Unethical Behavior

“I see here that you have no family? No one to take you home after your procedure?”

“I’m planning to Uber it, Dr. Melon.”

“I see,” he said, looking up at her over her chart. “And no one at the other end to help you get in, get you settled?”

“No, Dr. I’m pretty confident that I’ll be okay. I have a friend who is kinda on call should I need her.”

“Very well then, let us proceed with the examination, and we’ll go over your options.”

The doctor lowered her johnny and probed her left breast, the right.  He pinched her nipples gently, hefted them in each hand.

“Well, you have good responsiveness in your nipples, and that might change after the reduction. I think you have a fair amount of breast tissue we can do something with. I’m going to do a further test, and we’ll set something up for you.”

“Yes doctor,” she said, shyly tugging her johnny up to cover herself. There was a definite blush in her cheeks as she took the cup he handed her, after mixing some pink powder in it.

“No need to be shy Ms. Morrison,” he chuckled as she hesitated. “I’ve certainly seen my fair pair of breasts over the years!”

Her blush deepened and in her embarrassment, she chugged down the glass of whatever it was. Sweet, with a slight salty-ish tang….


“So you gave her the hormone powder already?”

He nodded, fastening the last of the buckles around Ms. Morrison. Tugging the last strap tight, he nodded to his ‘assistant’.

“She’s good to go. She should sleep for the next several hours.”

“That’s good, because the last one that you sent me woke up halfway there, and cried like a fucking banshee,” was the terse reply.

“As I recall, you have definitely enjoyed the fruits of that ‘banshee’ rather often.”

“Well ya, cuz now she’s screaming for a whole different reason.”

“Multiple orgasms will do that to a woman.”

The two chuckled and the ‘assistant’ wheeled out the gurney to the waiting ambulance.


She awoke with her tits throbbing painfully. Trying to reach one, she was confused by the metallic clinking. Tugging her wrist was futile, it turned out, as her eyes began to focus. She was handcuffed to a bed.

“Oh my god!” she yelled. “Help? Help?”

A figure came towards her, one she vaguely recognized in her befuddled state.

“Calm down now, Ms. Morrison, we don’t want to interrupt the process. Your body is undergoing some rapid transformations just now. While you were asleep, my assistant and I began injecting you with a wonderful cocktail of hormones. Your tits probably hurt some, as they are growing and filling with milk.”

His hand reached over the edge of the barred bed, stroking her swollen tit. She arched, moaning. Even the light touch was painful, her tits were so huge.

“Aaah, I see. You’re ready for your next milking.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

“I…I can’t have babies…I…I can’t make milk….You…you’re…insane!”

“Oh, lovely slut, I’m far from insane. Do you realize what people will pay for titty juice? Oh my, they pay a fortune! A chosen few will win a very expensive trip here to suck your milk direct from your swollen jugs, and for a ridiculous fee, will be allowed to fuck your cunt, which is swollen and tight and juicy.”

His fingers slid down her body, entered the cleft between her legs. It was then that she realized she was naked, and chained open. As his fingers slid inside of her, she felt an orgasm crash through her.

“Yes, that’s another side effect of the hormone cocktail. You don’t have to be pregnant, we simulate those lovely little hormones, and your body will orgasm with the easiest of touches. You’re going to be horny and crazy for people to fuck you.”

He paused, stroking her inner thigh.

“Which I assure you, there will no shortage of volunteers to do.” He paused again, then lowered his zipper to reveal a large, swollen cock. “Including, of course, me!”

She came when his cockhead brushed her lower lips. And had yet another orgasm as he pushed inside of her. She moaned when he did , when he was jammed fully inside of her. Her cunt squeezed his shaft tightly, a hot and wet velvet fist, as yet another orgasm shuddered through her.

A single drop of milk leaked from her left nipple.


Ay-yup. this is it, my nasty fantasy. Being kidnapped, milked, fucked to oblivion. It’s pretty fucking awful…. (and yet so awfully hot…)   ~nilla~


How is it HNT Already?

Seriously, these days are flying past. Summer is supposed to be filled with long, languorous days…yet here we are slipping right along into almost August. It’s been a strange summer, to be sure, with heat waves followed by deeper cold waves than I ever recollect happening in mid-summer.  Anyway, I digress. Here it is, HNT, and me with nary a moment of my own to take some new pics. What to do but go scrolling through my phone, and what did I discover, but this one, all soft and feminine. Maybe not quite the smutty slutty stuff I usually do, but nonetheless, my offering to you on this last HNT of July.




Just Random Stuff

I had a whopper of a sex dream the other night. Woke up and thought “I’ll remember this” and fell back asleep. When I woke up for reals?

Couldn’t remember one fucking thing.


M and I had a playday planned soon, but we’ve had to bump it. Grrr. MY life is so CRAZY!! Hopefully we can make our combined weird schedules coincide not too far from our original day but man, this stuff used to be easy! Now that my kids are older, and he’s working some weekends, it’s truly a juggling act.

However, we both understand the importance of seeing one another more often, so we keep pushing until we do get it to work. It WILL work!


I’m busy in a good way, too. When I’m not working, I’m out in the yard (a lot more this year than it prior years.) It’s AMAZING therapy! Even if I am fighting the curse of creeper vine. That stuff has been loving our strange NE weather. First a heat wave last week, and barely–I mean barely–broke 60 today. Brrr! But the plants are loving it, even if the humans had to dig deeply into closets to avoid freezing.

The cool nights are GREAT for sleeping, however, which is also good therapy. Anyone else struggling to make 5 or more contiguous hours of sleep lately? It’s great for the mood, increasing the libido…

…And maybe another good sex dream?

(there’s a notepad beside my bed now…)


I had the dirtiest masturbation fantasy the other day. Like seriously bad, awful, hot, nasty, omg I can’t believe I fantasized that.

Man oh man did I squirt.

I’m just so bad like that!


Okay, time for bed…wait…what?

What’s that you’re saying?

OMG, you want me to tell you about it? *blushes* Geeze, I’m not sure I want you to get the wrong idea about me. (Or would that be the right idea? Tired and confuddled.)

Okay, let me think about it, because this tired old slut is going to bed. With a few blankets tonight. And hopes of time to think about writing that dark tale down.




My tits are not the same size.

One might agree that there is a pretty large amount of boobage inequality going on here…but to the one to whom it should matter? It doesn’t, not even a little a bit, for he will torment them equally.




(For the record, He would caption this “low-hanging summer squash”!)

It Hurts

I moan as he slaps my pussy. We are laying snugged close together. I’m on my back and unable to move as he is laying on my hair (deliberately, of course). He lays on his side, his mouth moving between fierce kisses on my lips, and ravaging attacks on my nipples. He has fingered me to many orgasms before, and during these multiple sensory attacks.

It hurts when he slaps my pussy. He is not gentle, not quiet little thuds that excite, but hard, full handed smacks that make a very explosive sound in the room. They do not excite me. Rather, they make me wild. I arch, pushing up at him as best I can. The pain is so raw, my poor pussy having spewed tons of juice, my ‘love tunnel’ (eyerolls at self for that one) is swollen and throbbing and tender.

When he pounds on my cunt this way I have but one reaction, one thing I want more than anything.



I wiggle and writhe wanting his hand to never stop hurting me this way. I come, squirting against his palm, and he laughs a deep and throaty chuckle.

“You dirty little cunt,” he says, so amused. His hand continues to smack me, and now my clit throbs, post-orgasm. It hurts, my lower lips must be red as tomatoes, but still I want it. I feel the heat from the pussy spanking, the need building even more quickly this time. I come, arching and keening wildly as my body trembles and shudders through an enormous orgasm.

He slips his fingers inside of me then, when I’m nearly unconscious from the force of my coming undone. They stay still, just biding their time. As I come around, I feel the thickness inside me. My voice is heavy, drugged with lust and hard use. I think I must sound drunk.

“Zir…” I moan. “Iz zore..sossososo zore…mazzterrrr…”

“I know,” he croons softly into my ear. “Shhhh…” he soothes me, hushes me.

His fingers pound into my aching flesh then, a wild raw taking.

“Shhhh,” he continues to croon as I cry out, moaning, head thrashing.

“Oh….oooohh…” I cry  “hurtzzzzzz….”

“I know,” he murmurs, tone gentle and sweet. “That’s how I like it.”

I come in his hand at that, and soak the bed.

Grumble. Grumble.

I woke up grumpy.

Don’t you hate when that happens? The second I get up the kids are all over me about some thing or other, the dogs are clamoring to go outside NOW and I have to pee.

And it is humid, wet, drizzly outside.

Later, it clears enough to make it hot and humid. O joy, my least favorite thing. This summer it seems like, just when it cools down to comfortable levels, and is not humid, BLAMMO, we’re back in the soup. Honestly, I don’t know how all you all from the south can even stand it!! I feel all droopy, non-productive. I AM productive, it just feels like I’m slogging through mud. My hair hangs down my back, and even in a ponytail it sticks to me, and makes me hot. I’d cut it but Himself would *kill* me. It’s finally at a length where he can wrap it a few times around his hand. He loves that. Eventually it will need to be cut, a good few inches at that. And he usually lets me do it in the fall (otherwise I get headaches from the weight of it) when we don’t have as much time to see one another. We’ll see what He’ll let me do.

So I’ve been mopey and hot and uncomfortable and just out of sorts today.

Then I stop and think…maybe it’s….subdrop?

Can it?

Could it?

But … our playtime was weeks ago. Two, and two days…who gets subdrop that long after the event? My bruises have fully faded. I’ve had several hours of downtime to miss him. I don’t wince when I sit.


I’ve turned back into vanilla nilla.


Quick, break out the whips ‘n chains! This slut needs help! (That’s some more hyperbole there, JZ!)

Upon really thinking about it, though, it isn’t impossible that I could be feeling the blues from our playtime being over. I rode the high of that a good 10 days. For 7 of them it hurt every damn time I sat. For the last three it was tender, but I could sit without holding back a gasp. Then I got busy, and have had a pretty full few days. So with some semi-downtime in the offing, it’s really a time to focus on how it was with Him, how it is without him. How my body yearns. How my brain is churning out little tales as I fall asleep at night. I’m turned on as I’ve ever been…but no place for it to go.

It’s weeks and weeks until our next time. It’s time enough for me to let the yearning build, and become accustomed to the feeling of neediness. When the subdrop morphs into mere wanting, rather than sadness at not having what I want, I know things have turned the corner. Tomorrow, if we follow the pattern of other subdrops, will be better. Today is “crisis” day, and things can only go up from here.

(That was not a euphemism for a hard-on, btw, despite how much I enjoy “things”  going up…hehehe!!)

Tomorrow is going to be a better day.

It will, because I’ll make it so. Even though I miss him. Even though I have no marks to touch. Even though the high has faded. So too has the low. Writing to you all about this has helped. Remembering the good time we had together pushes away the sadness.

But gods I’m so needy.

A Good Weekend

I’m going to tell you right up front that this is a pretty vanilla post. Okay, maybe I’ll have a bit of M and nilla story, but no promises. You know that I write pretty stream of consciousness, so we’ll see where it goes. Consider yourself forewarned!

My weekend was pretty awesome. I got to spend several hours with Jz on Saturday. We trolled a local mall, saw some fancy schmancy stuff  (I’m a rube, and easily impressed by Swarski crysals and ball gowns). We had an awesome lunch with an incredible view and some great conversation. It’s really neat to spend time with someone who gets this whole lifestyle thing that we’re in. No need to weigh every word for vanilla nuance, no need to explain about this or that…she gets it. We speak of families and mutual online friends, then leave the restaurant and walk through the lingerie section, talking underwires and support, cup sizes and how her breasts are totally defying gravity despite our similar ages. I think because I’m closer to the ground than her, gravity pulls my boobs harder than hers. Just a private theory, mind you.


We look at panties too, oohing at pretty ones with lace and satin. It’s a totally vanilla D/s time for us. Doesn’t that sound like an oxymoronic statement? We’re not sexual partners, just friends in the life. And gosh it’s soo good to be able to speak freely.

I got home just in time to miss the rain, and got to do some house puttering. There’s something rather virtuous about that, isn’t there? A little of this, a wee bit of that and you feel like you’ve accomplished miracles!

Today (Sunday) was a gorgeous day in New England. Almost zero humidity, temps in the mid-80’s. My kind of weather. We’ve had a pretty cool summer up here in the northeast..and they are saying later this week–the middle of July, mind you– we could see some pretty chilly weather, with highs barely breaking 60. What a strange summer it’s been. And wet. So very wet.

Normally, slut that I am, I don’t mind a bit of wet, yanno?


But this weather has been MORE than making up for the last two summers of drought. When you have mushrooms growing in your back lawn, you’ve pretty much had enough rain!

M and I have set up a time for our next playdate. If all goes well, it will be our third this year…We’ve not managed to do that in several YEARS! Wow, we’re enjoying the hell out of one another.

We were laying in bed on our last playday and he was assaulting my nipples with his mouth and teeth. My gods his mouth is dangerous! He lifts my tit high, high, stretching it painfully..by my nipple in his teeth. He growls (how exciting!) and shakes his head, making my tit wobble and shake. He growls again, drops it, then attacks it, chewing and sucking it.

It is lovely. And it hurts like hell. When he takes a break, I whisper “I’m really glad I don’t have pierced nipples.”

“No,” he says, looking up at me. “You don’t ever want to do that.” His eyes glint fiercely, a predator to the core. I feel trapped by him then, a kind of wild, fearful (wonderful) thing.

It made me shiver, and get wet (again). I knew if I ever did, I’d live to regret it. I know he’d savage them, and likely destroy my nipples. The idea of it sometimes still appeals, in that stupid painslut fantasy world I live in sometimes.

I won’t.

But I’ll imagine it, nonetheless.

By Special Request, HNT!

oOooh my what a fuck of a day! I don’t believe any day is a total goner, because there’s almost always something salvageable about it…today’s positive? No one died. (by my hand, either!) And there was ice cream at day’s end. *nods* Things are always better with ice cream.

If I drank often I’da had a serious problem today, just sayin’.

But I digress. I’m very very late because of all the things that didn’t go as planned …but I’m still posting ON HNT so there! And because a certain reader was intrigued by being bitten on the ass…(and omfg did that hurt!)…today I bring you HNT with no tits. No, pervie peeps, today, HNT stands for Half-nekkid Tush.


Drumroll, please….

ah c’mon…





I need to amend the title. Because the bum shot is NOT half naked..er nekkid. No, it’s full-on nekkid. Holy Nekkid Tush! There ya go. Okay, do continue with that drumroll now…and give it some effort will ya?!



Thank you, that was better. (you pervs need to work harder on that, because I am SURE the Doms reading here could beat out a good drumroll…*giggles*)





Although those blue circles COULD be the size and shape of my eyes when He bit me, it’s really just marking the spots where he did bite me (all the rest of the bruises are from spanking, pinching, and his various assortment of beating things.) Funny, from a distance it almost looks like a certain famous mouse who lives in Florida (and SoCal)!


He was hungry for me (and I have the bite marks on my ass to prove it! ) I could hear it in his voice on the phone, and  again when we were in the parking lot before we went up to the room. There was a tenderness in that public venue, that is a reflection of our day-to-day conversations and texts. He kisses me gently, his hands cupping my elbows in the tenderest way.

But once the door closes on the outside world?

Everything changes. He does. I do, and the situation does.

It’s funny to me, really. Because just days before I was wondering if this was it, our last hurrah. I’d say something like ‘it’s been a great 8 years but…I’m not really into being beaten and submitting anymore.”



He touches me and I become a fucking geyser of want. Liquid drips down my inner thighs. When he grabs a hank of hair and spins me around, I swear I almost drool. Oh it hurts, yes indeed. I was yelping and whining and crying with the best of ’em there.

Muttering about how much it hurts to get to the good part.

He did chuckle at that. And then went back to pinching and biting my ass. Oh yeah, it hurt. And oh my, it turned me on so much. I came at least twice from the hitting. Not giant gushers, but the kind that just slicks everything down.

He touches me, cups my vulva with his hand, feels my wetness.

“You cunt,” he says. “You’re so fucking wet!”

His fingers slip into my cunt and ass, twirling and fucking. I cum in his hand. He laughs again, calls me a whore, a dirty little pain whore.

I eat it up, those words. I wonder, later, how I could have ever sloughed off this…this need inside of me. It’s part of me. Knit into my DNA. I don’t have to explain it to need it. I don’t have to have a psych profile to understand it. I just want it, and that’s okay. It’s okay to want. To crave. To need.

It is a weird thing, this lifestyle choice. But it’s also uniquely awesome in a way nothing else touches.

And yes. I’m hungry for more.