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.

 

 

 

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Anticipating Torture~HNT

*squeaking in at the 11th hour, literally! Happy HNT, pervie peeps*

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Much Too Late, HNT (But HNF sounds weird, yo)

Nighty night, peeps…

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Admonished

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?!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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.

gulp.

Swallow.

heartracing/panic

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

oh.

and yeah.

I’m wet.

Damn Him!

 

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A Little Gift for M

purple

For our next playtime…soon…

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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!)

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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.

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.

Consensually.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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If There Was a Time Warp

then this would be on time. Oops, my bad!

 

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On a sideways tangent, it always amuses me that when I need to drop a pic into my blog it says “insert”…mmmmm….

(once a slut, always a slut…!)

 

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Taken

WARNING! Very dark…my mind has been in a dark, sultry place of late. Enjoy (but you don’t have to admit you did…) ~n~

 

His cock pounded into her asshole as she squealed and squirmed. No matter the fight she put up, he was going to continue to ream her ass. Her struggles only made his cock harder, thicker, longer. The penultimate moment came as he jabbed deeply into her, buried to his balls, his shaft throbbing as he spewed his spunk into her bowels.

She lay quietly, sobbing into the dirty mattress as he rose. Tossing a bottle of water and a granola bar onto the bed, he left the small room.

The door closed with a quiet snick, followed by the deeper sound of the lock shooting home. Wrapping her arms about her head, she shivered.

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Tied wrists-to-ankles, ass thrust high, she yelped around the large black ball buckled in her mouth as he punched his cock into her tight cunt, thrust a few hard rough strokes, then pulled out and jabbed into her anus.

The way her screams went higher as he penetrated the tight sphincter never failed to turn his dick into fucking stone.  She wiggled and waggled trying to escape the dual thrusts, but that was all part of the fun…for him.

Buried in her cunt, he spoke words of terror to her.

“No condom. Alll this hot semen pouring into you, tight against your little baby nest…”

Tears always followed that announcement, little tremors through her body that always drew a few more pulses of jizz from him. Reaching down, he groped for her tits, squeezing them.

“Maybe I’ll keep you here, milk your titties for profit. You’ll be worth your weigh in granola by then, slut. Full of baby, full of milk, full of my hot, hot cum. Can’t fuck your pussy once you get to a certain point, but hey, that’s why you’ve got an asshole and a mouth hole, right? Imagine how good it will be when I rape your tight rosebud, then shove my cock into your mouth. You’ll taste your own shit on my cock, on your tongue, all the way down your throat.”

Shaking harder now as she cried fulsomely, he released her bondage, slapping at her flesh with the rope ends as he freed her. Curling up into a tight ball, she wept as he left, ignoring the water bottle and granola bar he always left for her. The door closed with a snick, and then the raspy sound of the bolt shooting home for the lock.

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His cock pounded her asshole, sliding deep into her belly from behind. Though she cried still, she stopped fighting him. Slapping her round bottom didn’t rouse her from her lethargy, nor did pinching her nipples.

He came, a disappointing volley of cum into her rumphole. He left no water, no granola.

Closing the door, but not fully. She didn’t hear the snick of the latch, or the grating of the lock. Rising to her knees, she saw the door ajar, smelled the thick darkness of woods. Stumbling to her feet, she stepped outside. Her car was there, hard to see in the gloaming. Holding the cool metal as she moved around it, she found her clothing folded neatly on the drivers seat, and under them as she dressed, her keys. Her purse was tucked neatly under the seat.

With a shiver, she turned the engine over, and drove away.

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He watched her drive away, pleased that he’d broken her at last, yet knowing it was time for the next reservation to be dealt with. He loved his job.

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She drove through the night looking for the small cafe. There in the distance, she saw a shining sign. As she pulled into the lot and parked in the far slot as directed, she closed her eyes. Was she making the right choice here? Was she a fucking idio…

The back door opened and something slipped over her neck, cutting her supply of air to a minimum. Her hand rose to her throat to gasp for more breath, but the man in the seat behind her reached forward and slapped it.

“Drive,” he said, tersely. The new game had begun.

 

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