HNT- (LATE!!) Good Morning Pervs!

Waking up in a “new” place can be disconcerting, especially after only 4o minutes of sleep the night before…yet at sofia’s house? Not so much. It is warm and inviting here, with lots of chatter (it took me a few hours to wind down, after talking her ears off for an embarrassing length of time) as well as quiet –yet companionable– time.

We’re not doing anything kinky just now, though later we’ll be heading off for me to get another tattoo…one that symbolizes M and my …couplehood? Relationship? Whatever…my head is too muzzy for finding the”perfect” word there. You grok what I mean anyway. ūüėÄ

So I’ll be off getting “marked” as his, yet it is a symbol that translates to my vanilla life as well. I spent a l-o-n-g time this winter researching and honing my idea into a simple design that would indeed stand on that balance point of vanilla and D/s…for after all that is the essence of my life. After seeing something online, I drew my own version of it, and it is “Master approved” as well. You’ll likely see it in some of the pics He’ll take after our playtime which is also coming up fast. (woot!)

I’m definitely settled in, here in sofia’s kitchen, as she putters around getting ready for her work. I’m chillin’ here at the table with her Man, all of us peeking at our electronic devices, but also breaking away to converse, laugh, and just be in this wonderful companionship place.

Have a great day all y’all…and I’ll write if I get the time, motivation, and most importantly–a nap! Travel is exhausting, peeps!

And before I forget (okay, I forgot, I forgot!)…here’s a one-day-late HNT of a picture from our last playtime…one of my favorites, too. (after He obligingly took this pic at my request, He proceeded to lead me around the room by my nipple…sometimes my “good ideas” go to a totally different place than I’d anticipated…imagine that!!)




Hey y’all…

I’m going to somewhat absent here for a few days…so… no replies to your comments on prior posts going out for the nonce. I love your comments, (and hate not being able to reply to them promptly) ¬†and love that you want more more more stories…but I’ve had a wee bit of simple surgery today and have a ton of commitments for the next 5 days…and then I’m heading on a mini-nilla-vacation to visit fellow blogging friend sofia!

Please know that I’ll be able to post later next week, that I’m doing fine, I just haven’t the head for creative writing tonight, and won’t have any spare time starting tomorrow until I’m at sofia’s house.

Blessings, light, and pervy circumstances to you all!


HNT-Tired of the Nekkid?

Sometimes I wonder if all you all are just tired (bored?) with the titty show here every week. Not that I mind doing it (okay, sometimes I mind, which in turn makes it hot, because, you know, doing what I HAVE to do because HE ordered it, and doing it even when “i doan wanna”…all adds to the sick and dirty heat of it.)

Sometimes I’m totally uninspired about what to post…do I show bruises? Clap some clamp on there? Decorate them for flag day? Like, what? I’ve been posting titty pix here weekly for nigh onto 6 years or so now, that’s 300 tit pix. Normal tits, not those porn star perfectly sculpted by man kind of silicone bag tits. So sometimes they are droopy and sometimes my bra is squishing them, and once in a while HIS hand is holding one or the other…

A reader wrote to me some bit of time ago asking for rope bondage for my tits. I like the idea but M? He’s not into rope at all. It’s simply not his thing–and i’m fine with that. (Elastics were suggested but they don’t stay on my tits, something about my skin and the way ¬†my breasts are shaped. I can get a tiny elastic on the nips but trying to wrap them otherwise tends to not work.)

In point of fact He felt that roping them would be a terrible waste of time when He could be hitting, grabbing, slapping, or biting them. He is very much into the torturing of my poor boobs, than the artful uses of rope. That’s the sadist there.

So in memory of that, I’m posting two older pictures¬†that shows some of the damage that He can do to me with a cane. Happy HNT! (are you sure you’re not bored?!)

Playday bruises (I bruise so easily!)

a weighty reminder


Two days later:


Perverted Pleasures (5)

She woke where she had fallen. Spent, she found herself alone in the room that had held Master and Sir. How long, she wondered, had she lain there? Cold now, she shivered. Her pussy ached, as did her anus. The fucking plug was still there, still painful, yet still exciting a reaction in her tired cunt.

From far off in the house she heard a chime. Was it for her? She hadn’t heard them mention that she should come at a bell–and how humiliating would that be–yet she pushed herself up from the floor. Oh, how her bottom ached. Every slashing welt cried out for her attention. Spanked twice in the same day, once by hand, once by cane, she wondered what else was in store for her. And where were they? Should she go looking for them? Her next task hadn’t been spoken, she was sure of that. Her “job” here was to be available. Always available. To listen for orders, to obey. Her body already sported bruises, her holes were already well used. What did a “slut for a week” do when no one was around to tell her what to do?

The door opened, and she couldn’t stop the little sigh of relief. It surprised her anew, the size of the man. He gestured her to come forward. Taking her leash, he led her out of the room.


She padded behind him as he led her down the long central hall, but drew up short when she saw that there was another man in the kitchen. The leash tightened, and he jerked her forward.

“Come along, slut,” he ordered impatiently.

A staggered step, then another, brought her back into position. How she wanted to hide behind the big man leading her! The other man looked her over, making no attempt to look away. Fucking hell! She was embarrassed, annoyed, shocked. Being on display was something that she hadn’t known would happen–and she liked to have everything spelled out, liked to know the plan. Years in business had taught her that being a step ahead helped keep her ahead.

But this wasn’t business. Breaking habits of years took more time than she would have imagined. This wasn’t going at all the way the fantasy had played out in her head. Somehow she imagined prancing around looking pretty on her leash, being fucked randomly in a houseful of other slaves and masters. So much for fantasy, she mused to herself. As embarrassing as it was to stand here, bare-assed naked with a plug sticking out her asshole, her nipples grew taut, and her pussy drooled.

The stranger pushed off the counter that he’d been leaning against, and moved towards her. Staring at him as he came closer, making eye contact, she stood up to his leering gaze. His hand flashed out, slapping her cheek roughly.

“Ballsy slut.”

She cringed. There would be repercussions, she imagined, for forgetting her place. Master stepped closer, growled in her ear.

“You will respect my guests. You will follow orders. You will submit.”

“Yes Master,” she mumbled.

His hand grabbed her by the back of her head, yanking her head back. Startled, her eyes flew up to meet his. There was no anger, no rage in that implacable face, making his correction even more pronounced.

“You will apologize to Sir Anthony. On your knees, forehead to his boot.”

He did not drop the leash. It grew tighter as she fell to her knees; she had to pull against the collar, choking herself as she complied.

“I’m very sorry, Sir Anthony.”

Though it was tempting, oh so tempting, to add a bit of snark in there, the “but you were staring at my tits and I didn’t like that” thankfully stayed inside of her head. She¬†had paid for this vacation experience, and though one side of her head might be feeling put out about the treatment, her slut side was reveling in it. The juicy, swollen, wanton state of her cunt proved that.



…I forget how much pain really hurts.

I know. It sounds stupid when you say it aloud, doesn’t it? ¬†(If you’re submissive, I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that you “grok”, right?)

We managed to eke out a small face time today…so deeply needed. He was fun and flirty and dirty and mean..and he smelled good, and his arms wound so tight around me, hugging, and then a sweetly tender kiss right there in the parking lot of the place we meet. We chat, and laugh and I try to assault his man nipples, and he gives me the stern look, followed by ¬† “nilla, take your hands off my nips.” You know¬†the¬†Look, right? I think every Dom must have one. It’s the stern “don’t fuck with me, slut” look that makes my hands fall to my sides, and also makes me giggle nervously. Yup, that look. I’ve never quite been brave (foolhardy?) enough to actually disobey him on that, despite my somewhat death-defying desire to try it.

Then, doesn’t He trick me?

He did!

Has me show him how the van doors open automatically…I just never think it through, never suspect a thing. So when he asks me to reach that thing on the floor there, and I lean in, He pushes me hard so I fall over the seat and proceeds to pinch my ass! He hides what he’s doing with his body, pretending to reach in, using his voice…’no, that one, yeah, that one over there, yes, that’s the one nilla’, while his other hand does the dirty work. His legs trap me so I can’t move as he leans on them, as I wriggle and squirm and moan and “eep!” when he hits a particularly vulnerable area. ¬†Not content for one pinch, either, but MANY hard little nips with his fingernails. Great Goddess! I came SO close, yes, about that close, to cumming. There is no better feeling in those moments, then of His hands moving roughly over my body. Even though, you know, it hurts.

Oh MAN, did it hurt. 

He can’t pinch my arms, his favorite target, because it’s sleeveless time at last…so he targets my tits, my belly, and now, in this downside-up position, my vulnerable ass. His fingers press into my crack, finding that oh-s0-tender skin there, then biting into all the areas that I sit upon. Yes, I can’t sit without thinking of His hands on my ass…and grow wet and needy for it.

Of course He found my tits, pinching them hard as I slid into my car when it was time for me to go. That man can do a lot of damage in a very short period of time!

Pain hurts when you haven’t had a lot of it…but damn it is so¬†fucking good,¬†too.

Squeeze (6)

The blindfold surprised her. Sir never used them, so she had to imagine that it was something Sir K had implemented. Hands parted her shirt baring her chest to their gazes, exposing her skin to the soft kiss of air, and the firmer touch of the hands of men. Her breasts were fondled, warm hands lifting and softly squeezing the soft round flesh. Her nipples were flicked, not pinched as she might have supposed. The sash covering her eyes brought her to a new level of erotic suspense. With no way to anticipate she could only be fully in the moment.

Fucking zen,  she thought to herself, knowing she meant it literally and figuratively.

A large X was scratched over her right nipple. A frisson of raw need shot right to her clit. As she shivered in reaction, her shirt was pushed gently downward, slipping off her shoulders, until it fell from her wrists.


The first word spoken from either man in some minutes; she blushed in response. Her body was far from perfect. Just at this moment, however, she felt special, adored even.

A finger trailed down the center of her back, the teasing tickle making her giggle and shiver to move away.

“Uh huh…no moving unless you’re told to, slut.”

That was Sir for certain. His hand around her throat was warning enough. She hated being tickled but he enjoyed it. She endured. Another feather-light touch, right there at that sweetly sensitive place where her arm joined her back. Again she jolted, but stopped herself before her foot moved.

“Good girl.”

They played the gentle touching game until her skin was almost twitching. Nipples beaded tightly, her cunt dripping, she moaned when something pinched down on the tender nub.

“Isn’t that pretty, those shiny clamps on those nipples? How does that feel, slut? Too tight?”

She shook her head, no. They were not too tight. But a tight clenching was gathering elsewhere.



“I–I need to cum. ¬†I really, really need to. Please Sir?”


“What do you think, Ken? Should we give the slut a release?”

Though she strained to hear even the faintest whisper there was only the sound of silence. She thought she could feel warmth in front of her, but was that just her body reacting to stimulation?

Fingers probed between her legs, answering that question. There was definitely a man in front of her. Questing roughly, a nail scraped over her swollen clit and she cried out. Thrusting deeper, slipping into the heated wetness of her cunt, she felt her knees trembling. They curled, those clever fingers, tugging and rubbing the soft spongy center of her. Her arms flew out, seeking support, as her pussy spasmed, as the familiar itchy ache trembled inside her belly.


She barely got the words out, heard his reply of “cum, now, right NOW,” as the orgasm rocketed through her. Dizzy, drained, flying high, she barely registered being lifted, until her back rested upon the chill of the table.

She lay for a moment, stunned, before feeling hands on her wrists, her ankles, the roughness of rope pulling her open, fully displaying her for them both. She felt the skirt bunched up like a belt around her waist. A moment later, she recalled just exactly where her panties were. The flush of being so wantonly displayed vied with a feeling of depraved submission. She could not stop them. She could only accept, could only take whatever they dished out.

“Time for ice cream!”

It could have been a minute, it could have been a second. A splat as something fell onto her belly. Another second before the slippery cold mass registered as fucking cold.  Another second before another splat hit. She whimpered. Shivered. Cried out as each blop of ice cream created an island of ice on her body.

“Here comes more fun…more fun that wax, even.”

A trail of something hot enough to sting, to make her tug at the ropes binding her wrists, poured down her body. Her breasts were splashed with it, her belly sang a song of pain. Her cunt quivered at the mixed sense of what was hot, what was cold. It hurt, the cold cream, the hot sauce.

The smell of chocolate filled her senses, until he began to pour it over and down her cunt lips.

“Ah,¬†that got a reaction from you!”

A hissing sound came near her ear.

“Open your mouth.”

She obeyed, garnering a mouthful of whipped cream. He moved it in drunken path over and around her tits, the cool soothing after the heat of the chocolate. He pushed the nozzle into her cunt, and pressed.

“Different kind of cream. Still gonna eat it up.”

Hot lips settled over her cunt, sucking, biting lapping. Another mouth settled over her right tit, lapping over the clamped nipple, biting the tender skin.

“You will cum for me,” said Sir K from down between her thighs. His tongue drove into her, curling into a straw and sucking deeply. His fingers played her, until she was helpless to do anything but shudder through orgasm after orgasm.

Oh, the torture.



Squeeze (5)

The ride home was ¬†a blur. She wanted to ask questions, but couldn’t make the words form. His hand found her breast as they cruised through the last lingering traces of the day. The crimson sky had faded to a dusty rose; stars appeared as his fingers squeezed around her nipple. Holding onto the orgasm that threatened was as hard as holding his semen in her ass. She bore down, squeezing her bottom half. Her body pebbled with erotic goosebumps as she tried to not think about what would happen when they entered the kitchen.

As the car turned into the driveway, he looked over where she sat, staring forward, hands placed on the tops of her thighs. He bade her to sit. Her breath came in shallow, short puffs. Her body was on fire, a cauldron of lust, embarrassment, excitement, fear, and nerves.

He did not open her door, but rather, walked to the slick car that pulled up behind theirs. The two men laughed, a sound carried clearly to her hyperactive ears, despite the closed windows. Jumping at the sound of the door, though it was foolish, she looked up at him. Those eyes. Those compelling baby blues were smiling down at her, his hand extended into the vehicle.

“You go with him,” her husband said, watching her. “I’ve got some setting up to do. You can park her in the living room,” he finished, holding the door open for them.

“Good, that will give me some time to check out our little play toy. Have I your permission?”

The rest of that conversation must have been non-verbal, because she didn’t hear Sir’s reply. Then they were in the house, Sir bolting upstairs to their bedroom, and …gosh, how was she supposed to address him, anyway?

“Excuse me–”


Ye gawds! How could she ever talk to him? It was like he was a magnet and she a little bit of steel shavings, tugged relentless towards him. Lowering her eyes, looking at her shoes, she spoke softly.

His finger found her chin, tilting her gaze to his.

“I am not overfond of doormats. I am certain that your Sir prefers his sub to be a bit feisty as well. Right?”

She nodded, yes.

“Then let us have no more of the ‘must stare at the Dom’s feet’ nonsense, shall we? I much prefer spunk to passivity.”

He paused, letting the electric charge of his finger tingle through her as he smiled kindly at her.

“Now, let us begin again. What is it that you wanted to ask me, slut?”

She found her voice in that assurance.

“How shall I call you? My husband is Sir…”

“You could call me Lord.”

Her eyes widened, and she was sure that her mouth opened in shock. He laughed, the sound rich with his delight.

“How about Sir K, then? My given name is Ken, so that works for me.”

“Thank you Sir K.”

Her husband’s voice came from the kitchen. Vaguely she recalled hearing him clatter back down the stairs, but Sir K had been mesmerizing her so she’d not fully attended to that.

“Bring her on back to the kitchen, Ken,” He called.

His fist gathered a large amount of hair, shocking and inflaming her. He tugged her forward, keeping her one half step behind him. Stepping into the kitchen, he pulled her forward.

“What? She’s still dressed? I’m surprised!”

“Easily rectified,” said the older man with a smile.


okay, it’s not the end…yet…and this is short..but it IS Friday and I DID promise…this will have to hold you for a bit, dear perv’s. ~nilla~

HNT-My Friend Bobby

First, a quick programming note (saying that always makes me feel like a PBS station or something! LOL!) — worked ALL day Wednesday, so no story…but expect the final chapter on Friday, okay? My life has all these funny fits and starts to it…work, kids, health stuff, and my new fitbit fixation. It’s totally ridiculous. But I’m admitting I’m addicted. Isn’t that the first step? (get it? Fitbit measures your steps…if I have to explain it, it isn’t funny–except to me, anyway!) So when I could have been writing, I’m admitting publicly that I’ve been exercising instead.

Frigging weird, eh?

And now, I’d like to segue into HNT–and introduce you to my friend, Bobby:


Squeeze (4)

The meal came just after Sir allowed her to close her blouse; all but the last 4 buttons at the top. The waiter’s eyeballs slid right into the deep cleft there, before he gathered himself and served their food. Her face flamed, and Sir smiled.

They lingered over wine, the conversation whizzing around and over her. She felt loose, slutty, wanton. She was horny as hell. Public displays were humiliating–and a total turn on for her. Each time she tightened her anus, her pussy clenched.

She wanted fucking.

“Scootch over here, slut, and lean your elbows on the table.”

Thinking that two Doms at the table had all but forgotten her was a deep miscalculation, she realized. It took a moment for her to obey him, to realize what he was going to do. His finger pressed at her bottom, finding its way along the cleft of her ass. It pushed against the tight ring there. Instinctively, she resisted the pressure.

“Yield to me,” he whispered in a tone more like a growl than a request.

Not wanting to do something so open in public, not wanting to do it in front of another man, another person at all–all of that wanting was pressed deeply inside of her. He’d trained her to be obedient, but not a doormat. Still, there was another dominant present and she didn’t want¬†her dom to be looked at as substandard. Wanting to resist was part of the allure; obeying was the necessity.

Her anus relaxed just a fraction. His finger slid inside.

“Juicy,” he said, pulling the digit from her. Indeed, the skin at the tip was shiny.

“Sir,” she hissed, reaching new levels of embarrassment.

He wiped his finger on her thigh, and laughed.

“Your face–” he laughed, unable to continue.

“She’s entertaining. And obedient. I wondered if she was going ¬†to defy you there…but I see she really is as good a submissive as you’ve told me. Watching the struggle on your face was beautiful. My cock is hard as a rock, watching that. Knowing that you wanted to refuse–yet didn’t. Perhaps you couldn’t make yourself refuse. No fussing, no whining, though you’ve been shades of red that I never knew existed.”

His hand stroked down her cheek, cupping her chin. His eyes were as much a part of his magnetism as his voice. She looked at him, felt a connection to him that she’d only ever felt with Sir. There’d been dominants in her past, but none like Sir. And none like this man.

“I think we should have dessert.”

She was shocked that the words came out of her very own mouth.

“But not here. If Sir approves. We have fixings for ice cream sundaes at home.”

His smile gave her pleasure.

“I ¬†have an interesting way¬†to serve it,” said Sir, his tone wicked.

Her blush was one of heat.

“It will melt…” she half-protested, turning her gaze back to Sir.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. But before it melts, it will be very cold. And hot fudge sauce can be so hot. Such a nice juxtaposition of temperatures can be very….”

“Interesting,” responded his boss. He tossed some bills on the table, and slid out. “I’m very much looking forward to this dessert.”

Sir pinched her bottom as she slid out.

“You keep that shut tight now, slut.”

She clenched, then let out a little moan. More turned on by the verbal foreplay than she’d ever been before, she could hardly wait to get home.



Squeeze (3)

The waiter came to the table before she could sit. Before she could figure out how to get her panties back from Sir’s boss. Before she could sink through the floor in mortal embarrassment.

“Your booth is ready, Sir.”

Somehow they were across the restaurant, seated in a curved booth. Somehow she was sandwiched between the two men. Their order was taken, the waiter moving away, leaving them in privacy.

“Cute panties.”

He held them up, suspended on one long finger. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the thickness in her throat. She was about to die from humiliation.

“Cat has her tongue.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I hear she has a wonderful tongue, too.”

The two chuckled.

“This isn’t funny, you know.” She stared at her place setting, refusing to make eye contact.

“On the contrary. It’s funny as hell,” said Sir’s boss. “You have questions, I imagine. Let me tell you a bit about me, and we’ll see how well I do answering the unspoken things in your head.”

He waited, seeing the sommelier coming towards them with a bottle of wine. Approving it, they sat in silence as each glass was poured.

“A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. “To submissives–the world would be far too boring without them.”

They clinked glasses and sipped. She frowned into her glass. Clever, he was. And clever Dom’s were dangerous doms. Her pussy lurched at the thought.

“Your husband and I met at a club, quite by accident. He was…” he paused, searching for the right word. “Unhappy. We talked about his work while sitting at the bar. There was a formidable Dominatrix who tried to put the moves on him, but we found someone else for her to scene with. After that, we started to talk about my business. Turns out that he had skills that I needed to complete my team. That we were both Dominants sealed the deal for me. Things clicked for us, and I’m very pleased with what he’s brought to the job. We have not played together–he explained that you are very nervous about public play–but he speaks very highly of you as a wife and as his submissive. He told me of your joint fantasy of playing with another Dominant.”

Her heart kicked up a few notches. Sir had not said a thing to her about this! Well, not since the last time she’d told him of her fantasy, at any rate. He’d held her tight after a tough scene, her body singing with pain and release. Sated, floaty, he’d asked her to share a fantasy, and she’d told him. He hadn’t spoken of it afterwards–and sometimes she wondered if she had just imagined the conversation had happened. Yet it was still in her, this ragged bit of naughty. To scene with another Dom. With Sir participating. To be fuckmeat. To be used rough, fucked hard, beaten. It was a fantasy that always got her off when she masturbated. She wasn’t sure that she wanted it to be¬†real.

“I know this might well seem to be rather sudden to you, but we’ve actually been planning this for some time, so that you don’t think this was something we both leapt into. I’m willing to get to know you, to see if you will suit me before we decide if we’re compatible for playtime. I have no interest in owning you. I have no interest in ruining my working relationship with your husband. I do wonder if you’re going to be able to complete the task he’s set you to tonight…or if this has come as such a surprise that your ass is leaking.”

My gawd. He knew that, too? Her face flamed.

“Show him your tits.”

She turned to Sir, mouth open. His finger gestured at the buttons on her blouse. There was no bra beneath it, the deep blue color of the fabric hiding the dark circle of her aureola.

“Remove it from your waistband. That’s right, pull it out from your skirt. Now, unbutton it. The whole thing. Keep going…”

Her fingers moved at his orders but slowed as she reached the fifth button, the one just below her breasts. Her shirt would hang slightly open, anyone passing their booth would see her tits. Despite the momentary hesitation, her fingers obeyed, even when her mind objected. Somehow her shirt was unfastened, her hands laying softly in her lap. The bands of the blouse were apart by an inch.

“Here girl, turn toward¬†me.”

Sir nodded, poking his finger against her cheek to turn her head. Again those sparkling blue eyes caught at her. Angling her body slightly, she turned to the man warming her left side. His finger curled under the edge of her shirt, lifting and parting it, exposing her left breast. Though she could feel the warmth of the digit, he never made contact with her flesh. Erotic, overwhelming, sensual– so in the moment she could barely breathe, so turned on she was sure that there’d be a big wet spot on the bench under her pussy.

Her asshole remained tightly clenched.