All’s Quiet on the nilla Front…(and rear)

Master and I were supposed to have a play day tomorrow. But then I got sick, and we decided to postpone. He can’t have fun torturing me if I’m sick enough that He’s worried about me, right? 🙂  Fortunately I’m feeling much better, but I agree He made the right call. Plus…there could be more snow tonight, though there are so many different scenarios that we know we’ll get anywhere from 4 inches to 40.  Yeah. Not good concensus there. 

I am hoping that He will get a wee bit of time to see me Sunday night when I’m in the City. But for now, it’s quiet here. No torture. No fucking. No hair pulling. No tit torment. No biting.


I’m okay. We’ve postponed for a few weeks–and maybe it will finally stop snowing (though March can be pretty iffy up here in the Northeast–wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to postpone a March playdate due to snow!) and be a bit balmier? Oh, how I wish. Even *I* am tired of snow. Like for real. Just. Fucking. Stop. 

Enjoy your weekend, pervie peeps. It’s going to be quiet on the blog, so enjoy your holiday weekend (American peeps). I’ll be back again on Tuesday or Wednesday…until then, play dirty (and send me details!)!



Valentine’s Day

I have to confess…I’m one of “them”….

….you know, those peeps who rolls their eyes when people go “OH Valentine’s Day is coming”…makes me sound totally unromantic, but there ya go. The idea of one day as a reason to generate sales of cards (and the associated “guilt gift” in case one almost forgets)…it makes me crazy.

I AM a romantic…but some fucking day on a calendar, so totally arbitrarily created? No.

What if I’m not feeling all lovey dovey on the 14th of February? What if I feel a deeper need to respond on the 13th of March? Or the 18th of June? Or the 3rd of October?

But no, the calendar SAYS we must celebrate TODAY.


(in an interesting side note, my computer sometimes arbitrarily highlights text and if I’m not careful to catch it, deletes it. Which it just did, to all of the text after my first sentence…hmmm is St. Valentine sending me a subliminal message here?)

No, really. I’m an emotional girl, but I don’t like to be told by the date on the calendar to celebrate love.

It feels…fake to me, I guess. As I kid I remember, in Charlie Brown fashion, hoping against hope to get as many valentines as the pretty girls. At least as many as some of the other kids.  I was a tomboy, but not accepted with the boys, and not popular with the girls either. We moved a lot when I was a kid, and I didn’t make many friends, since I was incredibly shy. I’d get a few, but it was a somewhat painful day for me. I liked the ice cream we got at the party…but that was about it.

And then.

Last year, Master got me a box of chocolates (yes, the one in my header!) and a card for Valentine’s Day…it was so…romantic…so touching…that it made me feel a bit different. He holds His cards close to His chest, as they say, not letting lots of outward signs of affection show. *I* have learned to read between the lines, and see the love there, but that one little gesture spoke more to me than all the cards in all the stores.

(This isn’t to say my family doesn’t celebrate…my family celebrates MANY holidays, you just wouldn’t believe it. They are truly party people, my family. Me? Not so much.)

So today my mood hovers between “oh gosh, really? That day again?” and “Oh, neat. That’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?”

The path to acceptance is often made clear by Master’s hand.

So thanks, Master.

And, oh.

Happy Valentine’s Day, peeps.

(Yup…that’s the heart box. Direct from Master, and still in my room.) heart

And Yup…there’s another heart-gift, from Master to His slut. 🙂


Hump Day Blathering

Master and I are not a 24/7 D/s couple. That is to say, it’s always D/s between us, but we don’t live together. It manifests mostly in our times together, or in small tasks He sets to me. Overall, though, our vanilla lives and D/s lives, while intersecting, don’t overlap all that much.

We met on Saturday evening and had a lovely birthday time together. (You’ve all seen the photo of my gift, I’m sure. It’s here if you missed it.) I was starting to feel better than I had all week, though not “healthy”….and He was very kind to me in my snuffly state.

And then Sunday hit like a tsunami of sick. I felt like a ton of bricks had fallen on me. Eyes swollen almost shut. Sneezing every 5 damn minutes. Almost no voice, and what there was, raspy in a totally unsexy way.

I spoke to Him on the phone and He was concerned. Ordered me to get chicken soup on Monday, and take care of myself. And I did, and I did, and yanno? Antibiotics are amazing things. 🙂 Tuesday the course of things changed–omg–is *that* what breathing feels like? I am feeling better at last; my eyes open all the way now, and my face doesn’t resemble a bowling ball…

I was thinking about how few times He’s thrown His Dominance around in my vanilla life. He rarely makes me do anything that would “crossover”…so when He does, it has great impact. This “ordering” me to take better care of myself was kind of a jolt. In my vanilla life I’m pretty programmed to “keep on plugging”. Sick days spent in bed? Never…or so long ago I scarce remember it. But along with the admonishment to get the soup and proper treatment, was also His order for an early bed, and a strong suggestion to not take advantage of the fact that I still have 8 orgasms in my O bank.

“Let your body put its energy into healing,” He said. “That’s not an order, but a suggestion. You need to take care of yourself nilla.”


And per usual, He was right. An early bed, a good sleep, and antibiotics all combined to make me one much happier, healthier nilla.

I was thinking the other day about other Dom/sub relationships. Some of you have those intellectual conversations, deep thinking, questions. He’s not into that. We have learned one another, but not always (at least, not since my very early days of submission) through those searching questions. I tried asking Him a few questions, the other night, and He was just “yanno, nilla, the next time you keep pinging my phone at 1130 at night with stupid questions, I’m gonna drown you in the toilet.”

Yes. He said that.

And of course I laughed. It’s just how He is. My submission is in doing what He wants, when He wants it–it’s just not any more complicated than that. We love one another, sure, care about each others lives and vanilla stuff, but it comes down to the bare bones of He says sit and I say “yes Sir”…and I’m good with that. It’s what I want…I don’t want head games and deep thinking and ‘does He mean X’…a ‘sit’ is just a sit, and obedience is just that–doing what He says. Sure, sometimes there is the silly nilla during playtime, when I stick a heart on Him,  or push the envelope by taking my head off the wall just to tweak Him a bit…hey, that sort of thing keeps Him on His toes…and is part of the game for us. He doesn’t want a doormat, after all, but the challenge of a somewhat naughty slut. NOT overt “I’m gonna defy you” stuff, just — tweaking–. I can’t explain it other than that.

And my reward?

His time. His attention. A good beating. A good fucking. Hugs and cuddles. Pinches. Bites. Good stuff, my friends, good damn stuff for us both.


White Rabbit (3)

She swallowed nervously. The idea of putting something foreign into her body was scary. Though it was more the idea of deep inside her belly. Not like a normal play session where there would be ‘insertables”, but something that would have control of her from the inside out.

She thought about that for a moment. Wasn’t that truly what submission was, though? Being controlled through her own choice, by someone else, from the inside out. True, but this wasn’t a “someone”…it was a “some-thing”. And it wasn’t even human.

“What if’s” danced through her head; though she’d heard tales of white slavery, she highly doubted that three middle-aged women were a targeted group. Emily sat, trying to not fidget as the paperwork was displayed, as they listened to the disclosures, swiped credit cards, and crossed their t’s and dotted their i’s. They had finished the final part, writing a few precise activities that would be their ultimate fantasy. The woman who handled the paperwork gathered up all their forms and disappeared through the curtain without a word.

The three looked at one another.

“Well that was terse.”

“I know, right?”

“Well, and now what?”

From behind them came the delicious voice of their guide.

“Ladies, if you will follow me?”

“Oh!” Chris gasped, holding a hand between her breasts. “You startled me!” His only response was a flash of that gap-toothed grin, as if he had meant to unsettle them.

“That was kind of….bastardy.” She grumbled.

“Is that even a word?” laughed Emily. “I’m sure it’s not.”

“Is so…”

Amy interrupted.

“Yup…because you just made it up!”

With a quick smile shared, the three woman briefly bumped shoulders before following their guide down the hallway.

“Boo-yah” muttered Chris under her breath.

“Better than boo-hoo,” quipped Amy, making Chris giggle and Emily smile.

Antoine guided them into the room, placing Chris first, then Emily, then Amy. He drew the partitions so that they couldn’t see one another. Standing near the entry drape, he turned and addressed them all.

“Your ‘bots are being programmed. Please, remove your clothing, and lay upon the bed. An attendant will be with each of you shortly.” He waved his hand towards the beds in a sweeping arc. “Ladies, enjoy your trip down the rabbit hole.”

He turned, departing silently.

There came the soft sounds of disrobing, the swish of fabric slid over heads, the shussshing of a zipper lowering, the little flick of buttons., followed by the faint creak of bedding as a body lay upon it. From the farthest area came a giggle, quickly silenced.


Emily half-laughed, followed by Amy.

“The three of us are a case. A real case.”

Before she could go any further, the curtains parted and three women in blue scrubs came into the room.

“Amy?” Asked the first one.

“Here,” came the reply from the center partition.  The woman moved forward, disappearing out of Emily’s view.


“That’d be me,” came the response, followed by another nervous giggle.

“By default you’re stuck with me,” said Emily to the last woman.

“Not stuck at all. I’m happy to be here, assisting to your fantasy, Emily. Now, are you comfortable?” She made some minute adjustments to the pillow, pulling a small electronic tablet from her pocket. Tapping and scrolling, she read for a moment. Em swallowed down her embarrassment at laying here buck-naked while this “nurse” stood there, fully clothed. She tried to imagine that she was in a dungeon, that there were swarms of people around, that her ‘owner’ had dragged her there for the exposure.

It helped, a little, that scene setting, though in truth Emily was not the fanciful sort. She was a practical woman, and proud of it. Her musings were interrupted as her ‘nurse’ finished reading, and addressed her.

“You’ve chosen to use one of the male bots in accordance with your fantasy” she paused, and turning to the human-looking robot,  lifted a small panel on the left hip. Emily tried to see what she was doing, but her view was mostly blocked. Though there wasn’t a sound to indicate that it was “awake”, Emily knew the moment ‘he’ stirred to …what? Life? Full mobility? She was into computers, after all. She refused to call it “life”…but she was pretty interested to see it’s…cock…begin to inflate.  It’s eyes blinked, once, twice, and Emily noted somewhat randomly that his eyes were as green as emeralds. Her attendant continued, her tone brisk and business-like, something Em appreciated, considering that the two of them were hanging out with a naked robot with a large and engorged cock.

“…and although your fantasy is about being tied up and-or being immobilized, he won’t do that, it will be part of your preparations as you fall into your dreamstate.


Em didn’t follow that last bit, as she was rather enjoying watching the big ‘bots cock do that little jerky thing that human cocks did when excited. That was some remarkable programming there!

Her wandering attention was refocused when her ‘nurse’ tapped her shoulder. Give the woman points, Em thought, she didn’t appear at all embarrassed as to where Emily’s attention had wandered to.

I’ll restrain your wrists and ankles and have you all prepped to go, once you swallow your dreaming ‘bot. It will take, as Antoine should have told you, about ten minutes for you to go into dreamstate–and for some it happens faster. Ready?”

Her smile was reassuring.

“I…I guess I am. So many bots,” she murmured. Dream bots and male dildo bots and…

“stop procrastinating and just do it,” she muttered to herself.

Taking the small pill from her attendant, and water from the tray beside the bed, she threw it back and swallowed. In less than a minute she felt a bit woozy.

“Whoa..thaz kina fass,” she spoke blurrily.

“Relax, and enjoy.”

That was the last Emily heard. She didn’t feel the cuffs encircling her wrist, or being secured to the large D-ring in the wall over her head. She didn’t wake up when nipple clamps were applied to her tightening nubs, but the reaction rippled across her body as a shiver of goose-bumps. For a moment it felt like falling, and then she was flying….

There was a tang in the air, as if she was near the ocean. The musky scent of beer and male ejaculate mixed, reaching her here where she swung near the ceiling.



She wriggled. She blinked.

She was definitely suspended, hung in a rough hemp fish net. Her legs were held apart by virtue of some sort of apparatus around her ankles. In the dim light she couldn’t see much of anything. Her hands were out through the net–the holes were very large–cuffed together and hooked by a rope to a hasp on the wall. Her hair had been clubbed back into a rough short ponytail, and when she tried to move it, she felt a distinct tug in her ass.

An anal hook? It was very firmly up her butt, not totally uncomfortable, but definitely there.

The rough rope dug into her tender belly. Her large tits hung through the openings, and she distinctly felt the tug of a chain on her nipples. When she moved, it wriggled, giving her a reminder to not wriggle around too sharply.

“Yew getting bored up there slut?”

A rough hand slid up between her thighs, rubbing at her lower lips. A thumb was pressing into her, while a finger rubbed at her clit. Not sure what to say, she remained uncharacteristically silent.


A sharp tug on the chain on her tits made her gasp.

“My friend asked a question. Be a good girl, stop reading into everything I say, or my friends say and just fucking answer will you?”

The voice was exasperated.

“Yes Sir.”

“At last.” He clapped his hands once, twice, slowly, mockingly. “The slut answers. You’re gonna be fucked. Treated like the little greedy whore I know you to be. You challenged me to push you, to stretch your boundaries, remember? Here we are, and you are definitely being stretched.”

He laughed, moving around to tug the rope attached to her ponytail and the butt hook gave a firm wiggle. OH yes. She felt that! Stepping back to the front of her, she felt her hands rise as he unlatched her from the wall.

“Ready to lower?” He called across to some other unseen person. There was a creak and she felt herself drop in little jolts, each one making her head bobble and her ass hook wiggle. It was somewhat painful, and desperately erotic as well.

The net was tugged and she felt a bit dizzy with the down drop/ the left tug/ the right tug/ the sounds of the men/ and the dizziness/ and the dim light/  and..her head spun until she landed atop a person. She felt the unmistakable feeling of male chest hair on her tits, the roughness of a man’s legs against her thighs, and the protuberant push of a cock against her belly.

“Perfect. She lined up okay for you, Tom?”

“Oh, that she is…wait….let me take off this fucking chain…that’s friggin’ cold! ‘Sides, I wanna feel nips, not metal when I squeeze these fat titties.”

The net still contained her, but there were hands all over her.  It was a very large cock that pressed against her belly. She trembled.

“Yup, let’s take this out too…”

A sharp tug pulled the tangled cord out of her hair, and she yelped.  And yelled louder as the bulbous tip of the anal hook was tugged past her clenching anus. There was a wet splash.

“One asshole, stretched and lubed…”

There was fumbling beneath her, fumbling behind her, until she felt the firm press of a cock against her tenderly throbbing asshole. He didn’t stop, just pressed forward.

“Aaahhh fuuuckkk, that’s nice. All hot and slick in here…”

Hands gripped her hips, fingernails digging into tender skin. She moaned at the forceful intrusion.  A second cock pressed against her, slipping along her slicked pussy. He muttered as he tried to find her entry, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words, with the painful stretching of her bum. And then he was inside, the flared head of his shaft parting her as his hips rose, working himself deeper into her pussy.

“Reaaaaallly fuckin’ tight with Amos in her asshole.  Holy fuck what a feelin’…”

“Now you just gotta lay there an’ let me fuck ya both.”

Hips bucking, Amos began to grind in and out of her ass. The feeling was both painful, and shockingly arousing. She felt her cunt stiffen around the cock as the first orgasm rolled through her.

“Little cunt just came,” reported Amos. “Felt her cunt even in her butthole, going all clenchy. You feel that Larry?”

Larry uttered a soft moan.

“Move your head Larry. Time to finish the trifecta of fuck.”

Her Master’s voice, so cultured. Always it shocked her to hear such dirty words come from such a fine mouth. It was fine to look at, gorgeously educated, so erudite. Hearing “fuck” and “cunt” from it was a dark treat. And then all rational thought fled as his swollen cock pushed through her unresisting lips, and began to fill her mouth, her throat with his thickness.

The three men working her body filled her; she didn’t think, just experienced. She let go of everything except for the cocks inside her pussy and ass and mouth, the hands clenching around her tits, pulling her nipples. There was the grunting sounds of men, rutting. And her own mewling breaths, squeaking and gasping when he pulled away enough to let her breathe.

Never had she experienced such pleasure coupled with a distinct pain. Her anus throbbed, but the beat was taken up by her clit, rubbed roughly by male crotch hair and the hemp rope that still contained her. Her thighs quivered, held open so widely, her throat ached from the rough face fucking.

She was in a hellish mix of pain.

She was in an awesome mix of pleasures.

Thinking stopped as she swirled apart, her body jolting in an incredible orgasm, until she fell into the blackness of slut sleep.


Hippy Bird Day Two Meeee!


It IS my birthday.

I’m celebrating in a low key way, but that’s the kind I like best. As of this moment in time, I’m here, totally alone. Wife and kiddo’s off to church, as I sit, bathed in sunlight and writing to you all.

And last night I got Master Time, which in and of itself is a wonderful gift. He walked in, carrying a blue bag. Leaving it on the table, He heads off to order His tea, and I look at the bag. Even the bag is funny, with a pic of a grumpy old man on it, saying happy frigging birthday. So totally Master humor…and mine. I was giggling like crazy when He returned, but i didn’t peek. Nope, I’m not a peeker, never have been. I like the surprise factor. The anticipation (that is true in my sex life as well…that long slow build up is so titillating, don’t you think?) is all part of the present for me.

He sits back at the table and bids me to wait. Pulls a *card* out of the bag. Yes. Master went to a store and picked out a card for me. A funny card. A somewhat sweet and rude card, which made me giggle like crazy. Because I always fart after He fucks my ass (well, doesn’t it stand to reason? Plunge air into a tube, and it’s gonna return to the exit, right?) –a source of great embarrassment for me, and amusement for Him…the Bastard! So the card is along those lines.

Then I can open my gift.

And I laugh.

And laugh…..


cookie“I don’t know of anyone else who has a cookie named after them, nilla,” He says, His eyes sparkling with mirth.

Can I tell you how psyched I was?

Super psyched.

Super. Duper. Birthday. Psyched.

He went to the store and got me a gift that speaks to me on so many levels. And …He picked out a card for me. You have NO idea what a gift THAT is. Huge. Ginormous. He doesn’t DO stores, you see. But He did…for me. I’m totally melted inside over that.

The only bad part was that it had to end. Because of my cold, no kisses…and He didn’t pinch or prod me, though He did give a good tug on my hair, after somewhat approving of the new purple streak. He doesn’t hate it. I think He wishes it was brighter? Whatever..but the bottom line is that He doesn’t dislike it. Phew! But eventually I was bundled into my car, and headed off to home.

I’m going to spend today being totally self-absorbed. I’ve done laundry, of course, or else it will grow and chase me around the house tomorrow….but other than that, it’s a day of total self indulgence. I’m sitting watching the Weather Channel (yes, i *am* a weather geek, thank you very much) and drinking tea and eating orange-marmalade slathered toast and relaxing.  I’m almost over my cold, so having a quiet day will be good for me. Later the family will do a small (but guaranteed to be loud) party for me, with laughs and prezzies and take out food.

The day is sunny, the snow is still white, and I’m going to go make another cuppa. Ya’ll have a super day, too. Yeah, really. Go do something wonderful for yourself, and say nilla told you to. I’m generous that way, you know.




Sorry, No Porn Here…



Okay, I *am* feeling much better. And i’m meeting my Master tonight, which is both unusual on a Saturday, and thrilling.

He can’t wait to see the big purple streak in my hair…He says He might like it.


Yesterday I was too miserable to write. Sorry. So today you are stuck with no porn (it doesn’t seem like most of the regular porn blogs I read have much going on either. Not sure what’s up with that–we rarely all go off at the same time like that.). I think Wordwitch has some new postings up.

But I dreamed the next chapter of one of my stories last night, so yanno…it’s in there…I only lack for time to get to it, at this point…

and on that note, I’m outta here. Time for work, and get on with my crazy weekend.

And yanno.




White Rabbit (2)

The smile on the face of their ‘guide’ was just short of challenging.

“How does it work?” This from Chris, who, while adventurous, was also cautious. Amy and Emily nodded. Each had reservations–yet each was titillated, too. This was turning into some adventure.

“I,” and the large man tapped his chest, “am Antoine, your dream-guide. Here you will take a pill–”

“Whoa, no drugs…”

“I have swallowing issues…”

“I don’t take amphetamines…”

The three woman spoke at once. Antoine held up one large hand, forestalling any further protestations. Emily figured he was likely used to them. This didn’t really seem to be the kind of hang-out that a junkie would be found in.

“Ladies. This is a drug-free establishment. The “pill” is actually a mini bot. It will send little doses of energy to your spinal column, activating the deep center of your brain where dreaming generates. You’ll experience your fantasy dream as if you’re living it, submerged within the dream, with no physical interactions. It will be like you are an actor in a play of your own imagining. You can’t control it while you are there, you can only experience what you’ve indicated once your intakes are completed, a process that takes only about ten minutes.”

The idea of some thing running rampant in her body was unsettling, and judging by her friends faces, they felt the same. Chris spoke up.

“How is this…this…bot-pill discharged from our bodies.”

“They will dissolve almost totally; a small particle will be excreted from your body by normal bowel movement within a day. It is likely that you won’t even note it’s passing.”

“Can we be harmed? If our fantasy is to be…I don’t know…kidnapped by a gang of bikers and ruthlessly used…will we be harmed here in our real bodies?”

Chris smiled at Emily. She was so …methodical. One of her many endearing character traits. She was classy, smart, tender. Unwilling to let people see that tender center, always protecting it, but sometimes it showed.

“No, little one. You cannot be physically harmed here. You will have physical responses…orgasms, flushed body, all the physical things that a person feels during sex, you will feel. And if you decide to use the bot-dildo’s, they will know the appropriate time to ….turn on.”

Chris giggled. She couldn’t help it–the mellifluous tones of the dream guide were just so –so fantasy story. And for this guy to call their tall friend “little one” was amazing. She was tall, the gene-lucky bitch! She herself was short, but as she said to her friends, she made up for her lack of height in circumference!

“Something amuses you, young lady?”

“No…I get the giggles often. It’s my curse.”

She giggled.

“Will it cause any long-lasting effects?” This from Amy.

“You may be tired. A meal is provided after your…adventure…to renew you.”

“There doesn’t seem to be much…traffic in here…”

“Most of our clientele come in the evening. One presumes you ladies,” and he looked at each of them for a long moment, “are off on a grand adventure.”

“Just visiting the area,” Chris said. “And how long does this process take? How long will we be under?”

“As long as it takes you to sleep, not too long after the bot is swallowed–”

Chris interjected yet again, earning an almost stern look from the guide, and an eyeroll from Amy that she caught out of the corner of her eye.

“Swallowing issues…”

“We have  a device that will shoot the bot down the back of your throat.”

“Like a cock?”

This unexpected comment from Amy made them collapse in laughter. Even their guide broke into his gap-toothed smile.

“Something like that, yes. Naughty.” Yet his amusement was clear.

“Shall we proceed to the paperwork? Or shall I escort you to the street?”

“Give us a sec, ‘k?”

He inclined his head, stepping through the curtain.

Emily gave a distrustful look to the drapes that had fallen back into place.

“You know, he could be right behind that curtain listening…”

“In which case he’ll hear a logical discussion on the merits…or demerits..of trying this, right?” Amy spoke crisply.

“Well, I’m in!”

“You always are, Chris. Forever jumping with your eyes closed. He didn’t answer how long we’d be under…”

“We can ask if we go through the process. We don’t know the cost, either.”

“Well, a dildo runs from $20 to $60 bucks…maybe a hundred? That’s a bit rich for my budget, since I’m just here the weekend…” Chris thought about it. “Not sure how that charge would look on my credit card statement when I get home and hubby sees it…”

She shrugged, giggled again.

“Well, that would be the first thing then, to–”

She was interrupted by the parting of the curtains.

“Ladies, have we made a choice?”

“How much?” Chris was Yankee direct.

“Your first time is discounted. Our fee is normally $85.00 per visit; your first fantasy trip will be $40.”

“And how long a ‘trip’ is it?” Amy asked.

“The process of setting up takes a few minutes. The actual fantasy approximately 30 minutes. Time in your sleep state does not march with real-time. It feels as though it does, but it does not. Some have fantasized weeks passing as they dream for their allotted half-hour.”

“Allotted?” Emily was quick to jump on the term. “Does that mean the bots are pre-programmed to shut our dreaming off then?”

“Your body moves through a progression of dreamstate…but in a manner of speaking. The materials the bot is made from will break down enough to stop stimulating the dreaming in that time.”

They looked at one another.

“We’re in!”

“Very good,” he spoke to them all, his teeth a brilliant contrast to his ebony skin. “Come this way and we shall begin.”

“Like falling down the rabbit hole,” muttered Emily as they moved through the curtains and into the dark corridor beyond.

Off My Game

Dateline: Tuesday afternoon

I am feeling unwell…not *bad*, mind you, but just a bit off. My tummy isn’t quite right, though I can eat. My head is muzzy and I’m sneezy and –I’m just “off”.

Yeah. I know.

I’m often “off”…


not that kind, you goof!

One of the stupid side effects of not being on par is a muzzy head. I can’t think my way through a story line. And I’m all atwitter (not the tweeting kind, the nervous excited energy kind) about the impending big snow tonight (Tuesday) and tomorrow (Wednesday).

I love snow.



I do, yes. The smell of it…it’s almost indescribable. Cold, to be sure, but sweetly crisp? The sound of it…every other noise is muffled. The few cars moving down the road. The birds are quieter than normal. People aren’t out much but the snowfall tamps down the sound if they speak. The light of it…even in the deepest, darkest, part of the night, the world has a glow to it, with snow on the ground, or falling from the sky.

And the miracle of it. Oh, I know. If you’re from Florida or Georgia or the Carolina’s you’re cringing at that. But up here where we’re ready and prepared? Each flake a miracle of formation, just from a scientific perspective. A flake has a hard time forming, the conditions have to be perfect. There is bouncing around in the cloud, taking on shape and form and substance, before it ever makes its way down from the cloud to the land below.

Okay, I’m waxing poetic about a snowflake. *shrugs*

Did I mention how much I like snow,  a dozen times or more over these last 4 plus years? 🙂

And guess what?


I’ll sit here with my tea and wait for you.

Sunday is my birthday.

AND there could be an even bigger storm then which is terribly, wonderfully thrilling…three storms in a row, each better than the last? Kewl beans, my pervie friends, kewl beans.

I might yet get snowshoeing this winter!!  (Last time we had a lot of snow, we got into the polar vortex and i’m not that much in shape that I could go outside and tackle that!)

All that said, we might all be housebound here on Wednesday (which is today as you read this, but yesterday as I wrote it!)…and no ability to write. I’ll be sewing and knitting and doing all the good housewifey stuff, and not doing anything slutty or naughty or writerly.

I know you all understand.

*smiles at you all for understanding*

So rather than giving you chapters of some of those stories I’ve got in my head,  I’ll give you a wee bit of my last weekend instead…when i *finally* got to see the Man. We had a nice time together, sharing company as we drank our tea. Talking, laughing, a bit of kiss and pinches.  We expect to spend some time together this upcoming Saturday evening. I might help Him purchase curtains for His house, and we might eat together. A nice time, weather permitting.

Have I mentioned His beardy face?

He has facial hair, yes,  which I LOVE. I love the feel of His raspy whiskers on my cheek and lips as we kiss. The somewhat soft feel of them as I caress and cup His face (for the 3 seconds He allows it). And the way it burns when He rubs them on my naked skin during playtime…mmmmm!

So we kissed. Briefly. He grabbed a teeny little bit of skin just at my armpit and pinched the fuck out of it, with the tiniest of pinches. I gasped, holding my breath and sitting at attention. It’s the first time in a month that we’ve had even the tiniest of play time…public play, but was lovely to have His hands on me, feeding me baby bites of pain and attention.

We had a brief conversation last night via text regarding want vs need. I feel I need pain as part of my life, I thrive on it to some extent. He says that needs are biological. Food, sleep, water. All else is merely desire.

Anyone else see the disparity there between us? 🙂

(I am forever drawn to those who are the polar opposite of me!)

Yet we make it work, and He recognizes how important “needs” are to others. (Recognizes…and uses, I’d say.) So I got my dose of face time with the Man, who is *so* fucking good at throwing these little sexy-naughty-Domly things into an ordinary vanilla conversation. Catches me up short every time.

I pause, considering. Replaying His words in my head.

Did He just say…?

I look at Him, and His eyes glitter. He watches for my reaction, drinks them in with His sips of tea.

I blush. I stutter. I blink in confusion.

He smiles, sits back, pleased.

He’s gotten me, again.

(You’re so gullible, slut)

How could I have gotten through the last 4 weeks without this, i wonder?


In other news, He is allowing me to get a colored streak in my hair…a purple one. *giggling with delight*. He is not upset with the cutting of hair into layers, and the color is good too. Phew. But the purple streak? That’s new. Exciting. Tweeny, I know.  Juvenile. Well…so?

Yeah, you all know that I’m never going to grow up!


I guess that’s all the words I have the ability to put together, pervie peeps. I know this isn’t all that sexy, exciting stuff, but it is the fullness of who I am, so I know you get it. Life, even D/s life, isn’t all tie-ups, beatings, and fucking, (mores the pity, right?!)…there’s also this side, the not-quite-well, the tired, the (dare I say it?) vanilla stuff that is part of the equation for all of us.

I guess as long as you can accept that, that there will be vanilla amongst the bruises, that there will be bill-paying along with play-date planning–then you really “get” it…this is life, D/s or vanilla…and finding your peace with ALL sides of it is what we all need to get to. Doms will be too tired to spank, subs will be too exhausted to give a fuck, time will be short, play will be supplanted by unexpected company–and it’s all the real stuff of life–all else is fantasy. And while you know that *I* of all peeps get the need for the fantasy, know too that I accept that the vanilla parts really are as important as the kink.

I know.

I wish it weren’t so.

I wish I could push away property taxes, and schoolwork, and laundry, and poop-scooping the backyard and make everything kinky…but that’s not real, is it? I’ve made my peace with what I am (a horny, needy, greedy slut)…and that what I get from Master (pain, kink, sex, tasks)  is what I need. Together, over these last 4 years, we’ve crafted something special, something that is flexible, malleable.  It’s what works for us. Despite not having every moment of the day being kinky,  the time we DO get to play is all the more special for the waiting. Sometimes all the more intense for the waiting, too. Kind of like when He delays my orgasms for a few days…and when I do finally get one, its a whoppah. 🙂

I wish that for you, pervie peeps. Balance, and bliss.

I’m off to bed. Must sleep. Master says…bedtime is sleeping time, not sending long lists of queries about the nature of submission, or the role of the Dominant. 🙂

(yeah, I do that.)