The Promotion (2)

She didn’t consider herself to be shy, nor did she feel like she was a prude. But this assignment was definitely going to test her. She’d been a reporter nearly half her life, for gosh sakes. Not only in high school, but she’d created– written, photographed, edited, and published– a family paper even as a kid. She smiled as she recalled those early ‘papers’–The Jennings Journal. It was pretty much a done deal that she’d be writing somewhere, somehow as an adult.

She’d covered horse shows, state fairs, city and town events, mayoral races, marathons.  But this? This  was a whole new chapter, something totally out of her sphere of experience.  Her editor was a sneaky bitch, she mused as she peered around the room. And didn’t it give her a bit of a shiver to know that the imposing Marley Malone was a participant in this sort of thing? She shifted from foot to foot, remembering their conversation earlier this week.

“You’ll bring a fresh perspective to the topic. ” Her editor spoke crisply. “First, since my husband owns a BDSM club, I am far too close to the issue. Secondly, ever since that stupid movie came out, following on the heels of that stupid book, people have wondered if this gray lifestyle really is as was portrayed. *I* know that the lifestyle is not gray. It’s black and white, yin and yang.  It’s rules and caring, pain and passion, submission and Domination. It’s communication, always. Truth and honesty, above all else. It is giving ones will, ones body to another for the subjegation of self. It’s beautiful and concrete and real. It’s messy and embarrassing, and hot as fucking hell. As you can tell, it’s a subject that I feel very strongly about.”

That was crystal clear.  It came through the glow in her editor’s eyes, the way she leaned forward, scowling fiercely when disparaging that book. Opening her mouth to speak proved a waste of time. Marley was on a roll.

“The lifestyle isn’t abuse. Yet the way that movie showed it? Wrong. Just…wrong.”

“Shouldn’t you write the piece, Marley?”

Head shaking vehemently no, her boss jabbed her finger into her desk.

“No. No- I can’t. I get so mad that I just see red and would alienate everyone. People will remember that I did a piece on the club, and that I eventually married John. So…no, it will need to be presented without the bias that I’d bring to the piece. I want your take on it. I’m inside the scene, and while I know I’m not involved in an abusive relationship, many who read that book or saw that movie would make that leap. He, that idiot, took without getting he’s subs express consent. He was little more than an insecure stalker. A rich stalker, but still, he used her, abused her. This is not how it works, Randi.”

Miranda had never been called anything other than Miranda her whole life. Her parents weren’t the type to give pet names or nick names. It never failed to surprise her each time Marley used it.

Rising from her desk, taking up her tea-cup, the senior editor stomped across the office, annoyance in every step. She flipped on the light as she opened the small closet where her mini-kitchen lived. There was the splatter of the dregs of the cup were tossed into the sink, the hiss of the spray as she rinsed the mug. A quick flick of her finger turned on the electric tea kettle. Her head turned, glancing over her shoulder to where Miranda sat, uncertain if she was being asked, or being told to pursue this story.

“I have spoken to John about this–he laughs it off–but he did consent to having you pop over to the club. He’ll give you a tour, or if he’s busy, have one of the staff do it.”

Oh. So she was being told to do the story. She wondered how that would look on her resume…Did a story on BDSM as consensual and not a subversive war on feminism. 

Yup. She’d sandwich that line right in there over ‘cleaned toilets at the Burger Hut’. Which could be her next job if this went wrong. And yet…look at Marley. Power, pure and elemental–the confident woman, writer, editor, with her own office, her own electric tea kettle for gosh shake! Writing her own version of the lifestyle several years ago had done wonders for her career–and likely her sex life too, since she’d met her future husband there.

She shouldn’t be thinking about that. Her editors sex life was none of her business. Except for the story it kind of was. Ew. Well, she’d have to work around that.

BDSM as safe and non-abusive. She could work with that.

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

She still didn’t really remember how Marley had gotten her out of the office and into her car. Yet here she was, notepad in hand, spare pen in her breast pocket, sans geeky plastic protector. She didn’t care who was naked in there. She was not going to be one of them. It didn’t matter if she was the only person there in clothing. She’d have no problem being the odd duck. There was no naked in her future.

All thoughts of naked vanished when John Malone entered the room. Or perhaps they were just transformed into instant “OH WOW”. The man was a god. And he was dressed. In jeans and white tee-shirt, his arms were corded with muscles…yet his belly wasn’t flat. His hair was salted with white, his face creased with years. Still, he exuded an incredible sex appeal that was ageless. Looking up at him, and way up at that, her mouth opened, closed. She swallowed.

“Yeah, I have that effect on people,” he chuckled, taking her arm. “And no, I’m not descended from giants. Just Swedes.” Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he turned and took her into the club. The space in this first room was big, bigger than she’d thought, and brighter than she’d expected. Dungeons reminded one of dark dank unpleasant places. Though this place could be unpleasant if any of those things on the walls were actually used…she shook her head. No. No one really whipped people during these sorts of “play” times. Did they? Yet her research last night (and the astonishing array of porn portraying sadism) indicated that “they” certainly did.

The windows sparkled with sunlight, danced across a rack that held a variety of paddles. A room full of light, illuminating things of sexual darkness. Her eyes caught sight of an anomoly.

“Is that a…ping pong paddle?” She asked, looking around for a table.

He caught the look, and laughed again. Taking down the green-rubberized paddle, he swished it through the air. It made an impressive sound.

“Well, it is indeed, and I’m certainly a master at using it.” His smile hinted at something both dark and fascinating. “Now,” he continued, that smile making her nervous for some unknown reason, “If I were in that movie that pisses Marley off? I’d go all gray on you and not ask for your consent before I did this.”

His hand whipped out, arcing in a circle that drew a whistling breath of air. It took a full five seconds before the impact of the blow on her bottom was realized by her brain. He laughed as she jolted, yelped.

“See? That’s the sort of thing that is wrong about that story. We don’t do that here.” He hung the paddle up.

“All evidence to the contrary,” she mumbled, making him snort out another laugh.

“See? There was nothing seductive, or enticing about that.”

Before he could continue, a woman appeared on a landing above them.

“Sir? James is on the phone for you, and refused to let me take a message.”

“I’ll be up in a moment. Stubborn prick,” he murmured under his breath.

“Randi, I’ve got to take this, and it will be a while. Please look around and touch everything you want to…especially if it’s a warm body.”

He laughed as her eyes widened.

“Kidding. One of my guys will be along in a while. I’ll see if one of them is available to finish our tour. We need to set aside some time for a conversation about dominance and submission–you should come to dinner on Saturday. A group of us get together and munch and talk shop.”

With that, he all but leapt up the stairs and was gone. She was amused, annoyed, and a bit bereft. He filled up space, that man. The air, which had been electric in his presence, calmed. She rubbed her ass where he’d struck with the paddle. There was heat there, to be sure. But to do this for fun? Uhm. No. Taking a last look up the stairs where Mr. Malone had gone, she steadied herself. Time to remember that she was here as an investigative reporter. Squeezing her pad in her hand, she took a calming breath. Well, it was time to get on with it and really look at these…these…what had Marley called them?

Tools of ass destruction. Right.

Shaking her head at the folly of such “fun” she strode across the wide open space.

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

“She’s a looker. Nice ass. Acceptable tits.”

“It’s not about tits and ass, you ass.”

“It’s always about the tits and ass. Like I said, acceptable. We are a floor up, you know. I can tell more when I’ve introduced myself.”

“Which you should go do. Soon.”

“Soon. I want to see what she’s drawn to on the Wall of Pain.”

“Smart.”

“Well, yeah.”

From behind the one-way glass, the two men fist-bumped, then returned to watching the curious woman below. Unaware that she was the topic of scrutiny, she made her way to the crops, fingers stroking down a shorter one, from which hung a series of leather cords.

“And that’s my cue. You owe me ten bucks, too.”

 

 

better but still pondering…

I’m being SO lazy with my grammar and it’s such a bad example to set for all you younger writers out there! Let’s just ignore that title and move on, shall we?

So–I had a brief conversation with M the other day, and though we didn’t specifically talk about my mood, he still managed to make me feel.

That’s an important line there.

Coz–when I am overwhelmed with “to do” stuff in my vanilla life I kind of shut down. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my kids and family, it just means that I’m emotionally drained, distant and in a little emo-proof shell. Does that make any sense? And I guess, to be totally honest about it, that withdrawal carries into my relationship with him. I still talk/text, I still listen to him, but I’m …? What?

What am I?

I’m *there*…and yet…

I feel a bit wraith-like. Insubstantial. And it may well be solely because of the overwhelming heap of things I’m juggling, which means less time for D/s, less opportunity for meeting. And the less the D/s? Well at first there is that deep hunger. A burning in the gut and pussy. A raw craving for pain.

And then (perhaps in an act of self-preservation)…it gets shunted away.  Not shut down, mind you.  I’m well aware that the need is still there.

But the driving jungle drums in my body have silenced.

I was thinking about this as I drove to work the other day. About the lack of immediacy for that need. Should I shut down my blog? Should I break up with Master?

Duh.

How could I do that when he is a part of me? It’s not just sex and beatings, but there is intimacy, and love. It’s not a bond I’m willing to throw away because I don’t have time to give it everything I used to. Yet even knowing the circle comes back around, right now I’m so close to apogee that I’m afraid I’ll lose my gravitational grasp on BDSM and sling off into the vanillaverse, never to be seen again.

*deep breath*

I know, such melodrama, right?!

I laughed a bit at myself. Because being a painslut, a submissive…well, it’s not a thing I do. 

It’s not like knitting, or bike riding, or bird watching.

It’s not a fucking hobby.

(see what I did there? Yes, even in the midst of an emotional crisis (of sorts) I still have my wacky humor.)

Being a painslut, a submissive, a wanton, needy sex toy? That’s a part of who I am.

It is knit (if you will) into the very fibers of my DNA. It took me a long, long time to figure it out. But there’s the truth of it. I can turn my back on it for a while, but like the need for those extras in life (not food, nor air, as those are true biological needs)…like chocolate sauce on ice cream, like an umbrella AND a raincoat, it’s that kind of need.

Which means I can’t really lose my gravitational whirl on the circle. I’ll ride through this–this far distance from D/s time–and swing back into it and this will be but a memory of a time when I was feeling–bereft.

And to get back to my original thought…talking with M made me feel.

Because not feeling isn’t really an option for an emo slut like me. And feeling sad and silly and happy just to be connecting to him was an important step in helping me realize that if I quit Him…I’d be truly empty. And if I quit the blog? I’d be lost and lonely. With no one to turn to.

Can you imagine me surrounded by all my vanilla life with no option to turn to when those dark and dirty thoughts begin to whirl around my head?

It wouldn’t be purty, because now I know what I’d be missing.

I’d be missing all this (waves hands around to encompass blog, readers, stories, doms, subsisters). Where’s the fun in that?

Pauses. Right. NOT fun.

And not who I am.

And frankly? I’ve spent the last almost-six years (yup, almost my blog-a-versary!) becoming the person I am today…I’m just not willing to let go of that. So I’m working to find ways to honor my vanilla responsibilities without losing this side of who I am. Finding solutions to things is what I do best…and I’ll make this work (with apologies to Tim Gunn)…however I can.

Until then, know that my time of painful pondering is just about maxed out (there is only so long a slut can wallow, yanno?), and soon I’ll be back to my regular cheerful self.

Thanks to *everyone* who responded to my last needy post. I will respond to each of you..and to those who responded privately, you’re the best. Thank you.

*smiling* and feeling better every day…

 

 

Newbie

Nerves tingled along her spine as she sat in her car. The engine was off, the faint pings of the motor cooling was accompanied by her rapid breath.

“Ree-diculous!” She said to herself, out loud, to shock herself out of this sudden attack of chicken knees. “Get up, get out, go in.”

That little mantra had gotten her this far. Newbie night at the club where the “alternative life-style” folks hung out. They had them every month but this was the first time she’d ever gotten the guts to attend.

Somehow her feet were on the pavement and walking towards the door. It was an ordinary door, nothing out of the wild side she’d often pictured in her mind’s eye. She’d be disappointed if it was just…a bar…inside.

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

She hung on the periphery, where she could see, but not be noticed too much. The people-watching was phenomenal! Even if she didn’t get up to be a volunteer at some of these events, at least she’d made it this far. Watching the shibari guy had been amazing. For a moment there had been some regret that she’d not put her hand up, but hell, this was her first time admitting to herself that she was…different.

Normal people didn’t want to be tied up and fucked. Normal people didn’t wonder what a hard spanking would be like. Normal people didn’t crave crazy scenes where people did many painful, terrible, wonderfully sick things to one person. It was…totally fucked up. Her super-religious parents would  keel over in the shock and horror of it all. Oh, but she’d come a long way from Etna Alabama First Baptist Church since leaving home years ago. Leaving the south and heading north had changed her. First,  college, then her first really crappy job.  After a while a better opportunity came along, and an even better one still later. Years passed, and she climbed the ladder of success steadily. Boyfriends, girlfriends when she thought she might be a homo, more boyfriends, passed in and out of her life, but nothing quite gave her what she wanted.

Porn had.

Had filled the void between those sexual encounters. They weren’t much more than that. Just a getting to know someone, fuck them a month or maybe two, and move on. It was her more than them. Gods knew Kent would have loved sliding a ring on her finger.  But no. She didn’t want to wind up like her parents, married 187 years to the same person, same perfunctory sex every Saturday night.

Yet here she sat, shaking like a lamb as the crop slapped down on the woman’s body. Tied to an enormous cross, she judged her to be close to her own middle-age. The crop flew in a flurry of quick slaps that moved from her shoulders to her thigh. Missy winced in sympathy, even as she shifted on her stool. It looked like it hurt. It looked…hot as fuck.

“We don’t allow newbies to hide in the corners.”

The voice came from behind her but when she turned to look, a blindfold slipped over her head.

“Oh! But…”

“Time to explore, newbie.”

She was tugged off the bar stool, and led away.

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

At a loss for words, she didn’t say anything as she was pushed and pulled at the same time.

Two people, then,” she mused. She felt the press of bodies, the noise of the crowd, then the change to a quieter area. Here there were single moans, terse orders, the sounds of tools and implements being chosen, and employed. The sound of a door opening in front of her, closing.

“Look, I–”

“silence”

The word was spoken firmly. The voice was older, a bit raspy. Male. Footsteps moved around, circling her.

“Acceptable.”

Not spoken to her, yet she replied anyway.

“I am not here to be acceptable to anyone. I’m just…”

A fat ball was shoved between her teeth.

“Silence.”

“Unclothe it.”

Hands at her clothing now, pulling and tugging. She tried to struggle, but her wrists were grasped and held, her legs caught in the fall of clothing around her ankles. Dragged along the floor, she moaned around the gag, until she felt the cool press of something beneath her as she was shoved down. Quickly wrists and ankles were grabbed, snapped into position, secured. Shaking her head, muttering, did nothing.

“Put these on her.”

The jingle made her wonder, but it wasn’t a long wait for her curiosity to be relieved. And for her nipples to protest the sudden pinch of the clamps that bit into them.

A large hand grabbed her breast and squeezed. The pressure on her nipple increased. She moaned.

“Don’t fight it so much. In the end we will both get what we want. You came for fantasy, for sex. As did we. You will not be harmed. Hurt, yes. But no permanent injury will mar you. And after this you will be a newbie no more, eh?

 

 

Dare

“You wouldn’t. You….couldn’t…” her voice trailed off into a squeak as he launched himself across the room and onto her.

Not only would he, but he did. It took only seconds for her taunting gibe to be silenced as he flipped her onto her belly, trapping one hand under her, the other behind her back. Trying to open her fingers and pinch him was for naught–he pressed against her firmly.  His hands dug under her skirt, hooking her panties in his fingers.

“Seth…I was jok–”

With a rough tug, her panties were torn from her bottom. With a quick twist, he secured her hands together. His belt was tugged from his pants, looped through the panty-tie on her wrist and quickly looped through the headboard.

“Seth…”

Her words were garbled as he shoved his tie into her mouth. The bed shifted as he moved away.  From the other room she could faintly hear his voice, then the chirp of the phone. More words, another chirp.

She looked over her shoulder as the door flung open. He stood, framed from behind with the light pouring into the living room window. He looked…daunting. He strode to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt, tugging down his pants, revealing a hard-swollen cock.

“Told your boss you were a bit tied up at the moment, and not feeling good. He said he hopes you feel better soon. My boss was understanding that I had to stay here and take care of you, since you’re feeling so poorly.”

She looked at him. He lied? He never lied.

“Oh, don’t worry little girl–you will be feeling verrrry poorly by the end of today. You’ll be sore just about everywhere.” There was a sparkle in his eyes, the one he got when the sadist was walking in his skin.

His hand stroked down her thigh, but she kicked out at him. Her heart pounded–excitement and a bit of fear. She loved him like this, truly, but he was also very daunting in this mood.

“okay, little girl, you want to play rough eh?”

He tugged her skirt up over her hips, baring her bottom fully. She’d only had her skirt and panties on when she had begun taunting him about being too work-oriented. About leaving her, hot and horny, to go hang with his old, shriveled boss whose cock was likely hadn’t seen pussy since the great depression. He turned and went to the cabinet where they kept their toys. She struggled in earnest when he took out the cane. She hated that whippy thing with a passion. Whimpering and struggling to get free, the quick lick of fire on her thigh made her stiffen, then shriek behind the gag. Before she could recover there was another blow, and a third.

“I see I have your attention now, little girl.”

She kept her back to him, refusing to look at him. Always a mistake, didn’t she realize that by now? The cane sang its way up her body, over the curve of hip, lurching at the sway of waist. She was cringing now, holding back the moans of pain at the bites of the wooden tool  upon shoulder-blade and arm. His weight shifted the bed, and she half-rolled. Her tits felt the sharp assault next, her nipples rising as they tightened in response to the torment.

No soft caress followed the sound of the cane clattering onto the nightstand, just the sharp crack of his hand upon her ass as she lay curled on her side. Fuck! Ow!

Fingers pried between her folds, rubbed wetness, spreading it.

“Wet little dirty girl.”

His fingers scooped the slickness, slid into her anus, her pussy, two by two. A sadistic and sensual move, pain and pleasure dancing arm in arm. She was not a fan of anal.

She was so fucking aroused.

At her asshole, the press of his thick head. She shook hers, no, but his fingers tugged her head back and growled ‘yesssss’ as he pressed deep. Whimpers, hers; moans, his, the sounds of pain and pleasure mingling with the slip and slide of wet flesh. Fingers found her clit, rubbing hard, moving up to pinch her nipples.

Driving hard, deeply, filling her belly from behind, she felt the tightening against her bottom, presaging his orgasm. Whimpers were left her in her throat.  She couldn’t speak around the tie gagging her mouth. She was close…so close…

He came with a rumbling groan, hot juice ssssquirting into her bumhole. She felt the quivers in her belly, the longing for her own orgasm, even as his cock began to shrink. He pulled out, falling back, away from her. She grumbled loudly around the gag, tossing her head to show her displeasure.

He lifted his head, chuckled at the glare she threw his way.

“awww, poor little girl didn’t get hers? Too bad.”

He fell back again, but she could see the smile on his face. Smirking bastard. She wanted to kick him, but didn’t quite dare. Look where that had gotten her, here, filled with his cum, and unable to get her own release.

He rose up, flipping her onto her back, his mouth working at her breast. Biting and sucking he played with her. Close, instantly she was that close again.

He rolled away.

“All good things come to those who wait. And to those who dare taunt their Master.”

He rose, stretching.

“I’m off for coffee.”

He tugged the gag from her mouth before he trotted downstairs, and enjoyed his cup all the more for the yelling that filtered down to the kitchen. It was going to be a fine fucking day.

 

 thanks for the idea, Kayla!

What nilla Says to Sir Wolf

Dear Sir Wolf,

My Master is deeply appreciative yet again of your SO generous gift. I, on the other hand, am far less…enamored of it. Or them. Or…*flaps hand in the air*…whatever. The thing is, that little green bag seemed so innocuous. Those lovely handles. The seductive curve of the rubber straps. The smell of them, even.

Innocuous?

oh HELL no.

Those fuckers…my GAWD, Sir. Those fuckers….*shakes head, looks skyward for words to describe them better*…yeah, fuckers it is.

There i am, you see, face to the wall. Forehead must stay there, per Masters “orders” (orders being His hand shoving my head against the wall and saying “stay there” in that mean terse voice that’s so annoying–and a damn turn on too, damn Him–). He pulls my head off the wall, slaps on the blindfold, then shoves my head back. Thunk.

I hear the sounds behind me. I have no idea what He’s doing back there on the bed. Sleeping? No, there is the sound of things being moved in His wicked bag of tricks.

“You know, nilla, someday you will have to write another letter to Wolf and let him know how very grateful I am for this bag of implements.”

There is nothing but silence then.

You know, Sir Wolf, that when you Marines want to, you can  be too fucking quiet  move so silently. I didn’t answer because…well, I know what’s coming. Or think I do. He puffs a hard breath into my right ear, which means He has moved from the 2nd bed all the way across the room, behind me by less than 5 inches, and I never heard a thing. And trust me Sir Wolf, I’m listening for all I’m worth. The fucker Master is just that good. I jump at least 3 inches into the air (quite a feat in 6.5″ heels) and shriek.

Yes.

Like a fucking girl.

Yes, Sir, I know I’m a girl, but I don’t usually react to being startled that way. Shrieking. Sheesh.

I digress.

He has blown in my ear, and laughs at my discomfiture. I’m holding onto the wall and trying to slow my racing heart and not call Him the fucking Bastard that He is.

“You will, won’t you slut? Write Him a note for me? Let’s see, what should you say to show your deep gratitude for this gift?”

I think to myself “Dear Sir Wolf. You are a stinking rat bastard. Love nilla” but wisely do not say this aloud.

He taps me on the ass with one toy, not too hard.

“No, nevermind. Here’s something else. We’re going to play name that implement.”

He pauses again.

“No, no, that’s too easy for you. I think we’ll play ‘name the color of the implement. Specifically the handle of the impliment.”

My heart has fallen to my knees. He’ll keep hitting me until I guess it correctly. And some of those fuckers hurt like…like…well, like the tormentors they were created to be.

By you, Sir Wolf (you bastard).

Thank you?

He takes up the toy and whacks my butt with it.

OH!

AH FUCK…I try to climb the wall, unsuccessfully. I try to catch my breath. At this I am successful, finally slumping forward and gasping.

“Let’s do both sides so that you can get the full idea.”

And before I can yay or nay this (I know, not that I *ever* had a choice in that! but one slut can dream, right?) there is a harsh WHACK WHACK on the other side of my ass.

Now, I don’t remember which one He started with but I called out what I thought it was…and damned if I wasn’t right. He was kind of startled by that, thought it was a lucky guess. I am leaning more towards “subliminal learning” since the whips have been my header for over a week, and I see it every time I proofread something that I have written.

He strikes me with the next one…and I got that one too. First blow, even. Now He’s a bit amazed.

Third go, and I got that one. And the next…almost…I thought there were some that were bi-colored, but not the handles (tricky, Mr. Wolf. Verrah tricky, damn you.) He whacked me again and asked me to be more specific.

“WHITE!!” I yelp as it bites into my tender backside again.

“Well nilla,” He says, His voice a combination of proud and bemused. “I have no idea how you did that but you did very well. Very well indeed.”

And that, Sir Wolf, is how I freed my ass from the tyranny of that dastardly little green bag of yours. His. Whatever.

And thank you. No really, Sir, thank you. Master definitely appreciates the bag and all it’s rotten contents. Maybe next time we play, my ass will write you a letter. It will sound like “Poot”…it will smell foul, and mean “fuck you, Sir”. With love, of course. 😉

Sincerely,

nilla

Domly

He’s been texting and teasing me about Big Red ever since last Sunday, when I first learned of the New Butt Plug and his presence in Master’s arsenal.

It fills me with no little trepidation.

It rocks me with a wild lust.

Isn’t that fucking weird?

🙂

I’m scared of that fucking thing…yet I am (kinda, sorta) looking forward to His dominating me and making me take it. Scared, and turned on.

Not scared as in “He’ll do whatever He wants to me no matter if it will permanently harm me”–He is very careful with His belongings. Meticulous, even. But the teasing, the subtle torment He’s laved on me via text and phone calls? Oh, yes, yes, yes.

Major turn-on.

“I am so looking forward to fucking you while Big Red resides in your asshole.”

Just writing that, His words to me on Thursday via text, makes me shiver, makes my pussy quiver, turns my belly into hot wet jello.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve re-read that particular text.

It’s so sadistic, so Dommy, so very much what I crave. Even without the big event happening, I’m already a nerved-up, turned-on slutty mess.  It can’t get much better than that as a set up.

Keep your fingers crossed, for a playdate is in the offing, hopefully in early December. It’s been a while, and I’m anticipating our playtime, even while I pause and shudder at the thought of Big Red.

You know.

There.

(you’re a porn erotic writer, nilla. Say it.)

(oh myyy)

In my ass.

Broaching the tight (nervously tight) boundaries of my asshole. And staying there awhile. Being fucked in my pussy, while my ass is full.

The thing of so many of my masturbation fantasies, come to reality.

And then there’s the beating I need. That He has promised me. It seems we’ll come together at a crossroads of mutual need. He needs to beat someone–and this particular someone slut needs to be beaten.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

 

Sacrifice (3)

Hands stroking her body.

Hands massaging her head, rubbing up and over and around her breasts, her belly, her arms and wrists. They moved slickly, sliding like silk. There was a soft scent filling her nostrils, something earthy and rich.

Hands rubbing her pussy, massaging the tender folds, then the gentle press against, around, and briefly, into her anus. She fluttered then, rousing a bit, but a soothing “shhhhhh” accompanied by the gentle massaging of her temples calmed her.

The calm after the storm, as it were.  The feeling of being used lingered, despite the massaging hands. She stirred, restless. Hands held her down, rubbing down her arms, catching her wrists, rubbing each digit on her hands.

She should rise.

She should awaken and go.

There wasn’t a need to rise. There didn’t seem to be a reason to go.

She slept.

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

The sound of the door closing roused her. The room was dark, though spears of sunlight pierce the edges of the curtains, seeking entry.

A hand trailed from her toes, up her leg, and rested at the pouting vee.

“Pretty cunt.”

She knew the voice. She knew that hand. She would have sat up, but she was too lethargic to move. The bed groaned under the sudden weight of him. Like the mattress, she groaned as he moved onto her, pinning her to the soft sheets.

“I can’t,” she murmured against his lips.

“You will. You are mine now.”

Her eyes fluttered open. It was true then.  Trying to understand, to comprehend the sudden change in her status.

“I…?”

“Mine. No longer a just a slave, but my slave.”

In the darkness she smiled. She’d feared becoming the sacrifice. Instead it seemed she’d been reborn.

His hand gathered her close as he rolled to his side, tucking her against him. His fingers found her breast, even as his cock rose, large and hard against her ass. His breathing deepened, fluttering her hair.

Time slowed, their breaths slowed in sync. Entwined, they slept.

 

~fini~

 

 

 

Sacrifice (2)

The door opened. She heard it through the haze of lust that boiled in her blood. The focal point was at the apex of her thighs, where an insistent throb made her want to rub, made her want to rise up and impale herself on any rigid surface.

She needed to fuck.

Her hands were held fast, over her head, secured to something. Her legs were pegged open, she had no idea how. The lethargy in her limbs was a direct counterpoint to the throbbing need in her cunt.

There was no fear, not that she could speak of it anyway. Something hard and rubber filled her mouth.

“Pretty.”

Not realizing he was that close, she jumped a little. A finger, covered in leather, stroked between her breasts, swirled around her belly button, and paused just above where she craved touch the most. When it left her body, she whimpered, begging.

He laughed, the sound full of pleasure.

“Oh, you’re a needy cunt, aren’t you?”

Suddenly her tits were grabbed, taken hold of with fingers that grabbed as if pinched in a vise-grip. Little mewling noises came from behind the gag as she tossed her head. It hurt!

“Very pretty titties you have, slut. They chose well for me.”

His hands relaxed, and she breathed, but in moments she squealed as he grasped again,  his hold painfully harsh. It seemed like forever that he held her thus; she thought she’d die from the pain. He released her tits, then slapped each one and moved away. Footsteps crossed the room, followed by the soft sound of someone disrobing. Gasping breath through her nose, swallowing spit and fear, she tried to breath through the pain memory, each hard-won breath easing the ache in her breasts. A shoe hit the floor, making her jump, then the other. A belt tinkled as it was unhooked, and the whissssper of it being pulled from the loops carried to her. She did not hear that fall to the floor, though she strained for the sound of it.

Footfalls, quieter now, returned to her. She felt his heat between her thighs.

“You mark well, girl. I like that in a sacrifice.”

The swish came just as the belt struck her left breast. Her scream was muffled, and drowned out the sound of the next blow. He hit just above the first strike. The third stroke caught her nipple. The pain bloomed, making her choke for breath. Several more blows, and she gagged, choking on the rush of tears and bile in her throat. The flurry of strokes stopped, his hands moving in her hair, removing the gag.

“Breathe. I like to hear your sounds anyway. Cry for me. Beg. Wail. I enjoy every sound that will squeak from you.”

Some of the fog cleared from her head, as it was intended to, she supposed. Drug her to be quiescent, then leave it to fade away, making her struggle against him, against the bonds that held her tight, open and available for him, which she instinctively knew he would enjoy. And burning through it all, the heavy weight of lust, making her crave fulfilment. She’d take it. Take all of his pain, if only he would fuck her.

She must have spoken aloud.

“Fuck you I will. Hard, as hard as ever a man takes a cunt. Using you, all of you. Ass, pussy, mouth…until I am done with you. You are the sacrifice, after all. Mine to dump my seed into. Mine to use. Mine to touch. Mine to cover with pain. I’ll spend you well, fill you, hurt you, pleasure you.”

His words echoed the dark thoughts that had been whispered in her ear by her preparer. Her nipples peaked, her pussy swelled, oozing honey. Her whole body sought to entice, to satiate the boiling needs in both of them.

The belt whistled through the air, the sizzle of the leather against her tit filled the room with energy. He beat her tits until they felt heavy and thick with burning bruises. When the first blow hit her pussy, she was rigid with shock, then screaming with the pain of more, always more. Her clit, rigid in sex-need, felt close to exploding when the edge of the belt struck it.

Her body convulsed, spasming in orgasm.

“Fucking slut.” His words ground through her body. There was an insistent push against her pussy as his cock sought entry. It was huge. She could feel the enormous head, and feared. He would rip her apart. He would destroy her. He would…

The lube heating her blood smoothed his entry. There was pain…nothing that large would enter so small a chamber without pain. Yet she craved the pain. He pushed deeper; alarm flooded  her. He was girthy, and long. So long. He wouldn’t fit. There was pressure deep inside of her, and she cried out with the pain against her cervix.

And came, hard.

He groaned as her cunt pulsed around him. Her head tossed as she shook with the powerful effects of drug and stimulation.

“Fuck meeee!”

She couldn’t believe she was begging for more, for pain, for friction for all of what He would do to her. His fingers wrapped around her nipples, tugging her breasts for leverage, as his hips began gyrating, figure eights interspersed with hard jabs.  She cried at the pain, begged for more as he filled her, used her rough like the whore he called her.

When he pulled from her pussy, she knew.

The massive head pressed against her anus. Here he could fully embed his full length. Here he would be unencumbered, able to thrust into her, bury himself balls-deep into her heat.

Her scream was nearly drowned out with his groan of pure pleasure. His fingers tightened on her nipples, and pain assaulted her at both ends. Her fingers clenched into fists, her asshole felt torn, and she would have sworn that she was damaged beyond repair.

Yet the quiver in her pussy betrayed her. Pain and pleasure beat through her. Her cunt compressed, squirting juice where their bodies met. His cock filled her ass, taking all her sacrificial body had to offer.

Ripples of orgasm tore through her, shrouds of pleasure weaving through her, stealing her breath, robbing her of coherent thought, leaving her drained, wrung out.

He pulled from her ass, driving deep into her pussy once more. His yowl warned her that he was cumming, filling her with his hot load of sperm. Her entire body quivered, trembling as her orgasm welcomed his, drawing his juices deep, deep into her belly. Back arched, arms and legs straining within the bonds that held her, she took, giving all of her to him, the fire in her belly blooming in one final explosion.

Her world went dark.

Sacrifice (1)

“I…”

“shhhhh…” the voice was familiar, soft. It sent shivers through her body. He’d whispered his soft shush into her ear, one of her most erotic of erogenous zones. Her nipples grew taut as his tongue swirled around her outer ear, as his lips sucked the lobe into the hot, wet warmth of his mouth. She arched as his teeth bit that tender bit of flesh.

The sharp slap of his hand on her pussy made her fall back, trying to push into the hard surface under her. It was cool, and felt like wood. She couldn’t seem to clear the cobwebs in her brain. Another slap on her cunt and she whimpered.

“Shhhhh….” His breath was a tickle on wet skin, raising goose-flesh along her left side. A pinch on her nipple drew another ragged sound from her mouth. She opened it wide, wanting to protest, to yell, but there was something there, filling her mouth. She bit and tasted rubber. Tossing her head she felt straps tightened.

“Goood gurl,” the words were crooned, low and soothingly.

Something rubbed against her pussy.

“Fuzz.”

“Yeah, that’s gotta go.”

“I can pluck them…”

“Sure, if you want to be here for a week.”

The sound of nasty laughter made her head ache, and a tremble shivered down her spine. Yet there was a finger caressing her ear, making her quiver, low, between her thighs. Something cold was spread there, the sharp pungent scent of shaving cream teased her nose. There was a scraping across her mons, the swish of water and the sudden humiliating realization that someone was  shaving her pussy. Fingers pulled her folds apart, seeking hairs, even scraping around her asshole. She wanted to fight, to get away from the embarrassment, but the lethargy didn’t allow it. Her arms and legs felt wooden. Indeed all she seemed to feel was the tickling erotic brush of breath on her ear as he whispered details–dark and dirty details–to her, and the touch of hands on her pussy.

“All set. She’s smooth as butter now.”

“Nice. He hates stubble. Make sure you got every bit.”

There was a sudden sharp pain.

“Missed one. Right by her asshole. You’d get a demerit for that one.”

“Yikes. Okay. You check. I’m going to finish cleaning up here. We need to hurry. He’ll be here soon, and expect her to be ready for him.”

There were noises around her; running water, the flush of a toilet, the swish and tap of something, perhaps the razor used on her, being rinsed. Then, silence.

Fingers poked and prodded her lower regions.

“She’s good. Ready for the next.”

Something warm and wet hit her pussy, fingers swirling around her suddenly sensitive flesh.

“Don’t miss a spot. You know he likes ’em slippery…”

“Dont’ worry, I’ve used a ton of lube here.”

Fingers slid into her pussy, then around her anus. She couldn’t protest, not with the hunk of rubber in her mouth. Squealing didn’t stop the finger from probing, from sliding into and out of her tightest entry. The soft voice at her ear continued.

“Shhhh, little one. We’re just preparing you. You don’t want him to push into your asshole without lube, trust us. You’ll be ready for him, and we’ve prepared you well. The idea is to minimize your pain. There will be some, yes, it can’t help but be a bit uncomfortable, can it, to have something shoved up your ass like that…but if you’re soft and slick and ready? You’ll enjoy it, eventually. And then he’ll be done, and we’ll return and clean you up, and set you to rights.”

Fingers rubbed round and around her clit, pinching and releasing the sensitive bulb  of her sex. She shivered with the sudden rush of lust.

“The oil did its job–she’s craving more.”

“Two minutes…let’s clear out of here.”

She lay listening to the sounds of people leaving, the quiet shuffle of feet. The voice at her ear spoke just once more, a hand stroking over her hair, tugging the blindfold to be sure it was in place.

“Enjoy, slut. I’ll be back soon.”

The door closed and she was left alone, muzzy-headed, with a burgeoning desire throbbing in her cunt.