HNT~ Back on Track

Similar to two weeks ago (how many new ways can you show tits, anyway?) but a touch of black rather than blue…20170917_1052552.jpg

 

And a pic (since I missed last week) from M and my last playtime…I love love love these shoes, and His leg there in the background as he was setting up things for play…20170827_134733

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Blow

She felt the strike like a line of white hot fire across her back. She tried to arch, to scream, but though her need to writhe was fierce, the ropes tying her to the cross were far too tight to allow for any movement at all.

Bound wrists, ankles, thighs, arms, waist, and neck, all she could do was quiver.

The scream stayed locked behind her lips; only the most guttural of sounds came from her throat. The duct tape covering her mouth, holding her panties within tamped down all extraneous noises.

A new line of pain screamed over her backside, a thin ribbon of heavy pain. Sweat and tears ran down her face. Muscles bunched and quivered.

He was single-minded in his work, hitting the back of her legs, her ass, her shoulders. Cane, whip, flogger, she had no idea what implement was being used. She only knew she couldn’t take much more. The heat was unbearable. The hurt was equally so.

She blinked, washing sweat from her eyes with her tears.

A cool hand slid over her burning body.  Fingers probed her from a warm hand. There were no sounds she could hear, headphones over her head, playing classical music loudly enough to steal even that sense from her.

There had been many in the room watching. Now there were many in the room touching.

Her orgasm splashed the floor between her legs.

She couldn’t hear it.

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Lifted

I’ve had an amazingly difficult, emotional week. I had a physical thing that has temporarily marred me physically, and it blindsided me.

I’m vain, you see.

Yeah, I’m overweight, the short, round sub. But I’m still okay with how I look, until this past week.

I told Him he should uncollar me. That I couldn’t see him for a year until I heal.

Yeah.

First world, very vanity driven issues, nilla?

sigh.

Sometimes we just can’t get out of own way, can we?

He sent me a text within MINUTES of my sending.

Get off your fucking pity party train.

*blink*

He doesn’t care. *I* care enough for two of us, but to him? It’s a non-issue.

“Make a play date for late October, early November.”

I haven’t done that yet. I’m still feeling pretty sensitive, and though I’ve stopped the pity party tears, I am still not…not sure? I dunno. I want to be perfect for him, you know?

He just wants to beat me. The only thing *He* cares about is the color my ass will be when He’s done playing with me.

He’s pretty fucking awesome. And in that no-nonsense way of his, He has managed to quickly snap me out of the doldrums of what could have been a very serious fall into depression.

I was on the very edge of tetering into that black hole. He not only pulled me back, he threw a lasso around my neck and lifted me back. So far back that I’m starting to think about ….

…playtime.

You know…at the end of October.

Or early November.

😀

 

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HA! IT’S STILL THURSDAY…(somewhere)

Okay, maybe only for 21 minutes in MY time zone, but yeah. I’m late late late. This working gal has put in waay many hours this week…but I did have time to snap this pic for M, then decided it was cute enough to work for this week’s HNT

Which should be called “A Little Blue”…a pun, because M and I did NOT get the playtime we’d hoped for, unfortunately as a member of his family took ill quite suddenly. That person is now doing better but it killed our weekend plans. So, yeah, blue. In blue.

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Addicted to Porn

Wave your hand if you are, too?

Yeah, I thought so.

Not many want to admit to the “addiction” part because it’s bad, right? I mean, it’s okay to binge-watch Orange is the New Black, or the Simpsons, but binge-watching porn is bad.

I mean, really bad.

Except…perhaps not.

I have a deep affection for the human body in all it’s sizes, shapes and colors. From breasts to balls, I love looking at naked people. Hell to the yes, it makes me hot, wet, turned on.

Especially if there’s fucking involved.

Or domination.

Or pain.

Nipple clamps and bondage? Whoa, that almost makes me cum, just watching the expressions on the face of the “victim”. But being a submissive isn’t really about being a victim.

Watching “play rape” scenes doesn’t mean I want to be raped. Doesn’t mean I want to see someone be sexually assaulted if it’s not part of a D/s dynamic/agreement.

But fuck, it turns me on.

I can’t really say why. But I do refuse to believe that people engaged in sexual acts that bring them pleasure is wrong, or bad, or evil. So you’re not into anal?

Don’t do it.

Don’t watch it.

But don’t ban *me* from it…nor any of the thousands of people who like it, (or in my case, I can’t say I like it…it’s more of a form of domination that he does it and I like when he makes me do things I don’t like.)

For me that’s my kink. I’m okay with it, with how I am. With who I am. But damnation, it’s taken me into my 5th decade to learn that.

I hope any young whippersnappers who read here begin to find their way to what works, what makes them happy (and what is legal!). But if your kink is piercing your subs tits with needles or nails, leave me out of it.

*shudders*

See? That’s an immediate turn off for me right there. But for you? or You? I’m sure it’s something that gets you rock hard, or dripping wet. We’re pervie peeps, and we’re okay.

(It helps if you believe that the whole world is basically fucked up…because then you *KNOW* that you fit in! If fitting in is important to you!)

So let’s go hang out together on Tumblr (I’m nilla9 there) or  head on over to wherever you find your pervie stuff–and enjoy it. But perhaps…not at work!

And if your perv is my weekly titty pix–well, you know i’m woefully late. Better late than never? This is a repeat, but yanno, it IS football season and I’m so so happy to be watching my beloved Patriots once again (last week not withstanding).  Hmmm….can football be a kink? LOL It sure turns this subbie girl on!

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night peeps!

 

 

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It’s All About Heart

Hi, my peeps. I’ve gone back and forth about writing something wicked and wanton for you…but this is not a sexy tale.

Sorry.

We’re on the cusp of the anniversary of September 11th.  I thought I could write something sexy, but– I just can’t. The shock and horror of that day–despite not knowing anyone personally harmed–rises up and chokes me, even now.

Here in the northeast a special commemoration happens on the weekend closest to the anniversary, called “Flags on the 48”. If you live up here you know that there are 48 mountain peaks in New Hampshire that are over 4,000 feet — in fact, the tallest, Mt. Washington, at 6,288 feet is famed for being home to some of the world’s worst weather. It’s already snowed there, by the way. Hurricane-force winds are common there.

So back to FOT48. Hikers “adopt” a mountain, and every one of the 48 summits is hiked by one or more people. They raise a full size American flag on their summit, and let it wave. Every summit has flags waving for several hours at about the same time, all on the same day. Now, I’ve wanted to be a part of this tradition for so long, and I just can’t.  But scrolling through Youtube, I discovered that various hikers post videos. So,  I’m going to share this particular one with you, as we pause for just a moment and remember that not-so-long-ago day. This Flags on the 48 video is from last year. Now, the video is long-ish but introduces you to the mountains that I hold dear in my heart. (for more videos on other summits, search for Flags on the 48 on Youtube and you’ll get a bunch)

September 11th is about heart. The heart of those who died. The heart of those first responders who rushed in, when everyone else rushed out. The heart of those passengers in Pennsylvania. The heart of the world as they heard about the events of that fateful morning. And my heart, tossed in a variety of turbulent emotions that day, full of fear and pain and fury and shock and horror. Like yours was, too.

So let’s take a moment to celebrate the lives we have, to remember those who lost loved ones, and remember that it’s okay to be sexy and horny and alive on this day, even as we mourn.  Today, I’ll sit quietly for a moment and hold my kids just a little tighter, and know that after death, we must, we MUST celebrate life, or what is the purpose? More sexy to come, my dear peeps, for I most earnestly believe that we dishonor those who have died by not living our lives to the fullest.

In love and lust,

nilla

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HNT~ Noir

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Still Riding the High

A week ago I was an aching, tired, cum-drained slut. Most of the bruises have faded, though the bite on my ass shows no signs of leaving anytime soon. The memories have shuffled, rising like bits of flotsam as I go through my busy days. I stop, smile, have a small internal shiver.

I know he had a good time too–his texts are often teasing, meant to heat me up.

I was remembering about when he finally untied my arms from their tight criss-cross. We were shifting and moving all over the bed. It is a fuzzy,  orgasm-fused memory, as to the how of it, but I was on the floor, on my knees. I think  He’d been smacking my ass, but I’m just not sure.

Anyway, the how isn’t the important bit of the memory.

Things had been getting progressively fiercer. I was ramped up, he was ramped up, and suddenly, unexpectedly, he grabbed me and threw me up and onto the bed.

By my hair.

His fist grabbed a huge hunk of my hair and simply hauled up, up and onto the bed without regard. Just a giant heave and I was there. It hurt like hell, and I remember being so turned on. He fell onto my back, his hand pressing my face into the mattress so hard I could scarcely draw breath, and then he was biting my shoulder, biting it hard.

I screamed and writhed under him, and he flipped me over, and clamped his teeth onto my nipple while his hand dove down to my pussy.

He finger-fucked me furiously, giving no quarter.

This wasn’t a gentle kind thing. This was a violent, fierce taking, and I loved every aching moment of it.

When he takes me, uses me for whatever he wants, it makes me feel…cherished. Owned. Needed.

Special.

There’s no better feeling for a pain-loving, needy slut like me.

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Blogaversary…Missed It! (Again!)

Happy 8 years hangin’ out together my pervie peeps! It’s been a series of ups and downs, of angst and joy, of anger and anguish, of gentleness and fierceness. There’s been much happiness, much sluttiness, many twisted tales, and many, many comments from you all showing me much love.

I am so happy I started blogging 8 years ago! Here’s to another go ’round in the blogosphere!

*clinks teacups with you*!

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Things You’d Only Hear From A D/s Couple

No, this is not a category on Jeopardy, but I’d bet many of my pervie peeps would do well with this, yes? *laughs*

“Master, I simply do not understand your fascination with my asshole.”

“Nilla, I *love* your asshole.

Yes. He did say this. It made me laugh. It made him prove it.

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“Master, I’m so going to pinch  your nipples.”

“Ha. Good luck with that slut.”

I tried. I got a quick flick in and almost…almost … caught that little man-nip between my fingers before his fingers, firmly affixed to my belly flab, made me shriek and let go.

He, for the record, did not.

Let go, that is.

Not until I fell over on the bed and cried and whimpered and pleaded.

And yes.

I tried again, and yes, met with the same fate.

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“You really like pushing the envelope, slut. I only hope your ass will be able to cash the check your smart mouth is writing.”

Catching the ever-so-slight warning in his tone, I shut the fuck up.

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*gales of silly, hysterical laughter as he flops on top of me*. He pins me in place and says “no one has more fun than you, nilla.”

Immediately he begins  the slow, tortuous tickling of my underarms with his gently brushing fingers (SO BRUTAL! Gentle brutality to be sure!), alternating with the swirling tip of his tongue in my ear canal and outer ear. I know it’s an erogenous zone for many, but for me it is a very, extremely ticklish area.

I wish I could stop laughing.

I laugh until I’m gasping for breath, crying.

He stops and bites my shoulder fiercely.

I stop laughing and arch, screaming with the pain.

It’s fucking devious and I cannot keep up with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“You’re a real slut, nilla.”

“Thank you Master.”

 

 

 

 

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