HNT ~ D/s Style

I’m still floating. Still in a really, really good headspace. I’m pretty much an “up” person these days, with occasional dips into low places, but then again, that’s part of the human condition, right?

But after playtime with Him? I’m so hurty-excellent that I’m getting much accomplished. If only you could see my ass. A full three days into this and sitting is *still* painful. Really painful.

And I’m in a constant state of horny, which is good. And bad. My head is spinning stories, my mind is finangling another playtime and and and…but wait.

I’m going on and on and it’s HNT day! Okay, here ya go…


Heh. Those are not tits now, are they? (totally laughing my butt of imagining all you all’s faces.)

You must admit that it’s a purdy sexy pic though, right? I love the way M’s legs frame mine…and you can’t see it but He is pinching my nipples and I’m taking the picture around his arms. There was incentive to get it right the first time, but he had me take two just in case.

Or just to pinch my nipples longer.

So here’s the set up for the “real” HNT picture.

I’m laying on the bed, already smacked and mussed up and breathless…

“M, can I ask a favor?” I say, my voice kind of quiet and breathy. Then I think about it and say “Nevermind. I can’t believe I was going to even say that. What was I thinking.”

“What nilla?” he says. My sudden change of heart has caught his attention and his eyes sharpen,

“it’s nothing, I changed my mind,” I say, rolling over.

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

He slaps my ass then when I roll to my tummy to attempt to get away from the slap, he lays atop me to stop me. His hands dig under me, and finding my tits, squeeze them, knead them, in a rough, fierce grasp. Now I’m whining and thrashing but he’s pinned me you see. No place to go.

“What nilla?” He says in my ear, his voice amused, and also, brooking no denial.

“I…I did a pic last week a vanilla blackandbluepicture and …and…”

He pinches really hard and I squeal. His laughter shakes through my body.


“And I wonderedifyouddoadsversionofthepic”

I said in a rush.

He crushes my tits, then rolls off me, pulling me up off the bed.


I stand hands at my sides as He takes my tits out of my bra, picks up the wooden spoon I gave him in a moment of sheer stupidity and wanton abandon, and twirls it between his fingers while holding my eyes with his. Holding my tit in his hand, he starts slapping it with the spoon. He switches to pinching my tit, exposing my nipple and swats the fuck out of it. Over. Over. Over again.


I almost came, right then. The pain was sharp, intense. Blow after blow. When he was satisfied with one area, he chose another. I was shaking, almost crying.

“Oh” he says, and drops my tit. “I almost forgot this one,” and he scoops out the other tit, and starts beating it as he had it’s mate.

There was biting in there, but honestly by then I was seeing stars and moons and totally out in blotto land. So here you go,  you pervie peeps! This is the D/s version of Black and Blue:


(And those bruises are even darker now. This was what I took when I got home after playtime)


Waves of Submission

During play time, things come in waves…times of interaction, greeting, choosing outfits, laying out our stuff. Times of touching and hurting and coming. Times of talking. Times of silence. Times of soft, quiet torture, followed by soothing strokes.

So too does my memory come back to me in waves. During our together time, I’m always in the moment with Him. Always aware, thinking I’ll remember EVERYTHING that happened. And then the day progresses, and pain layers upon pain, and lust upon lust. I am both filled, and drained…and can’t think a cogent thought. It takes time for things to trickle down to my conscious memory.  Now, days later,  things come to mind in quick flashes, images of things I saw, impressions of things I felt, hot flashes of hurt, hotter flashes of sex and pain rolled tightly together. I remember toys, and the brush of his beard against my throat. I recall the weight of his body pinning mine, his hands diving under my shirt to attack my tits. His fingers wrapped in my hair as I suck his cock, or pulling me backwards on the bed to be right where he wants me. The sound of his hand hitting my rump, the sharp and staccato beat of it, followed by the searing heat on my skin. So many images, sometimes moving in a flash as I do some mundane task. I pause and see the movie unfolding.

Near the end of our playtime, the heat and the pain and lust all roll together until I’m begging him to hurt me harder, make me cum harder, make me weep with the pain and joy of it. He laughs with a soft, triumphant sound into my ear. “yes, yes, beg me for it. you want the pain. you want it.” His fingers ram into my cunt, jabbing and thrusting and twisting until I feel like he’s going to pull me inside out. I whine “It hurts, Master, hurts so much…” and his voice hums into my ear, “I know, I know it hurts, doesn’t it? That’s when it’s the best, little girl…”

And i explode.

I cum so hard it hurts, his hand leaving my cunt, only to start slapping my clit and pussy so hard the bed is shaking.

He laughs when my next orgasm squirts from me. This is a huge turn on, just writing this, remembering this. But I’m not writing about orgasms tonight, no matter how good they are, how wet and lovely they are.

No, I’m thinking of that first wave of togetherness. When we’re …reacquainting ourselves with one another. When  all is fresh and new, when I’m just getting into the headspace, when I’m letting regular life go and submersing myself into submissive nilla place…that’s a crystal clear memory. My hair is just right, my lipstick bright. My things are laid out, and I’m ready for fun. I forget how much fun hurts at this time. I just remember the floaty part, not the journey there.

I’m dressed in the outfit he chose. I’m in the shoes, on the bed, having been torn between laughter from his fiendish tickling, and pain as he mauls my tits. I’m laying there in the middle of the bed, awash with sensations, already drained, tousled, mussed, tossed around, bruising.

He rises from the bed, moves to the bathroom. I can’t even open my eyes.

“Stay there” he says in the Dom voice.

You know the one, right? There’s the talking voice, there’s the playful voice, and then there’s the Dom Voice.

Stay there.

It’s firm, no nonsense, don’t fuck around tone sends shivers through my bones, raises goose-flesh on my skin, and thrills me. I’m not capable of defying that voice, of playing around and getting up and hiding toys. He’s serious, he means it.

Stay there.

I can’t even think about dozing off, as the words bounce in my head,  echo around my mind. That tone. Gods, how it affects me! I can feel the submission leaking from that hidden corner inside me, the one I didn’t think existed anymore. I’m no longer merely talking about  submission (in a somewhat hopeful way…) I AM a submissive. I shiver, and am put in my place, though I haven’t moved an inch. I am fully, totally his. A slut. No. His slut. A toy. A possession. His toy, his possession. I lay in the bed as he rises. He pauses at the foot of the bed, speaks.

Stay there.

And walks away.  I don’t think. I don’t whine. I obey.

I half-whisper my reply.

yes Sir.


Ooooh Myyyyy Gawd…

I forgot what a mean Bastard he is. And the delighted laughter that comes from him when I say that to him. Right after a few hissed “fuck YOU!”‘s have come out first. I forgot how much he enjoys being mean…and immediately being kind…and immediately after that, slipping right into mean mode as I relax…

Never relax your guard around a Dom on a Dominance High. Like…ever.

I’ll write more once I can sit longer. Right now, I’m drained, empty, and yet so full.

And it hurts.


Hurts a lot.

But dayam it’s so amazingly, fucking good, too.

Stuff and Updates and Nattering On…

Howdy! I’ve not had time to sit and natter at you all in a long while. How is it that the older we get the less time we have? I’m not an empty-nester despite my age, so that’s a part of it, but man, life is busy. I’ve decided that it beats sitting around twiddling my thumbs, but there are days that thumb-twiddling seems a bit enviable! Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE what I do for a living, but between that and all the other life-things that constantly need attending, I’m flat out.

Okay, not “flat”…*snickers loudly*…you’ve *seen* my HNT’s after all. Though I admit that age IS definitely adding saggage faster than I am liking.  I’m pretty glad we have gravity, but …somedays it’s a drag. (I’m falling over laughing, you guys. Man, I kill myself with my own humor.)

I’m writing this late in the night, (can you tell, by all the silly slapstick humor already?), and also late in the week, but you won’t see it until “it” is happening.  It’s Sunday morning, and you’re having breakfast, or lounging in bed scanning porn and here I am with a new post. But I’m busy so I can’t  wait until Sunday to write, because I’ll be too busy doing it.

What it?

C’mon, y’all are smart…Doing. It.


M and nilla are finally having another playtime. Our second of the year, which doubles what we had last year. (Last year was a tough year for both of us). We’ve not had face time nor play time since late January or early February. (I’m bad with dates!) Anyway, it’s been a while. But as you read this, I’m getting ready to head out and meet him. He makes me nervous. Being nervous makes me aroused. Being around Him arouses me. Basically, I’m gonna be wet and wanting for the next bunch of days, soon to be ‘handled’ as you sit there with your bagel or toast, coffee or tea.

He touches me, I melt. Smacks me? Oooh heaven. Last time we played, I squirted when he slapped my pussy. He still teases me about that. Hi, I’m nilla and if you smack my pussy I’ll be your squirting slut tonight…


Nah! Not here!

What else is going on? Gardening, but this here is a sex blog and I’ll bet you don’t care about my Shasta Daisies.

I don’t have Shasta Daisies.


Yard work. Again, sex blog. Boring! I colored my hair. Boring. I masturbated and came so hard that I almost fell asleep with my dildo (still on) in my pussy.


It’s not a story, but it’s true. So, not boring. But when I snapped out of that post-orgasmic haze, I did giggle. Please tell me this happens to you when you masturbate? Sometimes?


*no crickets allowed. You must share your silly masturbation story with me*

(I may be a submissive slut, but I’m a bossy one!)

Seriously, life here has been this yawny? INDEED it has! But…after you read this, and sip your coffee to the bottom, and shake your head and say “oh nilla, you silly slut”, you’ll pause a moment and go “I’ll bet there’s going to be some juicy stuff ahead (pun intended!) in her blog next week!”

And it’ll have to be next week because He makes me so blotto that it takes me 48 hours to recover my brain cells. The peace, though. OMG. There’s nothing like it, is there? Mostly the demons in my head are quiet these days, because I just don’t have time for them, either. But M puts all my worries and fears and confuddled emotions in a box, and stomps on them and hands me the box back when we’re done playing, and as I pry open the sides of the box, all the things that have haunted at the back of my mind have turned to pixie dust, and I’m free. There really is no better gift.

Well, other than the bruises, and sore places.

Thems is puuuuuurty awesome, dontchaknow?

*laughs again*

And if you’re really good (or in our case, really naughty), I’ll share. You know. Once my brain crawls back from between my legs.






can’t, she whimpered. Her head thrashed from side to side, the only part of her body free to move.

“You will.”

His voice was implacable. His will be done, she knew but she was going to die.

hell of a way to go, her brain said, as her body jerked. Fluid jetted from her swollen vulva, her pussy red from the beatings of hand and toys. Her clit throbbed, her nipples tightened. Again.

He rested the vibe against her slit as she whimpered, and leaning over her, snapped a tiny elastic over her nipples. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this, and her nipples radiated pain. Her pussy flushed a deeper red.

The vibe slipped inside her pussy and pumped hard and fast.

nooo i can’t, i can’t i caaaaaannnnn…”

Her body arched against the ropes that held it down, open, accessible to his every touch. Her mouth opened in a high keening nnnnnnnn sound that drew a smile from him. It was the sound of ultimate surrender. She could not control what happened to her. She’d wanted orgasms, not pain.

Many orgasms.

He just did what she wanted, he reminded her as she sagged back against the mattress. Orgasms and not pain. Orgasm after orgasm is what he gave her. His gift, his acceding to her desires. He wondered if she thought it was a gift still.

Her head moved, perhaps a nod of agreement. Sweat matted her hair to her forehead. Her nose and eyes were slick with other fluids, including his come.

She’d been so pretty when she’d come into the room, hair long and loose and softly curled, makeup just so, skirt and shirt tidy and sexy.


Now she was a wreck, a ruin of a slut, broken and weeping and coming again. Covered in sweat and come and tears, she’d gone from pretty to something else entirely. She was his. And he made her come apart.

And she was beautiful.



He leaned against the wrought iron fence, a snifter of brandy in one hand. The amber liquid glowed as the last shafts of sun speared through the trees that ringed the property. Sunset was a heady of time of day, the end of work, the start of play. He rested one hand on the fence, relaxed, watching her.

Her mouth was full of spit, which she was trying valiantly to swallow. She hated when it leaked around the bright red ball and oozed down over her. There was no beauty in it, which perplexed her. Didn’t guys want their women to be all pretty for them? Where was the appeal in messing her the hell up this way?

“You’re scowling.”

Her eyes met his. Though she dreamed of being submissive, there was that glowing nugget of ‘fuck you’ inside her. She was just not going to be a doormat. She could be obedient and still be herself. She could challenge him sometimes; she was willing to risk the punishment of being sassy. But though she was submissive, she was never going to be totally wimpy either. She knew he could read the glare in her eyes as he watched her carefully. He enjoyed making her pissy, it was part of the appeal for him, right up there with spit drool all over her, and cumming on her tits, and any of the other things he did to her.

She enjoyed that he would only let her go so far over the line. That he’d reel her back in, that he’d not put up with brattiness (and she didn’t attempt to go there, really), but that he could deal with everything else as long as she was, in the end, obedient. She’d opened her mouth for the ball gag, despite knowing that he’d keep it in long enough for the drool river.

That had been pretty freaking obedient of her.

She sat back on her haunches, feeling the first line of spit dribbling out of her stretched lips. It would only be a moment before the long silvery strand attached itself to her tit. So yes. She was scowling, despite the freaking gag.

“Come here, slut.”

The glare intensified. She knew he didn’t mean walk. She wanted to balk. Wanted to shake her head no, hell no. She slipped down to all fours. The motion pulled the string on the ass hook, wedging it deeper up her butt. There was some discomfort, but more than that was a pleasure that came from the large ball rubbing up inside of her. Every wiggle of her ass on the long crawl to where he stood smirking would turn her on and hurt her too.

He was just that fucking devious.

She took the first crawling ‘step’, wincing and pausing. Dropping her head pulled the rope too tight in her ass and she arched her back to relieve the stress. Her hands moved, her knees moved, and she whined. Her knees and palms hurt as she crawled over the long trail of rice he’d sprinkled along the floor. Her ass throbbed, her pussy swelled with need.

She needed him to fuck her.

He needed to witness how badly she wanted that, by creating a pain-filled obstacle course. If she really, really wanted to be used, she’d continue on her journey despite the rice. As she got closer to him, one painful foot at a time, she noted that he’d mixed dried split peas and lentils into the debris on the floor.

Had her mouth been free, she would have given him an earful! How fucking cruel he was! Sure, he was a sadist. Sure he was her Dom. But geezus.

Her cunt weeped.

He made her hurt herself to prove that she wanted him to hurt her more. And fuck her. Dear gods she needed him to fuck her.

He’d finished his brandy, set the snifter aside. Now his hands held the long whip. As she made it through the doorway and out onto the decking, his gaze sharpened. A quick flick had the tail dancing through the air, snapping on her back. Whipping her head, arching, moaning with the shock of pain, brought other pain. The beast in her butthole. The rice and dried beans under her sore palms and knees, on the tops of her feet and between her toes. And now the dancing fire of the whip lacing across her back and bottom. The single line of drool had become a steady stream which her hand or knee occasionally landed in.

She couldn’t think about spit when her back and sides were being caressed with the kiss of the whip. It carried a sting like no other. He was criss-crossing up her back, until the she was close enough for the tip to curl along her side and lick across her left tit. She reared up then, whimpering and whinnying behind the gag.

“Oh, did that one hurt a lot, slut?”

Tears and snot joined the spit. She nodded, then winced when the action tugged the hook in her bum.

“Come to me, slut,” he said again, his voice like warm honey. She could see the outline of his cock under the thin cotton of his loungers. She could see that his own nipples were hard. Her mouth watered in anticipation of tasting both.

She crawled onward.

Closer now, he could, did, moved around her. He’d switched to the paddle. In another incarnation, the paddle was actually the pizza peel. The bastard had no compunctions about using it on her ass, then calmly washing it off and using it to pull pizza from the oven.

Weird Doms!

He reached under her, smacking her swinging tits with the long barbecue spatula. The sound of her moans, the slap of things on her body, the crunch of the dry stuff beneath her merged into a steady tunnel of sensation. She hurt, she lusted, she wanted to make it to the fence.

Only a few more crawling steps to go. She collapsed her arms, ass in the air, forehead resting on the back of her hands as her legs quivered. He hadn’t given permission to wipe the rice off of her knees yet.

The spatula struck between her inner thighs.

“Wider. No, wider.”

Stinging slap of the metal on her tender inner thighs directed just how wide he wanted her spread. He pressed against the metal hook protruding from her anus and she whined loudly as he laughed. His fingers reached into the folds between her legs, slipping easily inside her hot cunt.

“You’re so fucking wet. You little pain whore!”

His free hand slapped her ass, her hips, her thighs. The other hand was busy fucking her hole, pinching her clit, tugging and pushing the ball in and out of her puckered rectum.

“You don’t know whether to shit or go blind, do you slut?”

The quote was an oldie, but it sure described her predicament. She wanted him to torment her, to fuck her, to play with her. She wanted to lay on a bed and be fucked in that wild way he had.

It wasn’t about what she wanted.

Her skin quivered as he continued to slap, probe, and poke at her. At long last, hours? Days? Weeks? He stepped away, grabbing her hair.

“Get up, slut,” and he tugged her to her feet.

“Clean yourself up,” he ordered, flicking his finger across one spit-covered nipple. “You’re a fucking mess!”

She would have glared at him, but she was too turned on now to even protest. His fingers pinched the slippery wet nub, as he leaned close.

“You like it when I hurt you. You want more, don’t you?”

She closed her eyes, breathed through the pain in her tender nipple.

And nodded.








She was sitting in the lounge chair under the umbrella. Not necessarily hiding from the sun, but not seeking to be burnt to a crisp, she enjoyed, nonetheless, the brilliant sparkle on the surface of his pool.

It was pretty freaking awesome to have your own in-ground pool outside your back door, even if it was hot enough to fry an egg on the concrete around it. She was glad he’d suggested being here today, for a day to chill and relax and try to cool down. He knew how much the heat bothered her, and for all that he was a wicked bastard in the bedroom, he was careful with her.

He took care of his things, he’d told her, and she was now one of his things.

She wasn’t sure why that had made her all melty. Maybe that submissive need to belong, maybe just  the matter-of-fact way he’d said it, the casual “this is the way things are now” that let her know that she was his. Her fingers toyed with the collar he’d given her. It was rose-gold, a thin band ringing her neck. Not tight enough to choke, not loose enough to forget, and unable to remove unless he did so.

She wore a two piece suit though she wasn’t comfortable the way her flabby belly pushed out the long top. He’d wanted her to wear a bikini, but she threw her safeword at him. He’d laughed, told her he’d seen her asshole, for goodness sake, why would he be upset by her belly which he’d had his hands, mouth, and toys upon numerous times? She’d blushed, and regrettably, whined a little bit. In the end he did compromise with the tankini top and minuscule bottom.

He came out via the sliding door, drinks in hand.

She slapped her hand over her mouth.

“What?” he said, watching her eyes dance, and her fingers clamped over her lips. She shook her head no.

“What?” he asked again.

Her other hand gestured vaguely at him. He was sure he heard giggles from behind her hand. Setting the drinks down, he leaned over her and tugged her hand away. Her lips curved, her mouth parted.

Guffaws erupted.

His brows beetled together. She laughed harder. Tears began to slip down her cheeks, and she held her belly  as the raucous humor poured from her.

“Those….no. No Sir. No. You can’t. No…”

And she fell back into hysterical laughter.

“I beg your pardon?” He said, his voice a mix of perplexed and affronted.

“Oh..oh..” and she fell sideways in the lounger. Her knees drew up  as she lay there, helplessly laughing. Her butt was wiggling around as she gasped out wild chortles. He leaned over her again and slapped it hard. Her eyes widened, a look of shock crossed her face. But when she looked at him, giggles exploded once again.

His hand smacked her round bottom again. And again. And again for good measure, the third time being the most forceful. Her laughter ceased, but her smile remained.

“Ouch. And yum,” she said, rubbing her butt cheek.

“Do take a moment to explain…..this…this…hilarity.” He waved his hand at her as she continued to lay curled in the chair. One foot stretched out, a slash of sunlight attempting to fry her toes. She hiccuped.

“Oops!” she said, grinning. “Sometimes that happens when I laugh too much.”

“Indeed,” he replied drolly.

“It’s those…those…what are those?”

“It’s my swimsuit. What. What?” He frowned at her as she stuffed her fist into her mouth. Small tee-hee’s and snickers leaked around her fingers.

“You..they…SIR! You’ve got pink flamingo’s on your pants!” Another burst of laughter threatened to explode. “FLAMINGO’s Sir.”

“Yes. They are flamingo’s. So?”

“You…you’re such a bastard! You hit me. You hurt me. And you know I love it. But you have this reputation for being such a badass, such a Dom Bastard Badass, that people are actually afraid of you. *I* was afraid of you before, too. And here you are…”

This time she could not stop the laugh. Her hand waved towards the offending swim trunks, their acid-pink flamingos practically glowing.

“And here I am.” He smiled. “I like pink flamingo’s. They remind me of the color of a woman’s pussy after it’s been slapped for a while. A long while.”

He wagged his eyebrows at her in a way that made her laugh all the harder. And also made her pussy grow damp, made her body yearn.

“Now, slut, if you’re done making fun of my choice of swimwear, get your ass over here and suck my cock.”

She smiled, and complied.


Just a little short (and sweet!) tale to let you all know I’m still alive! I woke up with this story in my head this morning, and I had to ‘catch’ it before it got away…! ~nilla~





Another Late HNT

Internet issues have challenged me–I tried to get this together last night so that i’d be EARLY, but my interwebz wasn’t up for the task (figures, the one night I have time to do it early, right?!). Right now it’s not running awesomely enough for me to upload my new pic, so I’m trolling through some of my tit-history.

Who knew one could have a tit-history?

(the thought amuses me greatly)


img_9259Why isn’t it football season yet


Well, at least it’s tanktop season!


Hot enough to be nekkid. I do luuuvvvv nekkid.


..but now it’s late and time for this tired HNT slut to snuggle up in bed. ‘night, peeps!




the slap on her tit made her jolt. being blindfolded left her unaware until he hurt her. the pain was intense, the ropes biting hard into her soft flesh. couldn’t see the color of them, though she imagined them turning blue as she’d seen on so many porn pics.

oW! she yelped, knowing the cane by the thin burn of pain.

fUCK! she tried to move a few dancing steps back, away, but he’d tied her from above so she could only move a little bit left or right, back or forth. the crack of the thin wooden rod upon her nipple burned like hellfire.

his steps moved around her, she knew he walked hard so she could fear, anticipate, sweat.


SWAT!  her ass was burning from the two crossed swishes, she felt the X blaze across her butt. Bastard! Asshole!

words begged to be uttered, lips wisely held them back

SMACK! upon her tender nipple, swollen and rigid from the ropes binding her large tits, making them swell to rigid, fat orbs of purple, slut-grapes taking pain.

she whinnied with the pain, like a horse with a burr under its saddle blanket, bucking and writhing and seeking escape. the safeword slid across her tongue, knocked upon her teeth for release,

but she swallowed it away instead.

ScREAmED him for a right BASTARD as he tapped the stick again on her tender nipple. she felt the bruise rising, long straight highways of purple rising against the swollen purple of her tit.

his fist in her hair, pulling her head back, growling into her blinded face

a bastard am I? am I? 

her nod as he held her hair, cried as he laughed, and agreed.

releasing her to swing and dangle, a blue-titted bird, a human wind chime, a snotty-faced creature with head bowed.

legs, shoulders, ass, pussy, all stroked with his lashing. cool tender hands tracing along her aching flesh.

wiping the juice from her thighs, her lips suckling his fingers clean, tasting herself, moaning.

his fingers made quick work of her next release.

jerking on her rope, she came, came, came