Plump ~2

The nerve of people, she fumed, as she wove blindly through people engaged in all sorts of interesting behaviors.  She’d come here to have fun, to have a drink or two, see what the club had to offer, see if she could find someone to scratch the rather persistent itch she’d developed in the months since she’d moved here to Seattle. Instead, she’d been accosted by a pair of doms who had squared off over her like two hounds over a juicy bone.

She was no one’s damn, fucking juicy bone.

Enraged still by the confrontation on what she’d hoped would be the start of a fun experience here in her new hometown, she barely noticed the way people parted before her. Blue eyes sending off electric, angry light, full lips drawn in a tight line, she moved into and through the lounging area, and stalked right into the largest of the playrooms. Sounds began to permeate her mad;   soft moans, the snapping of toys. Her forward momentum slowed as she drew along an open alcove where a very handsome black man was whimpering. His balls were drooping low, a heavy metal device shackled around them, tugging them towards the floor. A woman, a stunning woman with flame colored hair and a beatific smile snapped a small crop against one of his nipples, upon which a wire clothes pin had been placed. He jolted with each shocking snap of the crop on the pin. This made the device tormenting his testicles wiggle, making him squeal with the pleasure-pain.

She recognized the woman as the one who’d come up to stop the asshole from hassling her.

“Feeling better?” the redhead asked, while continuing to flick the nipples of her toy.

“I…yes. Thank you for …” her words trailed off as she watched a stream of sex juice begin to drip from the man’s penis. He grunted, moaned, as the maddened shaft seemed to pulse.

“Tisk, tsk,” the redhead chided her plaything. “Did I tell you it was okay to come, sweet boy?”

“n-no Mistress…please…I can’t hold it…please Mistress…”

“You’d best hold it.”

Her fingers wrapped around the throat of his cock, just below the head, and squeezed once, hard. His yelp and jolt made Addison jump.

“That’s enough now. On your knees.” The woman frowned, gesturing him down in front of her. She turned for a moment back to Addison.  “Please, accept my apologies for the unfortunate incident. My club appreciates the presence of such a beautiful…submissive?” Her brow lifted in query.

Addison nodded.

“Yes, then, we’re pleased to have you. I’ll be happy to introduce you to some true Doms. Somehow I think I may not be quite to your taste?” The last was spoken with a dash of disappointed humor, something that Addy thought must be difficult to master.

“No, Ma’am. I…well, you’re gorgeous. And terrifying. And…”

“No need to explain futher, my dear. It’s not a problem. Go, wander. Get a drink. Explore. I’ll see you…later.”

Her attention returned to the man kneeling at her feet. As Addison began to move away she heard her say to him, “well, boy that’s quite a mess there. You need to clean that up….”

_______________________

There were all kinds of things happening, some she had seen only on porn sites and thought were only staged. They weren’t. Who knew  a woman could really put something that big in her snatch?! She opted to not go for a second drink, as she got caught up watching a rope master tie an elaborate harness around a woman, and eventually, suspend her. Clever knots pressed against her clitoris, and every wiggle or writhe created pressure or rubbing against the engorged bulb. Her nipples jutted out from tightly wrapped tits; eventually he added clamps with jingly bells on the ends that sang with every twitch and movement. Addison was as turned on as could be, imagining herself in the woman’s position. She’d never been tied like that, just a simple breast harness as her play partner had been in the learning stages of rope play.

“It’s fascinating how a simple little knot can cause such pain…and pleasure.”

The deep voice spoke from just behind her left shoulder. She recognized it immediately, and the scent he wore.

“What’s the matter, no other subs to cajole, or wanna doms to incite?”

“I think you were ‘incited’ enough for all of us, don’t you?”

She turned and stared into tawny eyes that reminded her of a tiger. A shiver threatened, but she tamped the urge down. And that other urge that threatened to make her pussy gush. He was crazy sexy, no doubt knew it too. He got her dander up, to be sure.

“I didn’t start it…”

“You sure as hell finished it. Though I have to say, I’d have loved watching you feed him his own balls…”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled. It wasn’t disarming. It was devastating. And sexy. And ‘oh my gawd’ she thought, he interested her. Her girl bits tingled in response as if to say ‘duh’.

“I’m Michael. Would you like me to walk around with you for a while? Show you what’s what and who’s who?”

He asked. He didn’t cajole, didn’t touch her. There was only a half-smile on that devilish face, a slight tilt of his head as he awaited her response. She might have been able to ignore the tingle. Might have been able to ignore the smile. Might have been able to quell the magnetic response she was having. If he’d been an asshole and demanded she come with him, she might have been able to shake her head, and toss him off. Instead, she rolled her eyes. Damn him to the seven levels of hell for attracting her. For not being an asshole. For being the focus of her as-yet-unreleased anger.

“Fine.” Even to her, the tone sounded ungracious. She softened her voice. He had, after all, tried to keep the asshat from whatever he’d thought he’d try to get away with. It was the thought that counted, even if she wasn’t totally defenseless.

“Just to be clear, I don’t need a knight in shining armor to rescue me. I can take care of myself. And…I’d like for you to take me around the club, thank you.”

“No you wouldn’t. But we’ll work on that.” He paused for just a moment before His smile deepened and a dimple appeared.  My gods, if he’d done that before, it would have slayed her. Damn. A dom with a dimple? She was cooked.

“Just for the record? I’m definitely not a knight in armor–shining or otherwise. Perhaps you’ll find that out for yourself sometime. And I appreciate a submissive who can keep herself safe. Doormats are rather boring.”

He strolled off without even attempting to take her arm and physically “guide” her. Which was another thing she might have expected. Damn, but he was busting up Dom stereotypes left and right. She might already be sunk. A deep breath and sigh followed that thought, and then she hurried to catch up with him.

“Painterly” Bruises HNT

He really nailed my tits with His wicked little cane. It’s so thin, so innocuous looking. But the way He flicks it across, over, and around my breasts is wicked and painful and, of course, wonderful. I love it, even when I suck in a sharp breath when He’s hitting the same spot over and over again. The throb that’s left behind–days later–when I touch or accidentally bang it makes me horny all over again.

painterly boobsI love the way the “painterly” effect on my phone app makes it look like He painted me with purple and blue smudges. Who knew that my beloved Master was an artist? 😀

 

HNT-Caned Boobs

The cane was a fucking bastard. Or HE was. Thwapping and slapping that fucking thing on the tops of my tits. Smacking the clamps He’d snapped onto my nipples, alternating with flicking the chain that joined my two tits together. Oh my gawd!  It hurt like fuck-all.

And…..

It was erotic as hell. The burn…oh the throbbing burn of the pain…

It was as fiery as hell.

I was a wet, limpid, wanton slut (with very sore tits) when He was done.

OUCH!

 

“Put That Leg Down!!”

I want to tell you every detail. I want to hold it all close to me and keep it private. Such is the quandary of a sex blogger! We have a good fucking time and want to brag about share it, yet it is also SUCH an intense experience that sharing it seems too personal, too private. 

Yet this IS what I do. (You know, since I hadn’t had much inspiration for writing fiction lately!) So here’s another snapshot of our time together. 

I was blindfolded. I have a love hate relationship with it, that blindfold. I want to see what’s coming at me…yet I love the “fear-turn-on” of not knowing. He taps my thighs, my calves with the fucking cane. I sincerely hate that fucking thing. Yet when it hits my tits?  It makes me fly…so deep into subspace that I can’t think. And here I was, worried that I couldn’t handle the pain, that I’d “fail”…right. There is no “I can handle it”–That’s just not how this D/s dynamic works.  Rather, it’s “you must take this, slut”.  Such a silly thing for me to worry about (yet worry and fret about it I did…)  Not only did I “take it”…oh now..I took it, and  it was good. And it was right.Aand it was….orgasmic. (That’s the braggy part. Sorry for boorishly bragging. . . . Okay. Not really.) 😀

I even survived that fucking pink brush. Geezuz but I DOUBLE-HATE that thing. Yes, it is even worse than the cane. The pain is…it’s a thin, hot envelope that circles my entire body, then centers deep right where He has just smacked. It throbs. It burns. Hot licks of “fire” swirl around the blow-landing-site. The pain of it steals my breath. It spun me around in a circle as I took that first blow, made a silent “O” of my lips, made Him laugh as I reacted silently but physically to that first blow.

Fucking sadist!

OH, how it hurt.

“Oh, nilla, I know how to help that,” He says…and before I can say no, no…He starts whacking that same spot with the cane. I feel Him bent over behind me, whaling on that same fucking place.

“Gotta.”

“Knock.”

“Down.”

I’m moaning, whimpering. His hand holds me still, not letting me teeter away (blindfolds and 6.5 inch stiletto’s …oh maaan…do not make for a good “getaway” pairing!) from the blows landing one after the other after the other. Short, hard raps against my already screaming flesh.

“The.”

His hand moves quicker, I can hear the ‘swoosh’ of the cane behind me and start keening.

‘owwwwwwwwww!!!!’

“Welts.”

Finally He lets me go and I stand, quivering and near-to tears.

“That helped, right?”

I shake my head, my hand caressing my butt.

“Oh, stop your whining,’ He says, smacking it with His palm…

*lost in a space-time continuum*

And somehow I’m laying over His lap, my ass already throbbing. He sits on the edge of the bed, palm stroking the hot flesh there. The first slap is gentle, nearly a caress, as are the next few, before the hand gets harder, heavier, thuddier. He hits the same. fucking. place.

Again. Repeat. Until I’m pulled out of my reverie and start to squirm.

My back arches as I cum, even as I cry out against the steady thwacking on my butt.

“Put that fucking leg down,” He barks at me, and I’m shifting in my head between pleasure and pain, and the sudden shocking sound of His voice, stern. He stops spanking and I feel the hard kiss of the cane on my calf.

My head pops up from the bed as I wail. OH! Such a different pain. HURTS! Sharp stings, like a line of wasps across the muscle on the back of my leg.

“I said,” He says, His voice stern and firm, “Put your fucking leg down.”

My toes come in contact with the floor and the cane stops. Once more there is the steady thud of His palm on my ass…

butt

 

Much later, days later, He explains. I barely remembered the incident, but he mentions it and it floods back…

“So there I am spanking you, nilla, and I see your heel coming up at me. Not that I mind seeing the heels–not by a long shot–but heading for my head? Not so much.”

oh.

*silent giggles* 

 

Well…Hmph.

I tried to post todays post via my phone, but alas. Some entity ate it. Yes. It is gone. Poof. Evaporated into the ether. Ah well. I’ve only lost a post a few times but it SURE is aggravating. Then again, I was uber tired last night so maybe it wouldn’t have made any sense?

That’s my hope, anyway.

The original post would have been called “Naughty slut”. Remember that post the other day about perfectionism? Well, I managed to perfect “naughtiness” this weekend. Who knew, right?

Master was away. Busy, for some of the time. Driving away, driving back. HE wasn’t driving, and I didn’t want Him to be bored or anything like that. So I started “text poking” Him. I even wrote a song to the tune of “Row Row Row Your Boat” (You can youtube the tune if you are unfamiliar with it, it’s not letting me get links today–apparently technology thinks I should be doing something else….!)

I must’ve sent a bajillion texts. Some just a simple “poke”. Some were longer or with more pokes. The jibes flew hard and fast, with NO response from Him, until waaay late in the afternoon.

He got home last night, and I called Him on my way to fetch the teen from the City. We talked “vanilla-ish” for a while….and then.

“You know, slut, there is a price to be paid for today’s ‘envelope pushing’, right?”

I swallowed before I spoke, and despite the sweater I was wearing, I shivered. There He is, there’s that tone that strikes like a quick slap. And what is my response after a brief moment to catch my breath?

Yes. I giggled.

I’m sure it was nerves.

He went on to tell me that the cane will have a starring role in our next playtime, to remind me that there is always a price to be paid for being a naughty slut, and this next time, my tits and thighs will pay.

“Those back of your legs are quite sensitive, aren’t they, nilla?”

He draws out my name “nil-pause-la”. More shivers ensue.

I love drawing out His Beast, but it does make me nervous too. I’ll admit that I was pretty turned on — fear does that to me. And I’m pretty sure my legs are going to regret the price that was overdrawn by my texting fingers.  I am not a huge fan of the cane. That stingy hurt is…hard to manage? There is that initial *slap* (and He’ll do a quick series of snap snap snap so I can’t quite catch my breath or grab a rhythm) and then the pain just spreads out like an echo….it reverberates from skin to muscle and back out. Hard to describe. If you’ve not felt it, then you should try it. You know, for science’s sake. 😀

I teased Him that “You’ll forget, Master.”

Quietly He reminded me that He keeps a mental file of this sort of thing– (He does, too. He never forgets when I owe Him for being a naughty slut. Ever.) –because payback always had to be paid. His way. With pain.

He says that last word almost lovingly, then repeats it.

“My pain, nilla.”

A wealth of meaning in those few words. His pain. His duration, and His intensity. Damn but now I’m turned on, and feeling more than a wee bit of trepidation.  He loves doing that to me, too, turning me on and making me….well “fearful” is too strong a word. “Nervous” is a bit too mild. But somewhere between the two, definitely!

It may be a while before we get to meet–and I’ll have to deal with this longing and trepidation until we do. Which puts me, (I think), exactly where He wants me.

 

 

 

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!

Leftie ~ HNT

I’ve been mulling over this…this freaky thing we do…questioning my needs. And then realized I don’t need to justify anything.  Just like I have bright blue eyes, I am kinky. Just like I like chocolate, I like to be beaten. Just as I am…is fine. I’m not hurting anyone. Well, okay, myself, but in a postive way. It feeds me. I am so “clean” inside now. Not stressing, not fretful.

Calm.

I wouldn’t trade that feeling for all the tea in China.

So, navel-gazing done, I decided to show a wee bit of His handiwork in granting my plea to “please cane my tits hard”.

Happy HNT!

Leftie

100 Words-

Her body

wet empty yearning

His

velvet hardness pulsing

wet pearl forming

oozing

growing

dropping.

bare her feet

standing pigeon-toed

back arching

arms high

white rope bound wrists

knots flowing through

old rusted ring

set

high over

doorway lintel.

her

bare foot

now

wet with pearl droplets.

body mind spirit

yearning

for

that

which is just

out

of

reach.

wood stroking flesh

red lines

crossing

aching intersections

lust and pain

crashing.

her breath

panting

moaning tears snot

mingle

her need dripping

down her thigh.

he moves plunges takes

sheathed

seated deep.

Her

head fallen

back

open-mouthed

filled

but never

sated.

you all know i’m a very “prosy” kind of writer. I give details, and answer questions and try really hard to paint word pictures with my stories. am going to try something different today. do let me know what you think. this is as far from “prosy” as roses are from crocus blossoms….it’s been a long while since I tried writing a story in 100 words….. ~n~

Hanging by a Thread

Her eyes were closed. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had been open; the blindfold was snug against her face. In her head she was in a dark, warm place.

Currents of air brushed past her nude body.

She felt intimately connected with every pore of her skin, with every pulse pounding through her veins, with every smooth intake of breath.

The rope around her wrists was tight, but not painfully so. The wood under her hands was smooth, almost velvety to the touch.  She caressed the cross with her forefinger, grounding herself in the sensations.

A quick hiss escaped her lips as she felt the tug of her nipple, then the bite of the clamp. He tugged, drawing another hiss from her, then applied its mate. The gasp became a groan as she adjusted to the weight, the clench of the rubber grips.

He pushed her back into the arms of the cross, and she winced as her clamped nipples were pressed against the unyielding timber.  She took an unsteady breath, held it, then released it, and her discomfort, out to the room.

She allowed herself a moment to wallow with the fullness of the feelings, to inspect them, to feel them. Oh, to feel the glory of the pain, the richness of blood pumping through her heart, the essence of life filling her, pulsing through her.

She felt the press of the ropes around her ankles, holding her tight. She felt the movement of Him around her. His scent carried to her, that unique smell of her Master. It quickened her breath, made her want.

There was no warning before the sharp rat-a-tat-tat of the cane began slapping down her shoulders. He moved leisurely down her body. Barely could she absorb one blow before the next one landed.  He popped her out of comfort and straight into the hell of not being in control.

She’d told Him that yoga had helped her to learn to cope with His play. He’d raised His brow at her in that superior way of His, and smiled.

It was the smile that slayed her. It bloomed across His face like a rose, taking its time moving from one corner of his mouth to the other.

And it was a challenge, too. A week and more had passed since she had pronounced that she could handle it this time, that she’d be able to breathe and be one with the universe, no matter how hard He chose to play with her.

Now here she was, hanging by a thin wrap of hemp rope on a cross, in a room full of people. He’d promised to break her, she’d promised to stay the course, and breathe.  He’d turned that raised brow and crooked smile to the crowd gathered around them,  drawing more than a few laughs at her recklessness.

She took a breath, another. The heat from her tortured flesh and  the pain swirled together, a blending of sensations that was nearly overwhelming. She flinched, snapping away and back from the cross as He hit that so-tender spot at the base of her back just before the padding of her ass.

His crop moved faster now, over the curve of her asscheek, and then the next senstive spot just under the curve, on the very top of her thigh.

She arched to her toes on the cross, yowling. His chuckle filled her ears, even over the roaring of her own throbbing pulse.  He didn’t pause until He had covered one entire side. She felt the roaring heat from the welts. He leaned against her, His sweater irritating the smarting flesh.

“Half done, little one.”

She moaned, taking a deep breath to try to steady the hammering of her heartbeat in her head. It sounded like a roar in the darkness.

Or was it Him?

“Oooohhhhhhmmmm” He purred, his lips against her temple.