Dr. Strangeguy~Unfeeling (part 1)

“Tell me, little girl, why are you here?”

“Well, uhm…”

“Now, now, none of that temporizing. I’ve been on the edge of retirement, yet your call brought us here to my office today. Speak.”

“It’s gone. I-I’m afraid I …lost it.”

Her head hung low, her long red hair hiding her face. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. In her sandal-clad feet, even her toes, painted a brilliant purple to match the lone streak in her hair, curled tight. His finger, bent from his years, caught her chin and lifted her face.

Concern was clear on his face. The sharp eyes seemed to peer into her.

“It’s time to breathe, time to tell me all.”


Her eyes fluttered downward, looking at his feet. He’d never professionally dressed for these sessions. Part of her thought it might be to comfort his patients, who came from the hinterlands of Maine. Part of her was certain he had way too much “don’t giveafuck” to even notice what he dragged on each morning. The incongruity of his nobbly toes peaking out from ancient birkenstocks made a small smile flit across her mouth.

“Here. Look at me.”

There, that was the tone that she could never resist. The firm command of a Dom–whether he was a doctor or a landscaper–always made her obedient. Her blue eyes rose to his; nerves made butterflies dance in her belly.

“It’s…hard for me to talk about this with you staring into me,” she whispered.

He grinned. Her body clenched for a moment. A smiling Dom, even one who was not acknowledging himself as one, always made those areas of her body waken. This, this was why she drove so far to see Dr. Strangeguy. It never failed to help her slough off the stupor of her ‘regular’ life.

“Continue,” he said, his tone firm. She nearly rolled her eyes at that order–what therapist demanded words? Weren’t they supposed to be content to let people move through things at their own pace?

“I…have…been…stifled lately. For a long time all my stories had left me. And now, now I can feel them there, under my skin. But I don’t have a way to let them out.”

“I see,” he said, his finger still firmly under her chin. She felt a tiny loss  when he moved away. The heat from even that slight touch burned neatly in a fingertip sized circle on her skin.

He moved away, behind her, then passed in front of her again.

“Do you do your laundry every day?”

She blinked. What?

“What?” she said, echoing the confusion in her head.

“Do you wash your dishes, take out your trash, mow your yard, go to work?”

“Well…well, of course I do,” she replied, bemused.

“So you are making time for all these other parts of you, but ignoring this other, equally essential part?”

“Well…” she said, then paused.

She shook her head, frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her until he spelled it out that way.

“I guess…I am.” Her frown deepened.

“Sit.”  He shoved her, hard, one large hand pressed between her breasts. Falling back into the chair, she was too stunned to protest.  “Stay,” he said, moving deeper into the office.

Sit. Stay. Was she a fucking dog now? A protest rose to her lips, yet when she opened them to speak, a hard rubber ball slipped inside.

“Waaagh,” she tried to forestall him around the ball gag.

“No, no more waiting for what it is you really need, slut. You are a slut, as you have acknowledged here before. You pay me to help you. Sit, stay, and be a good girl.”

A blindfold slipped over her eyes. There was almost silence in the room, though she strained to hear. Rough rope wrapped around her left wrist, securing her arm to the chair. Her lips moved, though to protest or moan she wasn’t certain. She felt the hot splat of saliva on her left breast, soaking into her blouse and bra. There was a tremor in her belly now as her right wrist was also secured.

“I’ve thought about your problem. It’s time. Specifically, time management. To slow down time, we’ll keep that blindfold on.”

A rough hand rested briefly on the top of her head.

“Your other issue is touch. Staying in touch with all the parts of you. If part of you ceases to function, it puts a stress on the rest of you. I see the tension in your body as you sit there. Some of that is nerves–that’s good. But some of that is because you’re out of practice, out of touch, with who you really are.”

He paused and she heard him moving around the room again.

“We can cure that easily enough. You’ve paid for a multiple hour session. And a long session is exactly what you need. And what you’ll get.”

She felt the rope loosening from her wrists.

“Stand,” he spoke curtly.

She stood.

“Remove your clothing.”

“Wha?” she spoke wetly around the ball gag.

A hard swat on her ass make her squeak, jolting.

“Naked. Now.”

She obeyed, shivering at the knowledge that he was now looking at her. A Dom doctor with a naked patient. He walked around her. She felt the brush of air on her back, her butt, her nipples as he moved. Another quick shiver ran down her shoulders. Her nipples tightened. She felt vulnerable, exposed.


Still, he didn’t touch her. Moved away from her, in fact, across the room where she couldn’t hear clearly. The gag in her mouth made her drool, and she felt the splatter of it on her chest. Ugh.

“I believe we shall start with this, my dear,” he said from behind her. She felt the roughness, felt his hands–how had she thought them too gnarled?–run nimbly around her back, crossing the rope, pulling it tightly around her chest, cross again on her back. He stepped to the front of her and began to wrap one tit. It tingled. It hurt gently. It was delicious. He wrapped the other tit, then continued to carry the rope up around her back. Her arms were now bound behind her, her tits thrust up and out. She wished she could see, they felt amazing.

Hearing the sound of the seat confused her. What was he doing? Sitting there?  Looking at her? She stood, shifting from one foot to the other. Nervous. Her tits began to ache. As suddenly as they felt good, they began to throb. She moaned.

“There we go. Now you’re ready.”

The first strike of the cane against her nipple made her yelp. But she quickly lost count of the tap-rap-tapping against one breast, then the other. It hurt. It throbbed. She yelped often, especially when he struck across her engorged nipples.

“If you think it hurts now, just wait until the clamps go on,” he whispered into her ear. “Oh, by the way, you have pussy juice running down your leg. I do believe you’re feeling again. Feeling fine, I’d say. And still so much session time. I might even go over time, no charge of course.”

He laughed softly against her ear.

Shuddering at the tone, the caress of warm breath on the tender orb, she came.






Catching Up

It’s amazing the difference a round of antibiotics can make! I’m back, I’m feeling not just better–but GOOD. I’ve had a quiet weekend, with only a wee bit of work, and time to work out in my gardens a little bit. Dayam this rain has made the weeds grow …well…like weeds! They’re tall and starting to bloom. My gods–even the dandelions are feet tall! Unfortunately, any progress I made this weekend will be for nothing as it’s going to rain some more.

No more drought for us. We’re not at flood levels, but our lakes and ponds are all at max capacity so I’m really hoping a hurricane is not in the offing for the northeastern US this season. It’s even been chilly enough that I’ve had to have the heat on for a bit several times.

In fucking MAY.


*stomps foot*

I really need a touch of summer. I don’t even have a wee bit of gardening tan, since all my garden work has been in the cloudy times. When is it sunny? When I’m working of course. *grumble*

Okay, enough of that. Moaning won’t make that any better. And speaking of moaning…I’ve got my sexah mojo back. Boy the thoughts in my head. M and I have been bantering, and I’m hopeful that a playtime will be not too far in the future for us. He is a strange man, but he does make me laugh. I haven’t been able to talk for two weeks until yesterday and that was brief because he was busy. My texting has even been limited since I’ve spent more time blowing my nose than playing with my phone! So I asked him if he missed me, even a little.

“Sure Barbara,” he says, “I miss you…a lot.”

I pause, staring at the phone.  I finally respond:

My name is not Barbara.

It’s nilla.


He laughs. Pleased he’s gotten my dander up. That’s really it, in a nutshell-he stirs me up. And that’s all to the good.

Be good peeps and go do pervy (legal) things. I’m off to my bed.



if this seems a little “out there” —bear with me. i’m getting better and my head often veers into strange places as i get back to being healthy. 😀 ~nilla~


Sherry ran into the office to see Bradley pulling his hair and staring at his cell phone.

“What, what??” she pulled at his sleeve.

“It…it…it’s coming…it…baby…Maggie…”

Understanding dawned. Maggie, his wife, had gone into labor, and about two weeks early.

“Look, go. It’s probably Braxton-Hicks, but you can’t be sure since it’s her first. Go.”

“B-but I can’t…alone…you…baby…”

He really was the classic flustered first-time dad, she thought, smiling at him.

“I will be fine. What happens in a small time museum like this? Nothing. Ever. The boss knew you would be on call for Maggie, so I’ll text him and keep him up to speed. Go. Gooooo.”

She push-turned him, snapping him out of his bewildered trance. He grabbed his keys from the desk and ran out the door. A moment later his head popped back inside.

“Thanks Sherry!”

And he was gone. Shaking her head in amusement, she walked to the window. Moments later his head appeared down below. The streets were quiet at this late hour, and she watched the taillights of his car zip down the street. The halls of the small museum were quiet too, she mused, grabbing her phone, her nightstick, and her keys. Time for rounds.


In a Cosmic Alignment, many strange phenomena are rumored to occur. The sudden massive explosive release of atoms into the atmosphere can trigger events both small and nearly unnoticed, and grandiose, or even “weird”. Occurrences noted in the past,  such as the opening of thousands of flowers simultaneously, or a massive hatching of insects have not been “officially” recorded as causal as related to the Cosmic Alignment. Also noted, but not attributed to the CA Phenomenon, are the sudden rise of sexual need in all animals within the cone of effect, and the transformation of things from one state of being to another. Little is known about the phenomenon since it happens only once a millennia, and rarely do people record the events that are seen, fearing that they will be perceived as insane.

Such an alignment is anticipated to  happen on this day, in the deep part of the night in the northern hemisphere. The changes will last for just a while, as the super-excited electrons dance through the cosmos, drive into our atmosphere, and encite chaos in random and unpredictable ways.


The dizzy spell hit her just as she opened the door to the statue room. She held onto the open portal, swaying, until she felt herself settle. That was weird, but then again, she couldn’t recall if she’d actually eaten lunch or just thought about it. The light in here seemed dimmer than she remembered and she made a mental note to put in a work request to have it checked. There seemed to be a noise across the room. Stupid vent in this room had been acting up all week. She walked over to it, bending down to peer at the stupid thing. Ah. There was a piece of paper wedged in the metal slats and…

A hand grabbed her shoulder, pushed her to the wall. She pushed back but there was not an ounce of give.

“Woman,” the voice, deep and resonant sounded in her ear. There was the smell of woods and something exotic. “Woman…”

Shivers ran up her spine. No one was here but her. No one but…

Hands reached around her cupping and squeezing her breasts. They were not gentle, and she didn’t want them to be. No wait. She didn’t want. For crying out loud, she was on duty. Her head spun as he pinched her nipples and a moan came from her, her breath catching even as she tried to form a single word. She couldn’t turn her head around enough to see, to catch of glimpse of whomever was pressing her, face first, into the damned wall!


The hands tore her uniform shirt open. Shock held her quiet for a moment. That shirt was made for abuse. Virtually nothing could tear it. Yet he’d just ripped it apart like it was cotton fluff. The hands, cool and smooth, fought with her bra, ripping that off until his skin touched hers. Teeth sank into her neck, making her moan and arch.

No, this wasn’t right wasn’t good wasn’t..shouldn’t be…ohhhh.

His hands fumbled with her pants, but in moments tore them away from her until she was naked, pressed to the wall, large hands roaming over her hot, oh so unbearably hot, skin.

She knew it was coming. She knew he was going to pierce her with his cock, fill her. Knew it and couldn’t stop him.  Or.

Wouldn’t stop him.


Wanted. Wanted with a fierceness that was primal. Some force beyond herself drove her to accept what was happening. It was right for him to take her. To fill her with his thick cock. To drive into her body and use her fully.

The sound of panting-hers-filled her ears. He was quiet, murmuring softly against her neck as his engorged penis probed at her pussy lips. She wanted to fight him. She wanted him to fuck her.

His hands weren’t gentle on her skin. His cock wasn’t gentle as it filled her in one hard thrust. Panting and moaning as his hips rocked against her ass, she felt herself pushing back, offering herself. Almost beyond thought, her only consuming desire was to be used, to be filled by whomever was standing behind her. The lights dimmed, then brightened with every deep-filling thrust. Her pussy was pummeled, yet began to ooze and leak as she rose to her first orgasm. As if she liked it. As if she needed it. As if she craved exactly what he was doing to her.

“ooooooOOOOOOHHHHhhhh” she whimpered as her body quaked and shook. He didn’t stop, he just kept fucking her steadily hips hammering back and forth while his hands continued mauling her tits. She knew there would be bruises in the morning. The thought only excited her more. Her head fell back, and he bit her throat, lips and teeth working from the tender joining place at her shoulder, all the way up the line of her neck, until he took her ear between his teeth and shook his head, growling.

She exploded.

Cunt juice flowed from her in a huge wave of release. She felt the spatter of it on the floor, on her legs. She shook her head no, noo000000…but his persistent rhythm didn’t change.

“Oh can’t can’t please…” her breath wheezed, her pussy throbbing with the sensitive aftermath of such a powerful orgasm. Hands grabbed her hair, pushed her down. In moments she found herself on the floor, doglike. His hands grasped her hips now, pulling her hard against his crotch, impaling her over and again on the thick hardness. He showed no sign of coming, no weariness. His hips thrust forward as he pulled her back, doubling the impact of his body into hers. Her belly quivered, the pain deep as he all but punched her uterus with his cockhead.

“please…oh hurts…”

And she came again, even harder. Her hands slipped until her shoulders rested on the floor, her ass lifted high in the air and taking his swollen shaft even deeper into her belly. In that moment before he stiffened, in the millisecond before he began spurting deep into her womb, she knew, knew, he was impregnating her.

Heat began to fade. His cock left her pussy, still hard, and entered her ass. A scream came from her throat as he pierced her anus with swift brutality.

“Woman,” he said with a sigh, sinking balls deep. She felt the slap of them against her swollen and still dripping cunt. She’d never had a man fuck her ass before. The pain of her stretched rectum warred with the erotic sensations. It hurt. It was painfully weird. It was..

“Oooooogod” she screamed as an orgasm clamped her pussy, her ass, tightly. She felt his cock jerk in response, swore she could feel the hot spray of his semen filling her asshole. The hard shaft left her body with an audible *pop*.

She fainted.


When the Cosmic Alignment ends, things swiftly return to their previous ‘normal’ state. The flowers continue to bloom, the insects continue to hover, but the more extreme reactions begin to fade. Things that have transformed, go back to their prior status. The sudden upsurge of sexual energy is spent, and the participants usually return to their normal activities after a deep, dreamless sleep. All things return to the status quo. 

Until the next Alignment.


She stared at the plastic stick in her hand. It matched the 4 other ones on her bathroom counter.

She was pregnant. How the hell could she be pregnant if she wasn’t sleeping with anyone? Some sort of immaculate conception? She vaguely recalled the night that Brad had gone to the hospital as being kind of strange. Of waking up at home and not remembering getting there. Of her pussy and ass aching, and strange marks on her hips and neck. But there was no one at the Museum other than herself, a bunch of paintings on the walls, and a marble statue of Zeus in the center room.

She also remembered that there was some talk about his facial expression having changed. In the past it had seemed that he’d been stoic-faced. But now he seemed to be wearing a faint, nearly smug smile. She allayed it to the artsy-fartsy people who came to museums to do what she mockingly referred to as “deep looking”. Seriously, she thought the art was beautiful and all, but then again, she was just a normal sort of woman. Besides, as far as she could tell, he’d always looked at her like he was smiling, and always just a bit smugly. Not that he was looking at her. He was just looking around the room. The way statues did. Right?  Statues did not come to life in the middle of the night and fuck you brainless. And impregnate you. They just didn’t.

She stared at the stick in her hand.


The End.


I KNOW! You hate the ending. You want more. You want me to explain. But no! I want YOU to think about it. Puzzle over it. Turn it around in your brain. Seriously. That’s  a writers job, to intrigue you into puzzling over a story.

One more piece of back-story. I wrote this the other night. Fully, in one fell swoop, sitting here at my computer until midnight pounding it out. I swear, the story just sizzled through my fingertips. But WordPress had other ideas and refused to save the 2nd half of the story.

You know. The good part. The whole sex scene. 

I was So. Fucking. Pissed. It was done, a full 1700 plus word story, and I was so happy it had come out so well in one go. It rarely happens that WP has a glitch so I should be okay with it, but I spent all day fuming over it. I wasn’t going to finish it. I was just going to throw it in the trash and be done with it already. But the story haunted me all day. “Finish me.” So. Sigh. Here I am again, writing…er..re-writing…the sexy part. I like to imagine that her child, a son in the image of his father (ahem) grows up to become an artist himself.

A sculptor.


I Was Going To…

…write you something sexy, if not witty. Something short to make up for the long silence.

But tonight, in Manchester UK, someone…something…an animal, a coward, a despicable excuse for a human…stole the lives of 19 people, likely a great portion of them children.


Young girls and perhaps boys, who went to a concert to listen to their idol. Who would have filled their facebook pages, and Insta with images of joy and celebration.

19 lives snuffed out with the lack of compassion one shows for putting out a candle.

I cannot write through this heartbreak, not even for a bit of escapism, dear friends. Families have lost their most precious this evening, thinking they’d sent them off for a bit of fun, a little thing to remember forever.

They won’t be coming home full of stories.

My heart tonight is sad and bleak. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day, the sorrow will have eased a bit, and the sexy will return.

Tonight, my friends, I mourn.

sexy as…uhm…erh…

Howdy Pervie Peeps. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Grab a fresh cup of your favorite whatever, and sit a bit. I have nothing of great import to say, but you all know how I tend to natter on at you.

The short and curly of it is that I’ve been sick for the past 10 days.

Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve been under the weather. Remeber?(heh…I know that’s a typo, “remember” is the correct spelling and all, but it is *exactly* like how my voice sounds when I speak due to stuffy nose situation! So I’m leaving it there, and you can have fun reading it aloud in your pretend stuffy nose voice!) I had the flu way back in the winter just after my birthday (happy birthday you old fart, ACHOO!). But this thing? It just bitch-slapped the fuck  out of me, way worse than the flu did.

So…you know those pervie scenes we all love? When she is all tied up, and there’s a bright red ballgag (why are they always red?) and she’s drooling all over herself omg…and it’s so. So. SO…

…sexy, right?

I mean yes, it’s gross too, but by damn it makes me wet, every time I see it.

Or how about those scenes where she’s being spanked so hard and she’s wailing and crying and whining–although, sometimes it’s really fake because there’s nary a mark on her and I think “oh christmas, give it up girlfriend, you’re so fucking fake” —no, I don’t mean that one. I mean the scene where He is really, really, waling on her, and her backside is red, bruises are starting to blossom and grow.

There’s that one moment when the camera goes full on her face for just a second. Her makeup is in ruins, mascara running, snot and tears streaming down her face. It’s fascinating. The expression, the mix of defeat and …joy? Bliss? Ecstasy?

And it’s hot.


Hot as hell in July.

This was not the case with my snot. Okay, yeah I’m being graphic here but we ARE graphic kind of peeps, are we not? For days I could breathe just fine. There was no congestion…I could smell and breathe and all that stuff, but my throat was a ruin. I often get infections in my vocal chords so I figured that’s what it was. I’d cried the day before (a lot) at some emo family stuff, and it’s just not unusual for there to be physical ramifications afterwards.

But then my voice left.

Day one. Croak. Cough. Cough again until releasing the mucus plugging my throat. Breathe. Repeat.

Day two. No croak. No sound. Only deep rasping breaths and coughing to clear my airway. Throat sore from coughing.

Day three, four and part of five were repeats of the first two days…until midway through day five when I got congested. My eyes streamed. My nose ran like a London sewer in the 1800’s. My throat cleared up, but boy, I ached. A visit to the Doctor got me nowhere, as there was no visible measure of infection. (I’d been self-medicating with pain relievers, ergo no fever).

The worst part was this malaise. I had zero energy. Even when I had the flu I could do a little bit of something. This thing? Nope. I got up, went to work, came home, then back to bed. That, frankly, scared the crap out of me. I can always push through things, always do what needs doing. But this thing? Knocked me on my ass, hard.

On top of that?

The fucking weather. (Sorry Jz, but you know…it’s the only word.)

I mean seriously. Last weekend the heat had to be turned on. The high was 46. In May. It was so cold, so wet, so raw we were ALL freezing. Out came the fuzzy pants, the sweaters, the layers, the thick socks.  They told us it was going to get hot, but we didn’t really believe it. It had been cold for 10 days. Hadn’t broken 60, let alone the 80’s. But they got it wrong after all. We skipped right over the 80’s, because on Wednesday it zoomed up. All the way up 94. Before noon. And it stayed there. All. Damned. Day.


You read that correctly. In three days, the temperature went up FIFTY DEGREES. Thursday was even warmer, 96. The weather people were going nuts. Cold front coming in, they said. Careful of the storms, they said. Instead, everyone was on facebook when the thunderstorms started rolling through around 10 that night, cheering and shivering with the ferocity of the storms, but expressing their joy with the blessed relief from the heat.

Somehow, the breaking of the weather began my own turn around. Yesterday I had to take a nap after I got up, before I could go to work. Sad but true. But it was almost cold when I went to bed and I slept hard.

No no no! Not a hard-on, pervs!

silly youse guys.


I got a later start this Saturday morning than I’d wanted but once I was up, I could feel my energies begin to revive. It was…WOW and AMAZING all at the same time! One job, done. Second job, done. Third job done.

With energy to spare!

Now tonight I’m back to being congested, but suddenly, I had that feeling. I was on my way to  finding my sexy and decided to come and blog with you all.

I didn’t feel sexy when I was sick. In my case, I didn’t feel that snotty drippyness was at all becoming, was at all attractive, was at all even pervie. And it definitely wasn’t in the least bit sexy.

I actually didn’t feel anything except that I was dying. I know, that sounds melodramatic. But for a day or so, when I wasn’t rebounding as quickly as I thought I should (I mean really. TEN DAYS???) I was thinking maybe I wasn’t going to get better. Even optimists can get down, you know. And believe me, I was Debbie Downer.

I whined publicly (I rarely do that. Seriously.) I didn’t think about M, could barely send him the required text to let him know I was still alive. I didn’t look at porn, read porn or even think one sexy thought.

As if that wasn’t bad enough? I couldn’t think of one fantasy to put myself to sleep at night like I usually do. Not. ONE.

So now it’s cool. The air is swirling around my ankles from the open window behind me, my body feels more my own again, and suddenly sexy ideas are swirling around my brain.

Yeah, oh yeah. I’m on the road to better. I’m back in blogland. Now it’s time to start writing some of the sexy naughty things that I wanted to, before the whole “sick house fell on me and tried to kill me” thing.

*Rubs hands together, grins*


Okay. Tomorrow then.












I love watching fashion-y tv shows. My current favorite is one about bridal shopping, but really I enjoy many of them. Not the “rags” type of shows that are one step up from supermarket tabloids (or is it one step down? I’m never sure!) To be sure, I don’t give a fig about the celeb touting some new designer or trying to be the next fashionista. It’s the designers I really enjoy looking for. Maybe because I like to craft myself?


What, you’re thinking…because I know you after all…does ANY of that have to do with a sex blog?

Well, grab a cuppa, or a beer, or whatever, and have a seat. Because in a tiny little show on an offbeat “station” was a revelation.


She was shopping for a bridal gown. With her sister, a friend…


(really, keep reading because this is nilla. This IS still a sex blog. Promise!)

and her fiancee’s wife.


It’s true. Polyamory.  Mainstream.

But wait, there’s more.

She was wearing a collar. Not the current wife, but the almost-wife. Not a dog collar, but one of those ring ones that fasten in the back with a special key. If you ever read Kaya’s blog before she retired it, she wore one.  Here’s a picture:

Titanium eternity collar (lighter than steel + would match our wedding bands).  Allen screw lock.  $150

Okay, I’m not sure that image is exactly the collar, but it’s as close as I could find on short notice on Pinterest (whatever did we do before that?!).

It was, if you’re into the “scene” of D/s, very obviously a collar. The wife wore a turtleneck, likely to hide hers (yes, I was looking to see if there was a bump under the collar but it was just a shade too lose to see for sure. I caught a hint of it, I think, but whatever.

I found it fascinating. The bridal shop people took it in stride, though there was some whispering out of the hearing of the clients, some degree of titillation, which isn’t really unexpected. But she found a dress and was happily embraced by her soon to be co-wife.

I’m stunned–amazed and happily–that it made it to this very popular show. That it was profiled in a positive manner. They didn’t come out and say “love is love is love is love” but it was certainly embraced as an unspoken ideal.

Wish it were that way everywhere.

*pauses, taps lip with fingertip*

Then again, while I’m pleased with the acceptance here, I’m also kind of glad for the clandestine nature of this dirty dark thing we do. It’s part of the cache for many of us, wouldn’t you agree?


Never Too Busy for HNT

The month of May is jam-packed with family and work obligations…but making time for at least some conversation time with M, and time for HNT is so important! Don’t we all need to feel sexy despite the demands on our time? Don’t we all deserve  to be?

I think this pic says “yes”!


HNT~ Self Abuse Equation

1 needy slut + 1 attempt to tease M = 2 abused nipples. I don’t normally like math…but I do like this equation!


See that backwards “D” there? That’s from that nasty clamp of M’s. Feels pretty good…until it doesn’t.

Bastinado Bastard

I was recently contacted by a reader who requested that I write a story featuring bastinado, or the tormenting of the feet. I’ve never really done this before, but here goes. ~n~

No FUCKING idea.

She’d had no idea that this would happen when she’d agreed to meet him.

“I’m into bondage,” he’d said.

She was into being tied up so that seemed to be a good match. He ticked off all the boxes on her “wants” list. He ticked off all the boxes on her “Dom” list. They’d written to one another nearly daily for two weeks, then texted for another week before they started calling each other. She was nervous~who wouldn’t be, when meeting a new Dominant for the first time?

Her nose itched, distracting her, though there was not a single thing she could do, arms tied tightly behind her back, hair hanging over her face. She couldn’t see, could barely hear him moving around the dungeon. Wiggling only served to make her swing gently, as the rope tying her ankles bit into her skin just a little harder. Laying on her side in the middle of the air was.

Was what?





All of the above, she decided. Unable to speak for the ring gag holding her mouth open, she tried making a few sounds. No reaction from Him. Air moved over her skin, crinkling her nipples. Her nose still itched.


Heat raced along her lower back, her upper thigh. After the heat came the shock of pain, the cracking sound of the thing He’d struck her with. A grunt exploded from her mouth, sounding more like a gurgle.

There you go, slut.

His voice came from nowhere. Everywhere. She spun slowly, feeling the lick of fire along her skin. Whatever He’d used hurt like a son of a bitch!


Again the sharp, sudden flash of heat, then sound, then pain. Across her ass, licking around her waist, flicking along her tits as she rotated on her truss. Her spin stopped finally. A hand grabbed her by the hair, a cock thrust  into her open, available mouth.

She gagged as he went straight in, straight down her throat. No gentle “here’s my cock, taste the tip like a good girl.” This was ‘your mouth is just another hole’. This was ‘I’m going to fuck you deep everywhere I want’. This was hard. He was hard. And it was making her cunt drip.

His voice sounded from behind her.

“You will be used.”

WHAT? If he -was behind her, who the hell was fucking her mouth?

She tried to squirm but that got her nowhere, as the cock wielder was holding her still by her hair.

“No squirming. You’re here to be used.”

A paddle landed firmly on her ass just as the cock drove deep into her throat. The locked scream made her gag, made her eyes water. Her heart raced as her body twitched. He held her head in place, her nose buried in his short and curly, tickling hairy crotch. The paddle walloped on her ass. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t cry out. She couldn’t stop them.

The orgasm wracked her, her cunt spasming wildly. Dimly she could hear the spattering of her juice on the floor beneath her. The cock pulled free, and she drew a deep shaking breath as her eyes leaked, her nose oozed.

There was a long pause when nothing seemed to be happening, but she could hear voices murmuring behind her. Something moved between her legs.

“Since you like cumming so much, my dear…” was all the warning she had before she felt the steady hum of a vibe pressing hard against her pussy. Her clit throbbed from her orgasm and she whined at the touch of the head on the sensitive nubbin. She heard the snick of tape.

Shit! The bastard was taping it to her legs!

The cock slid back into her throat. Something new was being used on her ass, it was sharply stingy, likely a cane. He hit repeatedly on the sore spots of her ass, making her whine, even as the cock fucked her throat like a second pussy. Sensations. She was full of pain, of the taste and torment of a cock, of the pain-pleasure of the big vibrator humming on her cunt.

The tap-tap-tapping moved down her ass to the tender curve where ass and thigh met. She jolted as he hit her there, one of her most sensitive areas. The cock slid deep, silencing her, as her body shimmied in the tight harness of rope, trying pointlessly to escape.

He moved lower, until the tapping tool struck her heels, on the fragile skin rounding to the bottom of her feet. Her toes curled, her head tried to shake no, but the cock had resumed it’s slow and steady fucking between her tautly stretched lips. Those hands gripped her hair tightly, not letting her move away. Not letting her protest the sudden onslaught of her tender feet.


If her mouth hadn’t been full, she’d have screamed. She could feel that the blows, unlike the ones on her ass, were almost gentle in force, but the effect of each strike of the cane along her tender arches was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Licks of fire ran from her feet, up her legs. Her back felt the blows, her belly. Her nipples squeezed tight and hard, her toes curled in meager defense.

There was no defense.

Spearing forks of heat,  far worse than the ones he’d stroked upon her body earlier with the short whip, dashed, white-hot, through her legs. The cock in her mouth pumped faster, the unknown man growling soft “oh yeah baby, fuck! Fuck!” as he came closer to his orgasm. She could barely pay attention for the tearing pain in her feet.

“FUUUCK” yelled the man raping her throat as he jetting hot jizz into her mouth. He pulled out to squirt on her face, tapping the jerking shaft on her chin.

I’m done,” he said, before another cock, beefier than the last, took his place. “It’s fucking amazing when she screams and your cock is deep.”

Suddenly fully aware of every inch of her body, she spasmed again, coming hard against the steadily whirring bulb of the vibrator. Shaking, stabbed with licks of fire from her feet, throat raw, she felt her belly clench again, felt the steady drool from her aching cunt.

Too much, she wanted to scream, but the fat cock in her mouth wouldn’t let her speak.

Something even thinner now struck along her arch, along her toes. Tiny slices of pain, like slivers of fire added to the shivering wreck of her body. She throbbed. Ached.

She’d never felt better.

Gagging when the thick cock jabbed into her throat, she whined around the beefy head as the bastinado worked up her feet towards her heels. One foot, then the other, slapped relentlessly, almost kissing the burning flesh with every gentle stroke. She tried to move her head back, away from the ramming of the fat-cock-man, but his short stubby fingers tangled in her hair. Her cunt spasmed again, the nerves in her clit screaming with the stimulation, the orgasm, the unceasing buzzing of the vibrator strapped there.

O Fuck! she wanted to yell. MAKE IT STOP!!

And at the same time…

never stop.

Hot fire, aching toes. Throat raspy and raw when at last fat-cock-man spurted on her tightly bound, purple-hued tits.

Fucking awesome when their titty bags turn this color,” he’d said, slapping the painfully stretched skin. She whimpered when they took the gag out, when they began the unwrapping of rope around her body. He laid her on the floor after lowering her, but left the vibe on, and attacking her clit.

We can’t take away all your torment now, can we slut? Can’t have you going through withdrawal. Say thank you to Master’s John and David for their cum.” 

He twisted her nipple as she struggled to form the simple phrase. Blinking hair and tears away, she tried to focus on their faces as they stood over her. Her voice was raspy and weak as she thanked them while her Dom tormented her nipples and the big vibe tormented her clit. The men exchanged more words as she lay there, uninterested in anything, too inside herself to comprehend.

Until his cock slid inside of her.

Her eyes widened, then all but rolled back at the pleasure of being filled.

My turn,” he growled. “I won’t be gentle.”


When she woke up Tuesday morning, her feet still ached. Days later and still there was that gently throbbing ache in her arches–and her cunt–that she’d been well used. She hadn’t been sure yesterday, so glad it was a long weekend and she could sleep and heal and remember.

But today, as she dressed for work, strapping on her heels, walking gingerly on her aching feet, she knew.

She was addicted.

And He, that bastinado Bastard, was her drug of choice.