He almost didn’t get in the door. The bouncer was the same asshole who had given him a fucking hassle during that unfortunate incident a while back. It wasn’t his fault that the slut had mistaken her pain level. She laid there screaming because she was fucked up, and he was the one thrown out?

His money was as green as the next guys.

He told the asshole that he was meeting someone, and the guy, after bitching at him about ‘limits’ and ‘consent’ –as if he wasn’t well aware of that shit already–had let him in. And there she was sitting at the bar, just as he’d instructed her. Oh, he’d find something wrong to punish her over, he always did. No slut was perfect, and he did so like finding the error of their ways and slapping the learning of his lessons into their flesh. She looked nervous, another thing he enjoyed. Nerves and fear made him hard as a steel rod. He decided to wait and observe for a few minutes, let her get worked up to panic mode by being his being ‘late’ to arrive. Moving off to the edge of the room where the light was dim, he sat at a small table, and watched, rubbing his hand over the growing bulge beneath his zipper.

She didn’t want to be here.

Her leg jiggled, and her fingers tightened as she rubbed at the smooth wood of the bar. Though she had wrestled through one solution after another, nothing she thought of would totally get rid of the threat. He’d been very clear when they had spoken earlier today, that they would ‘get together’ as he put it, and tonight.  She had held her ground,  declined to meet in a quiet private spot as he’d originally demanded. Though he’d gotten angry, shouting at her through the phone, on this she would not budge.

There was nothing that he could do to her that would be worse than winding up dead, she imagined. Not the threats of her job finding out, not the threat of the beating he’d give her “defiant ass”. No,  the threat of any of the things he said he’d do if she didn’t meet him privately was worthless in the face of her own gut fear that this guy was a nutjob. There was no way she was going to wind up in a body bag because she was afraid of public exposure. Besides, she could move again, though she would rather not. In the end it was he that suggested M/F. Likely so that he could rub it in everyone’s face that he was back despite Sir Michael throwing him out of the club a few nights ago, and showing off that he ‘had’ the new slut he’d been hunting a few days ago, despite Sir Michael’s warning otherwise.

She hoped like hell that He would not be here tonight.

“What’s the matter honey?”

She looked up, startled. The bartender was looking at her. His ebony face revealed little except for concern.

“You look worried, honey. Mr. Michael isn’t here yet this evening. You two have a tiff?”

She shook her head and to her shock, she started crying soundlessly, and without warning. Tears welled in her eyes, streamed down her cheeks.

“I…there’s…I…”she stuttered to a stop, staring hopelessly at him, before lowering her eyes to her clenched fingers.

“Sweet little girl, something is going down. No one cries at Dr. T’s bar. That’s bad for business! You cry out there” he waved towards the play room area “but out here is for happy times.”

He leaned forward, palms on the bar, one on each side of her joined fingers. Looked at her deeply. She hadn’t raised her eyes, but she could feel him watching her.

“Something’s troubling you.”

She nodded.

“Being pestered by someone?”

“Yes. No. Ye…I…it’s…complicated.”

“Honey, if it isn’t complicated, it isn’t any fun at all!” He let loose a deep, rich chuckle.

Her eyes flew up to meet his.

“This is a joke to you? My life is something for you to laugh about??:” Her blue eyes fired up, shooting sparks.

“There she is. That spunky gal who told three tops off the other day! That’s the girl I was lookin’ for. And here she is, eyes on fire at Dr. T. when they should be burning the pants of whoever is messin’ with her.”

She blinked, tilted her head, pursed her lips.

“You’re right. I should. But I’ve worked myself up so I don’t know how to get out of this…”

“And that is when we call in the calvary. How ’bout you go to the ladies room. The one down that hallway there. Drinking always makes one need to go pee you know. I’ll keep an eye out here, make sure no one takes your drink on you. Take another sip now. No one but you and I know it’s seltzer water, do we?”

Puzzled, she took another sip of the fizzly water and slid off the stool. Dr. T pointed as if he were directing her to the bathrooms, though she did remember where they were. She slipped down the corridor and through the double doors that led to another hallway where the bathrooms were. Just before she got to the ladies room, a panel door slid open.

“In here. Now.”

Madame Fornea, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, stuck out her hand and all but pulled Addison through the doorway. For a moment she almost laughed out loud, feeling a bit like Alice through the rabbit hole. From one surreal adventure into the next, she mused, following obediently along behind the diminutive woman. This secret hallway was constructed between the club walls, she thought, as they passed several panels–locked from this side–before coming to a dead end. A twist and slide of a pair of wrought iron bolts and the door swung open into a office.

She blinked.

“Expected to wind up in a torture chamber?” Madame Fornea chuckled. “Nothing fancy but my office..with my emergency entrance that you’ll forget about later.”

“Er…yes’m,” Addison replied, still caught between shock and the shuddering fear of what would happen when Dom Asshole showed up and she wasn’t there.

“Dr. T alerted me to a problem with a certain dominant. The man who harassed you before. I’m sorry about that.”

“How on earth would you know that?? I hadn’t…I just sat there and cried…and…”

“He was there, sweetie. You couldn’t see him, but the bouncer informed me that he was there to meet a pre-arranged date, and I allowed him entry but everyone was watching him. He was sitting in the back corner watching you at the bar. Trying to make you twitchy, I’d suppose. This is none of my business, who you play with. But sweet girl, you really should avoid him. He’s dangerous.”

“I…I want to. To avoid him. But …he came to my job yesterday. It was unexpected, he was meeting with my boss, but he saw me and then came to my office after his meeting, and threatened….”

“…to expose you. That bastard. The rules in the D/s community are pretty loose, but one cardinal one is that we each respect each other in the outside world. That we might carry our relationships into the vanilla world, but with care enough to not expose someone to harm. Like losing a job, or a family. Outing someone is truly the most heinous of offenses.”

“I need to figure out a way to not be with him. And keep my job. And my self-respect. And he…terrifies me. Because I don’t see how I can walk away without him contacting my job and telling them. And then what will I do for a job? I need to pay my rent and my phone bill and heat…”

“Of course you do. Don’t we all?” Madame F patted her hand. “Let’s put our heads together and see what we can come up with, hmmm?”


HNT~Back in Focus

The last few weeks has been a flurry of doctor appointments, life-stuff, and a pretty big argument with M that almost, almost broke us.

That sounds very dramatic, and at the time, it was. But in fairness to Him, much of my stress/anxiousness/fretting was mostly in my head. There were some issues, yes, because He is NOT the most demonstrative (verbally or otherwise) of Doms. He won’t tell me He needs me. He won’t tell me he misses me.

But a woman~~even a slut~~needs to hear that once in a while. I’m usually pretty strong, pretty dependable, and not greatly prone to excessive whining about “he isn’t _____” (fill in the blank). But even I, busy and not as demanding a slut as I’ve been in the past, had noticed that things have fallen by the wayside…no more D/s ‘chores’, no challenges, nada.

He WAS neglecting me, and I didn’t like it. Ergo the argument that isn’t fully resolved. I offered to send back his collar…he advised me to hold onto it until we can talk face to face. I’m not ‘threatening’ him, mind you, just feeling like he doesn’t really want the responsibility of taking care of me in even the most desultory fashion.

PAY ATTENTION TO ME, I wanted to shout. I didn’t. And truthfully, I can’t give HIM tons of attention. So I’m not whining like a child wanting a treat. I just want something of him.

Anyway. Between that and my stupid body parts giving out on me, it’s been a hell of a January. Trust me, this getting older thing is not for wimps!! Now on the road to recovery, I got a slam-dunker of a cold last week, and didn’t have the wits about me to even consider trying to write. Hopefully there will be some down time soon to sit and do that. Nyquil does give one strange ideas…strange and sexy ideas.

So thanks for stopping in even though I’ve been pretty absent. Hoping to get to responding to all of you lovely peeps who have commented. I HATE not replying to you, it’s discourteous of me to discount your time and energy in responding to me!

Oh, and it’s HNT! Last week, I was very out of focus…this week? Not so much!

Go, be naughty. And do it Hard!



All worked up and nowhere to put it, she mused. Sitting in her car in the parking lot, key in the ignition, she pondered the last few minutes at the club, trying to see how he’d managed to not only totally turn her thinking around, but to totally turn her on as well, then send her on her way with all but a pat on the bum and a see-you-around-soon.

“Might as well have been ‘don’t let the screen door hit ya where the good Lord split ya!” she said aloud. Why had he shown her the door? It hadn’t been a total bum rush, but he’d not encouraged her to stay and hang out, either. Which was odd. He was attracted, he’d said so.

Hadn’t he?

Turning the key, she started her car, still trying to work her mind around the convoluted conversation. He had to have said he was attracted to her…or at the very least alluded to it. He had spoken of them becoming an item, of that she was sure.

She wasn’t sure if that pissed her off or excited her, but judging by the squirmy feeling in her pants, the scale weighed heavier on the excited way of things.

Then there was the encounter with that woman. Wow. If she was ever to swing even a little bit into the homo side of the equation? She’d likely be on her knees, begging that Domme’s  attention. Of course, she was likely used to the adoration of many, and just as likely, only chose a few. She’d met other Dommes when she was back home- she paused that thought, mentally redirecting herself. This was home now. Before was just another part of the past. Anyway, she thought, she’d rarely been so affected by someone of her own gender before. But Madame Fornea had that rarest of gifts, a true magnetism.

Turning onto the street that lead her home, she knew she’d never met anyone as immediately fascinating as Madame F. It was more than just sexual. There was that indefinable something that drew one in, made one want to be close, closer than close, to her. She listened with her whole self, and that was a gift in this day and age. She realized that Sir….Michael had that trait as well. Shifting in her seat, she noticed the wafting scent of arousal. Geeze. She couldn’t even think of him without being aroused.

“Stop. Just stop. Park the car, and go take a cold shower.”


She shook herself out of the daydream, and refocused on her computer monitor. She had to run the figures one last time, and she’d be done. Trying to not think about Sir Michael made him seem to float into her mind even more frequently.

He needed to stop doing that.


The call through her intercom startled her. She picked up the phone, listening a moment before issuing a soft “I’ll be right there.”

Taking the folder from the corner of her desk, moving hastily she went out her door, and down the long corridor to her boss’ office. A quick knock was followed by an equally quick reply to enter.

Going over the folder contents with Ms. Silverstein, they were interrupted by her private secretary.

“A Mr. Millett is here to see you, Ms. Silverstein.”

“Yes, I was expecting him. I forgot to tell you. We squeezed this in between his meeting schedule and mine. Do send him in please Natalie,” she replied, before turning to Addison. “We’ll have to finish this later, dear. I’ll ring you when my meeting is done.”

Dismissed, Addy slipped out of the office, and bumped into the man waiting outside the door. Hands grabbed her, then ran down her arms to capture her wrists for a moment.

“Well, well, look at you, crashing into me like this. It must be fate.”

She blinked up into the smiling face of the asshat from the club. The one who’d looked at her like she was a slab of tenderloin. She pulled her hands from his, or attempted to. She knew her right wrist would be bruised from his grip.

Her eyes flashed hot.

“I’m sorry to have bumped into you. Ms. Silverstein is ready for you now.”

She tried to move past him, but he retained his grip on her wrist.

“I’ll stop by your office on my way out…to discuss things with you.”

With another hard squeeze on her wrist, he smiled at her, a predator with prey between his claws, before sliding into her boss’ office. She hurried down the hall, not wanting Natalie to ask about the little scene. Thoughts of what the hell she was going to do now bounced around her head, but she was no closer to a solution when she heard his footfalls in the corridor.

“Here she is,” she heard Natalie say, then a murmured reply. In a moment, Natalie’s heels tap-a-tapped down the hall back to her office.

Her door opened, without even the pretense of a knock. He stepped inside, his grin feral as ever.

“We seem to have a situation here,” he said, his eyes roaming her body. “You work here and I know something that I’m sure you don’t want made public.”

“I know the same thing about you–”

His head began to shake ‘no’ even as she spoke.

“Isn’t the same for men as women. You skirts have to work twice as hard in being discreet, at being a model persona. Your boss won’t want pictures of you in a corset, your tits all but bare, gracing the cover of the morning news.”

“The news doesn’t show that sort of thing…”

“Of course they don’t. They’ll put a filter over it or something, but there will be talk, and speculation and who needs that for their company profile. But I can protect you from all that. Come here.”

Her back straightened.


“Are you so certain then, my dear, that your career can withstand this sort of humiliation and embarrassment?”

He stepped up to her desk, then reached out, snake-quick, and grabbed her left breast, pinching firmly.

“You have lovely tits. I want to hurt them. I want them. I want you. And I get what I want. I’ll wait for your answer by tomorrow noon.”

Shock had kept her immobile, though she decided not fighting would be better, like taming a bad puppy, don’t give it attention when it does a poor job. She swallowed hard, refused to look at him. The fingers slipped away from her breast, his feet moved to the door.

“I have your card. I’ll call you at noon.”

The door shut with a quiet snick behind him.



New Year, Same Angst

I’m crabby (shocking no one, right?!) just now.

We’re in and out of sync these days. He’s feeling better and we’re trying to plan a playtime but now *I* am having health issues that need to heal/resolve. It’s making me nucking futs.



And just now my libido is in the hopper. My BRAIN knows this is a cycle. Sometimes we feel horny and sexy and wanton, and other times we don’t. Sometimes it’s simple stuff like life, and busy schedules, and low water intake. I’m smoothing out my schedule a bit. I’m drinking more water. But still…no horny.

Sometimes it’s cause can be non-sexual pain, right? Because you’re dealing with a specific body issue that needs time to heal. Sometimes it’s just seasonal funk. I’ve gone through these cycles before, but man, it’s just so FRUSTRATING.

In some ways I guess I’m worried. With my wife and I, we didn’t have sex for …a really long time (going on a dozen years now) and that’s part of how I fell into discovering my perverse sexuality. To understanding it. To understanding myself.

And now it feels like He and I are headed down that same path. It’s been a nucking YEAR since we had playtime. 365 days.THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE DAYS.  No sex. No beating. No nothing. Nada. Nyet.

I want to be mean. I want to text him that he’s just like my wife, no longer interested in me. And yet..I know it’s not true. Or not fully true. He was dealing with his own injuries after a car accident that left him shaken more than just physically. No one was seriously hurt, but it’s a trauma, let’s face it. And I don’t know about guys in general, but of the few I’ve known deeply? He ignores the physical stuff while dealing with all that needed to be handled.

And let the hurt be sublimated by that ‘must do’ list.

Until by mid-summer he was a hurting unit.

Playtime can’t happen when he can’t function without pain. I get it. I do. ESPECIALLY since I’m now dealing with my own thing. This getting older thing is NOT for wimps, my friends. 😀

But my body tends to fall into ‘hybernation’, sexually. If you don’t use it, you lose it, you know? I am down to using an orgasm just twice a month. I get one a week and mostly I’m like “eh, whatever” and I fall into bed and into sleep. Because I’ve filled up those needs with work, so I’m always tired, always.

And it’s freaking cold out.

And snowy.

And I just want to nestle under my blankies and doze. Yeah. Right. Fat chance of that happening. This is my bitch and whine, so I can dream, can’t I?

We haven’t even had face time in months. Months.

So I’m teetering on the fence. Is it not a priority for him or is he just acquiescing to the increasing demands on my time? If I ask him I’ll get one of two answers from him.

“Nothing has changed on my end, nilla.”

(which kind of pisses me off, really. Because things HAVE changed.)


“Nilla, I know you’re busy. I’m busy. I’m finally back to feeling better and now you’re not. What else can we do?”


Both responses fall into the ‘reasonable reply’ category. I get that. But dammit!

I *want* him to miss me, to be demanding of some of my time. I need to feel missed, damn him. I need to feel longed for. I need to feel a little bit of reciprocity of my feelings and needs from him.

And I’m not getting it.

Does he miss me?

Beats the hell outta me. (see what I did there?)

Does he want me?

(I can’t believe I’m even asking myself that.)

Does he care enough to push just a little bit to see me?

(I have no idea. I’d like to think so. I mean, 8 years into this gig, right?)

But really…does he miss me even a little teeny bit?

(He never gives straight answers, always the smartassy comebacks, so it’s hard to get a read on him. Having a serious conversation with him is very difficult. He defaults to sarcasm and joking.)

So I dunno where I’m going with this. It’s more just a rambling, I’m so tired I can’t see straight and NEED to go to bed, kind of post.

I may have put YOU to sleep after reading all this. 759 words of nilla crabbyapple.

Go me.