Hired! ~19~

AT LAST! This has been in the works for a while…but you know how things go sometimes!  Between life stuff and playtime with M, this sat dormant for the better part of a week.  My thanks for being patient peeps. Here’s the link to the prior chapter in case you need a quick review: HERE ~n~ 

His connector flight to NYC was delayed twice. Though he smiled at the simpering fool who explained that they could not take off during thunderstorms, her smile faded when she saw the look in his eyes. He was glad that she could see the anger crawling up his spine like an animal ready to spring forth and steal her life. Just another thing his stupid cunt would have to atone for once he finally tracked her down. He shoved the anger deeper, and took the shuttle to the hotel where the fucking airlines were putting people up tonight.

Another night away wouldn’t matter much. At least, until he made her pay for it with her skin.

*******************************************************

“Good girl,” he crooned, holding her head against his chest. Inhaling deeply against the pain in her still-throbbing nipples, she smelled the various scents of him. Peppermint from the gum he favored, the last spicy hints of his deodorant, and that musky scent that is peculiar to the male body. He tantalized her. Even now she could feel her arousal in the throbbing of her clit, and the slick dew that spilled from the belt pulled tightly  between her thighs.

He pushed her away, and pointed to the mattress. At some point he’d taken a sheet down from the shelf and tossed it there.

“Spread that out on the mattress,” he said, nodding towards the folded sheet.

“Uh, my hands are behind my back and tied, remember?”

He smirked.

“You’re doing the smirk-face thing again. That’s not very dommy.”

“Doms are allowed to smirk, and as a matter of fact, we do it quite a lot.”

“Well, I don’t understan….wait. You expect me to spread that without my hands? How the fuck…”

“You have a perfectly good mouth. I see it moving allll the time. I suggest you put it to use. Other than sucking my cock…for now.” He grinned at her face, sitting there open-mouthed.

He constantly surprised her. That something so mundane would be offered…and yet he knew it would embarrass her to be crawling around almost naked, since her bra was not even under her tits anymore. They’d be flopping around, her ass would be wagging around…the jerkness. 

“That’s…”

“Humbling? Awww, too bad. Get going slut.”

“Is this a task? Is it helping me earn the key?”

“Well, not doing it isn’t going to get us to the next point now, is it?”

His look was implacable. HE wasn’t going to budge. With a frown, she flounced over the the mattress, and spent considerable minutes trying to pick up, and then open, the folded sheet. Her bum was wagging around and she could feel him watching her, but she steadfastly refused to look at him. Finally, after an agony of minutes spent squirming and writhing across the mattress, she groaned. She wanted to give up, but damn him! She absolutely would not. Casting a quick glance his way, she saw him looking intently at her, making her flush with embarrassment. Picking up the sheet quickly she pulled it up to the top corner of the mattress.

“Even your ass is blushing. But your asshole is winking at me through that little hole in the belt.”

Growling around the sheet in her mouth, she continued to shake her head and spread the stupid sheet as he leered at her. She was going to ignore him,  yet she couldn’t not respond.

“You can’t see my asshole because of this frigging belt!”

“Well, not perfectly, but trust me, it is there winking at me. Lonely, I guess.”

She shot a death-ray glare at him, then turned back to finishing the task he’d set her. He laughed. After considerable time and effort, she was done.  Sitting back on her haunches, she looked at the sheet. While it wasn’t perfect, she felt she’d done a passable job. A poke in her ass made her turn and look at him.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself. Not bad, slut.”

“No, I meant hey, you just kicked me in the butt.”

“Slut butts were made to be kicked by Dom shoes.”

“That’s so not true.”

“It’s true in my story of what’s happening here…wait…was that an …eyeroll? At your Dom?”

Uncertain if he was serious or poking fun at her, she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Hold that…right there…”

Advancing on her, she noted the clamp in his hand at the last second and slipped her tongue back in her mouth while shaking her head ‘no’ frantically.

“I wuth koking” she said, tongue locked behind her teeth.

“I wasn’t. Tongue out.”

“Iths gunna hut.”

“I’m counting on it.”

He dangled the key in front of her, and reluctantly she stuck out her tongue. Rather than attaching the clamp to it, he finger flicked it. It still stung but she knew a warning when she saw one.

“Sorry. Sir.”

“Better.”

He paused, looking intently at her.

“Well, slut, are you ready for your second task to free your dripping pussy?”

“How do you know it’s dripping? Huh? It could be all dried up and withered away inside this stupid thing.”

He chuckled.

“Yeah. Right.”

Wisely, she kept her tongue from poking out at him, admittedly at the last possible moment.

“Okay,” she said, heaving out a sigh. “I’m ready.”

She huffed out another breath.

“Bored already? My, I’ll have to take steps to correct that.”

Stepping over to the shelves, she watched him pick up a short, thick, silver rod.

“Open your mouth.”

She obediently opened.

“You’ll want this nice and wet. It’s going in your ass. No, don’t try to talk. It’s part of the belt, slut. And in a matter of minutes, it’ll be a part of your asshole! Won’t that be fun?”

It was rhetorical, she knew, but she still shook her head ‘no’, even as she gathered up what spit she could. This thing was fatter than it looked, and she was nervous about it going up her ass.

He pulled it out of her mouth, pushed her head to the floor without preamble, then began pushing it through the round hole at the backside of the belt. She felt the press of the cool metal against her ass and whined a little.

“Shaddup, slut.”

He pushed it until the flange at the base of the probe clicked into the base around the hole. He pulled her back up to her knees by her hair. Her eyes watered, as did her traitorous pussy.

“Magnets keep it in place, slut. Isn’t that cool?”

Her eyes were squeezed shut as her anus quivered around the thing wedging it apart.

“so…”

“…cool,” she said haltingly.

His palm slapped at one meaty buttock. She jolted, and, unable to stop herself with her hands secured behind her, she fell forward once again onto her face.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed.

“Bastard…” she muttered clearly, before mumbling something else into the mattress.

“Now, see? We’re having all kinds of fun now, aren’t we? I’m not sure exactly what you just said slut, but it tipped the tally upwards. I thought 20 slaps with the pancake turner would be sufficient, but I see I need to take some corrective measures. Your mouth gets you in so much trouble, doesn’t it? Why, I heard it even got you fired!”

“Wzntfird.Quitthebastard.” Her muffled reply made him grin at her back.

“Well, that’s not how I heard it,” he replied, knowing he was egging her on. It was so much fun riling her up.

“So,” he said, “let’s let your mouth do some yelling instead. Oh, and counting. I don’t care about saying thank-you, because that’s silly. Why would you thank me for that? I’m going to make your ass burn, little girl. Are we ready for some fun?”

He wasn’t sure what she replied. Her first yelp, followed by a groaned “one” was really all he needed to hear.

 

Bluesy Bruisy

This will sound weird, but it was a gentle playtime. He’s always hard on my tits (both nipples were PURPLE when we parted!), and my belly, but the ass is always up in the air.

No, not like that.

Oh, okay, maybe sometimes like that.

ANYWAY…

I was bent over the bed, and his hand thunks down on my ass. Gods, I LOVE his hand thunking my ass. It hurts, hurts a LOT, but it’s also freeing, you know? I know you know! My ass is glowing, and it hurts and there’s this thuddy deep ache. And I’m flying, soaring through the fire and into bliss.

Can’t tell you what happened next because truly I was zoned the fuck out.

At some point I’m on my back and he’s been slapping my tits and thighs with this fucking wooden spoon, and I’m gasping, and then his fingers are inside me and I’m moaning because now my pussy is getting sore, tender and sore, and I’ve already had orgasm after orgasm, and then I come again, hard, twice more. He traces my lips with his wet fingers, ordering “Taste yourself” and then he starts slapping my pussy. I come just from that, a pain-induced orgasm.

He makes me a deal. If I can make him cum with a blowjob, I am done being beaten. Good thing, too, as our time was shorter than usual, and I was getting perty danged sore by then.

For a long while I wasn’t sure I could do it. But my hand was under his thigh and I could feel his muscles quivering. Finally his hand presses my head hard against his crotch, his cock in my mouth, my tongue busy swirling, sucking, swirling…and i feel his belly lurch, feel the sudden tightening just before he groans.

It’s a powerful feeling, to hold a man’s orgasm, to cause it. Not in a domme way, just in a slutty way. There wasn’t a power exchange, but a passion exchange. For this moment in our time together, I was giving him pleasure with active intention, rather than pleasure by his choices and actions upon my body.

Does that make any sense?

Yes, he made the bargain, but it was me who did the deed, so to speak. He certainly gets pleasure from my cries of pain when he slaps me, or pinches me, or when he forces me to cum repeatedly. (Fun at first, but after, definitely torture!) This is a whole different thing, where he isn’t the Verb in the dynamic…I am. I’ll let you ponder that one before I go off on a pontificating tangent, which I’m already in danger of doing.

So back to my original thought. After playtime, I had one very obvious bruise on my tit–it was already deeply purple, as were my nipples. I was too high to feel any of the deep pain..it was all endorphins by then. The next day I wake up feeling AWESOME.  I’m dazzled by the bliss I’m feeling, and get dressed.

Wait.

What the fuck…

I look in the mirror, where to my shock, my belly is peppered with pinchey bruises! Some are quarter sized, others are bigger or smaller. All from his bedamned fingers! I’m still feeling good, but now amazed as well. It’s been three full days, and those bruises are not going anywhere anytime soon. He pinches hard and deep…and long. I have to beg for him to let me go…he loves that.

And yes. I’m still high on endorphins.  It’ll be summer before our next playtime, but I’ve got this little glow inside that should hold me for a while. Unlike candlelight, this glow is purple. Blue. Going to blue-green. And it hurts, sooooo good.

Beyond Bliss

We met midday, and talked. It was a face to face catching up time for us both, and time for Him to see some changes that I was worried about, namely the fairly new blonde streaks (he is NOT a fan of blonde in the least, yet he was kind enough to say it looked okay, but he really prefers it the other way.)

And then it was time to drive to the hotel.

I’ve been off again/on again nervous. It’s been 8 months after all, and neither of us are young. I didn’t know what to expect. Of course, I never do with him anyway…he’s always changing things up.

We only had 4 hours of playtime…we both needed an early return to our vanilla lives. But beyond the sex, and the blowjob, and the beatings, there was just us.  Time between to cuddle up and talk about our lives. Time to be held, to touch one another, to just be.

It was a precious time.

And yes, there will be sexy stuff to come, I promise. He came, I came, (and came and came and came as he tormented my poor aching pussy), he beat, I moaned.

There was one funny moment. (okay there were plenty, but this one is the one springing to mind just now)

I’m laying, bound wrist to ankle, blindfolded.

“What am I forgetting,” he says to himself as he (finally!) stops pinching my belly, ass, thighs and tits.

Sagely, I kept quiet.

(I know, right? A modicum of self-preservation at last!)

“Oh, yes,” he says, moving away. “nipple clamps”

“I brought mine, Master,” I offer.

“No, don’t need ’em. I brought my own.”

WTF, I think. He brought his own? He doesn’t have his own…*I* have his…

SNAP!

“How’s that?” he inquires. His voice…oooh, it’s smooth as silk, kindly and sweet, like a person asking if you’re warm enough while proffering his coat.

Meanwhile, back on the bed, my back is arched, my mouth is open, and I can barely catch a breath.

“Owwww….fuuuuck,” I manage.

“Oh.” I think I hear a smirk in there, but I’m not sure, since, you know, blindfold. The side of the bed moves as he gets up.

“Good.”

yeah. Definitely a smirk there.

S N A P

OH HOLY FUCK!!!  I’m just getting used to the first one, and now the right one goes up in flames. HOLY FUCK!

“Hurts?” he asks solicitously.

That’s the truly evil part of his sadism, the kindly-old-gentleman voice he uses to see if you’re really hurting.

I can’t speak. I’m literally drawing breath through the walls of fire that emanate from my right nipple.  I nod vigorously.

He flicks the clamp.

“Oh, gooooood,” he says. And he slaps my pussy.

And laughs.

So yeah, he brought his own clamps! Later after he finally removes them (torturously, of course), he shows them to me. The wired, French clip style clothing pin. They were very tightly sprung, way more tight than regular wooden clothes pins.

“I do like finding little gems like these when I’m out and about,” he says, a boyish grin on his face.

“Uh huh,” I say, unamused.

“Wanna try ’em again?” he says, opening and closing the peg in front of my face. I clap my hands over my tits, and shake my head.

“Gee thanks, but no, Master,” I say.

He grins.

 

 

In The Midst of Chaos…Him

Other than the fact that it is still snowing off and on up here in the frozen north (I still have small bits of snow around the yard from Monday’s surprise storm~UGH~) things are not going badly.

I’m desperately overworking myself but *shrugs* it happens to all of us at some point in time, yes?

I barely have time to write Him each day as I’m up and out or up and running the household…but you make time for what’s important, and at least I can say Hi.

Except…somehow in the middle of this self-created chaos, there is Himself. A flurry of texts between us, escalating as our play time nears. He has been teasing me…just little jabs, really. About our meeting …in JULY. I know he’s joking, but it creates a little zinging repartee between us…

And it creates an eddy of need. A swirl of desire. I don’t know about you, but when I’m vanilla-swamped, I tend to lose my libido. Well, that, and the lingering depression about the winter that won’t end. I need outside time. I need my gardens. I need Him.

It’s like he throws an invisible line to me, wrapping it around me, so that I feel the tug of Him and his needs as clearly as if he’d spoken them. He doesn’t, mind you. It’s all mind-fuck and alluded to…but after alllllll these years, I know him, how he communicates, and can see him wrapping me up…but am helpless to stop it. Spider and fly, moth to flame, he snares me, pulls me outside the daily grind and makes me remember the hot, wet, slick spot between my thighs. He makes me forget my to-do list, and remember my wanting list.

Wanting to be fucked.

Wanting to be beaten.

Wanting Him to use me as he chooses.

Not a woman setting about her daily routine, but a slut pulled out of that day stuff, and tugged relentlessly towards the velvety darkness that feeds us both. Until all I want, all I need is Him. His hands bruising me, his mouth consuming me, his cock filling me. Until his brutal need is sated, and my need to be brutalized is fulfilled.

We Have a Plan!

Sometimes I lose faith in what we…or maybe that should say W/we, are. I’ve been pretty good about not being whiney but yanno…it’s been 8 months since I’ve seen my Master.

Yes.

EIGHT. FUCKING. MONTHS.

Sure we text a few times a day (like, good morning, good night, and some days a flurry of notes back and forth)…and I try to be respectful of his time, but sometimes it feels like I’m driving the relationship thing forward (or off a cliff?) all by myself. If I didn’t text him for a day, he wouldn’t write. Then,  I get all pissed and mad and think to myself,

well fine. (no, that should be in caps in full snarky mental voice) F I N E. He doesn’t want to reach out to -me-, and I have to instigate ALL communication, so fuck him. 

I do that. Yes, sad but true, nilla is not a perfect little princess of a slut.

Now, bear in mind that all this is all happening between my own ears, and actually reflects nothing in our relationship in the real world.  In the past I would act on impulse and snarkfest him with a shit-ton of texts saying things like:

okay you don’t like me anymore okayfine

sure sure don’t reply, i don’t matter

whatever. i’m sure you’ve got more important things going on than replying/showing you care/calling the slut who’s been yours for YEARS

And on it would go. Then he wouldn’t reply to any of that, and eventually we’d talk, and he’d say

“nilla, what has changed? Hasn’t this been the way of us all this time? Sometimes I’m busy, and can’t reply. But nothing has changed. I’m still your M. You’re still my slut. All is well.”

So now I just repeat that in my head when the nerves fester up and explode…’he hasn’t called or texted and he mustn’t need me anymore’…is covered over by

‘nilla, nothing has changed…’

and it helps. Because I hear his voice saying it, and it stops the freefall.

But because I was feeling…lost? I dunno. Adrift. There, that’s a better word…I did send him a text mid-week:

‘are we still even a thing anymore? all we seem to say is good morning and good night…sigh

And he replied right away to that.

yeah it’s a problem – we are both pulled in many directions – we’ll work it out.

and I had to add my two cents

I hope so. We are pulled apart by life and I get that. I just miss you.

note the forlorn, sad voice there. Then M, being the M he is, and who knows exactly how to snap me out of my funk says

Keep that thought when I’m beating you.

And with that, the sun comes back out, I smile, and I know that everything will be okay again–eventually. And with that in mind, I shoot him a text a day or so ago and tell him I’m feeling desperately needy (do all you Domly types love to hear that?!), and he pulls a date out of the air and damn if it isn’t an open day on MY calendar too! So, peeps, we have a playdate in 2 weeks.

TWO WEEKS!

Of course, now I’m feeling old (sorry Jz) and fat (sorry Olivia) and gross. Me, who is usually totally not worried about this shit in normal life. So what, I shrug, I’m round. So what, I say with a smile, I’m short. So what, I’m coming to a fucking HUGE birthday in a matter of months and the wrinkles are popping. (that one still kinda makes my knees shake a bit…still growing older certainly beats the Big Dirt Nap!)

I have to *consciously* remind myself that he doesn’t care about that shit. I’m sure he’d be thrilled with a slender(er) submissive who was 30 years younger …hell, I wouldn’t say no if a genii appeared and offered that, but you know what? I love and adore him, but… he’s got his own wrinkles, his own messy hair, his own tummy.  Neither of us are winning beauty contests here. We’re not in this for the (what I call) “glam-porn” where every tit is perky and bouncy, and every torn blouse is arty and sexy. Nope, just two old farts who will have the *best* time banging on one another (and banging one another!)…until I’m begging him to stop making me cum…and he’s refusing to stop.

Ah. See? You’ve all let me vent and now I’m not feeling so terribly gross after all. It’s not about the looks…it’s about the actions, the way we make one another feel, and being together. It may be an odd way to show love for one another, but really, when all is said and done, I’m okay with that!

 

It’s still winter here and I have the blahs…

…but…I’ve been writing so that helps. Sexy stuff that makes me horny, and stories have begun appearing in my head again.

And M and I may have a playtime later this month. Cross your fingers because I need it badly. And so, I believe, does he.

Suddenly EVERYTHING is annoying me. I’m not finding solace in my work as I usually do, just annoyance. I’m not finding peace in most anything other than journaling, and that’s not a full time kind of thing, right?

I need it to really be spring. I need to be outside and puttering in the yard, and not being pent up in the house all the fucking time except when I’m going to work. I’m so frigging stir crazy it isn’t even funny. And dear gods, I need to be beaten and fucked to unconsciousness.

And it snowed again today, almost an hour after the weather guy said the snow wasn’t going to get us after all. LIAR! LIAR! Grrr!. Now, we’re not talking feet, and we’re not talking all day…okay it was most of the day…but peeps…the temp almost hit 40…39…so close, so close…and within an hour it had fallen back, and by evening, fallen even lower, back to 32. It should NOT be 32 during the day in the first week in April. It’s just so wrong.

Is it weird that I’m mad about it? I’m feeling…gypped. I’m feeling…mad. Really, pissy and grumbly and I have absolutely NO tolerance for it. Okay it’s pretty. Blah blah. It’s too damn cold, my heat is still running, and I had to take out the winter coat. Again.

Just. Stop. Being. Cold.

*bitch session over*

So, I’ve been writing. It’s hard because it comes in dribs and drabs, my free time. Between work, kids, pets, and yeah, kids…and all the little weird life-crisis’ that happen, from “omg I just dropped your favorite mug” to “uh, ma, I just sucked something up in the vacuum and it appears to be stuck up there” (in the poorly designed crook where it’s solid plastic and unable to be detached from the hose, of course).

Yeah, those kind of time sucks.

But the workaround is actually grabbing those free breaks of 5, 10, 15 minutes, and slamming a few words down. It helps me feel that I’ve accomplished something..not quite so much as finally getting the cat toy OUT of the frigging vacuum did (after -no shit- an HOUR of working on it), but close.

*grins*

So that’s my grumble on a Friday night. Happy weekend. And by damn I hope Spring pushes the damned polar vortex straight to hell.

Hired! ~18~

She was thrumming. As an avid reader she had often thought that any of  the books she’d read about D/s -with all those silly adjectives- were just that…silly. But her body was quite literally thrumming with anticipation. She yearned for him; his touch, his wit -even when he drove her crazy, which was about every other sentence-and even his rare smile. Through his careful application of touch, and words, and the fucking, frigging, gawd-awful annoying chastity belt, he’d made her burn with needs so intense it was painful. Or pain-empty, she thought snidely.

Normally she would object to that, to being ‘trained’ to be so needy. But here? Now? There was no denying that she wanted to scream in his face

“FUCK MEeeeeeeee!”

which would not be very dignified, and who knew how he’d react? He likely wouldn’t like being screamed at in her banshee voice, but he might enjoy that he’d driven her to the absolute end of her wits. She kept her eye on that shining key, transfixed. It held, literally and figuratively, the keys to the kingdom. Or the pussydom. Or the Dom’s pussy.

She wanted to giggle, but held it back because then she’d have to explain and she wanted to get that key!

“I see you’re holding conversations in your bobble-head again, slut,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “I wonder if I’m in any way involved?”

“I-sorry,”Sir. I was…thinking about the key. About getting out of this. About your delicious cock…”

“All to the good slut but unless you shut up..verbally AND in your head, you’ll not understand the game. If you don’t understand the game, you’ll lose, and you’ll have to wear that to work tomorrow.”

He pointed at the silver belt that fit around her waist, that blocked access to her very needy pussy. Swallowing hard, because she absolutely did not want to wear the belt to work, OMG perish the thought, she nodded, biting hard on her inner lip to silence herself.

“Better,” he said, watching her for a moment.  “I’m going to clamp your nipples. Every ten seconds, I’m going to tighten them. If you can stand it for a full two minutes, you’ll have passed your first test.”

Slowly she nodded. What choice did she have, she pondered. It was take the clamps and torture, or be stuck wearing metal panties. Flicking her nipples to draw them taut, he grasped one, and twisted it experimentally, making a ‘hmm’ as his eyes bored into hers. She winced as he tweaked hard to the right, then harder still. Nodding, he released the swollen bud, only to snap a clamp upon it.

She gasped aloud.

“Already you react? It’s going to be a very long 120 seconds then, won’t it, slut?”

She swore she could see the sadistic gleam in his eyes.

“It was just..”

Just what, she wondered. She couldn’t tell him how needy she was, not yet. Or tell him that the quick bite of the clamp had arrowed a shot of lust-pain directly to her clit.  Quirking his brow at her, he twisted the other nipple.  This time she expected the quick hit of pain, but he slowly released the lever, denying her the jolt that her body was craving.

The smirky smile danced around his mouth, tightening her resolve. She’d bear that two minutes, indeed she would.

Twist

Twist

The first ten second tightening was nothing more than a caress. By the first minute, she was squirming, her pussy throbbing, her nipples starting to burn.

Twist

Twist

As He tightened the knobs on the clamps for the tenth time, she thought her nipples were going to be crushed beyond salvation. Feeling the seconds pass with the painful pulse beating she whimpered through the eleventh and then braced for the twelfth, (thank all the gods!) and  final twist. Gritting her teeth and breathing slowly, she stared at him.

“Good slut,” he said, then flicked a finger along each clamp, setting them to bouncing. “Now, jump.”

“What?” her tone was pure shock.

“You heard me.”

Looking steadily at him, she thought about disobeying.

“It’s…going to hurt.”

“Yeahh,” he purred.

“Bastard”

Cocking his head at her, he smiled.

“Did you say something there slut?”

She shook her head and gave a half-hearted jump. Her tits wobbled and wiggled, and she groaned.

“Good practice jump. Again, but higher.”

She groaned louder, but jumped a bit higher.

“Slut. Your toes barely even left the floor. JUMP, cunt, jump. Wait. I think you need more motivation. Bend over.”

Dear gods, what had she gotten herself into? It had been so long since she’d had a play session. The last time with Asshole Andy hadn’t been playtime, but a brutal beating.  She wasn’t used to this. She…

He slapped the underside of her tits hard, as she stood there, bent at the waist. Her tits stung, and each impact set the clamps to swinging wildly as her huge breasts wobbled in response. Every blow against her under-tit made her squirm and yelp. It was finally only his hand in her hair that held her until he was finished.

“OMG!” she yelped, gasping.

Still using  her hair he pulled her upright again.

“Motivated?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yessir,” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“Good, then get on with it.”

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. She wanted to kick him. A mutinous expression crossed her face, but she desperately wanted to get out of the damn belt. Fuck, she could prove to him that she was made of strong stuff.

She jumped.

Gritting her teeth, she whistled out a breath as her tits screamed fire from her nipples outward. He stepped up to her, grabbing each large tit in each hand, and smacked them together.

“Such lovely tits,” he said, his hands gripping the flesh tightly. He pushed them together, making her whimper low in her throat.

“Fuckable, lovely fuckable tit tunnel,” he said, before laughing and releasing her. He removed a clamp quickly, flicking the abused nipple.

“Tell me slut, which hurts worse now…the clamped nip, or the one without?”

If she could have done anything in that moment, she would have hit him, or bitten him, or something, but the two different pains had her mouth opening, closing, and silent.

“I never thought I’d see the day when you were speechless. I suppose it won’t last, but at least now I know how to have a moment’s respite…” He laughed, pleased at his own humor.

As she opened her mouth to speak, he removed the other clamp. With a gasp, she doubled over, wondering if her nipple was still on her, or stuck within the clamp. Lifting her by her chin, he kissed her, hard.

“Good slut. Step one, done.”

 

 

HNT~ Master’s Pick

I sent M some boob pic’s because I haven’t in a while. And my post yesterday was all angsty, but made me reflect that some of the effort of maintaining our synergy lies upon me, not only Himself.

Synergy, by the way is defined thusly:

syn·er·gy
ˈsinərjē/
noun
  1. the interaction or cooperation of two or more organizations, substances, or other agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects.
    synonyms: cooperative interaction, cooperation, combined effort, give and take

I like this word a lot. It’s a statement that reminds me that we both bring something to our relationship, and it isn’t only kneeling and ordering, but the little things we can do to maintain our connections, despite the long vanilla times when we’re apart.

The best part of the definition for me is the “greater than the sum of their separate effects” part. Together we are explosive, raw, violent, passionate–so very different from our vanilla selves.

And synergy aside, what Dom doesn’t enjoy a bunch of titty pictures from his submissive?

Then I asked him to pick his favorite for HNT. I’m almost surprised that he went for the most subtle one of the bunch. They’re all variations on the theme of Naptime, by the way. Without further ado, here is M’s pick:

20180328_130912

This Could Be Exciting

Okay, so my *favorite* vibrator is dying. I have actually bought 3 iterations of it over the years but at long last it is no longer available. So I bought a sibling of it, and while it’s a bit girthier, which I like, it doesn’t have the same ripply texture and the vibe is more buzzy? In a lighter way, somehow. Anyhow, we’re going to take some time to develop a relationship.

sigh

I hate buying a new vibe. So then I go back to the website…because the one I wanted was like $185.

*hysterical laughter*

Right, as if I’d spend almost $200 on my pussy? Uh, no. Too much of a frugal Yankee here for that. But then I saw *this*…and I have to admit that I bought it immediately.

Dodil

By the way, this is NOT an advertisement. I don’t do those sorts of endorsements. But I’m SO excited by the idea of this (and the video showed it as being fairly girthy, too!). You can *shape* this! Mold it to bend and have nobbies in places that feel good…oh gosh. It’s like a fantasy for me, come true! And while it’s not a vibrator, I’m hoping that the various forms I can shape it to will more than make up for missing out on the vibe part.

I’ll let you know how it works out when it comes…hopefully sooooon so I can cum, too! LOL

Color me an eager beaver. (see what I did there?)