A Bit of a Sad

Man, I’m so frustrated I could scream! In many ways, mind you. Sexually frustrated. Needing to be beaten frustrated. Tired of injuries frustrated.

Our playtime has had to be cancelled. I left it in his lap, but I knew he would decide to hold off.  My shoulder injury has worsened, and it looks at this point like there could be surgery involved. Himself has finally healed from his own shoulder issues (6 months!)…so he knows what I’m dealing with here.

And gods above, I’m so …happy? too. He said “While I revel in the pain I cause you, I don’t want you to be hurt…no..” he pauses, starts again…”I don’t want you to be permanently harmed by my accidentally hitting you and furthering the damage to your shoulder. If  you’re hurt by me, that’s one thing. It’s fun and it sexy and it’s what I do. I get pleasure from hurting you, slut. But I’m not going to do anything that would permanently disable you. Because you still need to take care of your family, and run your business, and live your life, and if I harm your injury then I’m affecting your daily life and that’s not what I do.”

It made me feel unbelievably nurtured. Warm and fuzzy and loved. Make no mistake, this caring, thoughtful man is a fucking bastard during playtime. He hurts me terribly wonderfully. But he gets it, that I still need to do stuff. Frankly, I know he enjoys me telling him how hard it was for me to work after he’s beaten me. How it ached when I sat, or how it made me wince to reach for something…he eats that shit up! The pain he’s caused, and its lingering after-effects are a turn-on for him. And, okay, for me as well. I freely admit I’m horny for weeks after a good play session.

But this kind of pain isn’t kink-inspired. It’s just life, and age, and work and who knows what happened that kicked it back up a notch or twelve. I’m really hoping to not have this surgery, but I won’t know any details for a few weeks at least. It’s the waiting and the not knowing that are the hardest part, really.


Sometimes? Life sucks even more that this slut can.


Squeeze (4)

The meal came just after Sir allowed her to close her blouse; all but the last 4 buttons at the top. The waiter’s eyeballs slid right into the deep cleft there, before he gathered himself and served their food. Her face flamed, and Sir smiled.

They lingered over wine, the conversation whizzing around and over her. She felt loose, slutty, wanton. She was horny as hell. Public displays were humiliating–and a total turn on for her. Each time she tightened her anus, her pussy clenched.

She wanted fucking.

“Scootch over here, slut, and lean your elbows on the table.”

Thinking that two Doms at the table had all but forgotten her was a deep miscalculation, she realized. It took a moment for her to obey him, to realize what he was going to do. His finger pressed at her bottom, finding its way along the cleft of her ass. It pushed against the tight ring there. Instinctively, she resisted the pressure.

“Yield to me,” he whispered in a tone more like a growl than a request.

Not wanting to do something so open in public, not wanting to do it in front of another man, another person at all–all of that wanting was pressed deeply inside of her. He’d trained her to be obedient, but not a doormat. Still, there was another dominant present and she didn’t want her dom to be looked at as substandard. Wanting to resist was part of the allure; obeying was the necessity.

Her anus relaxed just a fraction. His finger slid inside.

“Juicy,” he said, pulling the digit from her. Indeed, the skin at the tip was shiny.

“Sir,” she hissed, reaching new levels of embarrassment.

He wiped his finger on her thigh, and laughed.

“Your face–” he laughed, unable to continue.

“She’s entertaining. And obedient. I wondered if she was going  to defy you there…but I see she really is as good a submissive as you’ve told me. Watching the struggle on your face was beautiful. My cock is hard as a rock, watching that. Knowing that you wanted to refuse–yet didn’t. Perhaps you couldn’t make yourself refuse. No fussing, no whining, though you’ve been shades of red that I never knew existed.”

His hand stroked down her cheek, cupping her chin. His eyes were as much a part of his magnetism as his voice. She looked at him, felt a connection to him that she’d only ever felt with Sir. There’d been dominants in her past, but none like Sir. And none like this man.

“I think we should have dessert.”

She was shocked that the words came out of her very own mouth.

“But not here. If Sir approves. We have fixings for ice cream sundaes at home.”

His smile gave her pleasure.

“I  have an interesting way to serve it,” said Sir, his tone wicked.

Her blush was one of heat.

“It will melt…” she half-protested, turning her gaze back to Sir.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. But before it melts, it will be very cold. And hot fudge sauce can be so hot. Such a nice juxtaposition of temperatures can be very….”

“Interesting,” responded his boss. He tossed some bills on the table, and slid out. “I’m very much looking forward to this dessert.”

Sir pinched her bottom as she slid out.

“You keep that shut tight now, slut.”

She clenched, then let out a little moan. More turned on by the verbal foreplay than she’d ever been before, she could hardly wait to get home.



Infinity (9)

She stared at him, her mouth somewhat agape.


“You heard me. And yes, I’m pressuring you a bit. However–you are a submissive, and I am a Dom. Neither of us currently has a partner, so I’m not poaching. And it is an interesting question, oui?”

If she could have spoken, she have mumbled “a bit? You’re pressuring me a bit?” But her lips were incapable of forming words, apparently.  She swallowed, found her mouth dry. Grabbing at her wine glass as a lifeline, she very nearly upset it, before getting control of herself and it. She chugged her wine; he winced.

“Please,” He murmured, his expression pained. “Sip the wine.”

She coughed  as the mouthful of wine went down the wrong way, making her eyes tear, and her cheeks flush with mortification. Could there be any more embarrassment here?

“I *cough* ….YOU *cough – cough*…” she gave up, grabbing her napkin to wipe at her watering eyes.

He shook his head, before grinning. “I did warn you to sip, little one.” He gestured to the glass. “Another small sip will help. Sip,” he admonished.

The waiter approached as she lifted her wineglass and sipped as ordered.

“Is Madam okay?” His voice was smooth, cultured.

“She’s fine.”

She nodded, clearing her throat, trying to stuff the cough away.

“Very well then. Are you ready to order or do you need a moment?”

“We’ll have the steak with potatoes, and the broasted breast of chicken with scalloped potatoes.”

He didn’t look at her, nor did she contradict him.  The waiter took the menus and left them.

“Now would be a fine time for you to go.”

Her eyes flashed up at him, the blue a quick slash of shock. He smiled gently.


She rose and slid quickly from the booth.


In the ladies room she frowned at the panties in her left hand. Had this been inevitable, then? To have such a handsome and okay, very sexy, Dom be so close to hand AND her landlord– had it been etched in the stars or something, that he would eventually try to Dom her?


She all but snorted as she sat on the toilet. There was no ‘try’ about this. Here she sat, panties in her hand, ready to go out there and …and what? Would he treat her like a character in one of her stories? Hang them over the wine bottle? Leave them on the table where the waiter would see them? Her thumb slid over the red silkiness as she rose. Time to go out there and face him, or else he’d be thinking that he made her nervous or something nonsensical like that.

Taking a deep breath, she rose, unlocking the door, and headed back to the dining room.


Her knees really were shaking as she walked back to the table. How many times had she written that line into a story and thought it was a neat little way to describe the indescribable? And here she was, a character in her own novel, legs all trembly, knees all but knocking as she slowly crossed to where he sat. He was looking at his cell, ignoring her, which made her brows knit together. You’d think that when a Dom did something that..ballsy…he’d at least be interested. He kept looking at his phone as she slid into her side of the booth, but his right hand rose, palm up.

Was it part of her “submissive” side to be so bratty? Okay, he wasn’t her dominant, but he was being domineering and she was letting it ride on. Would she let it go all the way to its inevitable conclusion? She didn’t know. But the brat in her wanted to tease him. She reached into the pocket where the panties were, and found a stick of gum. Trying to keep the giggles at bay, she slid it into his hand.

His attention never wavered, but his fingers engulfed hers with a quick flash of movement.

“Panties, girl.”

He squeezed, hard, then harder until she gasped. He released her a long moment beyond what she would have wanted, a subtle reinforcement about who was in what role. She reached into her pocket and found a dime. Biting her lip to hold in her glee, she slapped that onto his palm. His eyes left his phone, and bored into hers.

“Feeling playful?”

She nodded, giggling with a combination of nerves and naughtiness.  He rose from his side of the booth in one fluid movement, then took her hand in what looked like a gentle grip but felt like steel bands.


He tugged her from her seat, then pushed her into his side. As she sat his fingers tugged up the back of her skirt so that her bare bottom rested on the leather cushion.  There was a soft gasp as her cheeks touched the coolness.

He leaned closer.

“Panties. Now. And open your thighs.”

She took the red swatch of underwear from her pocket and handed it to him. He took them, pushing them with great care into the breast pocket of his jacket. Her blush nearly matched the red of her panties as they rose like a scarlet beacon from his suit coat.


D/s and Real Life

I’m at that point where I can’t quite find the time, nor the energy for writing. I DO have tales to spin, and yet…it’s a dreary day here in the northeast and I find all I really want to do is curl up and read. And not naughty stuff, though I can have an O today (should I be inspired enough to want one. I know…I’m really that sleepy just now!)

What’s new to tell you of?




Which I know, is the epitome of boring…aka…—

yeah. Snooze-ville.

He was away this weekend past so no face time. My bruises have faded. (Pout) We *might* get some time this weekend upcoming but that’s forever away. And I’m tired. Did I mention that? It’s not subdrop, for I’m not depressed, not at all. I’m quietly happy. There just isn’t a ‘zing’ to energize me. Master is not a Dominant given to tasking me (or not often, anyway).   He mostly gets off on being in the same room and reaping the Dom-benefits of hands on work. He did give me a wee task last week and asked me to send pictures. I went one step further and videoed it which He *loved*.  He was glad that I’d thought to go a step beyond, and send Him something that would be sure to make Him smile (even as it made me wince.). It’s always nice to please the Dom, you know?

Oh, you want to know? About the task?  About the video…well, sorry, you can’t–at least about the pix…as it has too much face in it, so He could see the painful grimaces I made.

However–I’ll share what He had me do, how’s that? Since you asked, and so nicely too! 😀

I had to put on those thick clamps. Do you remember them? They look like this:

clampsThe chain is pretty weighty by itself, but He had me add the clamp in the middle that holds the magnetic weights…and i had to add 3 of the weights. Ouch.

Now, if you’ve been reading here for a long while, you’d perhaps remember that He gave me the clamps long ago, early in our relationship. And I had to wear them whenever I wrote my dirty tales. I won’t go so far as to say that I got “used” to them–but they didn’t kill me either. Back then I wrote every night before bed, sometimes for long periods of time. Obviously I wasn’t to keep them on for hours, lest I damage the poor nilla nips, but it was enough of a sensation to keep me constantly horny, always wet. Back then we also saw each other monthly, which was awesome. These days’ we’re more like an old married couple–the heat is still there, but it’s muted by distance. When we’re together it’s BOOM! and we’re back in heat…but apart, we just sort of roll along.


I had to wear the clamps.

and the weights.

And then I had to lean forward so my tits were hanging free, and smack the weight with the fucking pink hairbrush.

SMACK! JOLT! (swing, swing, swing, moan, groan)

Three times. Each harder than the last.

It was very painful. It was extremely thrilling. It was hawt. It was…really awesome.


I’m such a painslut.

And yanno what else?

It wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I got hungry and horny and lust-filled–and He left me hanging there (literally and metaphorically), having me pack up the toys and put ’em away, and “by the way, nilla–no O”.

I forget the why of it.

And it doesn’t *matter* the why of it.

Doing it, making it happen at His behest—was super-freaking-hot.

(just writing about it made me all hot n bothered again. 😀

But that was a week ago, and since then–well, you know how it goes. Life. He’s busy, I’m busy and I don’t think either of us is in our D/s role. He’d be the first to jump in here and say that He is always in Dom mode–which is true enough. I just don’t get enough time with Him to reap the benefits of it.

Hmm…re-reading that sounds like I’m pouting about it. I’m not, not really. Regretful, to be sure, but (glances over at ironing pile, thinks about the next laundry load, the sick kiddo on the couch in the next room, and the making of lunch and dinner…) you know how we ALL have to walk the line of vanilla and submission.

And I don’t know but perhaps–having such an intense vanilla life–if it doesn’t make those times when there IS submission special. I read of blogs where the day-to-day life of a slave is…hum drum. “Do your chores. Cook dinner. ” etcetera. Hell…that sounds like my vanilla life! As a submissive I *always* want more of His dominance. But I’m not a child at a cookie jar whining for more, more, more (mostly because the person holding the cookie jar away from my begging hand is not my Master, but myself {and wouldn’t Freud have a field day with that image?! LOL!})

Part of submission in my world is acceptance. I knew when I took that leap off the cliff that it would never be my full-time thing. I have a vanilla life that is precious and good. The fact that I wanted more…wanted something darker, meaner, rougher doesn’t preclude my responsibilities to that other life. And believe me, I struggled with that idea. For years. I wanted dominance full-time. I almost left my family. I wanted it so bad. But –I guess I grew up, with His help. I couldn’t leave my kids. I just couldn’t. I could not justify wanting to be spanked/fucked/beaten (aka my desires) versus fucking up their little lives. I’m not one of those who was in a dire situation and needed to get out and make a new start. And I’m not a person who will say “I gotta find my own bliss, sorry peeps, I’m outta here…” It is just not in me to do that.

Learning to be moderate about my D/s doesn’t quell the needs. Not by a long shot. But thankfully I’ve got a Master who understands both sides of my life, and who has His own busy life. And while I know He cares deeply for me, He is not looking for a full-time sub/slut. What we have here works for us. And yeah, it’s not exciting 98% of the time.

But that 2%?

Oh yeah. I love that time.



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.