. He asks after my healing, admonishes me to take care of myself (I am, I really am), and before the conversation moves on, I jump in.

“Master….I’m clearly in no shape to have an O despite it being my O Day…do you think you would allow me to bank this one?”

His standard policy is “use it or lose it…” so I’m going out on a limb here.

There is a soft silence on the other end of the phone, and a brief “hmmm”.

“You’re right nilla, you’re NOT in any shape for an orgasm yet. Okay. I’ll allow that O deposit into the bank. Sure. There may come an opportunity for it in the future and it isn’t fair for you to lose it due to being this ill.”

There is a pause, and I jump into it headfirst.

“Thank you Master! Oh, thank you so much!”

“Of course,” He continues as if I hadn’t spoken, His voice soft and musing, “I hold the key to the bank.”

That draws me up short.

“And I’m less possible to get around than Wells Fargo. Yes, nilla, I’ll hold your O in my bank. We’ll work out the terms for withdrawal when the situation applies.”

There’s a smile in His voice, I hear it through the phone. My mouth opens, closes, no words come out. He laughs, soft and so sexily.

Just like that, He’s got me again.


3 Gruff Sisters and the Troll- A Sexy Fairy Tale

i worked on this with great assistance from my dear friend and fellow author Will from Erotic Writers. I sent it out for publication and heard nothing so *shrugs* whatever, right? Since I’m still not feeling well (it’s been such a yucky weekend at Casa nilla–even Master is being unerringly kind to me 🙂 ) I thought I’d plop it here, since who knows when I’ll be back to writing again? Enjoy. OH, it’s a bit long, and I thought about serializing it, but then figured, hell, my readers can handle 5000 words! ~nilla~

The day dawned sunny and bright. After a solid week of too much to do, the Gruff sisters decided it was time to head up to the meadows. All three girls were looking forward to a day of leisure, soaking up the sun, weaving garlands of flowers for their hair, gathering berries, chasing butterflies. Whatever they chose to do, they would. It was a day for fun and relaxation. Back at home, there would always be chores – the sort of things that never, ever were “done”. They had decided last night that they all needed a little break. Besides, the littlest sister, Andi, pointed out, they’d have berries for breakfast for the rest of the week.

Pacing around the parlor,  Andi was full of impatience and a goodly amount of impudence. After watching her sisters fuss over their clothing for far too long, she decided to venture off on her own. Eventually they would catch up to her. She didn’t exactly leave stealthily, though she did close the door very quietly on the sound of her sisters voices.  Which corset, indeed! She, clad in a simple cotton skirt and blouse, almost skipped for joy as she left their home behind, and climbed the narrow road heading up to the rolling foothills. She enjoyed the breeze full of verdant scents. Closing her eyes for a moment, and tipping her head up for the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, she smiled for the first time in days. Sweet, this taste of freedom!

Singing a naughty little tune under her breath, she came to the heavy-timbered bridge. Here she paused nervously. There had been rumors that a troll had taken up residence under the bridge. Looking up and down the long riverbed,  the silver ribbon of the river was low, sparkling in the sunshine on its path down the mountains. It was entirely reasonable that there could be a troll down there, hiding just out of view in the shadow of the bridge. She’d heard other things about trolls, too. Things that made her nervously excited.

Her heart thumping hard in her chest, the littlest Gruff sister decided to run, run, fast as she could, across the wooden trestle. It was really more of a skip, however, with an occasional pause to peer down at the river below. Of the rumored troll there was no sign, much to her disappointment.

Yet, before she reached the end of the bride, a large, hairy, and incredibly fearful-looking troll leapt in front of her, blocking her way.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?” He shouted at her, his voice a ferocious growl. A waft of fetid air came from his mouth and she shivered and turned her head away.

“Tis only me, Sir Troll, the littlest Gruff sister. I am on my way to yonder meadow to pick daisies…” pausing, she reached into her pocket. “Breath mint?” She handed him a wad of honied mint. “I made it myself. And really, Sir, you very much need it.”

He, waving a meaty hand in the air, paused to stare at the wee lass standing before him, offering a treat. Perplexed, he snatched it up, tossing it into his mouth. He frowned down at her, while attempting to gobble it quickly. Once it hit his mouth, however, it melted into a sticky goo, taking him several minutes of chewing and mouthing the thing to get it down. All the time, the little wench stood, head tilted, watching him with a small smile on her face.

“You…should be SCARED of Troll,” he growled at her.

“Oh, that’s much better. Your breath I mean. And I’m very scared.” She smiled up at him innocently and batted her lashes.

“As I was saying, Sir Troll, I’m headed up to yon meadow to gather yummy tasting blackberries, which I will gladly share with you on my return, kind Sir.” She finished speaking, then moved, gently brushing her breasts against his arm, as if trying to edge past him.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. With his other hand, he pulled apart the lower part of his pants. An engorged cock burst free, startling the poor girl. She stared at him, at it, aghast, waving her hand in front of her face.

“NO BERRIES! This  is the only thing you’ll  be tasting today,” he said, shaking her a bit.

“I’m afraid that part of you is just as…aromatic as your breath was, Sir Troll. I can see that you’re not much for bathing, are you? And yet, there’s that lovely stream just below. Why, I imagine that if you ran down there quickly, washed that impressive…I mean…frightening…part of you carefully, and rushed back, I wouldn’t even have time to finish crossing the bridge before you returned, and had your wicked way with me.”

Once more she tilted her head at him, aimed that innocent smile at him. He frowned, took a step back, then bolted for the side of the bridge. From underneath came the sound of crashing underbrush, furious splashing, and a faint curse as cold water came in contact with warm flesh. In moments, it seemed, he was back.

He strode to her, grasping her hair, and pulled her to her knees. In moments the large purple head brushed her against her closed mouth. Yet, at that first touch of his cock,  her lips parted. As he jutted his hips forward, he sank deeply into the wet, succulent heat of her mouth.

She gagged, a bit.  He moaned as she tried to keep her breakfast in her belly. As he moved, sawing his giant shaft into and out of her mouth, she found a rhythm to breathing and relaxing her throat. After all, it wasn’t everyday a girl had a cock this huge thrust into her mouth! She felt an answering thud to her racing heart between her thighs. She had dreamt of such wicked things, ever since she had accidentally spied the Widow Morris licking the cock of her stableman as if it were a delightful length of taffy. She had often remembered that scene, wondering at the taste and texture of a man’s shaft, while touching her own folds. And now, it was happening to her!

Her lips were stretched wide, her eyes were squeezed shut, as he continued pumping in and out of her mouth. She tried to suck it back each time he withdrew, and curled her tongue around it each time the massive length slid deeply into her throat. She could feel him quiver, and hear his gasps. If her lips hadn’t been stretched so, she would have smiled. At long last, and far too soon,  he grunted, and a hot, salty fluid filled her mouth. She’d never tasted such a thing before, and there was so much of it! It was like over-salted cream, she thought, runnels of the stuff leaking out the corners of her lips, as she licked and suckled the softening length of him.

With a pop, he pulled out, and tucked his rod away.

“Go,” he ordered roughly, and without hesitation, the littlest Gruff girl rose on shaking knees and ran the rest of the way across the bridge and up and up until she reached the meadow, where she fell back into the soft cushioning grasses, and slipped her fingers between her legs, licking her lips for one more taste of the Troll, until she shivered and quaked her way to the most incredible release she’d ever had.


Fiona looked around the house. It quickly became apparent that Andi had taken off on her own again. With a sigh, she looked at the dishes in the sink. They kept piling up, like magic. Evil magic, she mused, frowning at them. She could use the time while she waited for their eldest sister to finish her preparations (though for goodness sake they were only going to the meadow, not a grand ball!) by attacking the pile in the sink. She really should, she mused, as she eyed the back door with longing.


With a burst of energy, she strode across the kitchen and was out the door before she could interrupt their leisure day. Somehow, it never felt like she got that break. There was always something that needed attention. Laundry or mucking the stable, gathering eggs, or patching their garments- always there was a longer list of things to be attended to then there were hours in the day. She knew  that the dishes would still be there when they returned this evening. She hoped, wished, dreamed, that someday she’d find a handsome prince, who would have a fine castle and hundreds of servants to do all the dishes.

She smiled at her folly, as there were no princes anywhere around here, just magical creatures. Really, she would even settle for one of the fae. How lovely it would be to have someone to help around the house. Even better, to have someone to snuggle with in her lonely bed. She kept a tattered book hidden under her feather bed, with exotic pictures of men and women entwined together. She’d studied them all, especially the page with a certain tantalizing picture of woman’s ankles,  up and over the man’s shoulders, his penis poised at the entrance hidden between her thighs. His arms were bulging with muscles, as were his thighs. His erect shaft rose from a thatch of thick hair. She had spent many a long evening tracing it with her fingertips.

She wanted to see one. She mouthed the words as she walked. Penis. Cock. She shivered at the naughtiness of saying it aloud.  She ached to touch one. Yearned to feel it press into her, to fill her belly with its firm length.  There were many stories she had spun about that, as she touched herself in the deep dark night. Many nights  she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out as her mystery lover brought her to the peak, as her body wept copious amounts of love juice.

The sun shone brightly as she moved up the pathway, lost in thought. She often wondered if her sisters ever thought about men in the way she did. She was constantly dreaming of them and their hard bodies.  Her slow steps eventually brought her to the heavy wooden bridge. She kept walking, her feet moving automatically, her mind tangled in images of her deepest longing.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?”

With a shriek, she took a step back, catching one foot on the other,  falling. She landed on her backside, legs sprawled, head spinning. It was a troll. He was tall, with a thick beard and hair like a dark halo around his head.  He was impressively ugly, yet he smelled like Andi’s  mouth mints.

Wasn’t that curious?

All the warning tales about sightings of a troll at the Meadow Bridge ran through her head. She’d discounted them as foolish stories meant to scare people-after all, there hadn’t been a troll on this side of the mountains in decades! Yet here she was, and there, most definitely, stood a troll.

He seemed enormously tall; then again, she was laying on her back and looking up at him. His scowl was ferocious.  Or perhaps it was a smile? His teeth and mouth were huge, and as he approached her, looming over her where she lay, she wondered if this nasty beast would eat her! She wished she’d paid more attention to how to be rid of one.

“You were crossing my bridge. You must pay a toll.”

“I…I haven’t any coin with me. I was just on my way to the meadow. I can give you berries on my return, Mister Troll. Would that be a fair toll?”

“Berries? Berries? What is it with you girls and berries?” The troll shook his head, setting his scraggled hair to dancing. Fiona lay looking up at him, thinking that he wouldn’t be quite so fearsome if his clothing fit better and was clean. She was very handy with a needle.

“You aren’t all that terrible looking, Mr. Troll. Why, with a proper haircut, you’d be passing handsome!”

Fiona wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by that little pearl of wisdom as it popped from her mind to her lips.

“Troll is NOT handsome,” He growled, hands on his hips. He glared down at her, yet she sensed a longing in him. Being a troll under a bridge must be a lonely thing, after all.

“Troll will take his toll. NO more talk of berries.”

In seconds, his pants were tugged aside and the most amazing penis popped out. Being of a somewhat analytical nature, Fiona looked at it intently, comparing it to the pictures she’d seen in her book. It was a lot bigger. ‘One might even term it massive,’ she thought in awe..It had thick veins, and a swollen purple head. Two heavy, meaty balls hung below it, each as big as her fist!

He stepped between her sprawled open ankles, then dropped to his knees. She swore she felt the bridge tremble under her. His hands grasped the hem of her skirt and it suddenly dawned on her exactly what sort of toll he was going to take from her.

Excitement mixed with fear. It was, she could see, so much larger than the wooden cock she kept with that book under her bed. She wondered for a moment if such a huge thing could even fit inside her own, much smaller body.

“Mr. Troll?” she bit her lip. It wasn’t everyday that fantasy came to life and she didn’t want to blow this opportunity.

“I-.”  She paused again. How did one address the issue of “fitting” with a troll?

He looked at her, brows furrowed. “What you want, girl?”

“Well, Mr. Troll, your….cock,” and she blushed profusely to say that word aloud to him. “it seems very large. I wonder if it will….fit?” Her voice trailed off. The head of his cock dripped a pearly bead of fluid. She licked her lips, watching as a second drop gathered, then fell in slow motion to the ground between their legs.

He laughed, the sound like metal scraping against metal. It was not a pretty sound.

“My cock is biggest Troll cock in these mountains.” He gestured expansively.

‘Likely the only troll cock in these mountains,’ thought Fiona, though she held her tongue.

He grasped the base of his cock, shaking it at her, making another thick droplet fall to the ground.

“I make it fit.”

Suiting words to actions, he leaned forward, pressing his enormous penis against her cleft. He slid it up and down her slit, making her arch and moan when he hit the sensitive place at the top. He pressed forward. She spread her legs wider.

“Please?” she whimpered, then taking the initiative from him, lifted her hips until the head of his cock was virtually sucked into her tight channel.

Her eyes nearly rolled up in her head;  it was like nothing she’d imagined. She rose higher, taking him deeper. His cock stretched her, making her ache in a delightful way. She opened one eye, staring up at the troll. He was staring down at where their bodies were joined. She could see confusion on his face.

“Well?” she growled up at him. “Get on with raping me, will you?”

He blinked, obviously unused to being ordered around in this fashion. He started to sit back on his haunches to think about this, but she wrapped her legs around his thick torso.

“Now…” she snarled at him, “rape me now!”

Tightening her legs, she impaled herself deeper on his thickness. Nature took over at that point, and he pressed the rest of the way into her.  As he pulled back, she tightened her ankles, trying to hold him in; she felt so delightfully full!

He moved to lay atop her, and she moaned. Oh the delight of being pinned helplessly in this way. He bit her nipple, making her arch against his mouth. In moments she was screaming, coming hard, her pussy  clenching and massaging the length of him. He fucked, she came again. He fucked, and fucked and fucked. After a long, long while, he stiffened.

She was in somewhat of a stupor, having had orgasm after orgasm, yet his fingers found her clit, his mouth all but inhaling her breast, as his cock grew impossibly thicker, and began to pulse. She came with a roar, her fingers twining into his hair, pushing his head onto her breast, back arching, legs tightening, pulling him as deep as possible inside of her.

He was coming. Pressed hard against her insides, with no room to spare, every ounce of his  juice filled her. Her back arched, her body taking more, as much more as she could get. Never before had she felt this wanton. Never before had she ever imagined that one of the pages of her hidden Matings book would come to life. Never before had she felt so good. It was the stuff of fantasy, come to life.

She lay, flaccid, as he rolled away.

“Wait,” she whispered, her hand outstretched in longing. But he had already vanished below the bridge. At long last, she rose, her body glowing, and walked onward to the meadow, with their juices tracing down her thighs.


Sue tugged once more on the laces of her corset. She did like them tight, and damnit, her sisters had likely already left, as she’d called to them twice and gotten no response. Doing herself up the best way she could, she adjusted her leather pants, straightened her boots, and gathered up her implements. Her sisters were definitely of the “girlish” variety; she herself was made of sterner stuff.

It wasn’t that she was cruel to them, but they needed tasks to help keep them happy. A long time ago Sue had noted that most people fell into two distinct catagories- those that like the doing for others, and those that liked receiving such doings. Her sisters were the former while she was very much the latter.

She liked going to the mountain meadow well enough, but she would be hunting game for dinner. The younger two would braid flowers or some such frittery, while she would get on with the business of supplying them with meat.

As if they could live on daisies, she snorted to herself. Taking up her hunting sack, she slung it over her shoulder, and headed up the road.

At the bridge she paused. The locals had spoken, just last week when she was in town, of the possible presence of a troll. While she’d seen nothing of the kind herself, she left naught to chance. Unslinging her whip and club, she walked steadily across the bridge, taking note of a puddle in the center. Bending, she pressed a finger into it. Warm. Sniffing it, she frowned.


In the middle of the bridge where her sisters had been? Now, wasn’t that passing strange? She rose to her feet, weapons at the ready, but nothing untoward occurred, and she continued on to the hills. She found one sister picking berries near the trailhead.

“Hie, Fiona!” She called. Fiona’s head popped up, startled. She turned away from her sister, just a bit, enough to make her curious.

“What ails you?”

“Nothing. Just …picking berries.”

“Fiona, I can tell you are…what the hell is that?” Sue pointed at the stain on the front of her sister’s dress. It was dark with the drying spittle of the troll.

Her sister cast her eyes to the ground, lower lip trembling.

“I …I couldn’t stop it. Truth? I…I didn’t want to. He was so big, Sue. His arms were like logs, his legs like marble. And oooh how huge  his cock, Susan!  Merciful goddess, his cock was a work of art!”

She paused, hand to her breast, remembering. She smiled, smitten.

“He needed a haircut, a shave, and some tailoring, but he was so ruggedly handsome.”

Sue looked at her sister in disbelief. What the hell had she been drinking up here? Last years mead?

A trilling call and rippling grasses presaged their younger sisters arrival. Her hands were full of daisy crowns, and she plunged into the scene with happy cheer.

She moved to pass out the crowns, but caught onto the tension.

“What…what..?” she asked, confused.

“I think our sister has fucked a troll.” Sue spoke flatly, hands on hips.

“I didn’t mean to, and it was just my mouth…” Andi’s eyes fell to her feet. Looking up, she saw the disbelief on both sisters faces.

“Wait…he got you, too?” squeaked Fiona.

After a few minutes of cacophony, of catcalling  “you slut, you whore” Sue had had enough. The volume and shrillness rose until she dropped her hands on her hips and whistled as if to dogs.

Both girls stopped, clapping hands over their ears. She had a fearsome whistle!

“Enough. It appears that we have a resident troll, who fucked you,” and she pointed at Fiona, “and used your mouth,” she continued, speaking to Andi. They nodded, still mutinous.

“And I didn’t see him at all, so he was likely totally fatigued by having both you juicy pieces in such a short time. Very well, I’ll just see to that. Give me an hour before you return.”

Both girls nodded somberly.

“Sue?” Fiona asked, her voice a bit sad. “Please…don’t hurt him too much. I…I kind of liked what he did. A lot.”

“A lot, but kind of? Silly girl. Pleasured by a stinky troll? There are better ways…”

“Like there’s anything hung like that in town,” muttered Andi under her breath.

Sue shook her head, torn between bewilderment and annoyance. She pointed to each of her sisters, her tone brooking no argument.

“Stay. Here.”

A chorus of “yes Ma’am”‘s followed her as she left the meadow at a near trot.


She came to the bridge in short order, her long strides and impressive annoyance eating up the miles.

“Yo, Troll!” She shouted.

In a few moments, he clambered up the bank, looking more than a bit exhausted.

“What you doin’ on my bridge,”  he tried to thunder, but really, it had been a long, long time since he’d had an orgasm, let alone two in an hour. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.

She took a step forward.

He took a step back.

She backed him across the bridge, step by step. Once his contact with the water and bridge was broken, as he stood on the road, his power was broken.

In moments, Sue had looped her whip around his neck, collared him, and led him back to the house. He trudged along behind her, thinking fondle of napping. In the backyard was the old trough where they watered their mare.

“Get those clothes off. Hard to say which smells more…you or those rags. Get in there and wash.”

He grumbled. She pointed, first with her finger, then with her short crop. She swatted his backside as he reluctantly clambered into the water.

“Stay there.”

Striding into the house, she found one of the bars of lavender soap that her sister made, and tossed that at him. Before he could bite it, she stopped him.

“NO! Wash yourself–every INCH of yourself–you stinking creature.”

It took a while, and many buckets of water, until Sue was satisfied that he was de-stunk enough to enter the house.  His clothing stayed in the trough, he could come out later and wash them.

She walked around him as he stood in the kitchen. Her sisters were right. A bath, and later, some grooming, and he would be more than passing presentable.  Stopping in front of him, she looked at the giant cock between his hairy legs. Interesting. She smiled. Directing him to her room, she bid him to sit on the floor and to not move.

In moments she was back, with a strange ring in her hands.

“This used to be part of our mares tack. I’m going to put it on your cock. . . because it is my cock now, understand?”

He was slow to answer. As punishment, she swatted his upper legs, catching the hanging cock, making him yelp. He may have been big, but he still felt pain.

“Yes. Your cock.” He answered a bit reluctantly at first, then continued hopefully,  “I like your cock.  Troll want to put your cock in your cockhole.”

“Later, perhaps,” she purred at him. She slid the silver ring over his balls, then slipped his flaccid cock through. He frowned, moved a bit. She grabbed his testicles, squeezing firmly.

“Enough wiggling. Be a good boy and stay still.”

His hairy brows beetled down, his expression confused.  He watched her cross the room, tugging down her man-pants. He’d never seen a girl wear pants like that before. Yet she had all the right girl parts.

“Come here and taste me. I’ve always wanted someone to lick me. You have a big tongue. I want you to use it on me. Lick me good and I might let you fuck my sister again.”

The troll went to work, having never tasted pussy before, he found it delightful, his mouth and lips working to devour every drop of fluid, stroking over her button, making her writhe and moan and leak more honey onto his tongue. He pressed his tongue into her cockhole, and found it to be hot, and clenching on him. Fucking her with his tongue was delightful for both of them.

She had never ever felt the like! To have an enormous tongue lapping and stabbing into her nether regions? Amazing.

“My ass…you must lick me there, too…my crack, my hole..all of it.”

Being a troll of small brains, he wasn’t worried about that. He’d eaten worse, actually. His tongue slid up her back cleft as readily as the front, then pierced into her ass with abandon.He actually smacked his lips between slurpy suctioning of her ass and cockhole!

Finally she pushed him away. She was light-headed from so many orgasms. She heard her sisters come in, the sound of their nervous whisperings.

“Fiona! Andi! Come in here!”

She stood, bare-bottomed, the troll laying at her feet.

The two girls stopped, amazed at the sight.

“I believe we found the answer to our needs…our pet troll will help with all our chores, won’t you, Troll?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t altogether sure what a ‘chore’ was. He wondered if it tasted like the snack he had just enjoyed. He smacked his lips.

Sue looked to her sisters. “And we shall take turns with him, so that everyone gets to enjoy our new pet. Agreed?”

They nodded assent eagerly.


“Your tea, Madam.”

His accent was perfect, thought Sue. It hadn’t taken too many beatings to whip him into shape. His suit and tie fit impeccably, he was well-groomed, and he only tended to slobber after the guests had been served high tea. She’d allowed that-as long as he was in the kitchen or stables, and out of his livery. A troll, after all, is still very much a troll under the fine clothing.

She also didn’t mind the gruntings and foul language when he was occupied with one of her sisters, and certainly enjoyed his controlled attentions herself.

Yes, the Gruff sisters, had done well in civilizing their new pet. And although he would sometimes frown and stomp around the house, all it took was a raised eyebrow, and the suggestive tapping of her crop against her boot to end any thought of stomping away.

No, he was their troll now, and he was never found under the bridge again.

The End

Now That’s Just Sick…

I’ve been bitch-slapped by some nasty weird virus (at work of course, with nearly an hours drive home feeling faint and nausea and ‘out’ of it.) Thank the Goddess for my Master–He talked to me on my drive until I was almost home. It was like a verbal tether holding me.

I got in the door, went upstairs and barely got undressed before falling into my bed. I slept for 16 hours. I *never* do that. Chills and feverpain and just not feeling good at all. Even my hair hurt. Fever broke this morning, and my family went to visit the MIL without me, so I was home alone all day. I slept. And slept. And talked to Master, and texted a wee bit. Read a bit, facebooked for a few, then slept again.

I finally ate a light dinner and am now back in bed. Hoping that tomorrow will throw the last of this sucker off. I need a shower! But it’s fucking freezing up here in the northeast. It SNOWED. Not where I am but about an hour north. Over half a foot in Vermont and New Hampshire. Wicked weird. It’s almost JUNE…that should be a record or something, right?

So now you know why it’s been so quiet over here in the nilla-verse. No good kinky fun. Just blucky stuff. And yet….. 🙂 I’m already so much better. I even thought about my dildo a while ago. Not that I’m ready to USE it yet (Master says no orgasms until I’m 65 if I don’t get well SOON! That’s some powerful inspiration! *smiling*) But at least the thought of something sexual crossed my mind.

Be well yourselves and hope you enjoy the rest of the holiday weekend where you are.


Hair Pulling

I’m writing, I promise, working on several stories at the moment. When I’m on a writing jones I have to stop occasionally and read other blogs for a breather. While on such a break, I happened across a few blogs that talk about the “mmmmmmm” of hair pulling. And it reminds me of the many times He does it to me.

He doesn’t just wait until we’re together behind closed doors….however it is a major part of our playtime when we are. He has pulled me across the room by His fist tangled in a handful of my mane, He’s used it to tug me “into position” on the Wall, He lies on it to immobilize me, and He tugs it to get my attention. Then there’s the obvious “handle” usage for face fucking.

All of these I love.

All of these are some kind of objectification, aren’t they? Being held, being moved like a ‘thing’ instead of being asked/told to move here, go there. Just picked up by my handle and ‘placed’.

Gawd, just writing that makes my pussy ooze.

It’s been a LONG time since playtime for nilla and Master, long ago in March.

*sigh* (okay, ignore that little sigh. Itiswhatitis. I need that on one of those rubber bracelets ~ IIWII)

But….He doesn’t only wait for behind-closed-doors playtime to show me that He owns me, no matter where we are. There was that time in Starbucks where I plugged in His computer, and He held me, kneeling at His feet, with His foot on my hair. I almost had an orgasm, right there.

He’s pulled my ponytail at another Starbucks we frequent, tugging me into His lap, or to His side, or leaning against the table. It’s a handle, and an instant turn on for me.

Sure, it hurts. He’s a forceful Bastard. But it *always* makes me wet. He watches me like a hawk, stabbing His eyes into mine, reading me like a dime-store novel, warning me not to cum. He can see it, feel it.

It’s not just His delightful hands on my body. He is a wicked pincher, as you saw a few weeks ago. Those bruises are fading, almost gone. But it’s His hand in my hair that affects  me in the most dramatic way.

His fist in my tresses, His fingers coiled around my braid, the gleam in His eye as this single grasp of ownership –all serves to tilt me out of vanilla as I slide right into submission. He doesn’t give a fuck who is there, it is just a little bubble that surrounds us.

Maybe it’s apparent that it’s consensual. It MUST be obvious that I enjoy it, even as my cheeks glow. I think all of me glows, in a heady mix of embarrassment and arousal.

Because really, even though I’m embarrassed, I don’t really give a fuck who’s there watching either.

We’re a pair, aren’t we?

So what do you think? Does your Master do “hair play” with you? Is it hot? (in here…or is it Him. 🙂  )

HNT…Chained to Him

Remember I was grumpy and whiny? Done and over once the tummy bug hit. Remember the update saying why I was grumpy and that things were better?


That means you’re all up to date. 🙂 I’m good. I’m almost 100 per cent good. Like..98%.

It’s that little 2% that is in my thoughts, the 2% that Master is holding in his hands.

My Orgasm.

See, I’m supposed to write an “Orgasm Report” after every O. And I’ve been amazingly diligent, sending them faithfully.

And He never…okay, perhaps not never, but rarely, responds. So…eventually I figure, hell, He’s not reading these fucking things. But I kept writing them because as a Dom AND as my Master?

He’s pretty fucking sneaky.

I may forget a lot of things, but I’ve never consciously underestimated Him. He is WAY smarter than I am, WAY better at this whole D/s dynamic, WAY better at “getting” me than I get me.

So I plug along, writing the reports. Some are dry, a recitation of the mechanics. What toys, the feelings, etc. Some – well – even for *me* it’s embarrassing to let my deepest fantasies out to Him.  But once in a while I’ll post that to Him.

But this morning (Wednesday) I forgot. I was feeling pretty blucky when I first crawled out of bed. This stupid virus thing isn’t about heaving, but just a queasy belly, and headache and dizzy, and just feeling blerg.

So I forgot to sit down and write my o report, which is a shame because it was a pretty fucking awesome orgasm. No squirty (this seems to be the new female orgasm achievement, Jz mentions it here in her hysterical post, and you really should go read it…) but it was one of those whole-body pulsing rip-roaring orgasms that sent me right to sleep afterwards, with a big-assed smile on my face.

Until, you know, the whole wake-up-in-the-wee-hours-of-the-morning thing.

So dammit, I forgot.

It’s a valid excuse.

Note the word choice there. Excuse. It’s not really a reason. There is no reason why I couldn’t write the email. I commented on blogs, I wrote on facebook, I even wrote my mini update.

But I didn’t write that fucking email.

And tonight I spoke to Him. I asked Him if I could have an O, since tomorrow is the ever-dreaded ZNN.

“I don’t believe there was an O-Report in my “in” box today.” He says.

“I had no idea You read those, Master.”

“I couldn’t read it. It wasn’t here.”


“I wasn’t feeling very good this morning, Master.”

“And I’m sorry you were unwell. But there is no O report in my in box. So no, you may not have an orgasm tonight. I sit here, and know eventually you will fuck up, nilla. You’ll get lazy or bored or something…and you’ll find out that I’m still sitting here and watching you.”

Now, doesn’t that make my little submissive heart go pitter-patter? I mean, my gawd…He’s watching. He’s paying attention. Even when I think maaaybe He’s forgotten He owns a needy slut. I got goosebumps when He said it.

And dammit, I really wanted that O.

But I really want Him and His approval, and to please Him, more than my own selfish pussy.

Here are the two pix I sent Him last night before and after the wonderous O…they are NOT an O report, but a …um…well…you know.

A tease.


First, the offering:


and then the afterwards…chain

They won’t “buy back” my missing O…but I’m sure He’s got it filed away somewhere under “nilla fuck-up number XYZ”.

That’s okay.

He’s watching. He’s spinning His web. He’s holding me, binding me, in these invisible chains.  I’m good with this. Because it means that I’m His, that even when I don’t see or feel the clamps or the weight of the chains…they’re still there.  And every once in a while He’ll pull them tight, and remind me of their presence.


The O was wildly awesome…it really was…put a big smile on my face. But I woke up in the wee hours with a tummy bug…it explains a lot of the pissant mood.

Thankfully it’s a fast-moving bug, and the queezies and headache are almost passed…

(I did grump on M this morning and He calmed me down (and made me feel bad for grumping in the first place) and was solicitous of my brief illness.

He’s a good Master. And I’m done being cranky. Happy Hump Day.