Pussy Burglar (4)

She woke groggy and light-headed.

Where the fuck was she? The light came in from a different angle than she was used to. The bed felt strange. And what was that smell?  Her stomach grumbled, and her pussy throbbed. It all came rushing back to her. The smell of sex. Of cum, semen, sweat. The memory of the man who’d brought her to this sad state of affairs.

Her mark.

Her robbery run amok.

Her fucking captor.

Rising, she tried to take stock of the bruises and aches, but the need to pee made her slide off the edge of the bed. The length of chain fell to the floor beside her with a startling clink, making her gasp as it coiled down the length of the bed. The lock that fastened the chain around her ankle was titanium and used a 7 digit code to open. That fucking bastard. The pee was pressing, so she hobbled towards the bathroom. There was enough chain to get her to the toilet and the shower, but not the tub. The relief of emptying her bladder made her close her eyes, though her girly bits stung as the hot urine hit it. She wondered if there was a thing called “cock burn” on ones pussy lips, raw from over use.

“Goodness, pussycat really needed to piss, didn’t she?”

Shocked, her eyes flew open. Her mouth opened in a round o of disbelief . What the fuck was he doing in here, watching her pee, avidly. He leaned against the door jamb, loose pajama pants riding low on his hips. A dark arrow of hair pointed below the waistband, hinting at the weapon that lay beneath the cotton plaid.

“Get out!” she hissed, bending over as if to shield herself from his gaze.

“I’ve seen every inch of you. No point in hiding. And I need to piss myself.”

“You can certainly go piss yourself,” she hissed. He moved forward, towards the toilet. She shrank back.

“I’m not done…no…geezuz…”  A soft moan came as he took out his shaft and began pissing. On her. He sprayed her tits, the junction of thighs and pussy, her face. She held up her hand; he pissed on the palm.

“No ugh! NO!”

A squirt of pee hit her cheek, into her mouth as she protested. Before she could spit, his hand slapped over her mouth.


Her eyes glared at him, then welled with tears as his hand stayed firmly planted over her lips. His gaze was that one often described in romance novels…steely. The small amount of pee in her mouth was sharp, bitter, warm. Fuck him. She tried forcing it out her lips, but his hand was too hard-pressed against them. Too add insult to injury, his dick continued to drizzle warm piss onto her lap. She whimpered behind his hand, tried to shake her head, tried to stop the fucking bastard. His free hand grabbed her nose, sealing it shut.

“You want to breathe, swallow.”

She struggled. But he had her pinned, stuck on the toilet with his piss covering her.

She swallowed, choking as he released her nose.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it, kitten?”

“I hate you.”

He smiled at her, patted her head. Grabbing her earlobe, he pulled her upright.

“Someone made a horrible mess in here. If you expect to eat, you’d best get busy cleaning it all up.”

He never looked back as she threw her middle finger at him. He paused, mid-stride. As quickly as it had gone up, she whipped her hand behind her back.

“Oh, and kitten, do wash yourself up too. You reek.”

Too furious to reply she settled for slamming the door, only to yelp as it sprang back from the chain blocking it, striking her toe.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” she whined, as her toe throbbed. Other parts of her throbbed too. How she hated him.


A Brief Update

I’ve set aside today to write, but wanted to tell you that M and I did get a wee bit of face time this weekend. It took a ton of juggling, between his schedule and mine, but we finally found a place and time. I called him as I was leaving here, and he said “don’t come here.”

I thought he was joking.

But no, he wasn’t. The place where he was waiting had had one of those wicked summer storms (it was certainly the weekend for it) and the road AND the place, had flooded. Egads. We came up with our fallback location, and we both arrived at the same time.


I was feeling *totally* unsubmissive. Not quite bratty, but definitely a bit defiant, and feisty. I tried to slide my fingers up his legs via his shorts.

He gave me the scary eyeball face…so I backtracked. And of course had to try it again. That time I got the WTF? look and a quiet, firm “nilla“. I sat up in my chair and put my hands in my lap. (See? I can be a good girl sometimes!)

He was telling me about a car. He’s a car fanatic, did I ever tell you that? It’s an odd pairing, to be sure, to connect a sub like me, and a motorhead like he is. (I call him a car snob just to get under his skin!). I don’t give a rats ass about what color my car is, what it looks like, etcetera. It’s a tool to get me from point A to point B, and that is ALL that I care about. He LOVES cars. Has definite opinions on them. (the good, the bad and the ugly!)

“You know what your car needs, Master?” I say, looking up at him. Inside, I’m chortling, barely able to supress my mirth. My daring. My foolishness.

“What does my car need, nilla?” he says, with a little sigh in his voice.

“A HORN!” I say as I lean in quick and pinch his man nip making a “beep beep” sound as I do so.


I really did.

Right there in starbucks.

“You fuck!” He says, slapping my hand away. And he leans a bit forward. His hand *flashes* out. Yes, that quick. Like lightning. And he pinches with a quick, hard flick of his fingers, just above my right breast.

Oh fuck!

That hurt like *crazy*.

And I loved it!

I didn’t do it again. (okay, I tried once more but He went into full Dom mode and pinched my arms hard and fast. I never learn to leave well enough alone.)

He is always amused by my temerity. (thankfully!) It was so good to be playful for even that short while. So even now, 3 days later, I’m bruised a bit. Last night I could still feel the ache where his fingers pinched deeply into my upper arm muscle. The man is a pinching demon, I tell ya.

Here you can see all the wee arm pinches he gifted me with…and the one down below that’s on my boob (I know, it’s a wacky point of view, but it was late and I was tired and still kind of high from our time together. That’s my other arm under my boob in case all the foldy parts confuddle you!)

image (4)

A longer playtime is not in the cards for us just now, we’re kind of aiming for September at this point because I’m just that scheduled. There is something every weekend all through August.  And I’m already mourning the days that I’ll be out of contact with Him during family vacation.  I keep pushing it away, but the truth is that I’ll be bereft without that contact.

Okay, put on your happy faces. I need to get another cuppa, and check my bread and see if it’s ready for the oven, and then…write. Happy Tuesday peeps.

The Coffee Shop will Never be the Same…

I was a hurting unit when we met. I could barely get in and out of my car, and sitting was agony. Fucking sciatic nerve! He was solicitous. He was kind. He bought me an amazing cuppa (Irish Tea is my new love!) and we shared a cheesecake that was…meh. But spending time with Him did wonders for my depressed spirit.

After about 40 minutes, I couldn’t sit any longer.

“I have to stand, Master.”

“well then…stand.” He says. He watches me rise painfully to my feet.

“come here.”

By now there is only He and I in the wee sitting area; the party of 4 very noisy, boisterous 20-somethings having (finally) finished their coffee and wild laughter and departed a few minutes earlier. The guys at the counter had gone back to the kitchen.

“Turn around.”

He runs His hand over my  hip, my lower back, pressing firmly, yet gently.

“Oooh” I moan as His fingers find the center of my pain.

“yes. sciatic nerve involved there,” He says. “How’s this?”


His finger finds my buttcrack and push my dress into it. Until they reach my pussy from behind and He is cupping me.

“oOOOOH!” I moan.

“You’re such a slut nilla,” He says, His voice dark and quiet.

I move a little on His hand, torn between embarrassment and that sudden hard slap of lust. His other hand rests on my hip, fingers massaging there, holding me steady as His other hand moves all along my slit.

He’s sitting so that He can see the counter. His naughty hand moves out of my very personal space and goes back to rubbing my lower back. It hurts, but it feels good, too. I half look up and see one of the young men manning the counter again. He’s looking our way, but I don’t care.

“Yes…that’s the spot,” I hear myself say. Yet my mind is lodged right where His hand was moments before. I want Him to touch me again. Forget that I’m embarrassed…the submissive state, the horny need, the “wanton switch” that flips me from vanilla mom to submissive slut has been flicked to “ON”…and I don’t care what’s going on around me. My world has shifted focus, from coffee shop, to Him.

That is all that exists as I feel His hand slide back over my ass, and rub at my clit. Yes, I’m dressed in a dress, but I didn’t have undies on. His fingers rubbed and pinched and teased until I was a wreck.

And then He bid me to sit.

No o then.

No O that night.

Just a turned on submissive, left to wallow in her juices.

A potent reminder that I’m His.


A picture, it is said, is worth a thousand words ~ and though that is the usual length of my posts here, I think one single word will suffice for this picture…





Hiya peeps…

It’s going to be a crazy next few weeks…and my writing time this week is down to minutes. So this is all you will get from me for a few days. Next week should be quieter. (yay!) I am glad to be busy, but it does leave me precious little time for writing the rest of some of those stories that are dancing about in my head seeking escape!

I am going to do something very different in a few weeks.

I will be *totally* disconnected, unplugged, for just shy of a week. No internet. No facecrack. No D/s blogs. No emails. And worst of all? No contact with Master.

In our 5 years together, this is the first time, ever ever ever that we’ve gone more than a day without touching base with one another.

It gives me a sick-ish feeling in my belly, all nervous and worried. He’s my anchor and my rock. And I won’t be able to even send Him a text. I’ll be having fun, but those nights in my tent will be, simply put, torture.

Between then and now I have good things happening. I’m going to be having a time to hang out with Jz, which I’m looking forward to. I *had* been hoping to have time to hang out with her and meet greengirl, but unfortunately, my still wonky back was not up to the drive/train time and I had to cancel. (I know, how terribly disappointing, to come *that* close to meeting one of my favorite bloggers! Dang it!) I’m going to have some kind of time with Master this weekend. Not sure if it will be playtime or coffee (again that depends on my stoopid back–but I’m going to see the Doctor this week so hopefully we can get this worked out.)

Annnnd….on a side note to the above, I was whining to Master about how this makes it hard to claim that I’m a bona-fide masochist, since this is NOT sexy pain…and there is this ….pause. I frown at the phone as the silence extends.

“Yanno nilla,” His voice comes at last (and yes, He said “yanno”…always a prelude to something Domly/dastardly). And he pauses again.

“Yanno nilla…I’ve heard…..*pause*….that half-0’s are a good cure for that sort of angst.”

*insert sound of waterfalls, crickets, the whirr of a running fan here*

He laughs.

“I love the sound of silence from your end of the phone,” he chuckles.

“I-bda-abada…..” I stutter.

He laughs some more.

“Yes. That.” He is grinning, I can practically feel it, while my heart flutters worriedly in my chest.


In the end, I giggled too. He did manage to knock me right out of my funk with that little threat. (a threat that reappeared in our conversation on my way home last night…rut roe). And that is the magic of Master. Just a few short words and I’m snugged right back in my place, the “small s” as He reminded me firmly.

It’s a really comfortable place to be.


Pussy Burglar (3)

She was naked, tied quite firmly to the bed. His bed. The bed that she’d had all but two seconds to get out of before he’d caught her again. The miserable fuck. Her clothing wasn’t strewn about on the floor. Oh no, not for this guy. He’d shredded it with that fucking Swiss Army knife, into chunks and ribbons until none of it would ever be wearable again. On the top of the pile the ace bandage with which she had bound her breasts lay in long strips, mocking her. It was that which had gotten her to this state.  Poking at the pile of debris with his toe and looking at her, he flashed her a smug look.

“Don’t worry about this, pussycat. You won’t need these anyway. I plan to keep you naked and right here for a long, long time.”

He’d smiled at her then. A smile that was feral, hungry, and just a bit mocking. As if he knew that this was terrifying.

And exciting.

How she hated to admit that to herself. But somewhere in the deepest darkest pit of her mind there was a tiny little spark that thrilled to being bested. Not in an “omg take me I’m yours” kind of way. This went deeper, into the animal part of her brain, where dark fantasies occasionally made their way to her dreams. Yet here she was, definitely not dreaming. His next words were hard reality, and chilling.

“Oh, by the way, pussycat–feel free to scream. The staff is away for a few days. They’re used to my occasional need for solitude. We’ll have plenty of that for the next few days. And as I’m sure you noticed while you were casing the joint, to speak in your vernacular, there are no neighbors.”

She stared at him, wanting to strike out at him, at the smartass bastard’s face. To poke him in the eyes, to bite and watch him struggle. To tie him to the bed and…and..she had no idea what. She glared at him as he stood there, smug asshole, staring down at her, looking at her body. Ogling her. Standing at the end of the bed holding a feather, for fuck sake, stripped down to plaid boxers.

“You look ridiculous. You look like an ass.”

All the epitaphs in the world and that was what came out of her mouth. She all but rolled her eyes at her lame response. He just smirked at her, holding the feather and examining it.

“It looks so silly, I know. A little feather like this, just fluttering in my fingers. But.”

He let the word hang there for a minute.

“In the right hands, pussycat, this will destroy your will. Remember what I promised you.”

Her eyes met his. Hell yes she remembered, but damned if she’d say as much to him. The fucking asshat. His eyebrow rose as they fought a silent, deadly war.

“I won’t beg you for anything, you jerk.”

“I guess we’ll see then, won’t we?”

He trailed the tip of the feather from her knee to her ankle along the inner curve of her calf. Her leg twitched at the barely-there touch. His eyes followed the gently curved tip of the pheasant feather. She was embarrassed and shocked to be here, bested by this….this…subhuman! And tied open, displayed. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you bastard,” she spat. “You need to let me go. NOW.”

There was no reaction other than a faint lift to the corner of his mouth. Her head rocked side to side, her wrists curled into fists, tugging on her restraints. She barely moved an inch, and wound up with a face full of hair for her struggles. She hoped he’d get mad, react to her, say something. Anything.

Yet his eyes only followed the path of the feather tickling over and around her calf and foot. It danced over her toes, making her hiss and try to wriggle away, but the tenacious thing followed her moves to evade, effortlessly.

“Stop!” The word came out as a giggle, but he didn’t even look at her.

“Please! Bastard!”

Over, around, teasing.

Wriggling. Writhing. Tugging. Laughing.

“Fuck! FUCK! omg…” This last as the feather caressed the bottom of her foot. Up and down the arch, under the toes, around the heel, then back up her calf.

This time it didn’t stop at her knee, but moved up her inner calf. Up, around, over the top, around towards the far side, then down, down to torment her other calf, her foot.

She laughed. Cried. Cried laughing. And laughing became begging as the tip caressed her belly. As it circled her belly button drawing ticklish figure eights around and around until she wanted to scream. And when she did, tears rolling down her cheeks, the tip of the feather flicked higher, teasing at the curve of ribs, the underside of one plump breast then the other.

She barely noticed when his finger entered her. Shuddered when his thumb began to rub her clit as the finger was joined with another, as it fluttered away inside her belly. It registered that the tickling on the outside resembled the tickling inside her but she was beyond caring.

Something inside her built to a furious frenzy. Her words were begging, panting things asking for who knew what; her nipples rose as if to join the pleas.

“I told you I would make you beg,” he said from a hundred miles away, as the orgasm crashed through her, sending her spinning into oblivion.


She hated him.

When she woke from the spin through space, she was sweat soaked. Sex soaked. Shaking, curled on her side with his arm around her. He was naked. She was naked.  His fingers caressed her tits, pinching and pulling and twisting her nipples until the need grew deep between her legs. Her pussy throbbed and she whimpered aloud as his fingers trailed down her body to stroke her clit.

She begged again, hating him for it, for building the need so intensely. She’d never had sex with anyone that came even close to this.

He’d fucked her from behind as his hands continued to stroke and tease and hurt her tits, until he’d pulled out, and pushed her to her belly.

“Knees down, ass up, pussycat,” he’d said, tugging her into position.

“Wider.” Hands slapped her inner thighs and she moved them apart, feeling humbled by the exposure. He kept doing that, just kept finding ways to make her feel like …like a slut.

“I’m not your whore,” she’d mumbled, but of course he’d heard.

“You’re whatever I want you to be.”

The words were spoken in a quiet, firm voice, and shocking to absorb. There was no time to retort as he’d thrust his cock into her, the position allowing him to fill her deeper, rub all the right places. She swore she could have traced the shape of his cock along her belly he was so deeply embedded in her. His hips swiveled, making her gasp. His balls rubbed against her pussy lips, the gentle movement bumping her excited clit.


Never had she been fucked like this. She was full of him, surrounded by him, undone cell-by-cell by him. The orgasm built like a wave, like a nuclear burst. Her head was going to explode, as the pressure grew, the need to release just growing stronger. Yet he was holding back, just enough to keep her on the edge.

“Please,” she sobbed, “I’m so close…”

“Pussycat needs to cum, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, gawd yes…please…”

“If you insist…” His voice sounded dubious.

She was on fire, the need rippling through her like the promise of rain on a hot summer day.

“Yes, please, please yes…so…oh gawd…please…” her breath hissed out as she was there, just there, hanging on the very edge….yet she hadn’t expected what had come next.

He’d popped his thumb into her asshole.

On the heels of her outraged gasp of shock, her cunt clamped down on his shaft, and she’d had the orgasm of her life. She could feel the juices squirting from her, feel the quick hard throb as her anus protested the intrusion, feel her pussy squirming and twitching along the hard rigid length of him.

She could also feel him laughing.

She hated him.

OMG How Did I Forget That It’s Thursday?! HNT

Better late than never?

Things have been hectic in the nillaverse. Mostly hectic in my head since I’m still moving fairly gingerly. Thanks for all the well-wishes. As with any recovery, there are up days and down days, though overall I’m feeling much better now than I did over the weekend. Things on the floor are scary…if I move slow enough I can get them picked up…but I think, as Fury said in her comment, that there is some fear-factor. Will I hurt myself all over again if I try to get that sock? So I’m alternating between being “brave” and being a “wimp”.


It doesn’t help that my job is very physical, or maybe it does. It makes me more cautious about how I’m moving, to be sure. But this is all damned sure annoying as fuck.

So, here’s my belated HNT…a view as if Master were peering down my shirt….(and soon will come the tale of  nilla and Master being naughty in the coffee shop. 😀


Pussy Burglar (2)

Heart pounding, reaction set in. She shoved the phone onto the top of the linens, and scooted as far back as possible. Maybe he’d think his cleaning lady had left it behind. The door opened slowly. She kept her eyes mostly shut so no gleam would betray her, and all but held her breath. She saw his hand reach for the phone, saw him straighten.

“You may as well come out.”

She opened one eye, but stayed put. It could be a ploy.

“I know you’re in there. The heat sensor clearly shows you. Come on out now.”

Fuck! A heat sensor? Who the hell did that? A rich fucking bastard, that’s who. Dammit. Dammit, dammit.

“I’m coming out.”

She kept her voice low, hoping he’d mistake her for a teen. She was small enough to be mistaken as one.  Slowly she crawled out. A fist grabbed her ponytail, tugging her upward.

“A sneaky little pussy burglar, aren’t you?”

Her eyes welled with tears.

“I’m sorry mister. I was just…”

“Please.” He shook his head at her, his smile mocking. “Spare me the ‘I’m just a poor little teen runaway bit.”

She swallowed hard.

“I’d prefer your pleas to be more on the “I’d do anything if you don’t call the cops right now” side than trying to play me for a fool. I’m not, and you’re not, so let us call a spade a spade. You’ve been watching the house for three weeks now. Oh, yes, I knew.” He spoke to the look of shock that crossed her face.

“I was hoping to catch you in the act. And I have. We have two options here.”

His fingers tightened in her hair as her fists balled instinctively. He shook her hard.

“Don’t even try, pussycat.”

She was never good at following directions. Trying to ignore the pain in her head she lashed out, barely missing his nose. He twisted her around using the momentum of her swing, grabbing her wrist and twirling her about. His foot hooked around her ankle and she was on the floor with him sitting on her. Slowly he lowered himself fully on her, his hand still in her hair, his body capturing one arm, while his fingers held her wrist in a grip of steel.

He smiled, a grim smile.

“Somehow I thought that might be your answer, pussycat.”

“I’m not your pussycat, you bastard! Get off me.”

“I’m not done listing your options.”

She spat at him. He released her hand and slapped her cheek hard, then recaptured her wrist as her hand rose to cup her cheek.

“I see I need to teach you some manners, girl. You don’t strike or spit upon your Master.”

“You are not my …my master.”

“I’m the one on top, correct? Ergo I have indeed Mastered you.”

She writhed and wriggled and only made him smile and rub his crotch against hers.

“mmmm, that was nice pussycat. More?”

She froze. Somehow that hadn’t occurred to her.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” She growled. Her pulse knocked higher, faster than before. Clearly her facts had been wrong, and this job had gone south in a big bad way.

“Look. I didn’t take anything.” 

“Not for want of trying. Trespassing with intent to burgle. You took my cufflinks.”

“I did not take your crap cufflinks.”

“Nonetheless, they are missing and when the cops come, they will be in your pocket and not in my drawer where I clearly keep them.”

“You fucking bastard.”

His smile frosted her ass.

“Get up, pussycat.”

He rose, tugging her with him, and shoved her ahead of him to the bedroom. He led her towards the bed and pushed hard. She fell on the mattress, rolling fast for the side closest to the door. His hand caught her hair and tugged her back. Tears stung from that.

“Ow!” she yelled. “Stop! FUCK!”

His hands pulled and tugged. She was back on the bed, clothing being skillfully tugged away. She slapped and kicked to no avail, until finally he straddled her waist, and ripped open her shirt. He frowned at the thick ace bandage wrapped round and round her chest.

“This is no way to treat tits,” he muttered, and pulled a Swiss Army knife from his pocket. She froze in fear as he flicked a blade open. Fingers lifted the bottom edge of the wrapping from her skin; she barely drew breath as the sharp blade sliced through the fabric like a hot knife would pass through butter.

“Please, mister, please don’t do this you don’t understand i …jamaica…please…ohgod…”

Her breasts were laid bare, lines crisscrossing the full orbs.

“You could do irreparable harm with this sort of stupidity,” he said, scowling. “These should be left bare for hours to recover. Dumb pussycat. So stupid. What do I have that is of more value than your body? Trinkets? Paper? Nothing is more important than taking care of yourself. Obviously you need a caretaker.”

She was offended, amazed, taken aback and pissed by turns. Who the fuck was he, reading her the riot act? So what if she bound her breasts? It didn’t concern him at all. His hands rubbed over the flesh of her chest, massaging each breast and glaring at her.



“You can’t do this to me…”

He rolled his eyes and pinched her nipples. She gasped, struggled.

“See? Obviously I can do ‘this’ to you. This and so very much more. And you’ll want every moment of it.”

“No. No I won’t. I don’t. You can’t make me…just…I’ll apologize. I’ll leave town..I’ll….”

“you’ll beg me to fuck you. And you’re staying right here. Right where you wanted to be, after all.”

“not with YOU here. This was supposed to be my last job,” she wailed, suddenly broken.

“It is your last job. You go nowhere else now. Your past life is in the past. Now you are mine.”

Her eyes grew wide and a bit wild. What the fuck was happening here?



Broken and Hurting

Hi ~ my name is nilla and I appear to have broken myself.


Somehow I’ve not done all the “right” things and hurt my back badly. So badly that it affects my walking, my ability to move about freely. It’s all muscle–or rather, one big painful pinched nerve. So I’m on pain meds to deal with it.

But it means that we can’t have our playdate.

You know, the one that I’ve been quietly anticipating for the last two months? I’m in too much pain to move, to twitch about the way He enjoys. I’m in too much pain for Him to have fun hurting me. And since I have a vanilla life where I must have mobility…we’ve had to cancel our time together. I told Him that I could show up in my oh-so-sexy heat wrap thing. Yeah. No. The mental image of that did make me giggle though.

So instead of a lovely fucking time (pun intended),  we’ll have coffee and tea and share a decadent dessert together tomorrow, in lieu of my getting my ass fucked, and beaten.

“You’re being sensible, nilla,” He says, when I express my deep disappointment to Him today. “I can’t do anything to you, so it makes sense to wait until you’re better before I beat the shit out of you.”

Only in D/s land would that make so much sense, yanno?


But it does, right?

This isn’t erotic pain. This isn’t something that makes my pussy hot and wet and excited. This is “how the fuck will I get upstairs to my bedroom” and “OMG I sat down for too long and can’t get out of my chair”. This is having to allow extra time to do anything…Including peeing~no last minute run to the bathroom because I had one more thing to do first, oh hell no!

It sucks. But I’m being a big girl about it all.

I just wish there was medicine to take for disappointment.