When this story popped up in my newfeed you know I had to learn all that I could about Inky the Octopus and his Great Escape. Is it any wonder that a story went from seedling to full bloom as I read about him? Ya’ll know me and know my interest in all things eight-legged …. and if you want to know more background, feel free to open a new window and google about Inky. He lived in an aquarium in New Zealand, but now he’s free to wander the worlds oceans….

They always watched. Bipeds, fingers tapping on the glass, seeking his attention. Young ones, old ones, ones in what he figured was their prime. The males would often be crude, as bipeds were wont to be, pressing their reproductive glands against the window, rubbing along the outside of the hard walls that penned him in.

He ignored them.

The females were another thing entirely. He could smell them sometimes, over the obnoxiously floral smells that they coated their natural scent with. Some didn’t hide their colors, his personal favorites. He could nearly taste them, the sweetness of the females. He missed having one to play with, to entwine and mate with. Another of his kind shared the cage, but he was old, and not succulent and undesirable as a mating partner. The bipeds who came into the cell to clean were usually male, but the females? Those he would swim up to investigate. They’d smile and laugh around their strange, air-filled pods. He learned to not to tug on the tubing, a mistake he’d made only once. He’d lofted her to the surface; her skin was not accessible for merging, encased as it was in some disgusting black film. It seemed she understood, patting his arm as he’d hauled her to the ladder. Upset, she’d forgotten to close the hatch on the cell. That was the night he had made his first escape. The landing upon the hard surface of the floor had stunned him– he hadn’t realized that air had no buoyancy — but when he’d roused, pleased to find himself intact, he had begun to explore his surroundings. He smelled the sea! It was present in the air around him, but there was a strong scent-cone of it nearby. Creeping across the cold hard floor was so vastly different from scooting along the ocean floor, even from that within his prison cell. It was smoother than sand, but without the weightlessness that water gave him his progress was slow. Halfway to the scent, tantalizingly close, he felt the air around him swirl. The scent was tossed about, confusing him. Noises, shockingly loud, things grabbing him. Befuddled, he blinked. When he was plopped into the cell, he saw the bipeds standing on the platform, armatures waving towards one another, communicating, he supposed. There was no grace, and he didn’t speak their language, but he understood that they were talking about him.  He dove to the bottom of the tank, slipped into the small cave that was his. He had much to think about.


It was months before he figured out that he could reach the handle of the upper door, could wrap his tentacle around the cold slick metal of the rail and slide to the floor. He crept across the floor, using his arms in ways he’d never tried before. He could hear noises that began to be identifiers of his captors approaching. Though he got back to his cage before they discovered him missing, there were several more times when he was, indeed, caught. Understanding that he needed to learn more about the world outside his cell, he began swimming closer to the glass, angling his eyes so that he could observe the bipeds in their movements, and learn.

3. Kate lifted the hatchway that covered the walkway inside the largest of the aquarium tanks. Here were the larger sea creatures, most notably, Inky, their large purple octopus. There was also Gerald, who they had originally thought was a Geraldine, meant to be a companion for Inky. But the two had little to do with one another, and it was Kate who discovered that both of the eight legged wonders were male. A hammerhead shark swam just at the edge of the walkway, waiting, she knew, for the bucket of chum she would be dumping in for their dinner. A large variety of foods were lofted into the tank, reaching the various denizens of the deep. She reached up to the wall for the second bucket. Upon turning back to the tank, she noted one long purple tentacle sliding towards her ankle.

“Cut that out Inky,” she said with a smile in her voice. Tossing the contents into the tank, she lifted the tentacle, pushing it back into the water. Another tentacle slipped around her ankle.

“I don’t have time to swim with you now, Inky,” she admonished, pulling her leg away. It was funny how he’d suddenly taken to ‘visiting’ when it was her turn to feed the tank. His large head turned, just below the water, the large, deep blue eye staring at her. She blew him a kiss, and climbed back up the ladder and out of the tank.

“Go, eat,” she said, waving her hands in a shooing gesture. With a last look, she shut the lid, lest the slippery creature attempt yet another escape.


The female biped interested him. She made him feel things that he’d never experienced before–the desire to mate, the seeking of attention. The skin that covered her was black and slippery and tasteless. There was no aroma of her other than when her hand had taken his for that moment. His penis had begun to slip out of its sheath, but she’d released him and left. The erection slid away, his cock became small, even as his frustration grew. He wanted out of this cell! He knew now, that in the dark-time NO bipeds were about. The dark was no more deep than in the ocean. There were points of light scattered here and there even when the rooms were empty, though he could not ascertain their purpose. He positioned himself where he could watch the lights dim, watch the bipeds moving about, until the last of them had gone. Quick as a flash he squirted up to the surface, pulling himself to the platform. In seconds he’d squeezed through the tiny opening, sliding down the silver railing to the floor. The sea called to him, a call he would not ignore any more. Slipping and flopping across the inclined floor, he reached the drainpipe, and began the arduous process of slipping the length of himself through the narrow diameter. Before the sun rose and heated the duct, he reached the end, tentacles grasping the very edge of the piping, before taking the leap of faith and letting go.

He fell into the welcoming arms of the ocean like the most practiced Olympic divers, leaving behind the smallest of splashes.


They stood staring at the wet marks around the pipe.

“That is most definitely tentacle slime inside,” said Michael. “He  went down the fucking pipe.”

“So…he’s…gone?” asked one of the other staffers, echoing everyone’s thoughts, as there were nods and frowns around the circle.

“Gone right back into the bloody bay,” he replied, staring at the pipe. “One hundred sixty four fucking meters he went, the crazy bastard. Then sploosh, right into the fucking sea.”

The group turned as one, staring over the railing where the curve of green land hugged the deep blue of Hawke’s Bay. The sky gleamed pure blue and bright, the white curling waves stretched along the meeting of sea and land to splash over onto the sand and rocks that lined the shore.

“Gone,” Kate said under her breath. Part of her was sad, sad for the people who would not be able to ever see his glorious purple skin, the nearly teal blue of his suction cups. He was a beautiful octopus, and had been so interactive with the patrons of late, not to mention her own interactions with him. She’d miss him curling his tentacles around her ankles at feeding time. But she was also glad that he would be back in his own place, free to explore and live in the ocean that was his home. If only he doesn’t get eaten before he finds a nice cave to live in, she mused. Sighing, the group began to drift apart, ready to begin prepping the exhibits for the day.

6. Being out in the bay was the best, Inky thought. The freedom of movement, the taste of the cold and briny ocean, the sweet and succulent fish he could capture and eat…all spelled joy to him. He missed the female biped, but that was the only part of his former captivity that he did.

7. Being out on the bay was the best, Kate thought. The last month had been hard at work, between the escape of the wily Inky, a group of Korean tourists who wanted to swim with the sharks, and the busload of first graders who needed to be reminded continuously to not put their hands into the tanks, stop licking the tanks, no banging on the tanks to scare the fishies…she was more than a little ready to have some sun and water and fun. Sitting on her surfboard, she idly kicked her feet, reveling in the silky feel of the salt water, the sun beaming on her head and shoulders. The boys had gone ahead, catching that big wave, riding it all the way into the shallows. She’d misstimed the rise, flattened on the backside of the curl, and missed it. Still, it gave her this quiet time, alone with the sun and the~~

Her board flipped. In the water unexpectedly, she was confused about up and down. A small wave broke over her as she attempted to suck in air, adding to her befuddlement. She felt the painfully hard bump against her thigh, screamed, came up with a mouthful of salty water. Kicking to the surface, she spat out the brine, coughing violently. She looked for her surf board, seeking its relative safety. Spying it nearly 9 meters away, she began to swim towards it. It was only by sheer luck that she caught the flash of a fin before she reached it, not even daring to tread water as the enormous shark ravaged her favorite board. Too much motion would call the shark in her direction. Trying to remember everything she’d learned at the Aquarium, she kept still as possible, and began to slip out of her bikini. Sharks have a good eye for seeing contrast, and her brilliant red bikini stood in sharp contrast to her pale skin. She’d rather wind up on the beach naked than clothed in her suit inside a sharks belly. Putting her face in the water, she watched the giant form turn, then charge again for her board. Giving thanks to all the powers that be that she hadn’t made it there, she watched the giant beast attack the remaining pieces of her shattered board. Gods, if she’d been laying on it she would have become shark fodder for certain. Hopefully the creature would realize there was no food here, and swim away. They had short attention spans for non-food. She watched the finned beast swim away, its muscles  rippling with power. Having seen this feint-and-parry attack before, she remained motionless. Again the shark turned, but rather than attacking, it nosed the largest piece of board, before swimming towards Kate. She barely moved, holding her breath, fingers, toes, all muscles frozen. The shark swam past her, it’s sandpaper like skin just touching her heel. It flipped, swam past her again, then dove, swimming fast away into the depths.

“Shit. Sweet fucking Geezuz. Holy fuck on a stick. Fuckity Fuck Fuck,” she whimpered, shivering. The water, the shock, all had her a quivery mess.

“Enough,” she said it out loud for emphasis. “Enough. You’re in a fine fix, here girl. Let’s start moving toward shore and keep an eye out for the fucking fish.”

Suiting action to words, she began to slowly stroke towards the distant shoreline.

8. He had no knowledge of the bipeds “day” and “night” sequences. Flitting about freely on the ocean floor, he reacquainted himself with the various life-forms that called these waters home. There were several encounters with sharks, and the notable showdown with an eel when he’d tried to get into that one’s cave. Wisely, he’d left the eel behind, and looked for shelter elsewhere. Occasionally he would skim the surface of the water, curious to see if the bipeds were out and about. The occasional rumble of large ships would quiver through the water, sending  fish and other creatures out of its noisy path.

This day, he noted, was moving towards the darkening time that had presaged his escape several months ago. Swimming just below the surface, he could see the wavy hues of sunset. Preparing to dive, he caught the wisp of taste-scent that was familiar. It stirred memories in him, of laughter and food and a want*need that had gone unanswered for far too long.

He followed the trail of back to its source, found her floating there. His tentacles wrapped around her, lifting her as he recalled the bipeds couldn’t be under the water like he could. There was a shudder, a shake, a noise.

9. She coughed, heaving water from her throat. She’d given up. All the swimming in the world couldn’t lesson the relentless tug of the flow of the ocean around and out of the bay. If her surfboard survived to make it to the shore, her friends would assume she’d been consumed. Then something wrapped around her, lifting her head, supporting her. Too tired to fight. Too tired to wonder. She coughed, her lungs burning as she drew in breath. What? Wha..she spied the purple tentacle around her wrist. But the sky burned with purple and pink. There was no way..a large and bulbous head with a sky-blue eye moved in front of her.

“Inky? INKY?!” she croaked, coughing up more water. The tip of one tentacle rose from the water, touching her face. It was cold and rubbery and weird but she felt such love and relief from the beast.  She felt herself moving through the water, tentacles wrapped around her. He was towing her to shore…as unbelievable and improbable as it seemed.

10. He could feel her heart rate begin to slow to what was normal for a biped. He felt other things too, including the stirrings of his own organs. This biped female attracted him. He felt his penis begin to lengthen and emerge. His tentacles began to dance around her body, touching the round orbs with their strangely pointed tips, encircled them and made them snug. His penis began to probe along her body. Never before had he seen her shell-less. He found the scent of her intoxicating.

11. Something pressed between her legs, moved along her slit. She knew octopi were curious, using their tentacles to discover their surroundings. She didn’t panic when it probed along her thigh, nor even along the slit of her pussy. She did attempt to push it away when it slid further, and found the opening.

“No, Inky,” she said aloud, pushing the tentacle away. It persisted, and she fluttered her legs in the water. This did not discourage it in the least. Despite pushing and wiggling, the questing tip pressed harder against her opening. She could feel it begin to enter her. This wasn’t happening…attacked by a Great White Shark and fucked by an octopus in the same day? She tried to kick away, tried to swim, but he held her, the tentacles around her breasts tightening in a way that was both frightening and erotic. Her nipples felt on the verge of exploding, as her pussy began to moisten as it was filled. She’d never felt so filled…her boyfriend had a small penis; this thing was pushing deeper than she’d ever felt before, and stretching her wide. Some tentacle tip rubbed against her clitoris and she arched, shocked to be orgasming this way. She felt liquid, warm and thick, jelling inside of her. Her belly felt full, like she had to pee a lot in some ways. The pressure made her come again, her body arching in the water. A tentacle caught up her hair, holding her in this back-bowed position as the tentacle in her cunt moved and wiggled. So full! So close to painful and yet not. When another tentacle pressed curiously against her anus, she shook her head faintly, moaning. She couldn’t stop it, any more than she could stop the slow but steady forward motion in the water. It was fully dark now, the stars brilliant in the velvet-black sky. Her anus protested the intrusion, her pussy convulsed. It seemed to happen faster, harder, these orgasms. Her body trembled, then shook violently as she came. The thrusting into her stretched holes became rougher, more excited as her body reacted. She screamed as the next orgasm wracked her, her body locking into the rigor of the explosion, before softening and relaxing. She was continually pummelled as she floated on the edge of consciousness, only aware of the unceasing pleasure/pain, the flow of her own juices, and the incredible amount of stretching her pussy and ass were achieving. She felt herself on the verge of something big, something huge, her every molecule holding its breath. Then her body exploded and she fell into the stars.

12. The sun broke the edge of the night along the long line of shore. Hot rays kissed the ocean, danced on the waves before crawling up the shore. She felt heat on her foot, climbing up her legs. Blinking salt-crusted eyes open, she half-rose. On the beach. Crash of surf. Sunrise. Sand in unpleasant places. Need to pee. Taking stock of herself, and her place, that last awareness came quickly. More slowly that she would have liked, she rolled to her knees, pressed herself upward. Dizzy, very dizzy. Needed water, needed to pee. She moved up the beach, towards the treeline. No pee on the beach, her mind reminded her. Uncaring that she was naked as a jaybird, coated in sand, she saw the first human habitation ahead. The aquarium. Of course. She had no key, but the watchman would be on shift. Stumbling across the rocks, to the road, she crossed, her body waking to the aches and pains. Though it felt like she was pounding on the door, she made nary a sound. Buzzer. There was a buzzer. She might pee on the spot if…through the shaded glass she saw movement.

“Ye…Oh Gods! You’re alive!”


“Let me help you…”

She felt herself falling, then strong arms lifted her, carrying her inside.

“I need to pee. And to drink.”

She was carried to the bathroom, and when she left the stall, a men’s shirt lay thoughtfully across one of the sinks. She splashed water on her face, rinsing off sand and salt. Up in the staff area were showers, her next destination. She would shower, hydrate, rest.  And maybe in a week, maybe two, she’d head out to the bay on her surf board.

13. He found a lair, not too deep, not to far. And waited.


Teacher Meeting

She hurried down the corridor, the scent of “school” jogging her memory of passing through these same hallways as a younger version of herself. Now instead of an armload of books, she toted a briefcase. Instead of fashionably torn jeans and heels, she wore a nicely tailored suit and sensible heels. Instead of running late to class, she was running late to a meeting with her son’s math teacher. How she hated school, still. As she approached room 235, down at the far end of the corridor, the classroom door opened and a couple came out. The woman was biting her lip, and the man wore a fierce scowl. As they passed her, she heard him mutter, his tone aggrieved,  “I told her to spend more time on her algebra than at the mall buying bras.”  The woman embarrassed “hushshshshs” made her grin. Stepping up to the door, the grin faded, replaced by a straightening of her shoulders as if girding herself for war. In a way, perhaps she was. Taking a calming breath, she stepped inside.

The room was full of student life, papers on the walls, notes on the chalk board, and the impressively huge teacher desk at the front of the class. The man seated behind it was busy writing in a large notebook, ignoring her. She stepped deeper into the room, clearing her throat. Still he didn’t look up.

“Erm…excuse me, Mr. -”

His head lifted and he barked out a terse “you’re Gregory’s mother,” interrupting her. She swallowed. Why did teachers still make her feel like she was in 8th grade, fighting zits and boredom with equal fervor? His quelling stare made her realize that he was still waiting for her reply.

“I…yes. I’m  Anna Williams, Gregory’s mom.”

“He’s struggling with algebra this semester.”

“It’s not his forte, no. He’s try–”

“No, he is failing to pay attention in class. His brain seems to be located in his penis, his attention has been focused on another student in my class, one with an impressive set of pectoral growth.”


“Tits. He is fascinated by them. Not that they aren’t impressive, to be sure, but in my class, his attention should be on X’s and Y’s and not C cups.”

She blinked. Had she ever had a teacher be so incredibly blunt before?

“Come, sit.”

He pointed to the chair directly at the side of the desk. It was a power position, she noted, one that she’d often employed at her job. It made her spine straighten, her lips thin as she took note of his game. Moving to the front of the desk, standing tall, she defied his nod towards the chair. A very faint smile crossed his lips. If she hadn’t been glaring at him, she might have missed it. His gaze traveled from her face, dropping slowly down the full length of her, pausing on her own impressive rack. The smile widened, just a fraction, then slipped away. His finger tapped the planbook in front of him.

“Your son has scored moderately well on tests, usually missing a decent grade by a simple misstep.”

It took her a moment to focus on the words. The very obnoxious oogling had unsettled–and to her discomfiture, aroused–her. She blinked twice, her brain catching up to the words.

“So…in other words, he’s not doing poorly, but not up to your exacting standards?”

“In other words, he could be doing much better if he focused on more on algebra  and less on cleavage.  There are other things that could bring his grade up.”

“You’d allow him to do some extra credit to bring up his grade? OH, gosh, that would be wonderf-”

He interrupted.

“I didn’t say that.  Come here, Mrs. Williams.”

He pointed to the floor beside him. She frowned, annoyed that he kept interrupting her.  Fuck him! She marched around his desk, glared down at him. His hand slipped  around her waist, as he leaned forward. His head was between her tits before she could say a word.

Leaning back, he looked at her, not at all put off by her looming over him.

“Nice tits.”

Her mouth opened, closed. His hand was still around her waist.

“On your knees, now. I think you know exactly what needs to happen here to raise that grade.”

His cock was hard, she could see the outline of it against his pants. It was also enormous. The hand around her waist moved off. Cupping his hands behind his head, he leaned back, smiling a wolfish smile. Oh, there was a challenge there. She glanced back at the classroom door. It was half-open, and she could hear the janitor’s cart moving from class to class.  She gritted her teeth.

“Bastard,” she hissed, before dropping her briefcase on the chair, shrugging out of her jacket.

“Lose the shirt, the bra.”

It felt like she was stripping off her armor, kneeling there topless, defenseless without her “Bitch Boss” suit on.

She knelt between strong thighs. Looking up, she noted the half-smile again.

“Aren’t you going to…you know. Take it out?”

“It? By “it” I take it that you mean my cock?”

She nodded, blushing.

“Say it. Say it properly. It’s not an “it”. It’s a cock. It’s my cock.”

“Aren’t you going to…take your…cock…out?”

The smile turned raw again, making her shiver.

“Oh no,” he replied, his voice a hot whisper in the quiet room, “that’s part of making the grade, little girl.”


Her hand trembled as she lifted it to tug at his zipper. Her eyes flashed up to meet his quickly, then back down.

“It’s…a little…snug…” She spoke softly.

“I have every faith you’ll figure it out.”

She did. Reaching into his slacks, taking out the huge length of him, in awe and not just a little nervous about this.

“Open the top button. Take out my balls too. Start by licking them. Slowly.”

She wouldn’t look at him now, only focus on the task at hand. If she finished quickly then her son would pass algebra. Her fingers cupped his balls, gently; her head bent to lap softly at the flesh. He smelled, a mix of sweat and urine and that man-scent. Her pussy, she could feel, was intrigued. Dear gods, this was just …wrong. She should tell him to fuck off, go back home. Instead, her lips encircled the head of his shaft.

She’d always liked to suck cock, she reminded herself. This one was a beast, and she hoped she could take it all the way. She wished–somewhere in the darkest naughty place in her mind–that he’d knock all the shit off his desk and fuck her brainless.

Her lips stretched around him. Relaxing her throat, cupping the underside of his penis with her tongue, she pressed her head down a few inches.

“This isn’t working.”

Her mouth popped off his cock and she stared up at him.

“Get the rest of those clothes off.”

He watched, impassive as she glared at him, all the while shedding her skirt, her pantyhose, her shoes. Pausing at her panties, his brow raised. Very clearly he was saying “all”.

Fine,” she huffed out a breath, slipping the granny panties she wore to work down and off. She could play the nervous woman, but instead, she thrust out her tits, her hip jutted forward. She had a fine body, despite the years it wore, the babies she’d popped out of it. She’d earned every damn line, stretch-mark and soft curve. Fuck him.

“Nice,” he replied, running his hand along the side of her breast, down her belly.

“On the desk. Head hanging over.”

He helped her up, tugging away her hairpins, leaving her long hair hanging down the side of the desk.

“Knees up, spread a little. I want to look at your cunt when I fuck your mouth.”

“When you…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, her mouth filled suddenly with the fullness of his cock. His hips pressed forward, she gagged, feeling the head slip into her throat. He pressed his thumb against the lump showing clearly against the taut skin of her throat.

“My cock. Mmmm. Love the way that looks in you.”

She couldn’t cough, couldn’t gag, couldn’t do anything. Eyes watering, she tried to shake her head, but he held her firmly. As he pulled out, she gasped, coughed.

“Very good. Let’s try that again, but longer this time, eh?”

Longer? Dear gods….

Again her throat distended, engorged by the thick shaft of him. His balls pressed against her nose, filling her with the dark, sexual scent of him. She needed air, needed a breath, needed to not feel him half-way to her stomach. Fingers pinched her nipples, lifting her full breasts. There was no air for the scream that stuck in her belly. OH! It hurt! Her tits were big, yet he lifted them high.

He pulled away, and she coughed, gagged, groaned. His fingers still held her nipples, rolling them now in his tight grip. Dropping of them should have been a relief, but he slipped back into her mouth, and began to slap the round orbs, his touch leaving heat, and handprints, behind. She said something, but his cock shoved the words back into her lungs. He held there, plugging her, his hands battering her tits.

She arched, her back rising from the desk as she came.

“You naughty girl. Coming all over my important papers.”

He pulled out of her throat, leaving her face streaked with tears, drool, precum. He was iron-hard. Moving around the desk, he tugged her until her ass hung off the edge. Her legs came up as he lifted them over his shoulders.

Oh thank gawd,  she thought. She needed to be fucked so badly. Her pussy throbbed with the intense need. Her tits throbbed from the beating, her clit announced her readiness, rising hard, thrusting invitingly toward him.

He slicked the head of his cock along her pussy.

“Not ready yet, I see,” he murmured. Before she could react to that, he slapped at her cunt. Her clit shrieked, her pussy quivered. He struck hard, the simple brutality as arousing as the silence. When she tried to close her legs, tried to drop an ankle to shield herself, he leaned forward, keeping her open and accessible, and pinched her nipple hard enough to make her scream a little.

Damn and she prided herself on her stoicism.

fuuuuuck! Ow ow ow!” she cried as the biting grip did not relax.

“Legs. Stay. Open.”

“Yes. Yes. I will. . . please…ow…”

He dropped the nipple, slapping at her tit-meat a few times, before returning to her cunt. She swore she could feel the lips of her cunt swelling. Her flesh turned pink, then red. A thick bruise formed where his ring met her flesh. Head tossing side to side, she bit her lip to keep from keening aloud. Forever passed before he stopped. His cock once again trailed down her slit.

“Much better. You’re as wet as Niagara Falls, you slut! I think you like being treated hard.”

Her head rolled from side to side.

“Please,” she muttered.

He paused in the stroking of her slit with his shaft.

“Please? Please what slut? Please, explain.”

“Please … fuck me.”

“Are you looking for a better grade for your boy?”

“N…no…I…need you to fuck me.”

“You want it hard, don’t you? You like it rough. You want my cock to rape your soaking cunt, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes, rape my aching, wet cunt. Please, please!”

“So wet. So fucking soaked.”

His cock never stopped, slowly fucking the length of her slit. Her sensitive swollen lips gripped at the massive shaft, her pussy lubricating him. The press against her anus surprised her.

“But not your pussy, I think. I’ll take a better, tighter prize today. But cheer up, Mrs. Williams. Your son will get an A.”

He shoved hard enough to move her back across the desk, her skin screaming where it had stuck from sweat and gripped. Her anus stretched, her mouth opened wide, but no words came out. Her breath was trapped somewhere deep in her belly as his cock pierced her tiny puckered asshole.

He fucked relentlessly. He fucked forever. Tears leaked down her eyes, tangled in the long streamers of her hair.

“Oh dear. I can’t cum in your ass…it might ruin your expensive suit, Mrs. Williams.”

His cock pulled out of her rectum with a pop. Fingers stretched the hole, then the sound of a cell phone clicking a picture.

“My insta-followers will love this gaping asshole shot,” he said. His grin was wide, his cock pulsing, a drop of precum oozing.

She had no words for this final humiliation.


“Okay. I’ll come in your mouth. Good girl asking so nicely.”

“no…no…I didn’t…you just…”

“I had no idea you were such a dirty slut, Mrs. Williams, but we do what we must for our children, don’t we?”

He tugged her back across the desk, held her head firmly. His cock smelled of shit. Her shit. She closed her mouth, but he pinched her nose until she gasped for breath. The whole length of him  slid inside her mouth, across her tongue, into her throat. He stroked once, twice, before stiffening and grinding against her face. She felt the pulsing, the hot wetness at the back of her throat. He didn’t ejaculate in her mouth, allowing her to dilute the taste of her poop.

He pulled free, wiping the excess from the tip using a hank of her hair.

“Time to get dressed now, and scoot on home.”

His tone was neutral; she was nonplussed. Numbly she dressed, slipped into her shoes. There was nothing to be done for her hair, so she finger combed it. When she would have smoothed out the blob of semen, he stopped her.

“Leave that. Consider it…your grade.” He smiled, back in his chair, fingers templed together as he watched her dress.  “Have a lovely evening, my dear.”

She looked over her shoulder at him.

“You’re a real bastard, you know.”

He smiled.

“So I’ve heard before.”

Taking up her briefcase, she thought about stomping out of the room. Her anus throbbed, and her pussy ached with unanswered need. She’d deal with that later, but she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of moaning when she moved. Head high, back straight, she made sure her hips had an extra swing as she left the room without a backward glance. Quietly, carefully, she closed the door until it clicked behind her.


He packed up his stuff, ready to leave. She’d been a hot piece of ass–in every sense of the word. He stepped out into the hallway, locking his door and pocketing his keys.

“Night, Harry,” he greeted the janitor.

“Night Mr. Williams.”



How was yesterday Thursday??? See? I’m so fucking out straight that my days are all blurring together into one long stretch that I’m just calling “Daaaaaay”.

Think M will buy that?

Yeah, me neither.

Okay, belated HNT then. Coming right up. (Gee I wish I hadn’t just written cumming because I haven’t in forever. Okay, since Tuesday, but that’s forever–right?)



Wow, What a Time!

I know.

You thought I meant time with M, didn’t you? That was mean of me, I know. I haven’t seen him in forever. And I really, really miss that, you know? It looks like we’ll get some time in June, playtime, and maybe, if I cross my fingers and twirl around three times and whisper a prayer on a Unicorns horn, I might get to see him before I go visit a fellow blogging friend for a few days.

That’s a big maybe.

I took on another task (foolish, foolish me) and that has pretty much gobbled up my free time. Well that, and gardens. Suddenly EVERYTHING here has popped and I’m spending as much time as possible outside, even knowing that all you pervie peeps are sitting at home with your fingers at the ready, waiting to jack off to one of my sexy little tales.

And I’m empty.

I feel bad for abandoning you all just now. I hate disappointing people. I have so much going on (don’t we all) that I don’t even have time for fantasies while I’m sleeping-I fall into my bed and BOOM, I’m out (and you all know what a challenge I have with insomnia, so that’s pretty much a miracle that I’m not complaining about!)

After my visit, after I get caught up on things post-visit…life will settle into summer quiet. A lot of things that I’m obligated to will end for the season, and things kick back a notch or two or three. I feel a bit guilty about longing for that…but nonetheless–I AM longing for it!

Have a great week, peeps, and once I’m safely in the south, I’ll have some time to write for all you all. 😀


Good Thing ima Good Girl

Oh, last night was torture. No if’s, ands, or buts about it. I was already primed. So horny. Twitchy. Aching.

And then the two “primer” half-o’s.

I even puttered around my bedroom throwing occasional glances at the bed, then shying away from it, nervous. I knew it would be hard. Knew it would be torture. Knew he’d be home and chortling to himself about this terribly difficult task he had set me to.

So. Fucking. Needy.

But I finally set up my slut-spot, got the lube and the vibes and slid, more than a wee bit reluctantly, into bed. I had a feeling that I’d rev up quickly, and I was right! It didn’t take more than a little playing before I began to be hot, before my toes squiggled, before my body was ripe and responsive to what was happening. My nipples puckered, and I was moaning softly. He likes it when I go as close to the edge as I can, then stop. It makes it all the harder to stop, all the harder to bear.

But I did it.

Good girl.

I wait until I cool a bit before I start again. The second trial is so much worse than the first! It takes nearly no time to go from zero to OMG. I could feel my pussy clenching, straining for the final fulfillment.

And I stopped.

Quivering, quaking, head-tossing, I was kicking my feet and gritting my teeth and whining.

Yes, there was whining. Sorry if that spoils your picture of me as a perfect slut.

But wait…there’s more…

I thought about defying Him.

Does that shock you? It sure shocked me. But how badly did I want to throw caution to the wind, forget he’s my Dom and Master and say ‘fuck it’ and finish pounding my pussy until I squirted all over the room? Yes, *that* badly.

And yet.

Years of obedience. Of following his commands, despite the distance. And wanting to please him even though I also really REALLY wanted to please my aching cunt. This, dear pervie readers, was one of the hardest things, to give up my pleasure for His, when I was SO so so so sos so so soooo needing to come. When my entire being was shouting for release. And yet, I did it. No lie, it was SO HARD to stop. To slip out of bed and put the toys away with a wet and throbbing pussy.

But do it I did.

Good thing too, because when I told him of  my near defiance, he reminded me very firmly of his hand over me…no matter how far away. And that He would be right there ready to punish me if I did carry out my wanton desires over his.

With an enema bag.




So. Fucking. Horny.

I almost can’t stand it.


It’s…driving me fucking MENTAL.

Two half-o’s and the closest I’ve *ever* come to coming. Ever. Teetering right on the brink before shutting it down, and stopping cold.

I was gritting my teeth and whining and saying a lot (A LOT!) of bad words under my breath. Gods, but I love that M. And Gods do I HATE Him, too.

It will be a long, long time before I miss a Like Day O. Maybe never, ever again.

In the meantime, I will do all in my power to distract myself. It’s almost Tuesday…right?

Admonished (again!)

If you’ve been reading here any amount of time you’ve likely heard me talk about “Like Day.” The evolution of the day isn’t so important just now, just the information that this is the one day that I get an Orgasm. Yup, just one lonely orgasm a week.

This past week, He didn’t have me do anything torturous the night before as he has had me do in the past. I was coming off of my cold/illness, and he was, well, feeling benevolent. Because I was out of commission most of the prior week, and playing catch-up from the weekend onward. I never got to bed Tuesday evening until 11:45 p.m. which, even for me, is ungodly late.

I should back up a bit, tell you about the Like Day rules.

  • There is only one orgasm allowed no matter how weak it is.
  • There is only Tuesday night to have the O…there is no “oh it’s midnight I’m good” on Monday, nor is there “oh, it’s midnight, I’m good on Tuesday.
  • There is only that window of time from when I go to bed Tuesday UNTIL midnight Tuesday to have my orgasm.

Knowing these long-time rules, I stared at my clock. Oh. Fuck.

fuckity fuckity fuck

How the hell am I going to get settled in bed with my toys AND get off with (now) 13 minutes left until midnight?? I wasn’t desperate for the O, since there’d been no teasing of the pussy the night before, no edging, no pain, nada. I knew I’d only get so close, and have to stop. The odds of coming before the clock struck 12? Insurmountable. Added to that, the cough medicine I take at night makes it even harder to come. Dammit! It’s a conundrum. I decide to not go for it, to text M, and lay it out for him.

That is exactly what I did, yet in the morning, judging by his response? None of this mattered.

Not to Himself. Nu-uh.

My text was very logical.  Gave him all the reasons why there was no way I could take my orgasm. It was the first thing he read in the morning, and I should have known that something would come of it. Can we just agree that sometimes I’m oblivious?

I was completely gobsmacked when I got his text while at work later that afternoon.

It said that missing my Like Day O would earn me the punishment of two half-O’s to be completed Thursday evening.

I gasped, and muttered “what????” as I reeled in my head over this. We’d been texting all day and there was not a hint of punishment. Not a whiff.

“When did THIS become a rule?” I said in my reply text.

“Just now.” He shot back.

Yet “what” that was the first thing I screeched  said when he answered the phone as I drove home later that evening.

“WHAT??” I’m not a soprano, but I’m sure my tone was far from submissive, and definitely in the upper ranges of sound.

The deep, silky smooth tone of his reply should have warned me. He’d been thinking Dom thoughts all day since he’d read my midnight text. This, oh this is a dangerous thing. And hot. Did I mention how fucking hot he is when he is in full Dom mode? It always catches me up, a surprise, not unwelcome, but still a shock when it happens.  So much of the time we’re just two friends talking on the phone. But then there are those times…and Wednesday was one of them…when he is…full-on Master, and I feel exactly as if I were standing in the room, in the corner, with Him behind me.

“Your Like Day orgasm is a gift, nilla. A gift from me, to you.”

There is a pause. I know not to speak, and he is holding me in suspense. After each sentence, there is a meaningful pause.

“When you ignore my gift, that’s a problem.”

“Problems need correction. you need correction.”

He stops. There are no more words. I’m reeling in shock. I never considered, from his point of view, how it would look for me to squander his gift, throw it back in his face, essentially, though he didn’t put it that way directly.

There is like…45 seconds of silence from my end.

“Nilla…? Hellowww? M to nilla……”

My mouth opens and closes and yet no words come out. Finally I stutter out…

“i..I….uhm……….yes…yes Sir.”

“Good,” He says. I hear the satisfaction in that word. He knows he’s got me right where I’m supposed to be, the place  I forget to be sometimes, when the vanilla life is full upon me.

I’m not the business woman then.

I’m not the mom then.

I’m his slut, his.

I remember, in a flash of intense memory in this split second, his hand grabbing my cunt, squeezing it hard, making me whine and whimper as I lay half-under him. He is looking down at me, his tawny eyes so fierce. He growls at me, his voice low and intense and hungry.

“This. Is. MY. pussy. M I N E.”

His words, his ferocity, made me shudder with joy and love and pain and the intense thrill of being wanted that much. Such an amazing memory, recalled with his one word response to my remorse.


His sexy, whiskey-warm voice, that one word, that “good” flashed me back to our play-time memory, of being fully claimed as His.  I’m right back in that headspace, sitting in my car, driving home from work.

Connected. Redirected.


And happy to be owned by such a devious, mean, and delightful M who cares enough to send the very best….and punish me when I forget it.

I am (as he often reminds me) a very lucky slut.



Punishment update:

I had until Thursday morning, for this first infraction, to decide the punishment I must submit to. I can do the two half-o’s on Thursday and have my next Like Day O next week.Or I can forgo my next TWO Like Day O’s and have no further punishment.

I really hate half-o’s. (Conversely, they are uber hawt, too, right??)

But I really REALLY hate the thought of 3 weeks with NO O!…

Oh dear. It’s a dilemma. What would YOU choose?