Signed (16)

He paced around the house. Dishes were piled up on the counters, a pizza box lay open on the table, exposing its days-old contents. The toilets had deep yellow stains, the splashes of dried piss on the white porcelain resembling dropped eggs. The shower was spotted, the sink covered in dark hairs, old chunks of dry toothpaste, and soap goo.

She’d only been gone ten days, and damn, he missed his wife.

He took another deep swig of his beer. He’d worked his ass off for this house, for her. Conveniently forgetting the girls he picked up at his bar, fucked in the alley, or in his car, forgetting the money he’d lost on gambling, and the neglect he often showed to the woman he’d married, he rubbed his crotch and stared at the rumpled mess of his bed. He needed his wife! He needed to pin her to the bed and fuck her silly, make her pregnant, give her something to look after. Their house was a fucking dump, and she needed to get her fanny home and take care of things.

Tossing the empty can towards the recycling bin, yet missing it, he ignored the spill of beer on the floor and went in search of the stupid fucking contract that dickhead in a designer suit had made him sign.

No address was listed, only his name, her name. The paper said their quicky divorce would be final in 20 more days, put through some stupid fuck-all way so that they would be free of one another.

She wasn’t going to dump him that easily.


“I’ll be gentle with you…for now.”

His voice was soft and silky as he circled around where she stood in the single beam of light. She felt like a moth to a flame, drawn to him. His scent lured, his body made her crave. Despite the powerful orgasms she’d had upstairs, she felt the unfurling of want in her belly.

A gentle swish across her bum made her jolt.

“Hands over your head. You’ll feel a loop there. Put your hands in it.”

Each sentence was murmured, punctuated by the gentle swish of something on her ass. Something that almost tickled, almost. There was the faintest bit of nerves jangling around her shoulders as she did as he had bid. The noose tightened around her wrists, then pulled upwards.


She yelped, dancing upon the balls of her feet. His hands came to steady her, as he knelt by her knees.

“Lift,” he said, tapping her left calf. The coolness of leather against her foot made her shiver. He repeated the tap on her right calf, and when he moved away, she could see the shiny black of the shoes on her feet. The heels were tall, but took some of the pressure off her wrists.

The slap on her butt was harder, stingy.

She took a breath, tried to not whimper, but the next blow curled around her hip, and she did whine then.

“Be a good girl. Let me hear those sexy noises.”

“Bastard!” she gasped, as the next blow came harder, faster, lashing up her side, and ending with a slap on the side of her left breast.

“That’s my good girl,” he chuckled, then all was silent but for the swish of the flogger, the click of the heels as she attempted to dance away, and her gasps and groans.


Her head hung low as her body stung and throbbed. Cool hands slid over her welted bottom, up the stinging of her hips, and cupped her hurting tits. Fingers pinched and kneaded her nipples, as his heat pressed behind her. She felt his cock, barely registering that he was naked before he pressed between her shoulders, making her lean forward, then tugged her sore hips backwards. His cock parted the soft wet lips of her cunt, pressed slowly inward. Her moans now were deeper. Amazed that the beating had created this need to fuck, to be fucked, she pressed back, imploring wordlessly for more.

He took his time, sliding in and out of her dripping hot hole with a steady pace that she found maddening. Where she wanted fierce plundering, he gave gently. She may have whispered that under her breath.


“Nothing…” she uttered a moan as he sheathed inside her again, his thick cock rubbing all the right places. Her clit begged for attention.

“Say it again, slut.”

She hated when he called her that…and yet it was so exciting, too. The freedom of being a greedy, wanton woman, tied up with the nastiness that was associated with that term. She was a slut. For him.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I am fucking you.”

“You know….” her words trailed off as embarrassment suffused her.

“Tell me.”

“I want you…to do like you did upstairs.”

Her voice was soft, her eyes closed, her wrists aching as she clenched her fingers into fists.

“Say it. Tell me what you want.”

She felt as though he was battering her emotions. Nice girls didn’t say those things. She was a respectable woman, a woman of impeccable reputation. She didn’t…couldn’t…say those words.

His hips moved in a soft, slow figure-eight, rubbing her cuntlips, her insides, with the most incredible sensations…but it wasn’t enough to get off. He kept her hanging right there on the edge.

“Harder!” she begged, moaning.

“Again? What?”

“Rough. Use me. Fuck me like a whore. Please? please?” she whimpered the last word, her body alive, alert, poised on the brink of something incredible.

“Ooooh. That.”

His voice was filled with amusement, and she blushed, felt suffused with the heat of it, for begging for something so dark. So dirty. So….slutty.

Yet her hips were suddenly grabbed roughly, his fingers biting into the already abused flesh as he began roughly fucking her.




His voice became guttural as he ground into her, hard pounding thrusts. She felt his cock stiffen further, she swore it grew a foot as he hammered her pussy, filling her and making her moan in one steady, long, ululation.

When her orgasm clenched his shaft, she felt it pumping, felt the groan leave his chest and enter hers as they came in unison. He filled her.

Filled her.

Darkness overtook her as pleasure turned her body into a living firework of sensation.

Signed (15)

because I was asked… 🙂

Dishpan hands were never attractive, she mused, flipping her hands back and forth and looking at the pallid, wrinkled flesh of her fingers. Still, she’d eaten and finished the dishes with seven minutes to spare. She remembered what Reg had said before he’d left her to this odious task. Okay, maybe not so odious, as she’d snuck tastes and bits from the pans stacked to be washed. He’d said that He…she refused to call him “Master”…had more plans for her. Despite not wanting to, her throbbing pussy constantly recalled their last interlude upon the dining room table. The incredible fierceness as he’d taken her, pounded into her, used her. The thickness of his shaft, the heat of his hands on her hips and thighs, pulling her onto him. And the incredibly intensity of his gaze drinking in her every reaction.

Shaking her head she hung the dishtowel on the rack, turned to survey the kitchen one last time. The door swung open as she mentally patted herself on the back for a job well done. Reg stepped through. His face was unreadable. She prepared herself to be gracious. How could he not be impressed. Every surface gleamed. Every pot, pan, utensil washed, dried and put away. She smiled. He didn’t.

“Come along, girl.”

She straightened. That was it? Forty-three minutes of hard work and that was it?


“I said, come along, girl. Don’t make me ask again.”

She sputtered. She’d always thought that a plot device in stories. Sputtering was not something that people really did. However, she discovered, apparently it was quite possible. She sputtered. She wanted to yell “you ungrateful bastard!” Fighting for control, she clenched her jaw, took a deep breath. Biting her tongue was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Breathing  through her nose, jaw still clenched,  she followed that smug bastard out of the kitchen and down the main hallway.

She swore her breath came out as smoke, for inside she was smoldering. She tried to remember the why of how she’d gotten here. She hadn’t been kidnapped. She hadn’t been overtly coerced. She’d signed on the line, quit her life for thirty days, and quit the asshole who was her husband, and this was the price for that freedom.

Freedom that was close to priceless, with the cost coming out of her flesh.

Still, this first week hadn’t been all that horrible. She lived in a gorgeous house. Her…..master–though she shuddered at that word–treated her well. She wasn’t outside naked and plowing the fields. He didn’t brutalize. He was firm, sometimes harsh, but without intent for permanent harm. His treatment, while rough and out of her normal, had opened parts of her that she had never known were there, laying dormant just under her skin. She was stunned at the level of erotic excitement he pulled from her.

She walked straight into Reg’s back as he stopped, and she didn’t.

“oh! Sorry…Sorry!” She fumbled back a step, embarrassed.

“I never mind juicy tits pressing into my back.”

His droll tone added to her embarrassment. His finger flicked a nipple that had risen. She wanted to slap at him, but didn’t. He nodded, smiling, then turned and opened the only door that had been forbidden to her. She had ached with curiosity to see what was inside here, but had been afraid that she would make their agreement null and void–and he had put a lot of money on her. On her husband, really. She was not going to fuck that up because she had a case of the noseys.  Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying went. And now, she was going to find out the secret of the forbidden door.

A wooden staircase led down. He’d said he had plans for her after she’d finished cleaning the kitchen. She certainly hoped that didn’t mean that he wanted her to clean the basement. Yet there wasn’t a single cobweb in sight as they went down. The lighting was subtle, but she could see every step. At the bottom were two doors. Behind one, the hum of machinery. Behind the other? A light shone brightly as Reg opened the door and pushed her inside.

“Enjoy,” he murmured in her ear as she moved into the light, and stood nervously. The circle of light blinded her to anything else in the room, yet she intuitively knew that she was supposed to stand right here in the intense beam. The door closed behind her with a soft snick.


“Do come closer, slut.”

His voice came from somewhere across the room, but the light she stood under blinded her.

“I can’t see you.”

“I know.”

There was amusement in his voice.

“What is this place?”

“This is the playroom.”

“I thought the whole house was your playroom.” She replied sarcastically.

His laugh rolled towards her, she swore she felt it brush her skin. It was rich and warm and exciting. Her nipples rose into tight, hard buds.

He stepped towards her, his feet moving without sound across the floor, and grasped her nipples. Her breath came faster, as his long fingers rolled and massaged her tender tips. She felt her body shift towards him as her pussy roused, her clit throbbed, her belly shivered with wanton need. The sudden hard pinch, the lifting of her tits by those captured bits of flesh had her rising to her toes as she yelped.


She eked out a squeal, dancing a bit to stay up enough to lessen the tug on her nipples. They were tender after spending the mealtime with heavy clamps on them, yet he tormented them again.

“Please…” she gasped, as he pinched, rolled, tugged.

“Yes,” He murmured. “You do please me.”

Bending, he lightly bit the junction of shoulder and neck.  His hands left her breasts, sliding around and holding her close as his teeth worked a path up the side of her throat, until latching onto her earlobe. She swore she could feel an  orgasm gathering inside her as his mouth laved at her ear, his teeth biting and worrying her flesh. Her ears were so sensitive.

He pushed her away, and for a second she worried she’d displeased him. Catching a handful of hair, he tugged her forward.

“Come along slut. There is  much to get to tonight.”

Sleepy HNT

The last HNT of the year, just a wee bit late.  (better late than never…and really, I forgot today was Thursday!)

(picture taken on Christmas eve and sent to Master….the girls were snuggled all warm in their bed…)


In the Mood for a Story

I thought about sharing a bit more from when Master and I had playtime. Then I got thinking that I haven’t written a story in a while. A shortie on my dark dreaming blog, but nothing much here. And I thought…hmmm…what kind of story should I write.

And I decided, hell, I think a lovely little tale featuring all the things that *I* enjoy about playtime.

You in?

Yeah, I thought so. 🙂

Enjoy, pervies!

love,  nilla


The slap came unexpectedly. His smile never wavered, her eyes lost in his gaze. Wincing, she gasped. It hurt.

It made her pussy leap into a sudden throbbing beat.

Another hard slap to the same cheek brought a burn to face and cunt. Tears gathered, threatened to fall.

“You like this, when I slap your slut face.”

“Yes Sir.”

Was she blushing now, or merely feeling the effect of his calm brutality. She blinked, swallowing the need to cry. It hurt. It felt grand.

He grasped her nipples pulling her to her knees on the bed. Standing beside the bed, his  height making her feel small, vulnerable, she waited. Her head spun a bit, from the blows, from the sudden burst of erotic needs. He didn’t let go as she moved closer, pinching harder. Her face crumbled as the pain became intense. Fingers slipped from her left breast as his hand moved swiftly from tit to cheek again.

The slap was the hardest yet, and she teetered, almost falling over. His hand still held her other nipple and she fretted he wouldn’t let it go if she fell. The moan slipped from her lips as her face throbbed.

His hand slipped between her thighs as she sought equilibrium.

“Fucking whore. Your cunt is soaked.”

The blow fell, at last, on her other cheek. The pulsing beat in her sore cheek and aching pussy mesmerized her. His eyes held hers as tightly as if bound by rope. She knew better than to move her hands from the small of her back where they lay as he had bid her.

His fingers pinched her nose tight, something she didn’t like all that much but he enjoyed. Her breath gasped out her mouth, her nose hurt.  Her nipple was, certainly, crushed beyond recognition.

When he let her go, she felt the loss of his touch keenly. She craved the connections of flesh to flesh. His eyes stabbed a steely gaze into hers, as if he could see inside of her, reading her desires.

His next slap hit the top of her breast, stealing her breath. He pulled no punches and she swore at him.

“OUCH, Bastard!”

He hit her again, harder, catching the swollen nipple in the blow.


“That’s better. Obviously I didn’t hit you hard enough the first time.”

She glared at him, tit throbbing, body throbbing. His hands were large, strong as fuck, brutal.

“hmmm…there’s what I was looking for. Sweet pissy slut.”

Both hands slapped her, one on her tit, the other on her abused cheek. The sting, the heat, were instantaneous.

She came, juices sluicing down her inner thighs.

He laughed, pushing her over, and filling her roughly until she came again. His thrusting strokes hurt, left her moaning and whimpering under the rough punching blows of his cock into her pussy,  until she came,  came again,  came apart from the pain of his brutal usage of her.

Sometime later, as she floated back into her body, the slow and steady drum of his handprints on her cheeks, the beat of her used cunt, her aching tits, she opened her eyes to find him looking down into hers.

“Good girl,” he murmured. He rubbed his beard over her hot face, her throat, making her whine and whimper from the tickling pain. His fingers slid into the swollen cleavage between her thighs, making her moan for a very different reason. Until reason fled and all that was left was Him and the sensations He stirred in her body.


All Things Merry and Bright

The wifey has been home these last few days (and typical of many spousal situations, driving me totally wacko. sheesh. I have my sytems, woman, don’t fuck with them!)

Anyway, and this will be terribly short, the Master and I had a brief Christmas luncheon over the weekend. There was that sparkle in His eye, to be sure, and He is always my Dom, my Master, but this was a very sweet visit for us.

I found two cards for Him.

The first echoes a series of sentiments that I’ve been saying to Him for years. It began with “I like you”…and it’s kind of “our saying”…He read every mushy word of it. And then I gave Him the 2nd card, and His eyes bugged out of His head, He held it to His chest, and laughed and laughed.

I made His day.

It was very much of Master’s kind of jokery. (aka “man humor”) I snapped a pic of it but you’ll have to wait to see it until later. 🙂

He loved the gift I found for Him, and then He shocked the shit out of me…He had gifts for me. 🙂

*queue sweet “awwww” sounds*

I liked them both, but as in the case of His cards, one was outstanding.

It was a necklace.

A heart.

A big, rose-pink/red crystal heart.

I really do “heart” that Man.

I wish YOU all a season filled with love, and light, laughter and smiles, hugs and more hugs.

To all of you, pervies and dabblers and subbies and Dom/mes…I wish you all things merry and bright.





Pink Brush

The wall was cool against my aching tits. My forehead was pressed tight, the way He likes, my feet aching a bit now, in my high, high heels.

I felt incredibly sexy.

My tits loose from my clothing, my nipples caught in the grip of the clamps, the heavy chain swinging, pendulous, from them. If I moved, they scraped the wall, or clattered against it. A sexy sound.

Don’t let anyone tell YOU that you aren’t sexy because you’re a certain size. Even carrying more weight than I’m really happy with, He made me feel wanted, wanton.

He was moving around the room in that way He has, making noise only when He wanted me to know where He was. I forget what I was doing there, waving my hand out in space, thinking He was in the bathroom, swinging my hips, waving my fat butt around…being silly nilla.

He blew in my ear and scared the *fuck* right outta me!

I shrieked, and jumped a mile.

“Head on the fucking wall, nilla,” He growls, His voice so sexy when He talks that way to me. Not just the swearing, but the intimidation factor. Hot. Hawt. Hawt! His hand presses my head onto the wall in a quick swat, but I’m already there, thank heaven. (I did get a little forehead bruise from that.) Quickly I slap my palms to the wall, before He does something dastardly to them.


I listen for Him.

Soooo hard.

I hear nothing but the pre-football-game commentary on the t.v. The hum of a motor from the bathroom fan in the wall. Nothing of Him, the sneaky bastard. He’s slick, and mean, and can come up behind me and wale one on my butt without warning. That was around the time that He pulled out one of Wolf’s toys and belted me across the back with it.

Holy fuck on a stick, that hurt!

Tears in my eyes, breath caught in my gut somewhere, tangled with the scream that was trying to get out as the breath was trying to get in.

He loves those moments.

He calls them “You don’t know whether to shit or go blind” moments.

Then He is beside me again. I feel Him there, and then He has moved away. He is very like a cat, I just can’t hear a sound. And from a distance…

“Oh nilla?”

My heart jumps into my throat.

Something in His tone has set my “I’m Prey” alarm onto hyperdrive and I’m fighting the urge to look. To see what is coming next.

“Where’s my little pink friend?”

And I know what He wants.

The night before, as I was packing my things carefully for our adventure, I debated. He had told me what to bring…but He didn’t mention that. Yet,  it is a long, no-longer-spoken-but-understood rule that I must ALWAYS have the Fucking Pink Brush with me for playtime.


Yet, I stood there in front of my mirror, holding it in my hand, squishing the squishable handle in my fingers…and actually debated about putting the fucking thing into my handbag.

It’s terrific at taking out the tangles in my hair post-Master…but it is also such a weapon of ass destruction.

After a long pause I answer Him. He doesn’t interrupt my musing, or tell me to hurry it up, slut, He waits. He does that, that




waiting, until I answer Him.

“It’s in my bag on the bathroom counter,” I say at last my voice a mere whisper.

I hear nothing, not even the sound of a man going through a woman’s handbag. You know how they can be, rooting around like a dog in a garbage can, right? *giggling*

I hear nothing, sense nothing.

Which is why I tried to pass through the wall when He smacked my left ass cheek with the fucking thing.

Because I knew it would take mere seconds for Him to reposition and attack the right side.

I was right.

Two weeks later and I’m still wearing the marks from those two single *BAM*’s on my ass, about the only thing left of our play time, other than wicked memories.

You know I’ll be tracing them with my fingers tonight as I head to bed.

Oh, the way He does me.

Does me so bad…which of course, is soo000 good.


I really *do* hate that fucking pink brush.

I just like the *afterwards* part.

Wonder if there’s a way to skip the OUCH and go straight to the bruise?

Nah, didn’t think so.






I am over committed this weekend.

I am going to be flat-out running for the next 72 hours and I’ll be lucky to get 6 hours sleep between now and Monday. But when Monday happens, life slows a bit and I will actually get to enjoy the holidays…

But I will have no time to write sordid little tales. Of things that go ‘bump’ and ‘moaaan’ and ‘ooooohhh’ in the night. 🙂

They are in my head…but that is where they will stay for now.

And you should know….that despite the crazy busy?

There is a chance that I may get a wee bit of Mastertime this weekend. Cross your fingers. 🙂





I have two versions of this story. One is long, winding, giving every detail. But you’re not going to see it. I’m being a bit Mae West of late, aren’t I? 🙂 But really, this story has more impact with less detail. Use your imaginations. You can do it!

Anal toys galore.

Each in and out of my butt.

His cock enters the fray (so to speak). My ass is very unhappy about it. I’m tight, and whimpering, despite *wanting* to enjoy it? I’m not. And that’s hot isn’t it? There I was submitting to something that wasn’t particularly enjoyable to me…and that turned me on, strange human that I am.

I was sooo tight.

That it was unpleasant for HIM…and He decided to fuck the pussy instead. Way more fun, less like a “fucking vice grip, jesusH, nilla”.

Since then, multiple texts.

“Like fucking a Chinese handcuffs, nilla.”

And this, yesterday after I was a bit of a smartass…

“Stretch that asshole, nilla, or *I* will…”

(I called Him on the phone, on that one– “Master, I don’t think putting you on a rack will make you any taller…” which earned me a very dry “cute. Amazing how brave you are when there are 40 miles between us, slut.”

And I laughed. Guffawed. Went into giggle overdrive.

When we were done talking…I got another text.

“Like fucking Chinese fingercuffs.”


He leaves me blushing (and giggling) every time.

Epic ass fail?


Great story for us?

Hell yes!



I wish this was a more interesting blogpost. Maybe I’ll put something sexy in the end. (No that wasn’t an anal joke. Wait. Perhaps it was…so read on..!)

I have a new computer.

It is not a wee little notebook which I’ve used for the past 5 years. No, this baby is a full-fledged laptop and it has all sorts of bells and whistles and I’m just learning about it, which is kind of confuddling. Technology has changed so much in the last 5 years, that it’s kind of like I have been riding a horse to my blog for the last 5 years, and now I’m driving a sports car. Everything is faster, shinier. Icons. Clicky things. Files not what I’m used to.

I’ll catch on.

Unfortunately, this comes at a time when I’m super super busy (who isn’t? Because if you’re not,  I want your secret!) I’m SO behind I’ve not even put one batch of cookie dough together. Slacker. Super slacker. 🙂

So in the bleak days of mid-winter, I’ll have more time to play with this thing and find out all it’s little perks and fun.

This is all I have time for tonight.

I’m o-free, and horny, and wanton.

But my bruises are healing and maybe I’ll weasel an O out of Him this weekend. Maybe.

And I’m gonna hoard my little silly sex tale for tomorrow. Sorry.

That was a mean sort of teaser. 🙂 Kinda something Master would do, don’t you think?