Slut on Call (2)

His voice was like hot silk tickling at her ear. 

“You made my sheets all wet. You might be the nice lady next door, but underneath? You’re definitely a slutty little thing.”

She shook her head no, even as her body quaked and quivered with the aftershocks of the most powerful orgasm she’d ever had. What was it about his dirty words, and the persistence of his hands, his mouth, his toys? He turned her into jelly. He turned her into a slut. 

He sat up, bracing the bulb of the thing that had been her ultimate downfall, hard between her thighs. She had no idea what it was, but it was powerful.  He flicked the switch and a low hum came from it, then wedged it against the mattress so that it pressed against her sensitive bits.

“oh no! NO, no no no…I can’t…too much…oh pleaseee…” Her voice gasped, softened, sharpened, wailed. His smile said he didn’t care. He looked down at her, at the scrunched up face she made, as he slipped off the bed.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, pet.” 


His laugh rang down the hallway as he disappeared. Her clit lurched as the bulb did its nefarious work. The fucking thing churned against her pussy as she wriggled to move it. Before she could dislocate it from her clit, she exploded again, laying there panting and whining like a dog.

“You look like you’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday–and we’ve only just begun.” 

She looked at him blearily.

“Fuck. You.”

“You have that backwards slut. I will fuck you. Eventually.”

She saw that he had something in his hand, and a tall glass of water. Oh, water. She thirsted for it.  As if he read her mind, he spoke.

“Want some?”

“please please…yes!”

He took a sip. And another. And then filled his cheeks and moved over her. He could not mean to do what she thought, would he? Yet he pinched her cheeks in a silent bid to open her lips. Oh. Gross. No.

He sprayed the water over her face. She tossed her head, the words ew, gross, and yuk escaping.

“You think my gift to you was gross? Perhaps the slut doesn’t need water after all?”

“But I’m so thirsty..” She looked up into his stern eyes.

“I’ll cut you some slack since you are obviously virginal. To D/s. I can tell that cunt has fucked a time or two before.  But my sort of play has rules. And they’re all in my favor. I’m on top. I’m the boss of you. I’m your mean Daddy. I tell you what to do and you do it and win my favor. Orgasms–or the stopping of them if I decide to continue torturing your pretty pussy with them.  Pleasure. Pain. You’ll get all of that from me.”

He paused, flicking a pert nipple.

“If you’re a good girl, which means obedience.”

“That isn’t very fair.”

She sounded petulant, even to her own ears. The vibe hummed between her thighs, her paroxysms having knocked it away from her clit. But it still pressed insistently against her wet pussy. 

“It isn’t at all about fair. It’s about what I want. I get to control you. I get to play with you. In return, you get things that will turn you on. Sometimes those things won’t be very nice–beatings, canings, even things like this.”

He paused and slipped a wooden clothes pin onto her nipple. She arched, moaning at the sudden firm pinch.

“Now, that doesn’t hurt all that much, girl.”

“Fine, then YOU wear it,” she grumbled. 

He laughed as he affixed the other peg.  She shrieked then, calling him a bastard, which made him laugh harder. 

“You’ll find such things amuse me, slut. I like to watch your pain, your struggle for coping with it. I like the sound of your anger spitting out there as I hurt you. I enjoy hurting pretty little things like you. It makes my cock throb, it turns me on, it feeds the hunger I have inside of me. If we continue to play this game, my sweet, it may just be that we’ll find an answering hunger in you.”

“Oh trust me, I have an answering hunger to hurt you. I want to punch you right in the nose!”

He fell over, laughing, his fingers stroking the underside of her breast, a soft counterpoint to the firm pinching on her nipple. And then he flicked it, hard and fast and unexpected, making her jolt and yelp.

“Fuck OW, fuck YOU! Ow ow…”

She felt his laughter against her belly as he lay there, using her as his pillow. 

“Oops…look what slipped away.”

Sitting up, he moved the vibe against her mons, pressing it firmly. 

“Your cunt is amazingly wet for one who says ‘oh, ouch’ so much. Perhaps you’re having a little pussy tsunami? Maybe we’ve stirred a little tidal surge in your belly? Can you imagine how wet your weeping pussy will be when I roll you over to fuck your little puckered asshole?”

He pressed his cum-wet finger against her anus, sinking it two knuckles deep in her bottom, fucking in and out. She whimpered, moaned, shook her head, but another orgasm roared through her body.

“Such a nasty little girl, cumming when I put my finger up your bum. Your sweet little fanny is just begging for my cock. Isn’t it?” He slammed three fingers back into her pussy, and finger fucked her hard, pulling another orgasm from her exhausted body. 

She felt everything…yet was suddenly free-floating in the sky somewhere. Her body was alive and arching and moaning and yet she was here, hanging out amongst the stars. There was only so much a body could take, she imagined. She had no idea what the fuck was happening…other than the prodigious use of her holes. 

And gods above she was so fucking thirsty.


Sweet? Did I call my Sadist sweet?

I did.

I know–I did it earlier this week.

And while we’ve not been super-active in the D/s world…today He’s just been delighted to taunt me that I can’t have an O today. I finally, after two weeks, got an O for Tuesday night.

It would have been great except that I was exhausted, stayed up too late, and fell fast asleep. I’m allowed to “bank” these O’s, which I did.

And PROMPTLY used it Wednesday night. A bang. An explosive bang. Still tired, but man, my pussy was doing the Watusi. (It’s a dance. If you’re too young to know it, google it.) A giant squirt, a trembling, shaking slut, totally blown away by the orgasmic force. I think even my eyelashes fainted.

Do you know what happens to a cunt that has been touch deprived for, oh, say two weeks, and then it has a wonderful orgasmic session? It gets stroked and played with and teased and the whole experience is just so damned good–and it quivers with delight for the attention.

And after the explosion?

It stays horny.





That has been the status of my pussy all day today. But Thursday is NO touching day. Only longing for it, only needing it, only wanting it so fucking bad…

Nothing else.

He reminded me right off what day it was–with a Sadistic twist.

you might as well get it through your slut head that you’ll be o-less for the next 40 hours, not just today. too bad for you. happy Me.

That’s a paraphrase, but it’s pretty close to the original. And He was so fucking joyful whenever He texted me. I told Him I was terribly horny.

He grinned back at me.

I told Him I was really, really needy today.

“You’re needy every day. This is really making me happy, though.”

I called Him a Bastard, yet He likes that. He made some other observation about me stamping my foot, or carrying on. Which I wasn’t doing but was close to it.

“This is the best thing that’s happened in My day.”

Didn’t I just write that He was sweet? How quickly I forget the Sadist lurking just underneath the surface, just looking for a way to get to me.

The best part is, of course, that I like it. Even when I don’t. Exactly. Kinda. Sorta.

Aren’t we submissive sluts just the *strangest* of people? Yeah, we are. 🙂

I’ve long ago made my peace with the whole “why do I want Him to deprive me of that which I crave”…I’ve always craved it, that sort of control, and He gets to me perfectly. Keeping me on the edge, keeping me needy, fulfilling both our needs.

That is part of the sweetness, for me at least. That He gives me what I’ve always wanted–to be controlled sexually. To hold my pussy in His hand, well, virtually at least, and be able to close that (metaphoric) hand and say “nope, not tonight. Your pussy is closed.”

It’s what drew me to BDSM in the first place, that someone could/would want to give that much control to another person, especially a person who would also hurt them. You know. Like biting. Or spanking. Or caning. Or pinching. Or paddling.

Pretty much, all the good stuff.

I’ve grown so accustomed to the idea of it that it doesn’t phase me that much, the dichotomy of being deeply cared for, and also beaten. I don’t have to worry about my needs being met because He meets them perfectly. He knows me, from the inside out, it seems.

Sweet, indeed.


“u r so sexy”

how would you know? you’ve never seen me.

“I’ve felt you–you’ve touched me…sexy is not about looks, Sir”

a valid point–go on

“u make me feel…make me feel things so intently..the way no one else has”

I am not your first partner

“u r the first one to reach that place in me…i don’t know how to describe it..”

try–and no quoting Yoda back at me

“giggling–Yes Sir! Well…i always felt this–unreachable core. where nothing touched me. my heart? my mind? my ”

“…spirit kept safe in this wee dark place. a big wall around it. you, YOU Sir, got through it.”

by hurting you

“not just that…that’s part of it. but you listen. you catch every word…and find the meaning behind it. NO one”

“listens like a Dom learning his sub.And by listening you connect. with my thoughts and how they intertwine with my”

“feelings, and my body. When I’m feeling horny but don’t know why–YOU do.”

learning a submissive–her responses to all forms of stimuli, what turns her on, what she grapples with–it’s one of the tools that I use, to draw intense reactions from you. I crave that kind of control–and you feed that craving. It’s a symbiotic relationship

“Absolutely truth. I love what you do to me, Sir, to my head, my heart…my body. Even though we’ve not met face to face–the way you play me? I’m”

“like silly putty in your hands…melting at the slightest touch.”

I do enjoy touching you. Your little moans as I danced behind you, pinching your ass as we ground together in the midst of all those people.

“Will you ever let me see you?”

You’ve seen me.

“What? I’ve…seen you? When? How!?”

Around. I see you nearly every day.

“This…makes me wet.”

I know. Lift up your skirt so I can see your wet cunt.

“You’re here? In the grocery store? I’m never gonna finsih my shopping coz I keep txting U…”

fumble fingered in your excitement? Pretty panties. I like pink on you. I like it best when it comes from my hand on your skin.

Come closer….to the meat department, little girl. Sir has some meat just for you…




Tugged Off the High Horse

I was annoyed with Master.

My being annoyed with him, annoyed Him. 🙂

He handles this, what he calls “whoremoan” times, the same way he always does. First, he ignores me.

Drives me mental. Which, of course, He well knows.


Then He talks me through it, when I can’t stand the silence any more and call him.  And then?

It’s done.


Put away.

At least until the next “whoremoan” time comes around. No, it’s not a PMS thing, those days are LONG long in my past…it’s just…things build up and I take it and take it and then…

ya’ll know I have Viking in my little nilla heart…


I get mad all at once.

This all happened on Friday, so it’s well and truly put in the past as you read this…

But He said this thing that just resonated…said it in a quiet and calm, matter-of-fact way.

“It doesn’t matter if you like it. You just have to deal with it. It’s my way, nilla.”


Um, talk about being put, very succinctly, back into a submissive head-space.

He’s right. There are some things that I just need to swallow. If I don’t like it, too fucking bad, deal with it. He’s the boss. Sometimes, sometimes, I do forget.

This is NOT an equal partnership.

There is NO equanimity here.

And you know, I could have kept this little “spat” private, not shared it with any of you all…but this is a real, D/s relationship…and it isn’t always easy. I’m not always good, not always perfect. I get mad, I sometimes get really annoyed, and sometimes I shoot off my mouth…it’s something that I occasionally need to be reminded of, my place. It’s not sitting beside Him. I’m not head of the table here…I’m sitting on the floor at his feet. Just…sometimes the mad overcomes my submission…and it’s not always perfect. What is perfect? His response to my pique. It IS His way. He is the Boss of my ass. And if I don’t like it…tough toodles, missy.

He handles it. Settles me. Not calm and soothing. But firm, matter of fact. It’s *my* issue. Not His.

Nothing like getting yanked off my high horse and having the bridle slapped in my mouth, yanno?

(and yes, you horse purists, I know it’s the bit that goes in my mouth, the bridle over my head…i was just making a metaphorical point!)


Equilibrium re-established.

Point taken.

i ain’t the boss.

He is.

(that’s the way I like it, too.)


Ho Ho Ho! Random nilla-ness

I’ve been meaning to post this for more than a week…but things kept cropping up (get it, cropping? LOL I crack myself up sometimes!) and I never got around to it. And now here it is, Christmas Day for those of you who celebrate. I do, despite my pagan philosophy…I was raised in Christianity, and still find beauty in the old hymns, tho I may not agree with the content. 🙂 With kiddo’s in the house, it’s pretty hard to not go the traditional route…someday I’ll go back to a more earth-centered yule, but I am also very much enjoying the now.

Merry Christmas. Blessed holiday season. Joyous Noelle. Blessed Yule.  And good day to all the rest who celebrate nothing. Every day  is a celebration, even the hard ones. Someone at work the other day admonished a younger staff member to “not get old, it stinks” and I hollered out “Well, it SURE beats the alternative!” Which made everyone, even the speaker, say…oh. Right. So many of us have lost loved ones much to early, and really? It pisses me off when people say “oh, don’t get older” or “getting old sucks”. It sure isn’t easy, our bodies don’t always do what we think they should…coz in our heads? We’re still 20. But you will NEVER hear me say that getting older sucks…


….I’m just glad that you are here and reading my words, and the Mayan calendar wasn’t wrong, just misinterpreted. (or else by now we’ve all become protoplasm, and no one is reading. 🙂  <I know now that we’re still here…I just like the line about being protoplasm enough to keep it in my post-edit copy!!)

We’ve come into that darkest part of the year here in the northern hemisphere, where many of us rise and go to work in the dark, and come home the same way. When the tree’s are barren and bleak, the winds rustle up under pant legs and my skirt hem, and make us shiver and long for the heat of summer. All part of the wheel…but …it’s still kind of …well, I was going to say depressing, but that’s not the word…sere. Yes. Bland and boring. The colorful birds are rare, the air is quiet, the smell is of that dry and dusty scent that bespeaks “cold”.

Yet the “wheel” has turned, and even now we are slowly wending our way back towards the light. Back again, adding the (very, very, very) slight amounts of daylight to our days. We can’t see them, yet. The slivers are too thin. But by late January, the slivers will have added up, and if you look, you will notice that it isn’t *quite* as dark as you drive home at dusk.


I was thinking the other day about the Tsunami (Christmas, 2004)that happened…8 years ago in Thailand and other places…

I remember being in my car with my wife and family when I heard of the earthquake…the magnitude was immense and I remember saying “oh gods….there’ll be a tsnumi…why don’t they have tsnuami warnings up yet?” and an hour later hearing of the devastation.

Later, scientists said the earthquake was one of the strongest to rock earth, and had infact, tilted us on our axis, changing it. Just a wee bit.

But no one talks about that anymore. And suddenly our winters are milder (yes, I know, global warming and all is definitely a factor…but what if…?)….so what if? What if that little bit “off” has played a roll in our changing climate? Because it is decidedly true that the northeast has had several warm winters in a row, quite a phenomenon. Anyway, I just wonder.


Master has been a bit…wicked…for lack of a better word, for the last week or so. Sometimes He is quite lenient with me, so when He is in “Master-mode”…it always makes me take a mental step back. Kind of like when you turn wrong and your GPS lady says “recalculating”.

I was reading comments on aisha’s blog regarding her sanding experience which was wicked hot and funny too…and then several commentors said “don’t tell your Sir”, regarding the fact that she didn’t like something….

It’s a hard lesson to learn when you’re talking to your dominant isn’t it? I’ve *finally* almost broken myself away from just blurting out “Oh i *HATE* when blah-blah-blah”…because He will latch onto that like a hungry dog holds a bone!

Although, come to think of it, the other day when we were talking and He said something that I knew I would not like, I was just quiet…and He laughed and spoke of the fact that I was quieter than normal.

And I know he was jotting it down in his meantal “Dom” journal. Yes. That says mean-tal instead of mental. That was not an error. 🙂

More randomness…

……………am I the only one…

sky……………who sees a cloud cock?

I took this picture on the way to work a while ago (at a stoplight, just taking random sky pictures). When I got home later that night I looked at all my pics and saw the penis.

Then again..maybe it’s just me and my admittedly filthy mind..?!


On another random note, Master and nilla have a playdate scheduled (at last…!)!!!!! It’s been a long while since our last one, though not as long as for some of you, i know…and with a bit of luck, we’ll squeeze it in before the end of the year. I’m not saying exactly when, since the snow Goddess loves to fuck with me …and she’s not beyond sending a ginormous snowstorm on THE day…it’s has happened several times in the past.

The only bad part is that I have to work at my other job for part of the day…still, a short playdate is better than NO play date…that’s what I’m telling myself. I’ve actually  picked up a lot of extra hours for this job during the holidays…I’m working every day the four days before Christmas, including some time on Christmas eve day.  I’m glad of the work, to be sure. But it leaves nilla a tired girl. On the plus side? My wife has vacation that week, and it gives me a break from all the craziness that her being home engenders. Does that make me bad? Having my vanilla spouse at home for long periods of time is okay at first…but really? It gets to be really frustrating too.

It definitely curtails my time reading porn.

It definitely curtails my time writing porn.

So…yeah. Frustrating. I might as well be at work, rather than home getting pent up. And there is that Master visit to look forward to. 🙂


I’ve had a few good doses of Master time…some few stolen moments, and this past Saturday, over an hour together. And yes… we were naughty in Starbucks again. 🙂

Outside, He pinched me good. Gosh, I forgot how much pain He gives me, and so fucking easily. He just reaches out and *wham*! I’m “ouch”-ing, and moaning, and wrigging away. He pins me to the car with his body, then slides his fingers up and tickles me at the most unexpected moments, and makes me laugh like a lunatic.

I love that Man.

Earlier in the week, feeling out of sorts with the world,  I had texted Him that I needed medication.

And then quickly followed that up with a text reminding Him that He supplies the drug I need. (and He did deliver me a lovely little dose of it Saturday night)

For me…it’s true, and for you other subs out there, isn’t it?

Aren’t we  addicts, of a sort? We need our pain fix, Dammit! We need to be used, ravaged, fucked, bitten, slapped, caned, hairbrushed, ass-fucked, or what-the-fuck-ever our personal kink is. We NEED it. We CRAVE it. We really must have it to be whole, functioning people.

Having had a taste of it, there is no going back, at least for me. I cannot imagine how difficult it would be to totally snuff “nilla” and become…regular.

Boring? To be sure, oh yes.

Empty? Yes. Double yes, even.

Maybe saying that, “snuffing nilla” was a deliberate word choice by my quiet mind. Reminding me that I wasn’t fully alive back when all was just vanilla, when I was a good girl, who did all the things she had to, and never acted on any of those wildly inappropriate fantasies.

I’ve changed a lot in the past three and a half, four years. The reading, the eye-opening awareness of kaya’s blog…the fact that after I read about a particularly brutal beating and fucking that there was an actual puddle in the seat I’d been sitting on…shocked me.

Shocked me into an awareness that …in some way…I was like her.  That the idea of being beaten, and used for a fuckhole? Did something warm and wet and wonderful to me. So no, there is no turning my back on who I really am. I’m a slut. I like sex. I like being hit. I like taking pain, and I get off on it.

Until we’re together, behind closed doors again, He’ll feed me warm tidbits of what I need, a clamp here, a clothespin on my belly there.  Just a wee dose of what I need. But it will hold me…until He holds me, and gives me the full infusion of what I need most….Him, and the art of His pain.

sexual overdrive (5)

She stood just inside the doorway of his kitchen. Far from her perception of a dom, he was busy preparing food for them. She’d thought that being a submissive was all about service, kind of like a maid, she guessed.

Watching him as he moved around his kitchen was a definite turn-on. Her eyes were drawn again to the tight black tee shirt, the play of muscles in his back as he worked. His arms were strong, his hands, dexterous. She felt herself salivating over him. Gods, this was weird. Well…she’d wanted to explore being with a “dom”…and it looked like she was really getting a full-on experience with Sir Bill.

She wondered if she should offer to help. As if reading her mind, He  pointed to a cushion on the floor beside a table,  and said “sit”. Silently she crossed the kitchen, and sat. Her head just missed brushing the lower-than-average table, and she knew it was made for him to wheel his chair under.

He poured wine, one glass, and sipped from it.  After seeming to ignore her for a few minutes, he wheeled over to her and granted her one tiny taste.  Leaning down, he  kissed her deeply and thoroughly, so all that remained in her mouth was the memory of wine, and the taste of him. He moved back to what he had been doing before shutting off her brain with that kiss.

She’d seen from the outside that his house was modern. From the inside,  it was apparent that it had been designed for him, as the appliances were all within his reach.  Even the sink had been designed to be used by someone in a chair. Cabinets were lower, with wire shelving that pulled out, and down. Even the oven was modified, opening from the side, like a microwave.  He pulled a pizza from the oven with ease, sliding it onto the the shelf below the oven to slice it.

She’d been here, on a pillow on the floor for-fucking-ever, it felt. She shifted again, trying to restore feeling to her left foot. She was being attentive to what he was saying, but still, she wasn’t five anymore. Sitting on a cushion on the floor was well outside of her “normal”. She was learning, from his conversation as he worked, that things happened at his whim. Or plan. Or whatever. If he wanted her to sit, then sit she would. The idea of him treating her like a kid, or a …she shied away from the thought. She wasn’t a thing.

Was she?

Still, sitting here and just being,  in a way that focused her on the present and not the past nor future was surprisingly erotic. His voice broke into her musing.

“come here, slut.”

It was the first time that he’d called her that, and it gave her a funny feeling in her belly. A bit of humiliation, with a side of sexual punch. Her pussy pulsed back to life, after laying quiescent. She started to push up off the pillow, to stand, but he forestalled that.

“No, on your knees is fine.” He patted the side of his leg. “come here, Melody, come crawl to your Sir.”

He’d slid them both into a scene as easily as he’d slid that pan onto the counter. She was caught up with him now, with what would come next. The smell of food made her mouth water. The sight of him, and what he was making her do made her pussy wet.

Crawling across the floor to him, she knelt at his side. He offered her another sip of wine from his cup, then kissed it away again.  She felt her head spin as her pussy began leaking copiously. Moaning into his mouth, she braced her hand on his thigh. His hand took hers, pulling it around to the small of her back, even as he deepened the kiss. His mouth sucked on her tongue, fiercely, until she felt as if he was attempting to pull it from her mouth. Her moans became whimpers, and still he sucked. Her fingers curled around his hand, his hand pulled her closer. Her shoulder ached from the unfamiliar pose, hand behind her back, tugged upwards as he pulled her forward, harder into the assault on her mouth. She barely noticed-she was drowning in sensations. When he broke the kiss, he gently slapped her cheek with his free hand.

When he released her, she felt…liquid. As if her bones had melted. As if she was a giant orgasm poised on the brink of explosion. Trembling, she gazed up at him, beginning to understand the power, and the draw of submitting. No one had ever made her feel this way before, not from a few burning kisses.


She collapsed more than sat, still watching him carefully. He took a slice of pizza, and a healthy bite. She sat, watching him eat the entire piece. She felt quizzical. Wasn’t he supposed to give her some? The wine was an echo of flavor in her mouth, and her stomach rumbled as he ate two more pieces, seeming to ignore her presence beside him.  She thought about pointing out to him that he wasn’t alone, that she was sitting here and starving, but some restraint kept her silent, and focused.

She swallowed when he did, her mouth pooled with saliva as he chewed carefully. The smell of melted cheese and warm sauce wafted to her, and her tummy grumbled in protest.

He glanced down at her.

And went back to eating. The bastard. Of all the fucking nerve. She felt both indignant…and horny. The dichotomy was annoying. Puzzling. Frustrating!

He took another piece. Tipping back his head, he opened his mouth wide, and glanced down at her.

And laughed.

“You look mad as a wet hen,” he said, laying the pizza on his plate. And laughed again. She stayed quiet, something that her co-workers would find amazing. She was never quiet when she was outraged. He dragged his finger across the top of the slice. A bit of oil, a dash of sauce caught on the pad of his finger.

“Close your mouth.”

He painted her lips with the mixture, then turned back to the table. And ate the fucking pizza slice. She sat, fuming, as the teasing smell wafted to her nose. The urge to lick was nearly overwhelming.  He turned to her with the wineglass once more.

She sipped, leaving a smear of sauce on the rim of the glass. She moaned in frustration.

“So close, and yet so far,” he murmured, before taking a fistful of hair and her mouth. He bit her lips, licking them clean, then sucked her mouth dry. Her head spun. She was alive, full of sensations. Without realizing, she wound her arms around his neck; he pulled her easily off the floor and onto his lap.

His fingers slid under her skirt, pushing aside the wet crotch of her panties as he probed the wet folds. She felt the push of them against her pussy, the intrusion of them into her cunt, and whimpered into his mouth. He finger-fucked her hard, not breaking the kiss as he worked her body, top and bottom. She came, hard, into his hand, whimpering and moaning against his lips.

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmured against her hair. She felt his hand leaving her, leaving her feeling empty, and drained.

“Here’s your dinner, slut.” He lifted his fingers, wet from her pussy, to her mouth.

“Oops” is not in His vocabulary…


I had an “oops”…first time, ever.

Now, in my defense…it had been a verrrah long time between O’s. Eight days.

Yeah, I know for some of you that is nothing. Some of you go months….but not nilla.

Mind you, i am not judging you, really, but I totally don’t understand it, either…

I LOVE my orgasms, and the thought of living without them for extended periods makes me feel…sub-human. Not as in submissive, but as in less-than… and perhaps it is because of all the years leading up to my sudden acknowledgment that I *could* have an orgasm. I’d only had one or two in my life up until I was 49.  Learning how to touch myself, to fuck myself to a height of pleasure? That was an epiphany for me.

Then, as a collared submissive, understanding that my orgasms come at His whim…added heat to the experience. And He is admittedly generous with me.

But when He says “you may have 1.5 O’s, slut, and because I am in a generous mood, you may take the half at the front end”…it is not up for debate. It is not up to me to decide to change it around.

It is not up to me to have the full orgasm, first.

The idea is to remember that there must be obedience, first. He followed the first text with another that added a “generous dose of pain”…oh.. yummmy…

And as i affixed clamps to my nipples, and shivered as the heavy chain hit my belly with an ice-cold slap, i felt His hand there. I’ve not worn the clamps in a while..and my nipples protested.


And then to add more pain, i added clothes pins to my belly, around the muffin top. It’s harder to do that these days, and the pinch is worse now that my belly is tighter. (Talk about inspiration to NOT lose weight!! LOL!) (Don’t worry…I’m NOT a skinny minny, and never shall be..I’m just less jiggly these days 🙂 )

And with my favorite vibe, and trusted dildo, I set to work. OH, it felt so good to feel pleasure. The pain in my mouth slowly faded away as the pleasure of the pain and throb in my sex sent me spiralling into a place of intense sex-need.

I was wet.

I was turned on.

I was spinning a nasty little tale in my head, playing it out on my body. Tugging the chain and pulling my nipples, making pain the focus of my attention, even as my clit answered the pulsing beat.

I felt the wetness slipping from me, as I slid the dildo home, as I fucked hard, then slow, feeding slivers of pain through the pulses of pleasure.

It was erotic, it was hawt, it was wholly consuming. My entire body was caught up in the fantasy, caught up in the simmering sensations coursing through me. In the back of my head was that order from Master as I felt the groundswell of orgasm.

But hell, I’ve done it dozens of times now.

Stopped, right there at the almost-edge of cumming.

Stopped, right before falling over the edge.


I guess I was smug about it.

Ha ha ha.

I can do that, la la la la la.



Except this time I’d not cum in eight days.

Except this time, I’d been having vicodin dreams for a week, and a steady supply of pain, which while not erotic, must’ve keep my masochistic needs on “simmer” rather than “off”.

As that precipice edged closer, closer, I almost laughed. O, I felt so good, sogood. I was flying…high on the endorphin mix fed to my cunt, my nipples, my body.

I stopped fucking in the nick of time, laying the vibe at the top of my pussy, not on my clit, but at the very top of my slit.

It wasn’t far enough away.

The vibrations trickled through my flesh, tickling and setting off the fuse on the time-bomb in my cunt.

I lay there, gasping and craving the fulfillment…when it hit like a tidal wave. Engulfing my body, my legs curled up, my back bowed, and everything clenched, tight, tight, tight…and i exploded.

Something had gone horribly right...wrong.

This was an Oops of epic proportions.

He had directed the HALF-O…that fucking to almost-completion, and the throbbing after-effects of loss and incredible need…He had directed that to happen first.


My bad?

It didn’t, there in the pulsing after-wards…seem to be all that critical. Yeah. I know.

It was.

To compensate, as soon as i could breathe? I fucked right to that edge again, and stopped.

Half-orgasm, check.

Throbbing need, unfulfilled desire?


The text went out to Him, explaining that there had been an “oops”…and despite the 400 miles between us right then? I got an immediate “WTF? You’re in big trouble, slut”

So. Yeah.

No Orgasms for nilla for a while.

Okay, His exact words were “Your nurse will be giving you your next orgasm, slut. Providing, of course, that she can find your dried up, wrinkled pussy.”







She sent the text at the last moment.

i know you want me to call in a minute, but may i pee first?

On the verge of heading out of her room to go, since He never controlled that part of her, the chime of the text drew her back. She really needed to pee, but she was as obedient to the text chime as a Pavlovian dog to its bell.

No. Call now.

She blinked. Really? Now? Geeze, how had she let the time slip away like that? Proofreading her blog took time, but she’d not realized she’d gone into the story for that long.

Sliding up onto her bed, she dialed.

So, you need to take a piss.

Hell of a way to start a conversation, she thought. “Yes, Master, I do need to pee.” She felt the blush come, and was glad that He couldn’t see her. While she had once fantasized about someone owning her enough to control every aspect of her life, she understood the impracticality of it.

And yet.

Every now and then He threw her a curve ball, and she found herself bending to His implacable will to catch it.

“So, slut, you were going to fob me off and be late for our ‘date’ because you needed to take a piss?”

The tone was mild, yet there was a small rebuke in there.

“I’m sorry, Master. I was working on the blog and time slipped away and then…”

“Excuses, excuses, slut.” He cut through her reasons quickly. He was not interested in “why’s”…but in results. She wondered what the penalty would be for this, minor though it was.

“So, my slut has to pee, and yet…it’s time to fuck.”

She blinked. He was going to ….and not let her…..

“Yes Master,” she answered hastily.

“Gosh, I hope you don’t piss on your sheets. That would be uncomfortable for sleeping in, wouldn’t it?”

She cleared her throat. Tried to swallow down the embarrassment.

“Well, Master, you know…sometimes a full bladder can …um…enhance the feelings from masturbating.”

There was a pause.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Get your powerful vibe. And that dildo with the curve in it.”

She loved that combination. Yet…that curved dildo that pressed so nicely against her g-spot, would also press up towards her bladder. How fucking devious was that? Add the vibe pressing against her and she’d be hard pressed to ‘hold it’….the Bastard!


Somehow, lord knew how, she’d managed to hold onto her throbbing bladder. Through the pegging of her nipples. And her belly. And the slapping of those tight-grasping clothes pins. How the pain turned her on, how the full load of her bladder turned her on, how Him taking all the power, all the control turned her on.

When it was over, when three orgasms had painted her sheets with a dousing of sex juice (and not a drop of urine!), she lay back against the pillows, spent. Yet, her nipples and belly, still clamped, throbbed firmly.

And her bladder was yelling.


“Yes, slut? What now? What could you possibly need now? Three orgasms and you’re still asking for things?”

She heard the humor there. He was going to make her beg, she just knew it. But first things first.

“Um, the pegs, Master…?”

“Yes? What about them?”

“uh…they’re still on my nipples and belly, Master.”



“Oh, are you asking a question, little girl?”

Her toes curled against the sheets. The casual way He wielded His power over her was a thrill.  “Yes, Sir. May I take the pegs off my nipples and belly?”

“Hit them again for me.”

She did, moaning.

“One would think that it hurt to obey me, little girl.”

She giggled, despite the pulling pain from the pegs.  “Yes Master, it does indeed.”

“Very well, you may take them off…tonight I’m being so indulgent with you, letting you open them to take them off. Another night, I’m just going to have you pull them.”

She moaned, thinking of the pain of that, and could feel her pussy clench. She was so close to another orgasm…His voice, His will, the pain, the promise of future pain…and the unceasing throb from her bladder.

One last thing, little girl, and then I’ll let you go take a piss. Starting now, and until further notice, I want you to text me each and every time you pee. Not for permission, just informing me.


And…I want you to text a specific word…”pussypissy”…because I can imagine  your piss streaming down onto your pussy, washing all that cum into the toilet. What a picture!


At long last she got to the bathroom, releasing her full bladder. She could feel cum dripping, just as He’d imagined. Returning to her room, she sent the first required text:


Snuggling into her blankets, she was surprised when her text chimed.

PussyPissy is an activity;  PissyPussy is an attitude! Get it right next time.

With a smile, she slid under the blankets, and off to sleep.