The Package

inspiration can come in many ways…and the best is from friends. Thanks fiona and sofia…you guys are the *best*…~nilla~

The brown box was leaning against her front door. She didn’t see it when she pulled into the drive, nor when she collected the mail from the end of the front walk. Sifting through bills, scowling at overflowing advertisements, she didn’t see it as she unlocked the door. The sound of it falling with a soft thunk onto her hall floor, almost inviting itself in, caught her attention at last.

“What the fuck now? I didn’t order anything…”

Bending, she scooped the package up. Whatever it was, it was lightweight. Meticulously she hung her keys on their allotted peg, dropped the mail into the basket beneath, then took the box with her to the kitchen. The stamps indicated overseas passage.

“Fee….” She sighed and smiled. Her cousin was traveling in Europe. In fact, Fiona had invited her along on the journey, even offering to pay her airfare. But she couldn’t take time away from work just now, not with the biggest client in her life hanging in the balance. This was a make-or-break deal, and if she landed the Emerson account her career was made. Drake Emerson had a fierce reputation for shredding anyone who displeased him. She had every intention of winning this client–and overwhelming him with her creative approach to marketing his company. She’d given weeks of her life to the presentation that would happen on Thursday.

With a sigh, she returned her attention to the box. Meanwhile, her cousin was off dancing over the hills of Ireland, or gawking at Big Ben, or where ever she was at the moment, soaking up all the local ambience.

Carefully she slit the tape, opening the flaps. Inside on the top, a note, in Fee’s wide, rolling scrawl:

Saw this and immediately thought of you, Cuz.  Wish you were here. Dinner at a fawking awesome pub last night, danced with this local guy who was…well, you can imagine. He danced just as well under the covers too.  🙂  Miss you. Fuck your work! Come join me!

She smiled, hearing Fiona’s ribald laugh in her head. Setting the note aside, she opened the papers hiding the treasure within. And gasped. It was incredible. Her cousin had been so right to send this to her. The tail of the dragon wrapped sinuously around the stem of the tall goblet. Blown from silvered-blue glass, the twining form spoke of a fierceness, and a palpable sexuality. At the top rim of the glass goblet, his head lay in repose, looking at her. Was there a hint of a draconic smile in that muzzle? The eyes were brilliant sapphires, clear as the sky in September, the blue so intense that she almost felt  him watching her.

Turning the bowl in her hands, Delia took in every detail–which was perfect, down to the last pointed scale on his tail. Despite having been a long-time dragon lover, she’d stopped collecting every draconic rendering she’d seen, dragons having become so popular over the years. But the unusual, the pieces that truly piqued her interest, those she did still gather. And this would be the crowning jewel in her collection. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her fingers over the smooth glass of his head, imagining the heat of those gorgeous eyes. There was a tickle along her wrist. Fearing a return of Mr. Creepy Spider, who had plopped onto the table in front of her this morning during breakfast, her eyes flew open.

She fell back a step.

Wrapped around her wrist was the tail of the glass dragon. His forelegs rested on her arm, and those intense eyes were now staring up at her. In her hands, the now dragon-less wineglass. She looked from glass cup to glass dragon. It didn’t make sense. She looked again. Naked glass. Glass dragon on her wrist. She blinked, shook her head.

It had been a long day. She hadn’t slept more than 4 hours a night nearly all week, going over and over the presentation. She was fucking hallucinating.

“You’re not.”

The voice was richly resonant.  A quick glance showed her that no one else was in the room with her. As she watched, the tail unwound from her wrist, and he-it-whatever it was- marched upwards. She flinched, and the tail quickly swung around her upper arm, while needle-sharp claws dug into her shoulders. The thing was now eye-to-eye with her.

“Stop that! You’re going to shake me right to the floor. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a new glass wing if one breaks off?”

Her breath, frozen in her throat, shivered out her lips.

“W-w-what…are …. you…?”

“Duh. I’m a dragon. Did you not recognize me?” He unfurled his wings, which she hadn’t really noticed before. Releasing his tight tail grip, he pushed away from her and sailed gracefully around the room. A slash of evening sun beamed into the kitchen. He split the beam into a million rainbows as he sailed through it, the crystal of his body fracturing the light, and turning her very ordinary room into something extraordinary.

With a light flap, he circled through the room again.

“Put the goblet on the counter. Good. Now…hands up. No, no. Cup them.”

He spoke to her like she was a dimwitted child. Slowly she lowered her hands from their “it’s a stick-up” position, to palms-up-and-flat in front of her. Making one last pass around her kitchen, his wing once more refracting rainbows around the white walls, he soared towards her. Nodding in approval at the corrected hands,  he landed there, gentle as a feather, twining his tail around her right wrist.

“I can see I have a lot of work ahead of me.”

There was a heavy sigh, and a puff of air that smelled, ever so faintly of something sweet and hot.





Didn’t take much to “fix” me.

A conversation with Master…brief… but gosh He knows exactly what buttons to push to get me back “on”…

And I was giggling, and we had some sexual repartee and…yeah. I’m better. 😀

Now just shoot me some blue bubbles on Thursday (job) and for Sunday (playtime with Master? Maybe?) and I’ll be roaring back. 🙂

un-Kink-ed ?


i am a very tired girl these days. had a busy vanilla weekend, and virtually no Master time (like 2 or 3 texts, a 10 minute phone call).

I am feeling…very vanilla.

Very kink-less.

Kinked out?

It’s an odd feeling. Maybe once the tired is gone I’ll feel more like nilla again. But for today, at least, I’m feeling way more “vanilla” than any other kind of thing.



You all will miss me while I’m gone, right? 🙂

That sounds like a shameless plea for attention…it isn’t, really!

I’m only gone two, three days tops. Getting in a wee bit of family time, which I’m looking forward to. A crazy August is getting ready to unfold, and there may be some Master time in there (He is being non-committal. I hate when He does that. He knows I hate when He does that. That pleases Him. Perverse sadist!

I’ll be back early next week…sally forth and be naughty!





An O in the Bank

It was there, in the bank.

His bank.

The O I didn’t take last week when it was tooooo fucking hot to even think of touching in a way to increase my hotness.

My O this Tuesday was niiicccee…oh it was realllly nice. So nice that I asked to withdraw the O in His bank for Wednesday night.

He graciously said yes. 🙂 He’s so good to me. (yeah, I’m spoiled. Your point?)

And with my family away? I’m staying up super late. At 1130 I finally headed upstairs, and remember the O. I see you there. You just rolled your eyes, didn’t you?

What can I say? I did a ton of stuff Wednesday, it was an UBER stress-out day–and by the end of it, sitting here on my computer and watching tv was the nice thing to unwind.  And I got so engaged that I forgot.

Bite me.

Okay, enough rudie tootie.

So, there I am laying in bed at 1145 not really thinking, you know? That at 12:00:01 is the start of Fucking ZNN.

That’s Zero touching. Nada. Nyet.

The No Orgasm zone.

And there I was, gently pounding the pussy. So it dawns on me slowly that it was Wednesday. 


Oh Fuck.

That meant it was very nearly Thursday.

The hand propelling the vibe got slower.

And slower.

And …


Reluctantly, I reached for my phone.

12:24 a.m.


Oh no.

No. No. No. No.

I look again.


I put the vibe away. Put the dildo away. Lay there, wet, wanton, panting a bit.

Leaking a bit.

Steaming a bit.

I was pretty fucking turned on.

And denied by my obligation, my honesty to Him.


Of course I told Him about it. I wrote the entire tale (knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that He would be tickled pink that I stopped mid-masturbation, tossing and turning until I finally fell asleep, unfulfilled. 

This is His response:

That would be a partially used O in the bank Nilla – which means some of the interest on the deposit has already been spent. Therefore, you have less remaining than you think – more specifically, when you withdrawal this deposit again, you must consume it within 4 minutes, 44 seconds – or it expires. Thank you Nilla – I just absolutely love your fuck-ups.

Methinks that this is going to be a very interesting withdrawal (with the potential of epic fail written all over it.)

Four minutes and 44 seconds?

What a fucking sadist.



When I started this gig,

i was pure vanilla

in body

but not in my spirit.

Blogging, meeting kindred spirits…


and You

and you and you and you–



pervie reader, gay, straight




you all helped me

embrace my darkness…


dive deeply into it,

exploring the nooks and crannies

the horrible and the seductive

the scandalous and perverted

until I was transformed

from pure vanilla…

to deliciously,



in the darkThanks.


Just One More

“ask for it”

“pplease Sir…jjust one mmore”

“well, if you insist”


“love to see your nipple stretched out like that, pretty slut”

*sound of short panting breath*

“ask for it”


“ask for it”




“Yes Sir…j-j-ust…one….”

”         ”


“more. Please Sir”

“Greedy cunt. Wants more than one eh? Ah well, I’m in a generous mood. I’ll give you two more weights. But that’s enough for now.”

“thank you Sir…”

“Unless, of course, you ask for more?”


“To please me, of course”




had the best BEST idea for a story…

forgot it.

Yeah. That’s why I keep my phone next to my bed, so I can text the idea to myself. Usually a few garbled words–and when I see it, it jumps right back into my head.

But…I was cradling my bruises. And woken up by police outside my house (who were talking to my neighbor…but isn’t just a wee bit disturbing to have 3 cruisers, lights shooting blue rays of light into the darkness of your driveway, home, backyard, bedrooms, at midnight?)

Yeah. So I didn’t text it.

And I’m drawing a blank.

Am trying to sort out something…not an issue…not a problem, but an unexpected event. Master and I have been talking about it..well, I’m processing it, He’s listening and sending me key insights. He’s a good listener. And really really REALLY smart, Mr. Ivy League.  His insights on people are spot-on.

Coz I really drew a blank on how to handle this.

He is so good for me.

And now I need to go text Him my goodnight, and get my tired old ass to bed.

And I promise that, if I’m again in that half-aware state where a story pops in…?

I’ll text myself.

So you won’t come here in the morning to read, and only find nilla drawing a blank.


It Was A Date

We met for ice cream. The place was pretty busy, and He was late. Okay, not “late” but I was there before Him. I sat at a table watching the comings and goings, feeling tired from work, but content to wait.

I guess I was really exploring liminal time, that time between. I didn’t have to “do” anything but just be there. Just sit, just watch, just be.

It was glorious.

And then His car pulled in.

And I was transported from the calm tranquility of liminal time to the blissful joy I get when I first see Him. It always sends a thrill through me. Butterflies in my tummy, a rush of love through my body. Yes, I can *feel* it, that non-sexual love for this Man of mine. It coats me from the inside out. And yes, there is sexual love for Him too, but what rises up at the outset, like cream to the top of the milkpail, is the rush of pure love.

And then there is the touch, the smell of Him. That’s when the sex rush begins. That’s when I know I’m with my Master, that simply laying my lips on His, then my head upon His shoulder reclaims each of us to the other.

But this isn’t a sexual meeting, it’s face time. It’s a communion of ice cream, and a reconnecting, Master and slut. It’s a date. I run my fingers down his arm, he kisses me. We eat our ice cream together, watching the cows in the field. There’s some sexual talk…about cows, no less, and some family talk. There’s talk about my potential new job (cross your fingers and send blue bubbles, peeps!), and about his kids.

It’s a date.

We slurp our way through quick-melting confections. I fetch him extra napkins, some water to wipe with. He flicks water on my face, we laugh.

And it’s time to.

(Oh, how hard to write that last word.)


Step apart.

Leave this little bubble of time.

A lump forms in my throat, my head rests on his shoulder, he rubs my back. I pat his ass. And try to not think about parting as we walk towards my car.

It’s a date, and I’m leaving.

And He pins me against my car and pinches the fuck out of my arm. Along the sweaty topside, where His fingers catch and hold my flesh. Then along the side of my belly. Right *there*. And holds it. Pincering His fingers together- I can barely breathe. My head falls onto His shoulder, and I make funny noises.

He laughs.

And Laughs.

And I’m on tip-toe and making whimpery noises and trying to swallow and breathe and speak…

And He laughs.

And stops.

I breathe.




And He reaches for my arm once again. No way to dodge into my car to get away, I’m plastered against it. Stuck.

He’s so fucking subtle.

NO one sees.

No one sees a thing. But I feel.

Oh gods I feel.

Pain, such explosions of pain. I’m out of practice, you see. Next to zero masturbation during the heat, even choosing to forgo my Tuesday orgasm. No pegs, no clamps, no dark assignments from Him.

This hurt.

So. Fuckity Fucking. Much.

Little quick snaps of His fingers against my arm (bruising even before we parted), tickling my armpit, teasing me with giggling fits, while serving me a dish filled to overflowing with hurty goodness.

Finally He allows me to get into my car, then grabs my ponytail, snapping my neck back, hard, while reaching inside to deliver one final, bruising pinch just above my armpit.

I’ll wear these marks all week.

And glory in them.

NO, friends.

I was wrong.

OH, so wrong.

This wasn’t a date at all.

This was Master time.

How glorious.

A Moment of Levity…

It was hot (I know, I know you’ve heard enough of it…but you need to recall it as it is integral to my little story.)

Hot enough that beachgoers were told that their children could not go out on the sand (sand temp? 120ºF) due to danger of being burned.

Hot enough that any movement engendered gallons of sweat…as much as any whipping, beating, caning has ever done to me…

Hot enough that I felt beat down enough to text the Master and whine.


I did.

pissed and moaned told Him how uncomfortable I was.

I know it’s very hot.

Well, that didn’t solicit the attention sympathy that I wanted.

“This is one of those times when I hate having long hair, Master.”

Nevermind that I’ve been wetting it down and letting it dry against my skin, or knotting it up and clipping it with one of those mega-clips. I was attention-seeking—and damned if He didn’t grok that one.

Smart fucking Bastard.

Well then shave your frigging pussyhair and shut the fuck up.

Of course I convulsed in laughter.

I  have been a bit lax in that department. He only requires that my pussy be shaved when we get together…otherwise He could care less, so why bother?

But He won’t EVER consider letting me chop my hair (it has finally regrown about 2/3 of what I got grudging approval for last year, about 6 of the 9 inches.) and I knew it…I was just–you know–goading attention seeking.


Yeah, hard to picture, right?

He put me in my place, AND moved me from a negative mind-set to a more humorous one. Hard to be all whiney when one is laughing at oneself.

Hairy pussy and all.