Legs open. Hips stretched to stress. Knees bent. Arms outstretched.

She couldn’t move a fucking inch. Her fingers opened and closed, her knees flexed without movement, her head tossed side to side.

The sweetly curved vibrator plunged relentlessly into her exposed cunt, while he stared at her. His eyes were intense, drinking in her every wince, every twitch, every whimpering moan. His left hand controlled the pace of the vibe fucking her, his right held the massaging head of the intense vibe at the apex of her thighs.

He controlled her. Controlled her movements, controlled her pleasure, controlled her pain. The clamps bit into her nipples, the vibe shook her core.

Clenching down without choice, the orgasm rolled through her pussy like a breaker crashing onto shore. Ripples and tremors quaked through her.

She couldn’t move a fucking inch.

Eyes squeezed shut, lips open and panting, she trembled as the hard vibe shook against her tenderly fragile clitoris. The smile curving one corner of his mouth showed his pleasure in her predicament.



Yes….its short. Yes… it’s not really complete–that is, it is not a story, just a vignette of a story. I’m attempting to take back some of my own needs… ~nilla~


Holding Space

We’re meeting soon, very soon.

And I admit it–I’m really out of slut mode. Slut practice. Slut anything. The libido is low–because when you fill ALL your time with “OMG I GOTTA GET THIS DONE” you just don’t have time for anything else.

Not the fun/hot/wonderful/scary porn I like to watch and read.

Not the porn I like to write.


And yet.

There is this tiny kernel deep inside that…simmers.

Like that last tiny ember in a campfire that once blazed hot as a blast furnace.

Yeaup…like that. Because you know…and I know…that if attention is given to that ember, and it’s blown on, and nurtured even a little bit, and given some sustenance (the touch of His hand on my bottom, or gripping my arm or tit or hair and roughing me up) that it will come back to life, burning merrily as if it had never been banked to the verge of going out.

He’ll help me with that, He will.

I said to Him the other day…’i’m nervous…about the pain…about being able to take it…about all of it’

and HE said

“nilla–it’s all about the pain. And you’ll take it.”

And then He just dropped the subject, went on with whatever else we were talking about, like it was already handled. I suppose just now that I’m a work in progress. Not feeling my super-slut powers–they must be dormant– right? Yes, I do believe that they ARE there someplace…I just need to rout through my “mental closet” and find them again.