Bruised Meat

There was much hitting (as one would expect) during our playtime. Pinned, arms bound criss-cross, I could not stop Him. Despite twisting, turning, wriggling, He slapped arms, thighs, that OMG-TOO-TENDER! spot where ass and thigh meet…and my tits. His hands squeezed, slapped, pinched, shook and molested my poor tits until I was crying.

And then he took the spoon to them.


This is how they looked an hour after he attacked them…and this is how they looked last night, 3 days later:


Pretty, pretty bruises.


“Give Me…”

His finger circles my clit. I’ve come, and it’s sensitive and I’m hot and slippery and needy. Again. He laughs at my obvious need, his fingers pinching, squeezing the bulbous sex button before slipping back down my sodden slit.

A solitary finger enters me.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls softly into my ear.

The single finger is joined by another, then a third. Slowly he pushes into me, rubbing against my spot until I’m arching.

He pulls out, and I’m left gasping, right on the edge.

I may have called him a fucking bastard then. His hand rises to my mouth.

“Taste,” he says, “taste yourself on my fingers.”

A finger slides across my bottom lip.

“Salty,” he says, “Sweet.”

“you, girl. That’s you.”

Slowly he presses the other digits into my mouth, across my tongue, down towards my throat, almost-but-not-quite gagging me.

Just as those salty-sweet slicked fingers had caressed my cunt, so now did they fuck my mouth as my tongue swirled and flicked over them, cleaning him. He laughs, a soft chuckle of sound, then pulls them free.

“Here,” he says, turning my head with his free hand. His mouth takes mine, lips barely touching before he pulls back a fraction of space.

“Give me. Give me…” His word is a fierce yet quietly growled order.

“More,” he demands, lips against my mouth. I press my lips harder against his. Our mouths suck and take greedily from one another. I moan as he sucks my aching tongue hard, then bite his lip when he frees it.

As our mouths mate, his fingers press into my pussy and begin the dance of lust again.


Hurts…So Much, So Good

I am an aching, bruised mess.

My hair is mussed. Tied into tangles and knots it will take a deep conditioning to untangle. Seriously…it was soooo bad when he finally let me up off the bed, that I looked like I’d been electrocuted! Long hair scrubbed all over the damn bed makes for one powerful, somewhat terrifying case of bedhead!

My body hurts, just about everyplace you can imagine. (And I know you all have wonderful imaginations!)

He spanked me long and hard. I felt the tension ease away, even as the pain built. He spanked my ass multiple times through the day, then later near the end of playtime, my pussy.

And oh, the pussy smacking. It was brutal and hard. The harder he attacked my cunt, the closer the intense need grew. I came just from that. He called me a cunt over it, and laughed. It still surprised him that I orgasm from having my pussy beaten. And not once. Twice, my pervie peeps.

Well, actually. Uhm…(maybe he’s right and I really AM  cunt?!)

Okay, three times.

And after that third time, he pushed me down, pinning me and roughly finger fucked me to many, many more orgasms. Until I moaned at the slightest touch on my poor battered girl bits.

And then he did it again.

Now i sit, a slut filled with pain- from throbbing cunt to aching ass, from battered tits to pinched and bitten arms and shoulders. Exhausted. Used up. Made to cum too many times to count, made to scream and cry and whimper as he slapped the fuckity fuck right out of me.

Okay, he tried. I was still impudent, wildly silly, and at times, a growly beast with him. (To his utter delight!)

There are many stories to tell, but for now, this very tired, very sore slut is going to bed.

And smiling.





I know, you’re used to seeing a pic of my boobies here on Thursdays. But I’m going to be late on that, simply because I’ve been too busy working to even snap a somewhat sexy pic. I don’t take *hours* to set up, gods no! But I’d like to be a little bit in the spirit of the thing, you know. And I have other stuff to talk about. And if I get time, later this week (insert  wild, raucous laugher here) I’ll even post a story that’s been floating around my head this last week.

You know from my last post that M has seriously fucked with my brain. This morning, after having not one, but TWO nights in a row of nightmares about being used by ‘bad’ doms, I had to write to Him.

I had to say something I haven’t said in all the 8.5 years that we’ve been together. Or is it 9? I forget. I guess it is close to 9. Anyway, I’m dithering.

I had to lay out a hard line in the sand. Boundaries. Me, who never, ever, EVER thought she’d say no to something, finally had to. Hey, I’m not young anymore. I’m bumping up against my 6th decade on this planet, and I’d like to make it to the 7th or 8th or beyond, even. (There’s a big eclipse in 2072 that I’d like to see…)

Yes, I sent him a list of hard limits.

No asshole licking (does that make me wimp?) despite the fact that I’ve done it before. Back then, I found it extremely unpleasant, even though it also turned me on. Because I’ perverse like that. Now I’m older, wiser (at least a little) and can appreciate the danger factor in picking up a disease from licking some strangers shitter.

No breath play. There was an asphyxiation sex play death in my area recently. Kind of shook me. I love watching a guys hand around a gals throat when I watch porn, but I don’t really want to be choked out when a strangers dick is down it.

No knife/gun play. I guess that should have been a hard limit a long time ago but it never was an issue between us. But he said Doms plural, so who knows what they could bring to the table…er…bed?

I’m not sure even 20 minute passed before I got a text from him.

“What the fuck nilla,” it began, and I knew then that I’d shown him I doubted him. I didn’t. I doubted them, but it looks like I doubted his judgement and I could see it…after the fact, of course.

“Call me later this morning.”

He never asks me to call him in the morning. It’s a challenge with both of our schedules. But I made it happen. The phone call started the way the text ended. Except for the tone.

“What in the everloving holy fuck would ever make you think that I’d put you in that position to be harmed like that?”  he says, his tone mingled perplexity and …love?

I stuttered. Stammered.  First, that he showed me that kind of caring. We have a strange relationship, one that looks weird from the outside of “us”. I know he cares for me and can’t usually say the words. He shows it, but it just isn’t Him to be all lovey-dovey about it. I know he wouldn’t kill me…or let anyone else harm me. I know it deep in that safe spot inside of me that allows him to hurt me so good.

But I had been really scared.

I was scared for a week, and I finally couldn’t not ask.

We talked it out.

I didn’t remember tell him about the nightmares, but I will. And we’re good, though I could tell there was still some feeling of WTF, slut in there. He knows I’m a flighty and ofttimes off the wall slut. I’m not sure he fully realized how much he’d freaked me out!

On the bad side, and totally unrelated to this little D/s hiccup, he  might need to cancel our playtime due to a situation totally out of his control, something he may have to attend.  And he gave me days of notice, so I won’t be moping Saturday afternoon.

It will suck for us both. He told me that he’s hoping to wiggle out of it if at all possible. That’s major, as he usually doesn’t say stuff like that. Like…ever. It helps a lot, knowing this, that he wants to hurt me, fuck me, be with me.

So we’re good, crisis averted for the nonce. I’ll keep you posted on tittypix, and playtime. 😀

If you don’t get titty pix, you’ll KNOW we had playtime and I was just too busy being fucked and spanked to post.

(wouldn’t that be great?!)

















Mindfuck? Or (dire) Promise?

He’s fucking with my head for certain. But it is a promise? Is it merely payback for my stupid unfortunate choice of spending a day teasing him about his doctor visit and a finger up his ass for a change?

I’d be the first to admit that I had a grand time poking the bear (thanks Jz for reminding me of that fun phrase!) that fateful day last week. Oh, I laughed and giggled at every impertinent text. I pictured his face as he read them, alternating between annoyance and amusement (I do amuse him–most times).

But sometimes I go just a little bit too far.

Such was the case last week. One ass-poking tweek too many, I suppose. And payback isn’t a bitch. No, pervie friends, in our world, payback is a Dom with a vengeful mind.

We’re having a playtime very soon. Very soon indeed. He texts me.
“This will be one for the record books, nilla.”

“This will be a true diary* entry.” (*what he calls my blog)

“Oh, btw, no touching yourself!”

Upon my complaint as we’re more than a week out–this text…

“The Doms want you horny.”

*pauses while you take that in*

Yeah. Re-read that a few times.




I’ll keep you posted where this goes. Just learn from this my friends. Do not poke your Dom too many times…


and yeah.

I’m wet.

Damn Him!


What Do They Call That?

M had his annual physical today which he described to me as “a pain in the ass, in all ways”…which sent me off on a wild tangent of texts. Teasing. Taunting-ish. Verrrry naughty nilla.

We have playtime coming up pretty soon.

I think I’ve been…what? Prodding the dragon? Poking the snake? Whatever they call it, I’ve teased M right into revenge mode. Guess I pushed that button just one time too many.

(Can I admit to you that while I’m quite nervous now, I’m also more than a little horny about this?)

(Ssshhh. Don’t tell Him!)

Sex Blogger Guilt

I’ve gone on this tangent before, I know. Those that have read here for a long time will nod and say ‘ya, nilla, we heard you loud and clear when you went all through this 2 years ago…’

But it bears repeating. So, let’s back up a bit and start at my own beginnings…

My sex kinks are fear and pain.

M knows this, and is very, very good at scaring the holy fuck out of me. He knows what turns me on, and exactly what buttons to push to please us both. What we do behind closed doors is truly D/s, full of pain and moans and his laughter and my tears. It’s full of orgasms of pleasure and orgasms beyond counting, and into the realm of a very different sort of pain.

But when we part ways, though we remain Dominant and submissive, we’re also real. I don’t know how to put it other than that. He’s kinky, I’m kinky, and it is a part of us. But it isn’t the whole of us. He has no desire to kidnap me and keep me in a cage in his cellar. I have no true secret desire for that to happen.

But as I said above, fear plays a large role in my turn-on factor. And if you’ve read even half of my tales, it shows. I don’t live in kinkworld, however fun that might be. My reality consists of occasional visits with my Dom, (a very small amount of my time, actually) and  the regular day-to-day life things: going to work, and feeding and schooling my kiddo’s, and taking care of my pets, and the house and the yard and and and.

Real. Life. Shit.

What my issue is with sex blogging is my very own personal guilt about writing these really truly nasty tales, and some pervie peep taking it as permission.

“I read it in the sex blog that nilla writes. She writes really cool stories of kidnapping and fucking any slut I want. I think she’s telling me what allll those cold bitches want. Pigs. Whores. Sluts.”

No. NO!

I don’t want to plant that seed in anyone’s head!  I don’t want some sick fuck to read a story that I wrote and assume that all girls are sluts/whores/cumholes and should be scooped up –drunk from the bar, or walking down the street, or whatever…and making them their forever slave.

This blog is not permission to be a jackhole and steal women people.

This blog is not permission for you to harm someone who is unwilling to be your sex partner, sex doll, sex toy, or sex slave. Or whatever name you choose to call it.

This blog is not permission for anyone to do harm to someone who is not committed to being a party to your sexual fantasy, and making you a part of theirs.

Got it?

The last time I went through this kind of guilt/crisis, I could not write for several months. It was just after that guy in Chicago was found to be keeping several women in his basement. He’d kidnapped them as teens, if you recall, and raped them and made them pregnant and kept them hidden away…for years.


That haunted me. Still does, actually. That guy said sex blogs and porn made him do it. And if you tumblr or tweet or read blogs–it’s all out there. Some truly horrific misogynistic stuff about snuff rape and women not being people and should all be grateful to be taking their cum.

It kind of horrified me, actually. I may be a perverted sex blogger but by damn I’m a person too!

It doesn’t change the reality of the fact that reading abduction/rape fantasy is growing by leaps and bounds. So many people have sexual fantasies about being taken/used against their will.

It’s hot. It’s violent. It’s perverted. It’s a sicko fantasy.

And for whatever reason, it is my fantasy, too.

That there is the key word, though. It IS *fantasy*. I don’t expect a reader to find me and say oh hey nilla, there you are, come with me now and I’m going to fuck you brainless no matter if you want it or not. Nor does any other woman/teenager/person living their lives want that.

It’s in the mystery, the fantasy of it, that make the thought of being powerless so sexually stimulating.  I blame it on the strange connections in my head but who knows why any of us are wired the way we are. And really, it doesn’t matter as long as we have the morality and discretion to separate reality from fantasy, right?

Here’s the bottom line and then I’m going to put my soapbox away for the night.

Don’t rape someone who doesn’t really want it.

Unless you work it out in advance (consensual non-consent) in your relationship, it really is rape. If you think all girls deserve it/want it/crave it/ need it…you’re wrong. Build a D/s relationship to make it work but don’t read my stories and use it as a guidepost for grabbing your own partner against their will.

Be a bastard. Be mean. Be brutal. But do it the right way.