Fat (3)

Still flying high on endorphin’s. Still woozy from orgasms. Still shocked from the circumstances surrounding both, still feeling the sharp ache in her tit from the toe of his shoe, she tried to compose herself.

“Mae.”

She hadn’t realized that she’d been trying to do so with her eyes closed. Or that she was slumped on the floor between his feet, her skirt hiked up over her capacious hips, baring her silken panties and wide thighs to his gaze.  Blinking, she looked up at him.

“Yes Sir?”

She tried to sound her usual brisk and confident self, but even to her own ears she sounded more timid than sure.

“Get up off the floor, girl, and crawl over to the table.”

She blinked at him a few more times, before his lip curved into a half-smile.

“Now, girl. Stop dawdling. I haven’t got all day to fuck you, you know.”

Another blink. It was going to take some getting used to, this new side of her boss. Without thinking, she moved to all fours, then twitched down the hem of her skirt. His foot curved up quickly around her throat.

“No no, skirt up. Back ’round your middle. I want to watch that bum moving as you crawl.”

Heat flushed up from her cheeks, splotching her neck and chest. He couldn’t see it now, but she cringed as well. Sure and here it would come, the humiliation as he watched her fat ass, like two pigs fighting under a blanket–as a cruel lover had once said of her bottom–, while she made her way across the big expanse. It seemed to grow exponentially further away, like a football field, but with better carpeting.

“Very nice. That soft pink color is very attractive with your skin tone. Does the bra match?”

Her head, which had been hanging low, rose fractionally.

“Yes Sir.”

“Stop.”

She froze. His footfalls were silent on the thick flooring. But she felt him as he drew near, the infinitesimal change in the air, the sudden flushing of heat between her thighs. Her cunt sure knew when he was coming closer. His hand slid across the silky expanse of the fabric.

“Very, very nice. I very much like.”

His fingers curved over the round cheeks; she had to admit it felt good. Still, she waited for the dreadful words about the expanse of her ass, the wide target–any of it. But the words didn’t come. Just the stroking of his hands until a sudden sharp slap made her jolt.

“Perfect.”

He pulled her panties down, a finger traced along the mark he’d made on her butt.

“A near perfect imprint.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he tugged her panties back up. The heat from the mark seemed to burn off her embarrassment, seemed to flick the “on” switch on her pussy. Feeling the surge of wetness slicking her lower lips, she flushed again. There was no way he’d fail to notice the damp splotch there. Kneeling there, she was exposed — her ass and her need.

“Crawl.”

The table was suddenly there, right in front of her. How had she crossed that space so quickly? Spending too much time thinking about him looking at you, wondering if he saw that your pussy is begging to be fucked, her inner voice cackled at her.

“Turn around, up on your knees and sit back on your heels. Time for me to unwrap you.”

She felt the jangle of nerves. He’d see her. Really see her, her monstrous tits, her round belly, her ferociously wide hips…he’d see it all.

“I…I’m not sure that I….” she paused, licking her bottom lip. “…can.” Her voice was just above a whisper.

“Can’t sit on your heels? Can’t what? Speak up girl.”

Her eyes welled, but she refused to let a single tear spill over. Rising awkwardly to her feet, she advanced on him, finger pointing at him. She moved until she was a half-step from him, poking his tie with her accusing digit.

“This is a joke, isn’t it?”

*poke*

“Later you’ll get together with your other friends and laugh about the fat girl you teased about fucking, and then mocked instead.”

*Poke*

Her breath hitched, as her finger drilled into his chest.

“You’re a real bastard, you know that? That is just about the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me, and trust me there’s been a lot of people who have said mean things about fat girls.”

He looked at her as he took her hand, swallowed it in his larger one. If this was a book she was writing, she would have used the word “implacable” or maybe “unsparing” to describe that look. There wasn’t humor on his face, nor anger. His eyes looked at her, and though it was so fucking cliche, into her. She felt he was boring a hole through her brain, reading her, before piercing the wall behind her head, Superman-like.

“Stop.” He said, and shook her hand with its single finger still poking through his fist. His grip was firm, but not painful.

“You don’t know me.”

His tone was soft, as if gentling a wild beast.

Well, truer words, she wanted to say, but something in his voice kept her quiet.

“I don’t play games of that nature. If you’re not attracted to me–all evidence to the contrary–” he waved his free hand back towards his desk. The gesture made her blush, remembering how she gushed into his hand when those long, talented digits were buried inside of her.

“…then say so and I’ll leave you to go about your normal duties of filing and typing and whatever else you do at my behest.”

He paused a fraction of a second, but didn’t give her time to reply.

“I like you just fine, just the way you are. So you’re fat. It’s not like I couldn’t see it, after all, just as if I could see if you’re a redhead or brunette. It is, certainly, part of your appeal. I don’t particularly care if you understand–it’s my fetish and I’m not going to make apologies or explanations for it. I like you round. I like your big fat tits. I like your big fat ass. I like your big, fat–”

“I get the picture,” she interjected, her tone droll. “You like fat chicks. Whatever. So once you’re done, I get sent back to the typing pool until you find another fatty?”

Her tone was caustic with anger, and a sudden, horrible embarrassment.

“You have a low sense of your value.”

He paused again. Before he could speak, she jumped into the silence.

“Nope, I don’t. In point of fact, I worked hard to get to that chair. You noticed my work quality before I ever put my ‘fat ass’ into the chair behind that wall. You didn’t know me, didn’t know I was fat, didn’t know–” Her mouth opened, closed as the reality of what she was saying clicked.

“Oh.”

“Precisely,” he said a bit smugly. “I did not promote you so that I had access to your fat ass.”

Staring at him, she began to feel a little bit small–a neat trick for a fat chick, she thought with an inward grimace.

“Damn you for making me feel small.”

“I didn’t make you feel anything..except for over there.” Cocking his head back towards his desk, he grinned at her blush.  “And if you “feel small” then you’ll understand that all your protestations are simply foolish. Shall we move on?”

She sucked in a breath, but was unsure exactly what to say.

“I’m a dumbass” was certainly appropriate, but she didn’t want to leave herself open for mocking. Not that he seemed to be that type. But she did feel like a moron. She settled on the next most appropriate response.

“Yes, Sir.”

 

 

 

 

Still Breathing…but

…keeping one’s head above water is hard work sometimes. I love my work, I do. I love my family, I do. I have a good life, maybe even a great one. I have enough to eat, clothing to wear, a job I love, and people I care deeply about.

But all that aside?

I’m a filthy, dirty-minded, wanton slut.

And that part of me has become a recluse. Through over-programming in my vanilla life, to loss of time with my Master (and communication)…I’m feeling…adrift.

I know many of my fellow wanton sluts have gone through this–maybe are going through it now. I’m not alone in my misery. Oh hell, maybe that’s too strong a word? I’m *not* miserable. But I’m lonely, even with my family and friends around me. Lonely for the slut I was 5, 6 years ago. For the hunger I had when this all began 7+ years ago. Avidly reading blogs, commenting.

My kids were younger, way younger then, so I didn’t have schooling them, nor worrying about them reading over my shoulder at what I’m reading or writing. So many challenges.

So I sent Him an email. One that shares my longing to be that slut again, to be marked by Him, used by Him, to share the depravity that we call D/s. We MUST make time to be together. We just must.

For now I wait to get his response.

Waiting, it’s part of a sluts job, right? I feel like I’ve been waiting forever…but I know it’s not so.

And we’ll make plans, to try to connect.

Funny thing about that word, connect. Reminds me of plugging in an appliance, a lamp. What happens when you do that? Why, through the wonders of wiring–they work. They illuminate, they heat, they do all sorts of amazing things.

I need to connect to Him, to be illuminated, to be charged, to be fully, wholly myself. It’s no wonder I’ve been feeling dim, then is it?

 

 

 

Santa Dommy /HNT

never heard this song before with it’s vanilla lyrics? go here for a quick listen!  This is my little pervie version which I crafted for my M…I hope He gets a chuckle out of it! ~n~

Santa Dommy, I’ll slip some black lace on me, tee hee; been an awful bad girl, Santa Dommy, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa Dommy, a 54-link chain, oh please do, for you; I’ll be laying right here, Santa Dommy, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Think of all the O’s I’ve missed; think of all the times when I’ve kissed your lips;  Next year, I could wear a hood, if you’d check off my Christmas list.

Santa Dommy, I want a whipping and really that’s not a lot, been a big slut all year, Santa Dommy, so hurry down the chimney tonight!

Santa Dommy, one little thing I really need….the deed….to a dungeon so dark, Santa Dommy, so hurry down the chimney tonight!

Dommy cutie, and fill my stocking with a spanking and sex; sign your “X” on my ass, Santa Dommy, and hurry down the chimney tonight!

Come and trim my Christmas tree, with some fun pervertables made just for me! I really do believe in you…and I know you believe in me!

Dommy Baby, forgot to mention one little thing…some rings…I don’t mean on the phone, but my nipples, so hurry down the chimney tonight!

Hurry…please…tonight….

20151105_152817.jpg

 

Sadistic from Afar

Not last Sunday but two ago…I won BIG during our football bet. But. I had a deficit of half-o’s that I had to “pay for” first–a huge amount, sadly. Which cut my allotment from over 15, to 6. I used one that night, down to 5. I used one more…and then ran out of time, ran out of energy.

You know how it gets when you’re super uber busy and the last thing on your mind is sex, right? When you fall into bed and you’re asleep before your head is nestled into your pillow? For an insomniac like me, that’s a sign that I’m totally, completely whipped.

So I’m wallowing in vanilla here, not even enough time to feel self pity. And don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad that I’m this busy. It’s a good thing to have that much work.

But it’s not always easy to make time for this part of my life. And then I feel guilty for neglecting Him and neglecting all you all…anyway…

He and I are talking the other day, sometime before Sunday’s game. We can’t meet because I am on my way to a job and he has a volunteer thing that he does that I’m UBER PROUD of him for doing…and we can’t match up our schedules. And maybe he senses that i’m feeling a bit…pouty? That may be too strong a word coz it’s no one’s fault, after all.

Glum.

I was definitely glum.

“Oh, by the way, nilla,” he says. His voice is quick, matter-of-fact, not brusque but business-like, as if he’s taking care of some last minute details.

When we’re not in full D/s mode, this is the tone that always makes me sit up a bit straighter, listen a bit closer. It’s just that close to Dom-voice, yanno?

“Your o’s are gone.”

“Ba-ba-ba…” I stutter and stammer.

“Gone.”

His voice is implacable.

“Gone for lack of use. They grew stale and evaporated.”

“B…but I still had 4 of them left, Master.”

Dammit, I’m whining.

“Nope. Gone. You start tonight’s game with a clean slate, devoid of O’s to bail your ass out if you lose.”

He doesn’t laugh, but I sense that he is in his glory. Happy. He’s thrown another loop around my wrists, tied me tighter to him, cuffed me into total immobility. All with a few words. Sure, we live 40 miles apart, but it doesn’t seem to matter–he can tie me up, bedazzle me, and turn me on just like that.

Oh, and I lost our bet this week, too, dammit. By two fucking points. Which is 4 half-o’s, you know?

To continue keeping me in thrall, under his foot, he texts me tonight, Like Day, when I always get one free O.

“You can trade in your O for those half o’s, to clear your slate.”

I have to think about this, right?

Well after all, that’s one hell of an offer. Clear the slate? Use one O to take away 4 half o’s? That’s a real deal, one hell of a bargain. I ponder and ponder about this.  Sure, I can do that…but I won’t get another O until next week. And he? He can “pull a half-o out of the sky, if I want to…because I can,”as he has told me in the past.

I respond: “kindness wrapped in cruelty…how sadistic!” (He responded “THANK YOUuuuuuu!”

So…

Do I make the trade? Take my chances with the sadist?

Or do I take my pleasure, knowing that he’ll make me pay for it? You know what I know–the Sadist always wins.

Tis a dilemma….

Fat (2)

Tis a shortie…but all I have time for just now…enjoy ~nilla~

 

“Up off the desk,” he said.

It was the first words spoken in some time; after kissing, after fingers in her pussy and ass drove her up and over the edge two more times. She leaned back, braced on her arms, eyes closed, feeling the presence, the warmth of him, between her thighs. With a blink, she looked at him, and smiled.

“Yes Sir.”

Shimmying her bottom off of the desk, she pressed closer and closer to him. She could feel the hard press of his cock through her skirt, through his dress pants. If her pussy could purr, it would be, she mused. Not sated, only stirred to a greater need, she could feel the wetness growing. Licking her lips, she wondered when, if, he would fuck her. His cock felt enormous.

“All the way down. On your knees.”

A shivery thrill ran up her spine. How she loved to be dominated! How much she wanted his cock in her mouth.

“Hands behind your back. That’s right.”

She had no idea where the short length of rope had materialized from, but in moments he had it wrapped around her wrists.  She watched as he removed his pants, meticulously folding them over the back of his chair. He sat, the bulge of his shaft pressing hard against his underwear.

“Use your mouth. Take out my cock, and lick it. Nothing more, understood?”

She nodded. His foot rose, his shoe nudged hard under her right breast.

“OW!” She gasped as he nudged her again, harder, and began pressing the tip of his dress shoe against her nipple.

“Correct address is very important. Tell me you understand my order, do not nod at me like a bobblehead.”

“Yes Sir,” she replied, “yes I understand. No tasting your delicious cock, just take it out so I can see it, and then lick it like a lollipop.”

“Cheeky slut,” he replied, amused.

“Yes Sir,” she replied, grinning up at him. Her tit throbbed as he continued to press against her, despite her compliance. She began to understand the challenge presented. He was not going to move his foot, and she’d have to press into it, hurting herself, to succeed in the task. How fucking devious.

 

Busy~But Then….

So I’m running around like a madwoman (as I imagine most of us are as we barrel down through these last days before the holidays)…my work schedule is full right through Christmas eve…and I’ve gotta do this and gotta get that and…

…I’m standing in line at the store, not thinking porny thoughts at all. Okay, I might have been crafting a bit of a thing in my head on my way there (since once my brain turns back to the dark side it’s kinda hard to shut it off entirely)….

…but then, standing in the long check out line to get the TWO frigging things I needed, I see this….

FullSizeRender (10)

and I start to smile. I had to work *realllllly* hard, pervie peeps, to hold in my giggles. And maybe had a quick little fantasy about them….but who can act on that sort of impulse standing in Michael’s, right?

So I did the next best thing–took this pic and shared the naughtiness with all you all. Yeah. You know who you are, and I’m certain that your mind is going right where mine went.

Tsk, tsk.

*giggle*

Fat (1)

amazing what a few days off to rest and breathe will do to my mind… ~nilla~

He pressed the button on the intercom, calling for his secretary.

“And tell the floor that we are not to be disturbed. I have a lot of things to cover with you this morning,” he finished, his voice curt. As always, she mused. You’d think after two months of being Mr. Chisom’s personal secretary that he’d have warmed up a little bit. But no, always business as usual. Taking up her notepad, a pen and a spare, and her laptop, she duly passed on his message to not under any circumstances disturb them.

“What if the building catches fire?” quipped her pal, Marcy. Pert, brunette, slender, she’d occasionally had serious body envy over her friend’s slender form. Not that she minded being round. She’d rather forgo exercise than ice cream, and was overall comfortable in her skin. Even if there was a lot of it. But Marcy, well she was damned near model-perfect. Damn her!

“Well, I’d suppose–no, I know–he’d rather perish in a fire while working than stop to evacuate the building.”

She barked out a laugh, accompanied by Marcy’s perfect little giggle. Seriously, if Marcy wasn’t such a good friend, she’d absolutely hate her for being so frigging perfect. Smoothing her long dark skirt over her soft belly, she took a deep breath. Standing before his door, she took another deep breath, knocked once, then stepped inside.

He looked different today. His jacket hung on the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He was standing at the large window behind his desk, looking all ’50 shades-like‘ she mused. Not that she’d enjoyed the movie overmuch, but that guy who’d played the main man, he’d been hot. Not as hot as her boss though. The Boss,  well, had a tremendous ass. She paused for just a moment, looking at it, before quietly shutting the door.

He turned at the soft snick. Leaning over his desk, he depressed a button. She gave a little start of surprise at the chink sound behind her butt as the door locked.

“Come on, Mae, stop hovering around the door.”

Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the door, and into his office. The room simply overwhelmed. It was spacious. Open. Peaceful. Yet the office was a study in contrasts. On the one side, a large bank of windows let an abundance of light into the room, and illuminated his sleek stone desk, flashing sparkles of light from the metal chairs in front of it. His own chair was sleek, yet designed for comfort. Thickly padded black leather seating, back and arms were juxtaposed by sleek metal framework. The space was designed to be Spartan, an ode to working with minimal distractions. The wall that surrounded the entrance door was also glass, but thick, soundproofed, and opaqued. Light and a sense of movement came in, but nothing else from the outer room would disturb the stark serenity. Yet on the far side of the room,  his minimalist leanings were softened by a plush couch, comfortable chairs gathered around a sturdy low table. The table was a thick slab cut from a wide tree, supported by a section of trunk. It appeared that the table had simply sprouted from the floor as an exotic plant. In the corner, lamps gave off a pleasant glow, and a small forest of green plants created the illusion of outdoor space. Relaxing, inviting, this space could be closed off with the push of a button. A thin bamboo wall would slide silently from the walls, and leave one with just the utilitarian side of his workspace.

treetable

His desk was enormous. Long, sleek, it was the antithesis of what she privately called the “comfort side” of the room.  A single thick slab of stone rested on twisted iron-worked legs. The stone, dark as night, had flecks within that glittered in the sunlight. The pen he favored, of light marbled stone lay on his day-planner beside his phone, the only objects on the desk.

She never failed to be impressed at he overwhelming beauty of his space.  Her “office”, a small half-circle of stone blocks separating her from the rest of the group on the Bosses Floor was a rat’s nest of cubbies and papers and file drawers lining the wall behind her. This, well, this was an oasis.

“Come. Here. So much wool-gathering today.”

She snapped out of her reverie. Wool gathering? Who said that in this day and age? Spaced, yeah, she’d definitely spaced, but wool-gathering? Sheesh.

“Yes, Mr.Chisom, sorry. Your office is so…” her voice trailed off, even as her hand waved to take in the expanse.

“So?” His left eyebrow shot up. For a moment she regretted her temerity. She’d only been here a few months. Well fuck it. It was time for him to see her as a person, and not just a robot.

“So beautiful. Peaceful. Verrrry different from the place out there. Where you have 10 people working and trying to be professional while everyone can hear everyone else’s conversations. You know–barely controlled chaos?”

His right eyebrow rose to match the other. She refused to buckle under the stare, but her knees shook just a bit. She’d had no idea that was inside her, poised to erupt from her startled lips. Her eyes widened a bit even as she held back the cliched need to bite her lip.

“Is that so? How it is that no one else has brought this to my attention?”

“Maybe because you’re closeted in here and don’t take time to notice?”

Geezuz. He was gonna fucking fire her now. She just knew it. In for a penny, she thought, and taking a quick breath, continued.

“We all figure you just don’t give a fuck.”

“Touche. That puts me very neatly in my place, doesn’t it? The typical boss who works his employees down in the trenches whilst he sits in an ivory tower.”

She waved her hand and smirked just a little.

“You’re a smartass, aren’t you?”

“No Sir. Well, yes Sir, kind of. Look, I’ve not worked here for as long as the others, and you did promote me over staffers who’ve been here for decades. And some of them hate me for it, and I don’t care. I know you picked me for my skills, and if I’m going to be a good secretary for you, I have to be fully honest with you. So I guess you can fire me for my speaking out of line, or you can just accept that this is how I am and we can work together more effectively.”

There was a bare hint of a smile on his face.

“I do appreciate effective workmanship. I’ll look into this. I’m not going to fire you. I told you when I hired you that I’d work you hard.”

“You did, yes. And you have. I’ve worked my ass off for you, Sir.”

“I hope not.”

His head canted to one side as he looked pointedly at her hip. She giggled, yet flushed, too.

“Well, I could stand to lose a few pounds off my ass, so no worries there, Sir.”

“I like your ass just as it is, actually. Now come, sit here.”

He pointed to his desk. She began to sit on one of the bronze chairs at the front of his desk. They were lovely to look at but frightfully uncomfortable–for a purpose, she supposed. He always had people he didn’t particularly want to meet with sit in them, which often kept the conversation brief. They were either cold and hard, or warm and hard, depending on the time of the day and the sunshine-on-metal factor.

bronze chair

“Not there.” He twirled his finger, indicating that she should move around to his side of the desk. What the fuck? she mused. He was going to have her sit in his chair? No he was not….

He pointed her to the edge of the desk.

“Sit your butt here.”

“On your desk.”

“On the edge.” His head canted to the side again, a look she found particularly attractive. Likely he knew that, too. Boyish, charming, cute. She knew he knew that she was now quite nervous. She took a breath, seeking calm, as she lifted one buttock onto his desk.

“All the way up. There you go.”

He stepped closer, placing his hands on her thighs.

“If you say ‘no’ this stops.”

Her heart raced, all those fantasies of him doing something like this to which she masturbated many nights flashing through her brain. Was she sleeping and dreaming all this? The warmth of his palms dispelled that thought. The husky whisper of his voice, his eyes looking deeply into hers assured her that she was indeed awake.

“Spread those luscious thighs, sweet Mae,” he directed. Hands dropped to her ankles, his body between her legs. She felt her skirt rising, the quick brush of thick fingers on her stocking-less skin.

“So warm. So soft.”

“So fat.”

The words slipped out of her mouth. She almost bit her tongue at the look he slashed at her.

“You are fat. Soft, warm, pillowy. I love the feeling of a soft woman. Sure, thin girls are pretty to look at, but give me a woman I can lay upon and not be pierced by bones at every position. I want a woman I can pinch and suckle upon, someone who, when I tie her up and she squirms and wriggles, gives me the pleasure of all that flesh to sink into. So you’re fat…but you’re also beautiful. Smart. Kind. Sexy. I want you. Want to slide my mouth between your generous legs and taste your cunt. Want to nurse against your clit, want to fuck your gorgeous tits. I know you have those….”

He paused a moment.

“Urges?” she offered. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Proclivities. You like to be used. Fucked. Tied. Forced. You like to be dominated. You like to be spanked upon the wide terrain of your ass. Say it. Tell me you want that, you naughty little slut.”

How the fuck had he found that out? For a moment, panic fought for control. Her throat slammed shut and she could not have said a word. His eyes held her as firmly as a pin holds a butterfly to a canvas.

“I profile all my employees..and certainly the one I choose to be my personal secretary. You will find all the inner workings of my company, of myself. You’ll be in and out of my office, and eventually, my home. You will be my most trusted companion, my confidante, my helper. Of course I would discover your most interesting secrets. You had a dom…several in point of fact, but no one recently. You have an active sex life, and have a favored club to visit when you’re in the mood for some action.”

Points for him for not saying “scratch an itch”, which always felt demeaning. What she did and who she was wasn’t the hugest secret in the world, but it wasn’t something she put on her resume.

“Okay,” she finally said. “All of that is true. I–do not have a dom, and I do have …certain…needs. But what does that–”

Her words were cut off with a gasp as he sank fingers into her pussy.

“Do go on,” he urged, his smile wolfish.

She gasped, swallowing air and spit and coughing. His fingers diddled inside of her, hooking up and rubbing her spot. She moaned, long and low.

“I—I….”

“Please,” he smiled at her, “do continue. You–?”

A quick shudder rolled through her as his fingers brought her to a swift orgasm. It had been a while since a guy had his fingers in her snatch. Head thrown back, legs clamped around his hips, she arched, shuddering as her cunt clutched his fingers and spurted.

“There’s a good slut.”

His free hand reached up, grasping her hair, tugging her forward. It pushed his fingers deeper into her, continuing the rippling sensations surging through her. His voice became a growl as his mouth moved across her cheek, rested against her ear.

“Come for me, come hard for me, slut.”

Ever the good secretary, she complied.

 

 

 

(side note: when I was trying to decide whether to include an image of the stone pen, this is one of the images that Google uploaded for my perusal. It made me laugh–and decide to not put in a picture of the pen after all…but I had to include it here! ~nilla~)
stone pen

HNT?

Uh-yup.

A question mark because I’ve not had time to do any “pretty pictures” for this weeks HNT. (I’ve been working straight on for the last 3 weeks…) Hoping that I’ll have some alone time this weekend to make a nice one for Christmas eve’s HNT.

So I’ll just go back through my old pix and throw a few oldies your way, okay pervies? Then we’ll get back to the current day next week. Four days until the Solstice! Huzzah for the sun’s return!

~nilla~

nt

Facetime!

As I write this I’m sitting on tenterhooks watching the Patriots damage the Texans. With just a few minutes left in the game, I’m thrilled that we’re ahead, but nervous. We need more points on the board, guys! At this point, any points will help me! Last week I won 18 O’s.

Eighteen.

Dayam! And me too tired and overworked all week to take advantage of the bounty, I’ve only used ONE. Yes, can you believe it? But currently I’m down in score by 12, which will take a LOT of my banked O’s out of the “savings account”…something which will charm Him no end.

In point of fact, as I sat with him today, I mentioned that I’d only used one of my O’s but I had a healthy balance in my bank. He slanted me a look, a half-smile on his face.

“Not for long.”

It was said softly, matter-of-factly. But damn so hot. And that smile…it could have melted glass. He knew I had picked wrong. I’ve totally sucked at the Over/Under points that He’s chosen as our game this year. Last week was only my 2nd week of winning points…and the first time I not only *lost* my points, but wound up in the hole. So to speak. 😀 At least this week I won’t have that happen. But seriously, another touchdown from either side would really help my bank of O’s. 😀

We kissed. Kissed hard, many times. At one point I only hit his bottom lip.

“Hey wait a minute, nill-ah,” he says as I lean back into my seat. “You missed! You only got my bottom lip. Get back here and do that again. Get it right.”

I giggled (and am smiling as I write this)…and complied readily. And gave him a few more for good measure.

When it was time to go (so sad it was time to go) I said as much.

“You’ll go when I say you can go.”

His voice drops, smooths. His face firms, his eyes. Man, those eyes. He just gets this look on his face when he drops a Dom on me…and it never fails to make me hot, and tingly and just a touch of nervous. Yes, even after all this time, the nerves tingle too.

I freeze in place, look up at him, moving my eyes only.

“Yes Sir,” I say, with what I can only assume looks to him like a bunny frozen in headlights. He looks at me …not sternly, but firmly, I guess, for a moment more. Then his expression clears, he laughs, and says, “good girl.”

Pauses a moment.

“Okay, you can go now.”

Then he kisses me again, hard, and we do, this time, part.