Or just one curve with a hint of nipple…
Or just one curve with a hint of nipple…
He watched her walk from across the room. Ah, but he loved women. It didn’t matter if they were blonde, brunette, black, white, old, young–he liked them all. But his favorite type was plump.
There was nothing like a soft-fleshed woman. He loved way she smelled, the sweet scent of sex on her body. He loved when her skin was deeply blushed and bruised from a beating, or the indented lines left from rope, a textural memory his fingers and lips could trace. He loved the way her flesh would indent from a hard thudding blow from his hand or an implement, the waves and dimpling of her skin. How he loved the kiss of sweat that would sheen along her body; her soft folds, and lush curves a beckoning invitation for his attention.
“Your eyes are glowing with that Spidey-sense of yours.”
A soft chuckle and the sweet fragrance of her cologne were all the introduction Madame Fornea needed. It was her club they were in, M/F, details left to the guests interpretation. Not many knew that he was a silent partner in the business, and that the club was named for both of them, Fornea and Michael. M/F had so many other choice manifestations in this perverse lifestyle for anyone to believe something as prosaic as that.
“She is lovely. New, if not to the life, at least to us here.”
He stroked his hand down her arm. “Want to feel her out for me?”
“I’d be happier feeling her up…those tits…” Madame F sighed for a moment, then smiled, a hint of longing burning in her eyes. Male, female it didn’t matter a whit. Her passion was dominance, and the careful inflicting of pain.
His laugh turned more than a few heads, most of them female. Most of them developed a sudden burning in their pussies, as Sir Michael was a handsome Dom, with the magnetic personality so common among those who were Dominants. He was rough, often brutal, but a tender and caring partner as well, as several onlookers knew personally. It was an odd dichotomy, the tender and the brutal, and as intoxicating as a drug.
He frowned as he observed Owen Bash moving in her direction.
“I thought we threw his ass out of here?”
“His bounce time was up. I’d have to have a restraining order on him to keep him out legally, and Kylie hasn’t returned to us since the incident.”
“Motherfucker,” he hissed. There was nothing he despised as much as slimy ‘doms’, ones who were into the beating but not into self control. There wasn’t a thing wrong with beating a sub bloody if that was their thing. But to ignore safewords, to break bones? It was a shame the girl hadn’t filed a police report, had gone underground in a society already filled with dark mystery.
Moving through the crowded room, he slipped up behind the woman, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“There you are, pretty girl. I’m sorry I was late, I got caught up in business.” His fingers tightened in silent warning as Owen turned to him with a look of burning hatred.
“Yeah, the business of hassling people. Too bad you water your drinks and your play. Fake bastard.”
“How unpleasant to see you here again, Owen. Please find another woman to play with, this one is mine.”
“I don’t see a collar–”
“Boys…Doms…Gentlemen.” She raised her hands, palms up, pressing them apart. “I have no idea what your issue is, but please keep me out of it.”
Moving as if to step away, she was drawn up short by Owen grabbing her upper arm, squeezing it painfully tight. While she was a sub who really enjoyed pain, it came with a play partner and certainly not a stranger. Her yelp of surprise was quickly followed by his, as she turned fast and slapped his ear hard with the flat of her free hand.
“You fucking cunt!” He released her arm, grabbing for his ear. “You could have busted my eardrum.”
“If you don’t get the fuck out of my space, I’m gonna bust your balls and stuff them in your ears, you bastard. You keep your fuckin’ hands off of me unless I’m your sub, which won’t happen until we’re wearing ice skates in hell.”
Her face was red, her eyes glowing with a blue fire that was enticing. She took a menacing half step forward, no shrinking submissive violet, and bared her teeth. It was all he could do, Michael thought long after the fact, to keep from applauding.
Owen took a step back, and they all knew in that moment that he’d lost.
“Fuck you, you frigid cunt.”
“I’m only frigid because your cock is too small to warm me up, you fucking worm.”
He thought she might explode, could actually feel the rage pouring off of her. Her tits were wobbling with every deep, angry breath she took, though her corset was working valiantly to contain them. Michael nodded his head at one of the bouncers standing in earshot now. He noted that Madame F stood beside him, preventing Owen from storming off, deeper into the crowd.
“You may leave now, Mr. Bash. Or I can have my steward assist you.”
“Fuckin’ dump. Don’t know why I bothered to come back. This club fucking sucks. You suck, too, you cockwhore bastard.”
He glared at Michael for one long moment before turning and stalking towards the door. When he attempted to veer off at the last moment, the bouncer grabbed his arm and forcefully marched him to the door. He disappeared from sight.
“Well, that was thrilling,” she trilled, her laugh lightening the mood. “It makes me want to beat the hell out of someone. Volunteers?” she called out to the crowd, unsurprised to see a multiple of hands shoot upwards.
“She went over to the lounge,” she murmured, sotto voice, to Michael, as she pointed at one tall, dark-skinned man dressed only in a loincloth.
“Let’s see if I can make your skin blush, dear fellow,” she said, snapping her fingers to lead him away.
Michael turned and headed for the lounge. He had a woman to entice.
He is a Bastard.
I said it aloud, right here on my blog.
Master is a fucking BASTARD!!
It’s football season, peeps. Wait. I know you think that was a terrible segue. But it all sets the stage. M and I wager on football games featuring our beloved and beleaguered Patriots. This week we had a sub quarterback. The weather forecast was for heavy and intense rain. No WAY was I taking the over at 41.5. No WAY would the teams score over that number in such conditions.
I was fucked by the third quarter.
For a long long time it looked as though I’d come out okay, we were up 21 to nothing, then 21 to 3. Plenty of wiggle room there, I thought smugly.
So the bottom line is that I’m in the hole (no pun intended…)for 14 half-o’s.
You read that correctly.
It rarely stays at that high a number. No, now it’s a tool, every bit as effective as a flogger or nipple clamps. We may be apart, we may have missed playtime, we may not have seen one another for a month, but trust me, this Master of mine is in his element. His glory, even.
I gave up my orgasm last Tuesday so that I wouldn’t have to do prep work on Monday (two mandatory half-oh’s. (see what I did there?)) I gave it up knowing I’d recoup the loss of last weeks O to a BANGER of an O tonight.
But last night I had to to two more half O’s. That’s okay. I got my number down to 12, and I’ll still get a huger bang tonight.
And then we talked. I should have known. His voice, man, when He’s fucking me over, when the Dom is full-out and terrifying, his voice goes to velvet. BLACK velvet.
“Nilla, if you give up your O tonight…”
“NO.” I interrupted abruptly. “no no no no no. I didn’t get an O last week and I’m so fucking horny Master…”
“Stop,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice. “You’re going to make me giggle out loud.”
There’s a pause where I sputter and sigh.
“Now, no more interrupting me, slut.”
“Yes, Sir,” I say somewhat petulantly.
“If you give up tonight’s O, I’ll cut your half O total by 6. In half, nilla.”
There is a long, long pause. I hear him listening for it, for the moment when I’ll explode.
“You. Fucking. Bastard. That’s evil. That’s rotten. That’s terrible.”
“Oh, nilla, this is great.”
I’m hot, and wet and turned on as I’ve ever been, and here he is just totally screwing with my head.
“Let me know what you decide, nilla,” he says as He hangs up.
What on earth am I going to do?
WordPress tells me that I’ve written over 2100 posts over these years. That’s a LOT of words peeps.
Thank you, for coming here and reading and liking my posts enough to ask for more. I really love that about the internet, that there can be supportive communities existing in cyberspace. Thanks for the support, the love, the compassion when things have been tough, and the huzzah’s over the triumphs! You are the best!
(more writing happening. Life is calming, at last. Kinda. Sorta. You know how that goes!)
When she screamed, he stuffed her panties into her mouth, then slapped her. Ignoring the two fat tears that slipped out of panicked eyes, the frantically shaking head, he slapped her again, harder. Her cheek pinkened, the outline of his fingers clearly delineated.
“When I say roll over, I mean roll over.”
Rising up, he flipped her over, despite her flailing arms. His hips held her down to the floor; he could feel her buttocks churning under his ass as she kicked and bucked. It made his dick hard as fuck to feel her desperate struggles.
Rising, he watched her squirt forward on the hardwood. He loved when they thought they could get away. Catching her ankles, he tugged hard, back towards him. He sank to the floor, letting his hands slide up her thighs, holding her tightly, knowing he was leaving a trail of bruises in the wake of his touch. Reaching up he shoved her skirt up, and slapped her ass. She whimpered, making little kitten noises at every hard slap. Her ass jolted, her body quivered. His hand tugged aside the crotch of her panties, his fingers found her fuckhole.
She might have been fighting but by God her cunt was wetter than the Colorado river. With one hand he tugged down his joggers. His rigid cock popped free, slid right into the burning heat of her pussy. His cock was cocooned in the succulent wet warmth, her straining muscles working along his shaft. She was squealing like a fucking pig now, as he worked himself deeper. She was tight, slick and tight and by God he was going to fuck the fuck right out of her.
His fingers bit into her hips as he pulled her back onto his shaft. He was buried full to the hilt, his balls resting against her swollen pussy. He pulled out, all the way out, and reached under her. She responded so well to being hit, he thought, that it would be fun to see what happened when he slapped her fuckbox. She jolted hard enough at the first blow that he grabbed her hair to hold her in place. The sounds could be used to dub a porno, he mused, before he slapped her again. Her head was tugged back hard, her throat extended as she whined around the panty gag.
“Oh, did that hurt your little pussy? Even more than my big cock ramming up into your belly?”
His tone was mocking, his hand firmly striking her now, hard and fast. Just the way he was going to fuck her in a moment. He might explode if he kept going. He could feel her meaty lips begin to swell, could see them hot and red, beckoning him to enter, to take. Grabbing her hips again, he pumped himself into her as he tugged her back. They came together with a loud smack, followed by moans. She was so fucking hot, so wet. His cock seemed to grow longer, harder, the intense throbbing increasing his need to pummel her slick fuck hole.
He fucked like a man possessed, his cock dipping into, then out so quickly he was a blur. Each time he shoved his dick to the hilt, their bodies came together in a loud slapping crash. Snot and tears rolled down her face, leaving a trail as he fucked her across the floor. He came with a roar, grinding his hips against her swollen vulva, pressing his come deeply into her belly.
“All done, my succulent little fuck hole.What a lovely tight snatch you have.”
He grinned, pulling out of her. With a last hard slap on her ass, he rose. Tucking his cock inside of his pants, he sauntered to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water. While he drank, he walked back into the living room.
“Don’t fucking move for an hour, got it?”
When she didn’t reply, he toed her foot.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll get hard again, and fuck you in the ass. And I won’t be nice about it this time.”
Taking her nod for assent, he left the way he came in, through the sliding glass door.
He jogged back up the street to where he’d parked his car. Taking up his cell phone, he made the call.
“She’s all done. Hope she ‘catches’…if not, let me know. I’ll be happy to help you try again.”
He turned on the radio and pulled away from the curb, thinking of his sperm swimming hopefully upstream. By all the gods he loved his work.
Ah, my pervie peeps, you never let me down! Thanks for all the feedback. First, let me say with utter sincerity…we’re all bunch of sick fucks, my friends. Embracing that was one of the hardest, most profound things I’ve ever managed. And while I don’t feel 100% slutty and naughty all the time–life is simply to busy–when I have a moment or two to just lay in that semi-awake place between sleep and alert, my mind *always* rolls towards darker fantasy stuff.
I’m finally finished with the uber challenging job I’ve been working on all week, and tonight I’m going to fall into bed, totally drained. Even my facebook friends have only gotten a random blurb from me this week. Well, with the exception of that football game… I think they’d all wonder if I died if I didn’t post all the good stuff ‘live’ as I watch…!
I’ll have time to write after tomorrow’s HNT. I have no idea what it’s about yet, but my fingers will let me know when I sit at the keyboard and let my imagination loose…may it flow freely. That’s the best fun about writing…I often have no idea where it’s going, but it’s always a fun ride.
Peace and pervie dreams my friend…on the morrow, HNT.
I almost typed “pole”…which could go any number of ways… *wink wink*…
But no. I have a bunch of swirly things in my head and you all read most of what I write and mostly like it and if you don’t you’re quiet about it. I like that you don’t bash the crap out of me when you don’t…but it’s okay to give gentle and kind negative feedback…if something truly doesn’t work for you. Ya’ll understand though that mostly what I write is mostly my own perverse fantasies…
…ones with pain and orgasms and pushing limits, and public naughtiness.
Because I’m wired weird and I’m okay with that. 😀
But here’s the simple poll–I’m looking for some direction. I need inspiration. I’ve not played with Master since the beginning of the year and who knows if our schedules will match up for another play time ever. (Yes, it really is that dire.) (Or I’m just really tired and glum and will get over it when we do get time.)
So…whatcha want to read?
Learning about submission?
Something tame? or something rough? (remembering that the darker stuff can always go on the ‘dark’ blog…)
More short stories or something longer with more character development?
GUIDE ME, peeps. 😀
If you don’t want to comment publicly, then zip me an email.
Thanks peeps. I look forward to your thoughts.
..really, really hard…
…to write porn when I’m watching football…tune in tomorrow for some sexy naughty stuff, my pervie peeps.
<insert nilla laughing wicked hard here>
(or as we say here up in New England, wicked haahd)
(admit it, that title had you going for a minute there, didn’t it?!)
one more thing…
His hand cupped her chin, turning her attention to the assortment of things on the bed.
“I’m going to use you long and hard.”
The words, the tone of them, the actuality of them, sent shivers up her spine. Her pussy grew wetter and her nipples drew up tighter. Not everything on the bed appealed to her–and yet everything he did to her held appeal. Once again she was struck by the dichotomy of not loving all his choices, but loving that she could offer herself freely to his pleasure.
His pleasure was pain.
Her pleasure was service; receiving the gift of his pain, and later, reveling in the marks and wounds that lingered. Later, when she was down from her high, when she was surrounded by the mundane, suffering through the craziness of life with children and work and obligations, she could sneak off to the bathroom and look at those marks and remember that something wild and special lived inside of her.
But for now, there was his pleasure. His painful gifts. Some might not see it that way, but she knew the truth. He loved to hurt her. She loved the pain.
Turning her, he secured her arms to the ornate framework of the bed’s foot-board. It was heavy, with intertwined sinuous metal. He’d made it himself, her clever Dom, spending hour upon hour welding the joints, bending the rods into fanciful curls and twists. No one would guess that the bed doubled as his slut holder. In moments she was attached to it, his living toy. Legs spread, arms apart as well, she couldn’t have moved if her life depended upon it.
When he stood in front of her gently thwacking the thin cane in his palm, she quivered, shook her head ‘no’. His smile was gentle, the caress of the cane down her cheek almost tender. He was still smiling as he smacked the damned thing across her tits. Instantly her toes curled. Moving around her, he slapped her tits-horizontally, vertically, across the tops, along the tender sides and sloping bottom, and finally, across her nipples.
It was like molten fire, the kiss of the cane. Heat rippled across her tits, red welts rising. She gasped, moaned, cried out, yet he stroked and lashed her tender breasts relentlessly.
“Open your mouth.”
He placed the cane there. She knew she was to hold it in case he wanted it again. She would drool and her lips would hate the feeling of it there between, but the whole idea of holding the tool of her tit assault this way was–so humiliating–so erotically mean. Her pussy clenched, her toes curled.
The first clamp bit hard into her nipple, making her whimper behind clenched lips. Another and then another, making her realize that he’d taken her new bag of clothes pins.
“Zpsed to vee fur vah cwosewine”
“Either you just told me you had a furry pussy V, or you’re complaining that I’ve stolen your clothespins you just got”
His hand palmed her pussy, his middle finger dipping into her slit, stroking along her clit and making her moan as her hips swiveled for more of his touch.
“Well, I can certainly verify that your pussy is indeed smooth as silk, not furry at all. So you must be complaining about my use of these.”
He held up a peg, examining it, then pinched a bit of titty flesh and pegged the clothes pin onto it as she moaned.
“Aww. Poor slut. Yes. That does pinch, doesn’t it? And–as far as these sweet little torture sticks go, I hope that you remember that in reality…all of this is mine. And you are mine, ergo the clothespins are mine, too. Since I’m sticking my property on my property, all is well. Fret not, little slut.”
With a silly grin at her for his warped logic, he went back to sticking the pins all over her aching tits.
“When they’re all on, and your tits look like a porcupine, I’m going to smack every last one of them off of you. With luck, I’ll have some extra ones for your pussy. ”
With a hum and another cheeky grin, he went back to pegging her flesh.
So much to look forward to. She shivered, so turned on she doubted she could speak even if she wasn’t holding his cane in her mouth. And not a little nervous as she watched him, as he took careful time to attach the pegs all over her big tits. Whimpers and spit slipped from between her lips as the fiery ache in her breasts began to consume her full attention. Yet one thought lingered for a moment.
Next time she replaced them, she would need to remember to not buy the 100-piece bag.