That’s what this is. Pure fantasy, to titillate and amuse. Not to condone true rape, nor true violence. These works are works of fantasy and should never be taken as consent to force yourself upon a stranger, unless you’ve met, crafted an agreement of consensual non-consent, and have a safeword, and a safecall on standby.
The doorbell rang. And again. And again. Hauling ass from the shower, he held the towel tight to cover himself as he cracked open the door.
“I know what you like.”
The young girl, no more than 25, he figured, looked at him with her head tilted and a firm smile on beautifully shaped lips. Her eyes were blue, bright as a September sky, and stared straight into his without shyness. Her long straight hair fell well below her shoulders, but the rest of her was shrouded in darkness and swathed in a dark coat.
“What? I think you have the wrong house little girl.”
She stepped up to the doorstep, and placed her hand on his wet, bare chest, then had the temerity to push past him and into the house.
“Hey!” He was shocked and discomfited to have her just stroll in like she owned the place.
“This isn’t your house…you need to leave.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, her smile almost feral. Maybe she was some kind of thief. He peered out the door but saw no other people.
“Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my house?” His words seemed to bounce off her back.
“Come here,” she said, and strolled to the kitchen.
“Sit,” she directed him to a chair. The only light in the room came from the nightlight of the oven range.
“Mark, you don’t know me, but I know you, and I know what you like. You see, my mother cleans here for your wife. A few weeks ago I came to help her out. I was bored, and had some time and she wasn’t feeling well. I did the upstairs while she was down here, cleaning up the mess she told me you always made when you cook.”
She shook her head.
“You really take advantage of her, you know. Making such a mess then walking away from it? That’s little kid stuff. But we’ll talk about that later.”
He opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand, mimed shutting her fingers, and he fell silent.
“I found the toys under the bedside table in the box. I thought it was funny that you were kinky, seeing as I was too. I didn’t quite understand the situation fully until I dusted your wife’s nightstand and found your cock cage. That’s when I realized that you and I were on opposite sides of the slash. I am most definitely not a submissive, and you, dear boy, are.”
She smiled again, one that did not speak of humor.
“There’s going to be some changes around here. I know that your wife is away for the week at a conference. And you’ll be mine to enjoy until she returns. While I know she dominates you, I’m not certain that she’s a true dominant, or if she’s just a top because you need one.”
“Drop the towel and come here.”
She pointed to the floor between her feet.
“Look here. I…I’m not going to just take orders from you, little one. You’re half my age-“
A quick flick of her wrist dropped a crop into her hands, slapping it against his chest, making him yelp. She struck him again. His nipple began to swell, the button of it drawing tight.
“Oh, I may be younger than you, but I know what I’m doing, and I’ll beat your nipples bloody if you don’t get your fat ass over here.”
He slid off the stool and stood before her. A sharp tug released the towel, revealing his caged cock.
“It looks like you’re ready to service me,” she said, noting the mangled position of his cock. The crop slapped against the cage, making him wince.
“I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I. And when your wife returns, I think it can only get better. Come along, boi. I hope your tongue is in good shape.”
Turning she strode away, leading him towards the stairs. He moaned as his cock tightened inside the restricting cage.
She was in the bedroom. It was surreal. How the fuck did this even happen in real life? In porn, sure, it was a sexy fantasy, to be molested by a stranger. But in the now? He wasn’t a pussy. He was a serious businessman, by damn. He was going to handle her like he handled…
Thoughts scattered as he stepped into the room. She was unbuckling her coat. Beneath it she wore nothing.
“I’m not one of those Dommes that like to wear corsets and ankle-breaking boots. I like to be comfortable and I’m most comfortable naked. That doesn’t mean that I won’t discipline you when it’s needed. Or when I feel like it. I enjoy giving pain. I enjoy sex. I enjoy being serviced, and watching you want to fuck me.”
She pointed to the massive four-poster.
“Get up on the bed.”
“It’s ma’am or mistress. Take your pick. But if you call me young lady, woman, or girl again I will crop your ass purple.”
He froze. There was a truth to her words, to the tone of them that made him know that she meant every word. He moved to grab her wrist, but she slapped the crop over his wrist then his cheek, drawing welts. His hand reached to his cheek.
“You only touch when I say you can. Try to disarm me again and I will hurt you. Look at you. Your cock is already trying to push its way out of the cage. You’re erect and in pain, and all it takes is a slight amount of pressure…”
She slapped the cock cage hard with the crop, then with her hand. He yelped, leaping back, hand covering his genitals.
“Follow the rules and I won’t have to discipline you, boi,” she said.
Their eyes met, clashed. After a long few breaths, he dropped his, cursing her in his mind even as he felt his spirit thrill to be so completely dominated by the little…Mistress.”
“I don’t even know your name,” he whispered to the floor.
“Heather. That’s ‘Mistress Heather’ to you.”
He nodded. The crop came up, lifting his chin.
“No nodding. You may use your words. Try ‘yes, Mistress Heather’.”
He looked at her nose, too nervous now to meet her eyes.
“Yes Mistress Heather,” he responded.
“Good boy,” she said, stroking her fingers over his nipple. He moaned.
“Where is the cage key? I know you have access to it while she’s away. Fetch it for me.”
He pointed to the bathroom; she pointed with the crop. He returned in seconds. Taking it, she released the lock, and began removing the cage from him. He moaned as his squished shaft stretched out.
“That must be really painful, that nice thick cock all mashed in there like that.”
“Well, don’t get too comfortable…it’ll be back on soon enough.”
Her hand clasped over the tender meat, then roughly began pumping his shaft. He moaned, groaned, begged her to go easy, to no avail. When he spurted, she pointed it at her tits.
“Your next erection is mine. And it will take you much longer to cum now. Clean your nasty goo off of me.”
She settled back on the bed, as his fluid slid down her belly.
“And be very thorough.”
Grabbing his hair she guided him to her left tit, and smiled as he began to lick.
you know it can be a struggle to write..and it builds up and builds up…but just like anything else, it won’t happen all by itself, so sometimes you put on your big girl panties–or in this case, remove them–and just do it. ~n~
Her fingers rubbed madly at her cunt as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. He was fucking her, fists in her hair, her tits swinging wildly as he pounded her from behind.
“Goddammm!” she moaned, feeling the wave growing stronger, rolling to that final peak. He was a vicious beast ramming himself into the woman who’s face was pressed hard against the window of the building across the wide street and 5 floor below where Jayne stood, rubbing.
“every *gasp* fucking *gaspmoan* niiiiiIIIIIeeeeeettttt…ohhhgawddddddd…”
Her hips bucked forward, humping her fist as her orgasm swelled, consuming her.
With a shiver, she fell to her knees, head pressed against the thick carpet. This was the 12th night that she’d been watching Him. Every night a different woman, making him, in her opinion, a professional Dom.
“Or a man-slut,” she murmured, pushing up from the carpet before her leaking cunt stained it. Knees shuddering, she padded to the shower.
“Mr. Kinsey is here to see you, Ms. Jamison.”
“Send him in, then go home, Gwen.”
With a grateful smile, her secretary, slipped back out. She heard Gwen’s voice guiding Kinsey to the door, the snap of her desk lamp, and the smooth roll of her desk drawer as she prepared to leave.
Thankfully he was the last interview of the day, then she could go home. This tiresome day had gone on and on. Now the sunset had faded and the lights of the city winked at her back through the wide windows lining the wall behind her. She kept the light on her desk turned low. When he stepped into the room, she was glad that the light wasn’t stronger.
It was him.
“Ms. Jamison,” he proffered his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, at last.”
She took his hand, gave a firm handshake. Did his thumb caress the back of her hand or was she just imagining it?
Rising from her desk, she invited him towards the sitting area, choosing the seat that kept her face in shadow. She felt flushed, yet a rush of adrenaline made it difficult to appear relaxed. He spoke, but she was only paying scant attention. His lips moved, just as they did when he spoke to his girl of the day. His voice was sensual, no other word would fit. The tones, timbre, pitch all husky, sexy, deep. When his lips stopped moving, it took a moment to register.
“Oh..uh..” she stumbled, embarrassed to be caught being inattentive.
“I’m sorry, am I here at a bad time? I know it’s quite late. I’m afraid that I pressured your secretary for an opportunity…”
She mentally shook herself.
“No…it’s…just a long day, as they all are lately.” She smiled briefly. “I do apologize.”
He rose, putting her on alert.
“Please, allow me?”
He was behind her, fingers resting lightly on her shoulders.
“Tension is the real killer these days. A quick light massage can help with that.”
The fingers dug deeper, making her moan.
“See?” His voice was a low and husky whisper. “You’re so tensed up. A little bit of work here and you’ll feel much better. This is why you should consider hiring me…an on-site massage therapist would be of great benefit to you, and the company.”
As his fingers wound around her shoulders, back up to her neck, she felt herself melting.
“I…” she cleared her throat as his fingers did magical things to her neck. “I can definitely see the advantages, Mr. Kinsey.”
She wanted to moan when his fingers left her body. She tried to stop the rise of her nipples as he moved back to his chair, but his touch had stimulated even more than it had relaxed.
“If you’re willing, we can go a bit further. I think you need some real work on your back,” he said.
Was there a challenge in his eyes?
“Really?” she said, her voice cool.
He rose again, stepped forward, took her wrist. A quick tug pulled her to her feet. He gestured to the window.
“The whole city is out there. Look at them all, racing there and back.”
He pressed her palms to the window, her forehead to the cool glass. His fingers ran up and down her spine, a firm push that she felt to her toes. He tugged her blouse free from her skirt, then slid his hands up, gliding over her skin. Reaching her bra strap, he released it, murmuring.
“So much better, yes?”
She made a soft sound of acquiescence.
When he unzipped her skirt, cupped her ass, she moaned. One wide palm slid up her back again, slid under her to cup her tit, and pinch her nipple firmly. His other grabbed her hair, pulling her head back.
“I saw you watching,” he murmured. “I wonder who will be watching you?”
We’re working through it. There have been downs and some ups. I gave him very blunt and hard words. He gave me silence.
That infuriates me, btw. How the hell can you fix anything with silence? At this point in our relationship..NINE years…we should be well and truly over this. And yes, I gave HIM silence for a week, but only because he was NOT listening to what I was saying, and kept trying to be “funny” about something that was not at all humorous.
We’re still talking. Not much chance to see one another until early next year. My schedule gets super jammed around the holidays–as i’m sure most of you can relate to. The man is doing some stuff. It just can’t work.
He’s still pissed at me, but not like he’s going to fly off the handle kind of mad? He never does anything out of anger. (Which bothers me some, I admit. Because the opposite of any reaction seems like apathy to me, and that’s the death knell in any relationship, isn’t it?)
And really, I hope it works out for us. I admit to not being very submissive lately. I was very nearly Dommy when I told him off about things he was saying that were annoying because they were teenage boy humor, and had nothing to do with Dominance or submission or fucking or anything relationship building.
I’ve got zero patience for stupid shit, and that’s a bald fact.
I’m NOT looking for another dom. I just … I’m losing my feelings of submission because I’m too damn busy to even care these days. I know. I kind of gasped too, when I thought it. Am I growing out of it? Was submission a phase? Am I merely a painslut, getting off on being hurt, but not necessarily feeling all subby about it?
I don’t know. I haven’t had much occasion to offer submission, and I guess I’m not willing to fully do that. He’s not the kind of dom who wants me on my knees in servitude. I am not the kind of sub (anymore) that craves giving that.
Just fuck me, will ya?
Just hit me, will ya?
Make me cry. Make me cum. Make me crave more of it. More pain. More sensation overload. Mix the pain with the pleasure and make the pleasure pain. I need that. I really need it. Maybe when that well is full once more, instead of being dry as dust, maybe then I’ll start to feel submissive. Maybe I won’t.
But by damn, I want to feel…something.
Communication, an on-again, off-again thing with Him, has not gone well. We’ve not managed to actually speak to one another, and I confess to not wanting to hear him being pithy, or victim blaming.
I am not the one who put words to text as he did.
And when I texted him that I couldn’t keep thrashing this back and forth, which would sully all the good memories of us, and I was done, he said he “took back” all the words he’d said, as if that would absolve him of his comments.
And I called him out on it (by text) and he has not responded. Is he waiting me out? Is he testing to see if I really mean it? Or does he just see (at last) that what he said was way, way unacceptable and realized that it was an uncrossable bridge?
I don’t know.
And I’m water, flowing away from that place.
Again, a solo sub…then again…I’ve been solo since our last play time. Was it March? I think so. Yeah, another half year full of promised playtimes that never materialized. Some I will take the blame for, and some I didn’t push him on because it seems that every time I clear my schedule for free time with him, a sudden commitment would arise on his end. It’s happened a lot and I’ve just ridden it. Mine is to serve, right?
But it gets to be unfulfilling. There were no more attempts to try to dom me from afar…even the simple things like we used to do, betting orgasms on football score spreads, or solving riddles.
Did I bore him?
Did I give up too easily (who doesn’t, really, after a time?)?
Wasn’t I sub enough for him?
Oh stop, nilla. It wasn’t just me. It wasn’t just him. It was his “show”, he was the top, as he reminded me from time to time. But I think his heart wasn’t in it. I think he was just tired of the game. And I got tired to trying to entice.
That’s the stone cold truth.
OH, it was so good when it was good. He’s got a wicked humor that I found perfectly matched mine. He is a sadist, and a kind hearted person.
And he is no longer my Master, nor my Dom.
I will miss him.
I can’t call it “heavy-hearted” because tonight, at this moment in time, I’m..nothing. I’m not angry or sad or happy or …anything. Not even numb. I’m out of rhythm with my body and mind, and I’m …maybe just holding space here.
I’ve not “formally” broken up with M.
But it’s close.
Last week he said something that I just find reprehensible. He was trying to be humorous in that offbeat way of his that I have often found both irritating and funny. This was not funny at all.
I texted that to him, just “not funny”.
He didn’t reply/respond to that for 24 hours, and when he did it was as if none of that other had happened, was a “quirky” attempt a humor about something he saw at starbucks.
Like…I give two fucks about that? Let’s deal with what’s on the table here. But I know myself, and knew that if I had replied like that he’d fuff me off, ‘oh nilla, you’re just being overly sensitive like you get all the time’…which is both untrue and definitely not in this case.
I didn’t write back.
In point of fact, I’ve neither written nor spoken to him in five days and nights. He’s written one other time, again a “humorous” vignette type of thing, which I didn’t even finish reading, frankly. Until or unless he’s willing to man up and say something about his remark, I’m not going to communicate.
The thing is, I’m not sure I can continue with him. This was really an unforgivable sort of thing to say to anyone. After nine years with him, I think I may just be done.
I’m not feeling submissive, or…anything. Not sad, not lost, not angry. I’m being level headed, and calm and…holding space for those emotions. Maybe in stasis until I know from him what’s in his mind.
I hate just giving up.
But this time, I’d hate giving in even more.
This will be short because it’s thunder and lightning and POURING POUNDING rain…again. We’ve had much rain (not to put us in the same place as those who dealt with Hurricane Florence last week, to be sure) this summer. 4″ last week with the remnants of Florence with streets flooded and manhole covers popping off with the force of it. That won’t happen tonight, but man, I’m really starting to feel…moldy.
I’m really thinking that once it really gets less humid, and cooler, that my sexy juices will start flowing again. Because right now? It’s hard to think about touch another human body …just…no.
I think this is the most unsexy post I’ve ever written..oh another weather alert…(our third of the evening…)
“Two inches of rain has already fallen in your area…”
It’s only been raining for about 30 minutes here. Holy yikes. Well folks, I’m going to put this post out there and go to bed. It is nice falling asleep to the sound of a downpour…right?
I’ve been hot, tired, and laggard in doing much of anything that isn’t actually necessary. But in the interest of full truth, my mind is *constantly* churning up little dark and nasty fantasies. And the impetus for some of this is Tumblr, where’s there is good stuff, and darkly dirty stuff, and some even worse stuff that I can’t even bear to write about because it’s awful. But sifting through the drek to the gold…? Ah, there is the joy.
It’s taught me about the tension of micro fiction. And while I won’t profess to being “good” at it, at least I’m giving it a go, here.
This is a gently edited version of what I sent M the other night, in a series of texts over 5 or 6 hours. He said my mind was in the gutter. I love that compliment. 😀
Once upon a time there was a slut. She was always horny.
One night she dreamed of a man. He was short.
(that line has earned me a beating, btw)
He was a sadistic bastard, she could tell by the gleam in his golden eyes. He crossed the room to where she stood wearing the 6″ crimson stilettos that he’d said would identify her to him at their meeting place.
“Nice shoes,” he said, without breaking eye contact.
She wanted to squirm nervously. Her nipples became hard nubs poking against her dress. Something about that gleam in his eyes made her wet.
His mouth curved into a gently derisive smile, as if he knew.
“I…have to….go…” she stammered.
He took one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and tugged her closer, closer, until their lips met.
Something about summers impending end brings on a rush of “gotta do’s” that is near to overwhelming. Please, tell me you’re in the same boat! Between work and kids and home and this UNBELIEVABLE fucking heat (after a summer chock full of heatwaves galore and rains of biblical proportions)…July and August were just wildly impossible months.
So now I’m trying, really making an effort, to be blogging more regularly. Life had taken on a certain kind of “overwhelming” during the summer, but I’m hoping September will bring some normalcy into the mix. And hey, we’re all hella busy these days, right?! But I’m aiming to sit and write during September, to finish that story, to reconnect with this side of me. After all, I’m not ONLY Vanilla-mom…I’m ripe, nasty, badness inside, too.
The M and I have been texting and talking…no meeting scheduled yet after our last falling through. Maybe something will happen soon, but I’m not holding my breath. At least we’re muddling onward, and throwing sexy jabs out here and there. I hate when my sexy goes on vaca without me! But it really takes just a few prompts from Himself to wing it back.
Take, for instance, a few weeks ago when we had our umpteenth heatwave. It was draining, and I was exhausted from it. He texted this one little thing and my gods it was so amazingly rejuvenating…
Nilla, take care of yourself…an exhausted slut is useless to me…
I’m not sure of all the mental why’s and wherefores, but wow, that just blammo’d right to my heart. I know. This submissive gene is certainly wired weirdly. His comment lifted my spirits for days, and made me take more care of myself–getting to bed earlier, for instance, and make sure I was getting enough fluids.
Then this week a really awful heat. I know you all who read in “normal hot” places might think it’s stupid, but when you live in the Northeast, you don’t expect to have so many days in the upper 90’s with humidty in the 70+ degree range. That’s Florida weather, folks, not New England. And when it drones on. And on. And on? It messes up our brains. So I was moaning to him, and he was semi-moaning back to me. Not everyone up here has air conditioning, certainly not my old house, and not his either. It’s fans in the windows, and sweating. *nods sagely, and perhaps a bit martyr-like*
Yeah, well we survived it and I can write about it with a smile because it’s over at damn last!! Anyway, He sent me a text yesterday when I was really blasted by the …you know…and it made me giggle and get up and get some Gatorade and re-hydrate.
So nilla, when you rubbed an ice cube on your nipples, did steam come out of your pussy?
Yes, he asked me that. When I couldn’t even get up off the bed from my almost-heat-exhaustion state. And it made me laugh and grin when I got up to throw some ice in a glass and chug a glass of water and take a cool shower. I don’t like drinking ice water, normally, but hearing that ice clinking in my glass drew a cartoon picture in my head, and it was all I could do to not laugh out loud when I was done.
Small bits of kink in an otherwise vanilla-filled summer; but they serve as quick jabs to remind me that I am a slut, and I am His slut, and that’s a really good thing. Even when it’s 987* outside. For reals. *
*might be a slight exaggeration
I love Mr. Crimson’s tentacle stories the best of anyone on the planet.
(Until I’ve time to write again, let Himself amuse you!)