Disbelief (3)

He could hardly believe it when he turned back to the room. Duncan had Amanda upside down, and for all intents and purposes, rubbing his boner with her face. Fuck! Just then, Duncan looked across the room to where he stood. Ah. The silent message was clear-his friend, far from poaching, had been keeping the slut occupied. Watching Duncan lead the dazed woman out of the mingling room and into the play room, he had to admit that the guy had moves. Unlike any number of wanna-doms who were out trolling for fresh sub-meat, he and Duncan believed in the beauty of the submissive, the act of relinquishment that was a gift-to the right dominant.  Giving them time to clear the area, Andrew moved towards the door and slipped inside the large, functioning dungeon.


“Let’s play a little game,” Duncan breathed against her hair.

Already she was pretty stirred up. Though Duncan wasn’t her dom, he cast a powerful aura. He was attractive, yes, but that isn’t what drew submissives to him like a bee to honey. Rather it was his sense of presence, and his capable deployment of anything as a pervertable. He’d used soda bottles as nipple suckers. He’d used a soup spoon as a tit paddle. He used clothespins and line for a zipper. His mind was creative…and mean. There was a wicked sadist that lived within him, and it didn’t take much play to stir it to life. He had the knack of knowing just how far to push a sub before he broke them. Always he pushed, always with cajolorie, or teasing, or just grim firmness. And always, the submissive under his hand took just that little bit more.

She knew he would push her buttons tonight, on a night she needed to fly away from her skin, to be free of her mundane worries. Tonight, she needed the pain, craved it more than the orgasms she knew he would also draw from her.

He slid a blindfold over her eyes. She might have protested, but the ball gag was inserted too quickly for her to form words. It was doubtful that she could have formed a coherent thought anyway.  Hot fingers ran up her arms, the touch lightly teasing. Fingers tightened around her elbows. slid down to her wrists, tugging her arms up suddenly. A silver line of drool leaked from her stretched lips, dripping on to her right breast. The bare nipple tightened, jutting out over the lace-edged top of her corset.

“Keep those hands up,” he growled, as he pinched the pink bud. Her moan was low and long when the clamp bit tightly. Her arms quivered, fighting the instinct to drop them and shield her tit. It was harder than one could imagine, to be restrained by his words, shackled by the need to be obedient, rather than rope or cuffs. His hand slapped on her breast, making her gasp and quiver. Fingers grabbed the other nipple roughly, clamping it tight before slapping each tit several more times. Each slap seemed loud, and made her jolt. The blindfold amplified the sensations; a warm wetness began to leak onto her thigh.

“I’ll bet you’re wet. I can smell your cunt. You like being used, don’t you, slut?”

She nodded. It was pointless to deny, he had only to touch her to feel the truth. A faint beep interrupted.

“Don’t. Move.” he said softly, the threat more than implied by the tone. He moved away; the loss of his warmth made her shiver. She couldn’t make out the details of the conversation, only the terse replies.


“The fuck.”

“Jesus. I’ll be right out.”
“Sorry sugar,” his voice was in her ear again. “I have to go out front for a bit. I don’t want to leave you here while I’m gone, not alone. But it’s far to early to end this little scene. If you agree, one of my guys will fill in. He’s good. He knows your sign. Two fingers up, right? Show him. Sir Dee, this is a very nasty little slut. She likes just about anything. Don’t you slut?”

She nodded, her  head bobbling. So into it, she didn’t care who hit her now. And if Duncan trusted the guy, that went a long way. He didn’t tolerate careless doms.

“zookkkyyy” she mumbled around the gag.

“Oh, it’s so much better than OK,” came a new, deeper voice.

“You’re good?” Duncan asked them. She nodded again, as Andrew all but rubbed his hands together in glee. Torn between the joy of what would happen next, and utter disbelief that it was happening at all, he was well beyond mere a mere “good”…he was rounding the base to a grand-slam, bases loaded, two outs, two strikes,  bottom of the ninth home run.

It just didn’t get better than that. Until it did.




(I promise there will be more chapters of that story, I promise. But just now…my head is full of Him. ~nilla~)


I’m in the corner.

It’s a comfortable corner, a niche really, I told you that before. I fit in it well. The tv is loud to my right, and he is moving around somewhere behind me. I hear noises and am torn between listening harder (not easy with the tv so loud) and not listening harder (because do I really want to know what he’s doing there?).

My friend sofia calls this “liminal time” –the time between. It’s a time of pause. I’m not worried, or scared, though I will admit that on my drive to meet him I kept thinking

“Why. why does a sane, kinda sane, woman go to meet with someone who is going to whack the tar outta her? Why?”

And then he walks in…. I see his face, kiss him, smell him, (oh, the smell of him…mmmmmmmmm….) and I remember the first part of the why. Because…he is who he is. My master, my Dom, the guy that I love. The one who makes me laugh with pure joy, then smacks me a good one that drives me to tears. He fills the empty places in me.

I feel him approach. His heat, then his scent, then his body leaning against me for a moment. There’s a wonderful dichotomy there in that one moment, where change is about to occur. I’m at once at peace, his body resting on mine, and just as suddenly cranked up to nervous level 10.

His hand grips my arm, whipping me around. My  nipple is squeezed between his fingers, and he makes this low ‘hmmming” sound low in his throat. My pussy clenches, and I sweat a little. A quick hard pinch and I feel the bite of the clamp. OUCH, I yelp.

“oh, shut up,” he growls.

I can’t help it. I giggle. Iths the tone of him, that “gruff old man” voice.  He’s not impatient with me (though it reads that way here); he just can’t be bothered listening to my little whines at this stage of the game. He does the other nipple, and that one hurts even more. I can’t explain that, either. Is it because I know what’s coming? Is it because suddenly the chain is now hanging down, a thick chain with some heft to it?  I don’t have time to think about all the whys, because he’s grabbed my tits, giving them a hard squeeze, then flips me back into the corner, clamped nipples smushed up against the wall.

The pain begins to flow through them, licks of hot fire. The hot fire begins to build in other places, too. It doesn’t take long before he notices.




The Giggles

He tickles and He slaps. He kisses softly, sweetly, while pinching hard enough to make me think He’s going to tear off a hunk of skin. He hurts me roughly, while ever-so-lightly trailing his tongue down my neck.

The juxtapositions are endless.

And yet there are always times of gut-busting laughter. Something…happens. A release inside me, of joy.

It doesn’t come right away. First there’s the hard shove into the corner of the room, a perfect niche for holding a slut, he says. A blindfold over the eyes, a thick band fastened around my waist. One wrist tugged into the cuff that is part of the band, then a brief tussle when I tried to avoid the second cuff.

No surprise there that I lost, and was firmly reprimanded, wordlessly, as he grabbed my nipple and twisted roughly.  It takes less than 10 seconds of that before I thrust my wrist at him, giving up the idea of trying to grab his little man nipple. (Can’t blame a slut for trying!) He holds my nipple a moment longer; if I could have fallen to the floor without ripping it off, I would have. Oh, the pain. And then I’m secured, twirled, and shoved unceremoniously back into the corner.

i forget,  I mutter.

“What?” He says.

i forget that no matter how much I love the highs, getting there…well…hurts.”

“Silly slut.” I can’t see him, but I imagine he’s shaking his head at my folly. He loves to hurt me, and I love to be hurt. I love the pain (eventually), and the high that comes zipping up behind it.

He hits my capacious ass. I have no idea with what, he’s not playing that game, just sizing me up. And okay, it’s been half a year since our last playtime. His shoulder hurts, and I’m *seriously* out of practice. He goes easy on me. Well, as easy as one would expect, I guess. I have two ginormous bruises on my ass, and a raft of them all over my front. But the ass bruises mean sitting is…uncomfortable. Still. And it’s been two days. He swats at me, taps my thighs, my lower back, my ass. There is no pattern, no reason, just because he can, you know?

And then he stops. He grabs my hair, my arm, turns me. I know I’m heading for the bed, and in seconds my legs bump the mattress.

“On your knees, nilla. No, no. ON THE BED, NILLA”

His command turns to laughter as I fall forward into a graceless face-flop on the bed.

“On your KNEES, slut.”

Yet try as I might, I can’t get my hands to push me up. Maybe because with my wrists attached at my waist, I look like this:


You know  T-Rex was an epic failure at push ups, right? Imagine a slut with short flappy arms like that. Oy yeah. That’s what I looked like, except with my boobs all shoved up in there someplace, too. And that’s when the hysteria set in. I knew I had to look ridiculous. My big, bare bottom, bruised and reddened flapping around in the air, flopping over on the bed. My face buried in a pillow, laughing like a hyena, until I was crying behind the blindfold, laughing so hard the bed was shaking.

And Himself behind me laughing in disbelief, yet catching the humor of it too.

I told you long ago, we match each other amazingly well in our sense of the ridiculous. This was ridiculous risen to EPIC proportions. Finally, he holds onto my flailing hips and says ‘stop’.

I stop, but still giggling helplessly. He, too, is still laughing.

“Jesus, nilla,” he says through laughs. “You can’t even fucking kneel on the fucking bed?”

He shoves me around until I’m laying on the end of the bed, ass hanging off, not kneeling (my knees didn’t reach down that far!), but toes digging into the carpet. The pillow is positioned under my chest to let me breath, and finally, finally, I’m in a position that makes him happy.

Not laugh-happy, just Dom happy.

What  happens from that point on is a bit of a blur, still. Being fucked, spanked, anal insertions, pussy slapping, squirting on my own legs, the bed, the floor, on him. Coming so many times my legs shook. But nothing surpasses the hilarity, the free-falling laughter, the truly klutzy wierdness that is me…and the giggles it gave us both.



Slut in a State of Float



His hands…my gods they are brutal. And wonderful. And tender. And quiet…and then in a flash, brutal again.

There are many little vignettes spinning through my mind, but right now, I’m just enjoying the aftermath of pain…the bruises, the aches, the sore ass and pussy, the deep satisfaction of connecting to Him once again.



Disbelief (2)

“Amanda?” Duncan sipped from the water bottle he held in his large hand. “Sure, she comes here. I can’t believe you’ve never run into each other before.”

“Timing is everything,” he muttered. Surely the fates must have a capricious sense of humor. She was a perfectionist at work, drove people to the edge, all gritted teeth and muttered curses,  yet their division was consistently at the top of the Mother Company listings. He could not fault her for her drive, though it was not like his own. He didn’t fault her the position, either. She’d become head of the division shortly before he came aboard. He could fault her for being a prim and proper snit to him all the time. He understood that she might have felt intimidated by his presence when she was just making her mark. But one would think that after two years she’d stop seeing him as a threat to her leadership and understand he was happy being right where he was. He’d seen what happened to men and women who constantly needed to be the first, the best, the strongest. His own parents had been vague shadows through his growing years, all focused on the drive to be the best. He had more important things to do with his life than to spend it all drudging behind a desk for eighteen hours or more a day. When at work, he worked hard.

But he played harder.

“I need an introduction…but she can’t see me.”

“She can’t see you. What, are you playing hide and seek now?”

“She’s…fuck. Coming this way. Later.”

He slipped back into the press of people, edging away from any possible encounter. It was far too soon to have Amanda know he was there, who he was, or what he did in his free time.


Duncan was still shaking his head when Amanda came upon him.  Some days this place was just fucking weird, and there were no two ways about it.

“Well, and doesn’t some slut look quite delectable this evening?” he murmured against her hair as they hugged briefly.

“Thank you Sir Duncan,” she smiled up at him. Small she may well have been, but what she lacked in height was amply made up for in tits, he thought. He’d had his hands on them enough to know.

“What are you up to tonight, little girl? Hmmm?” He looked her over slowly, his eyes keen. “Looking to meet a certain someone? Or just getting all the loose Dom’s in an uproar when they see what you’re offering here?”

His finger traced along her breast, a whisper of sensation. She never failed to be affected by these Doms, to her sorrow. She fell in with bad ones and good ones, and never could keep a one of them. It wasn’t a “oh, poor submissive slut” but more that she had high standards. She wanted a dominant who cared, who had more to offer than a firm cock and a heavy hand. Both were fine attributes, but what the fuck? Why shouldn’t she want the whole package?

Realizing that she’d slipped into her head again, she looked up.

“I keep forgetting how damned tall you are, Sir Duncan! You’re breaking my neck here!”

In seconds his hands had closed around her elbows and her feet were dangling off of the floor. Shocked giggles escaped as he gave her a funny, googly eyed face as they stared, eye to eye, with one another.

“How’s that?” he inquired.

The peal of unabashed laughter turned heads, inciting smiles around them.

“Silly Man, put me down!” she laughed.

In a quick move, he’d spun her upside down so that her face was pressed against his crotch.

“You’re right, slut. I like this position much better.”

Laughter muffled against denim, he could still feel the heat of her blush. He moved her up and down a bit, doing slut-curls. Her face massaged his growing dick.

“mmmmmm, that’s niiiiice..” he said, stretching his leg wider, then hooking it around her head.

Whatever her response was, it was completely muffled by the tight wedging of her face and his groin.  Holding her there for a few moments more, he had to admit that he was pretty excited himself when he flipped her back over and onto her feet.

“I think we should head out into the playroom for a bit, hmm?” he said, catching her chin in his fingers, and slipping his thumb between her lips. Her eyes were dazed, and her left tit had popped out of the top of the corset. Taking her by the bobbling nipple, he led the way into the other room.





I will not forget my task.




On a somewhat tangent note (sue me if that’s the wrong expression!) He and I are having playtime. SOOOOOON! And He’s being a jerky bastard about it, as usual. It annoys me and I know he does it just to fuck with me, and he says he will be there…if he doesn’t get kidnapped by aliens…



Anyway, when I told him tonight that I would NOT forget my task, he told me that the aliens would be watching.

Which made me laugh, of course.

And then started this story in my head…which, if you know me at all, means that it will show up here at some point. As I said before.


Gotta love ’em. But I’m still gonna punch him when I see him.    Or try. 😀

(or die trying? hahaha)

(you KNOW He just won’t stand there and let me punch him. Something evil and twisted will happen, I’m sure.)

(It may be that I’m kinda counting on that…)